Theo stared at him as if he were a piece of primeval slime. "You would blame my grandfather for your greed. You agreed to such a despicable trick. You deprived me of my freedom and my sisters of their share in the estate, just so you could have everything. And you set yourself up as a benevolent benefactor, willing to do the right thing… Oh, I can't bear it another minute. Let me out of here." This last was an impassioned demand, and she pushed at his chest as he still stood in front of the door.

It happened with hideous lack of warning. Jagged flashes of white light tore across his vision, and that dreadful creeping sensation crawled up the back of his neck. Why now? he thought on a silent moan of anguish.

"Move out of the way!" Theo shoved at him again, but even through his dread and frustration, he sensed that she'd lost some of her blind certainty.

Why now? The jagged whiteness exploded across his eyes again, and his heart began to beat fast with the panic that he had to hold down. It only made the coming agony even more intolerable.

Theo was staring at him. She'd seen him look like this once before, but she couldn't remember when. He was shrinking before her eyes, becoming a husk emptied of muscle and sinew.

"All right, go," he said, stumbling away from the door.

"What is it?"

"Get out!"

Just like that? One minute be was insisting they resolve this mess, and the next he was throwing her out of the room without so much as an explanation. And now, perversely, she wasn't sure whether she still wanted to walk away from this confrontation. Perhaps there were aspects that she didn't yet understand. Perhaps there was some kind of an explanation, a reason that might make sense. Her grandfather must have had a reason.

"But I -"

She got no further. He said nothing, but his expression silenced her; his eyes were ghastly as they rested on her face, his mouth a rictus of dread. She wrenched open the door as Sylvester turned and stumbled across the room, disappearing through the connecting door into his own apartment.

Outside her own room, Theo stopped and drew a deep breath. She remembered now when she'd seen him look like that. It was that first meeting, that afternoon by the trout stream. What happened to him? Was it the same indisposition that had kept him in his room for nearly two days?

She heard the sound of his bell ringing urgently, and a minute later Henry came pounding up the stairs. He brushed past Lady Stoneridge with barely a word of apology and disappeared into the earl's bedchamber.

Drained and bewildered, Theo went downstairs. She felt forlorn, as if Sylvester had led her into a dark forest and abandoned her. Her anger had somehow dissipated, and without its prop she was left defenseless against her hurt and confusion.

She went outside, into the soft air of early evening, unsure what to do now. Part of her wanted to run to her mother, but something held her back. It would be the impulse of a hurt child, but there was more to her reluctance than that recognition. At this moment she couldn't face revealing even to her mother that the man who'd pursued and courted her so assiduously would have married her if she'd been a ditch drab. It didn't matter who or what she was, she was merely currency, the price he had had to pay for his inheritance.

Tears burned behind, her eyes, and she blinked them away angrily. She would not cry; neither would she ask for comfort. Maybe later she could tell the story without this searing sense of humiliation, but until then she would find her own strengths.

She wandered toward the rose garden, intending to take the shortcut to the cliff top above the cove. As she reached the springy turf, strewn with bright-blue scabius, she saw a rider coming toward her across the cliff. There was something familiar about him, and she squinted against the setting sun, shading her eyes. Then she was running.

"Edward! Edward!"

The rider urged his horse to a canter and covered the distance between them in a few seconds.

"Theo!" He drew rein. "I was so hoping you'd be in. I was coming to find you."

"Edward." She said his name again, smiling up at him, and for a minute there was silence, but it was filled with so much unspoken emotion, so many thoughts, that the quiet seemed a rush of noise.

He still sat on his horse, the empty left-hand sleeve of his coat pinned across his breast, his right hand holding the reins. Then, with an awkward movement that was so unlike Edward's grace and agility, he swung himself to the ground.

"I still can't get the hang of that," he said. "My whole body's unbalanced, Theo. It makes me mad as fire to be so clumsy and unsteady."

"You'll get used to it," she said, coming into his embrace as he put his arm around her. She hugged him with fierce affection. "Oh, my dear, I have been anguished for you."

"It was my own damn fault," he declared, almost squeezing the life out of her. "Of all the goddamned arrogant, stupid things to have done. I should be dead, Theo!"

"Oh, don't say that!" She stood back and examined his face. He had aged, lines of suffering etched indelibly around his mouth and eyes, but the humorous light still glimmered in those green eyes, and his mouth retained its wry quirk.

"Have you seen Emily yet?"

Edward shook his head. "I only arrived home last night. I was on my way to the dower house, but I wanted to see you first." He ran his hand over his chin, his eyes suddenly stark. "I wanted you to come with me."

Theo understood immediately. He knew Emily's sensitive soul, and he was afraid to spring himself upon her as he now was.

"Emily was distraught," she said quietly. "But she'll be overjoyed to see you."

"Will she?" Then he dismissed the self-pitying question with typical briskness. "So will you come with me? Shall we fetch Dulcie, or shall we walk?"

"Oh, let's walk," Theo said, realizing that she was unwilling to go back to Stoneridge, to spoil this reunion with a return to the dismal tangle at home.

Edward paused, examining her, and she swore silently. They'd always had an uncanny ability to sense each other's innermost feelings.

"Shouldn't I pay my respects to your husband?" Edward asked.

"Not now," she said. "He's busy."

"Oh?" Edward continued to regard her. "I was surprised to hear your news. It seems very sudden."

"It was," she said, unable to hide the bitterness in her tone. "Four weeks from start to finish. Stoneridge doesn't dawdle when his mind is set."

Edward frowned. "What is it, Theo?"

No, she couldn't even tell Edward… Edward, from whom she'd never had any secrets, before whom she couldn't imagine feeling embarrassed or ashamed. She couldn't tell him, not yet, at least. Besides, he had troubles and insecurities of his own, and she would not lay her burdens on him now, even if they were tellable.

"Nothing serious, Edward. We're just a trifle at outs." The understatement of the year. "Shall I lead Robin? Then you can hold my hand." She smiled at him, and there was no further indication of her own turmoil.

Edward allowed himself to be diverted. Apprehension about his upcoming meeting with Emily had preoccupied him for too long to be put aside until it was over.

"Tell me how it happened." Theo demanded as they walked hand in hand across the cliff and to the drive that led to the dower house.

She listened. She heard the bitter, self-directed anger beneath the light description of his foolhardy stroll to the picket line; she heard the hideous agony behind his brief description of the amputation and the journey across Spain to the coast. But she made no more of it than her friend did. Emily would do the fussing, and Edward would expect it from her. He wouldn't expect it from his childhood comrade.