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.But she isn't anymore.She'smine now.And if you ever lay a hand on her again, I swear to God, I'll kill you."Oliver sat up.His fingers splayed against his chin, he opened and closed his jaw a fewtimes, then reached to pick up the beaver hat that had landed beside him.Only then didhe tip back his head and look up at the man who loomed over him."Her conviction has been overturned," said Oliver, enunciating the words carefully, as ifhe thought Hayden might not have understood clearly."Whether you like it or not, she isnot your servant anymore.""My servant?" Hayden repeated incredulously."She hasn't been my servant for months.She's my wife.""Wife?" Oliver gave a sudden, harsh laugh, his gaze flicking back to Bryony."You didn'twaste any time, did you, Madame Widow?"Oh, yes, she had forgotten how mean Oliver could be."Only, you're not a widow, Mrs.Wentworth." He settled his hat on his head."You'remarried to me." He stood up, his gaze raking the yard."Where is Madeline? Get her."For the first time Bryony noticed the men who stood, silent and watchful, outside theirhuts, down by the barns, in the door of the stables.Ann McBride was on the veranda,Simon still clutched in her arms.Only Mary Shanaghan and Madeline seemed to havedisappeared.Oliver brought his gaze back to her.There was a tight, unpleasant set to his lips thatBryony had never seen there before, and she thought that in some way the last two years had changed him, changed him a great deal."Did you hear me, damn it? I said get her.We're leaving." He reached to seize Bryony's arm.He never touched her.Hayden's fists closed around the lapels of Oliver's impeccablytailored bottle-green coat and yanked the younger man almost off his feet."I told you to keep your hands off her." Hayden's voice was low and frighteningly even,and there was a gleam in his eyes that Bryony had never seen before.This is a man who can kill, she thought.Who has killed."Now, I'm going to let go of you, and you're going to get back on that horse of yours andride out of here.Is that understood?"One thing Oliver had never been, was a coward.Hayden might be larger and stronger andinfinitely more skilled in the art of fighting, whether formal or dirty.But Oliver refusedto cringe.He met the wintry frost of Hayden's eyes, and said, "I'll leave."Hayden's fists opened.He took a step backward.With fastidious care, Oliver shook out his coat and straightened his neck cloth."I'llleave," he said again.He seized the chestnut's reins and swung up into the saddle."ButI'm only going as far as Green Hills.I'll be back.With a magistrate and troops, ifnecessary." He wrenched the chestnut's head around but paused a moment to look atBryony over his shoulder."You and Madeline are returning to Cornwall with me,Bryony.Willingly or not." Then he dug his heels into the chestnut's ribs and canteredaway.It was cold in the house, cold and quiet.The feeble warmth of the winter sunlight hadn'tpenetrated the thick walls.Hayden hunkered down before the fireplace in their bedroom,using an iron poker to stir the coals left from that morning.Bryony stood some distanceaway, staring blankly at the far wall and hugging herself.Except for one hand that keptrunning up and down, up and down her opposite arm, she was motionless.He glanced at her again.She hadn't moved, hadn't looked at him, hadn't said a word."Saysomething, damn it."It came out louder and harsher than he'd intended.Her hand stopped its restless journey.She glanced at him, then away.Why? he wanted to shout.Why wouldn't she look at him?She couldn't possibly be wondering what he wanted, could she?"What are we going to do?" she asked quietly.He laid the poker on the hearth and reached for a fistful of kindling.His heart waswedged up somewhere near his throat, but he had to ask, had to know where he reallystood with her."That depends largely on what you want, doesn't it?""Hayden." He heard the hurt in her voice, and was ashamed to discover he was glad of it.Heremembered a night, long ago, when he had stood on the edge of his veranda, admiringthe curve of her cheek bathed in the glow of moonlight and wanting so very much to takeher into his arms and into his bed.Did you love him very much? he had asked./ lovedhim, she'd answered.The memory of it was like something twisting in his vitals.Something sharp and painful.He threw the kindling into the fireplace and watched it burst suddenly into flame.Therewas obviously more heat left in the coals than he had thought
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