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results. Amara had intended to give it to our mother. Regrettably, her marriage to Mr. Bedegrayne has created a rift in the family. To my knowledge, neither my mother nor father has spoken to her.”
    Mallory blew a frustrated breath out. He was losing patience with the countess’s refusal to speak of anyone or anything that was connected to London. Something akin to slyness slid into his grim expression. “She will make me an uncle by summer’s end. Brock’s father, Sir Thomas, is thrilled there will be a new generation of Bedegraynes. I suppose I should be grateful that I did not murder Bedegrayne the second I suspected he had put his hands on my sweet sister.”
    No reaction.
    “Confound it, woman!” he roared, slamming down his
book and lead pencil. He lunged for her before she could roll away. Seizing her by the shoulders, he shook the indifference from her face. The fear that replaced it was an improvement from the doll-like mask she had donned.
    “How long?” he harshly demanded.
    “W-What? I do not understand!”
    The tremor in her voice made him feel despicable. Still, it did not stop him from pressing onward. “How long will you pretend that you did not have friends and a life in London?” They were both on their knees face-to-face. She was trying to pull away, but he was meaner and stronger. “When you ran away, Countess, did you even think of your friends? Amara was hurt by your silence.”
    Genuine pain mixed with her unshed tears. “I did not—oh—please, Mr. Claeg, I cannot talk about this.”
    “With me or anyone?” Disgusted with himself that he was bullying her, he released her.
    She rubbed her arms but sat down on her folded legs instead of attempting to flee. “I thought I was dying,” she said, her voice so soft he had to lean closer to hear her words. “My first clear recollection when I woke up was that my husband had murdered me.” She laughed wearily. Bitterness had replaced joy. “I was partly right. Lyon murdered my baby.”
    Now that she was talking, he wanted to stop the flow of words. She sat on the forest floor hugging and rocking in a gesture of comfort. Mallory pulled her into his arms, coaxing her to lay her face against the warmth of his chest.
    Lady A’Court pulled back and saw the apology in his gaze. “Why do gentlemen marry, Mr. Claeg? For wealth, position, an heir to pass on their prosperity to? Love?” She curled her lip in derision. “Lyon married me for none of those reasons. Do you want to know why I was so appealing to the handsome Earl of A’Court?”
    “Hush. You have said enough. I am more sorry than I can say.”

    She ignored his plea. “Lyon married me because I bore a passable resemblance to the woman who had become his obsession. Miss Wynne Bedegrayne, a woman whom I considered one of my best and dearest friends. I was so young, so stupid . I loved him.” Fighting back her tears, she pushed away from him and climbed to her feet. She paced and fought back the natural release of her grief. Lady A’Court did not speak again until she had vanquished what she considered a weakness. “I was already married when I learned the truth. Every time he whispered that he loved me, he was speaking to her. The clothes and jewels he lavished on me were to show Wynne what she had spurned. During the nights when he came to my bedchamber, it was Wynne’s spirit he tried to break, her thighs he pried open, and it was her name he cried out as he spilled his seed into me. Even then, he found me lacking because I was not her !” She pounded her breast for emphasis.
    “Damn it, Countess, enough!” Like everyone else, he had heard rumors that Lord A’Court had mistreated his young bride. Hearing a few of the less savory details sickened him. Mallory wished the earl was still living so he could have the pleasure of snuffing out his vile existence.
    She rubbed her temple in frustration. “I was ill those last days. Most of my recollection is a confusing mix of what