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“It’s beautiful,” she said, watching a carriage pass by.

“It is.”

There they were. Two people forever locked together in a marriage that may never work. Except…

She turned to him, and he met her gaze, his handsome eyes solemn. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” she said. “And I’m so sorry for what my father has done.”

“Do you believe me?” he asked. There was a painful edge in his question.

“I believe you,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought perhaps you wouldn’t believe your papa was capable of something like that.”

She touched the pale blue curtain with golden patterns of interwoven vines. “Unfortunately, I do. It hurts to know he’s capable of harming an innocent man like that. It also hurts to know he’d sell his own daughter.”

“I’m sorry, Penelope. I tried to shield you from this knowledge. At least it’s a relief there are no secrets between us any longer.” He took her hands in his, and his warmth scalded her cold palms. “And this is our new house. If you like it, I’ll sign the offer today. I can see a future for us here. Can you?”

Could she? Had he asked her an hour ago, she would have said yes. Now…she didn’t know.

“But as long as I’m who I am and you’re who you are, your brother’s death will always lie between us. No matter how much I love you.”

An expression of the most agonized pain disturbed his features. “No. No. I…I love you, Penelope.”

The words thundered like a cannonade in her head. He loved her… While all this time she’d thought he was just indulging with her to conceive an heir, like he’d told her he would.

“You love me?” she asked stupidly.

“Yes, I love you. You’re my wife. I love you. I want all of you.”

Suddenly, she felt very, very cold and began shaking. Part of her felt like she was about to float right to the ceiling from joy. He loved her back!

But with a sinking sensation she realized this wasn’t enough.

“All of me—but no matter how much you love me, you still hate my father. You still married me for revenge. Not for love. So which is stronger, Preston? Because you can’t have both. Do you love me enough to stop with your revenge? Or do you hate him more than you love me?”

Preston looked like he was being drawn and quartered. With pain thundering behind his eyes, he opened his mouth to say something, but there was an urgent knock on the door and the viscount’s butler came in.

“Begging Your Graces’ pardon… This is most unusual. A boy from Lord Beckett just arrived with a message.”

Penelope let go of Preston’s hands and hurried to the butler. “From my father? How did he know where to find us?”

“The boy said he went to Sumhall first, and they told him you’d be here for the viewing.”

“What’s the message?” asked Penelope.

Preston marched to stand next to her. “Penelope—”

“What’s the message?” she insisted, her heart thundering.

The butler swallowed. “Lord Beckett called for your help. His house is being repossessed.”

Penelope gasped, the floor shifting under her feet, and turned to Preston.

“Is this your doing?” she demanded. He looked lost and guilty, his eyebrows drawn together. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

Preston shot a look at the butler, who stood with his face straight and impartial. “Yes,” said Preston.

“I thought there wouldn’t be any more secrets between us.”