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384 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2002

Loneliness was watching respectability stripped away bit by agonizing bit. Isolating himself so others would not witness his fall from grace. Projecting a false image to the world so no one would know his true sorrow, his immense fears, his incredible woes. To face everything alone. To desperately want to weep only to discover he no longer possessed the comfort of tears.
How easy it was to command when a man stood on top of the mountain, how difficult to regain his footing as he was toppling off.
"Consider me plain, my lord. Consider me dull. But never, never consider me stupid."
He felt as though he was disappointing those who had come before and failing those who would come after.
She hadn't a clue how to flirt, and he found that aspect of her character charming. He had not expected he would actually like her as he came to know her better. But the possibility lingered before him, resembling a beacon at the edge of a storm, drawing him toward a safe harbor.
"Are all Americans as curious as you? Or are you the exception?"
"Are all Englishmen as private as you? Or are you the exception?"
He chuckled low. "Although I'm accustomed to dealing with a woman's anger your restrained fury tends to throw me off."
"I'm not furious, Devon. Just frustrated. I'm your wife. I expected to share your life, not be made to feel like a busybody every time I ask a question."
"I expected our lives to run on separate paths."
"I expected them to be joined."
Pride could be a man's strength or his weakness. Its perception depended on one's perspective or where a man stood in relation to his place in the world. Pride could keep a man from giving up when surrender was easier course. Or it could cause him to shore up his defenses and act without consideration for the consequences. Pride was an asset that sometimes turned on a man and became a liability, as it had with Devon.
In his thirty-four years of life, he'd discovered he had a great well of pride, which defined who he was, who he perceived himself to be. At times it dictated his actions more than his conscience or his reasoning did.
It was more powerful than lust, desire, or love.
It spoke in moments of anger and trapped him by words that would have been better left unsaid.
She sat and primly folded her hands in her lap, giving him her undivided attention, as was her way. While others hurried through life with a passing comment or a brusque nod in acknowledgment, she managed to make a person feel as though no one else existed on the earth, as though at that precise moment, held in her uncompromising gaze, nothing and no one were more important.
With her at his side he'd felt wealthy, even though he possessed less than he had when he married her.
"I would rather live as a pauper and have your love than live as a king and know your disdain. Your father told me you would make me a wealthy man. I thought he spoke in terms of material things" - he shook his head - "but he spoke in terms of love."