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Lord Wickburgh … at least for a while, until he joined her in perdition. Perhaps she’d have her own fiery poker to keep him at bay.
    Her only regret was never seeing Christian again. A man of such high integrity would go straight to heaven after he left the earth. Christian. A faint stirring arose in the vacuum where her heart once rested. How clearly she remembered him, the tenderness in his blue eyes, the softness of his smile, the gentleness of his touch. And how clearly, too, she recalled his disbelief and hurt when she’d told him she chose to marry Wickburgh.
    It wasn’t his fault that he believed her capable of such treachery. After all, she’d worked hard to lie to him. But deep inside, she’d hoped he would never believe she could be so vicious. Sorrow gnawed through her chest, consuming her last spark of life. She blew out her breath to prevent buoyancy, and jumped.
    The water’s icy blast hit and a current dragged her into a silent world of brownish-green, yet still no alarm arose. Instead, unnatural calm wrapped more securely around her. In a moment, it would all be over. As she grew numb from cold, the river carried her along gently, like a mother rocking her child. For the first time in years, peace enfolded her in its soft embrace.
    She floated toward the safety of death.

CHAPTER 5
     
    Profoundly alone, Christian stood in front of the family crypt, the white stone building glowing against the darkness. Only a faint hint of gray at the far eastern sky hinted at the coming dawn. He carefully laid his bunch of flowers at the entrance where the remains of a ten-year-old boy lay, a boy whose life was snuffed out long before his time.
    Eighteen years ago today, he’d held Jason in his arms while his brother, his advocate, his friend, took one last breath. Christian squeezed his eyes shut, but the images played out in his mind, as clear as the day they happened. Every detail, every sound, every sharp, accusing pain trampled him like a stampede, leaving only ruin in its wake.
    “I’m sorry, Jason.”
    He’d never atone for causing his brother’s death. Perhaps he should stop trying.
    A bird fluttered over his head and perched on the roof of the crypt, twittering and singing a cheerful tune at odds with Christian’s mood. He watched the bird sing, flutter a few steps forward, and fluff out its feathers. He smiled in spite of himself at the bird’s simple joy. Now that his parents were gone—his mother had been gone for almost three years and his father had died only two months ago—and Cole had inherited the title, Christian no longer had the responsibility of caring for his parents and managing the many Amesbury estate. Would it be so bad to indulge in a few dreams of his own?
    He’d dare hope his years of penance were through when he’d found such happiness with Genevieve. But that had been fleeting and false. He shoved away those memories for the lies that they were. Yes, it was time to leave.
    Italy sang to him like a song of hope. Maybe he could convince his sister Rachel to go with him. It might entice her to leave her self-imposed exile and rekindle her zeal for living. Perhaps it would rekindle his own.
    The grating of the gate swinging open broke the silence. He looked up at the sky shot through with streaks of pink as dawn crept closer. The family crypt loomed overhead, casting a shadow over him, just as Jason’s death cast a shadow over Christian’s life.
    The gate slammed shut, his cue to leave. Christian took a circular route back to the gate to avoid seeing anyone. A shadow leaped in front of him. Startled, Christian dropped into a defensive crouch, reaching for his gun, until he recognized the form.
    “Grant.” Christian bit out the name, no less relieved than if a bandit had attacked him.
    Dressed entirely in black, Grant stared, his cold gray eyes raking over Christian. Grant had always been dark, but he’d come home from the war truly terrifying in his controlled, intense