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time had passed, yet her warm floral scent still left him ready to beg. “Nights to remember.”
    “To forget, you mean.”
    His ardor chilled. Memories, both fervent and tender, flayed him with the mistakes of their shared past. The intensity of her passion had been the one great surprise of his utterly predictable life, and her constant need to deny it had been the undoing of their marriage. He’d always wanted what she refused to offer.
    If any begging were to be done on that morning, it would be her task.
    Miles scraped his gaze down along her body, then climbed into the back of the wagon with Adam and the maid. Every bit of his wife, from her ire to the frown that drew a linebetween her brows, was busy shocking frozen pieces of him back to life. But he would bend her, bully her, bed her—on his terms, not shaking and frothing like a servile dog.
    “Ask, Vivie, or I’ll unload it all into the harbor.”
    “You wouldn’t!”
    “Indeed, I would.” He spread his arms wide. “I don’t back down from bets and you know it. Or was it some other Viscount Bancroft who swam naked across the Thames?”
    “Then I’ll inform the police!”
    “They’ll only remand you into your husband’s custody,” he said, feeling giddy and mean. “Oh, wait . . . that’s me. And all the while, your bloomers will be floating out to the Atlantic.”
    “You’re disgusting.”
    “Perhaps, but I’m also a Peer of the Realm. Hard to believe, I know, but I do have influence.” He tugged at his bloodied shirt, buttoned his waistcoat, and stared her down. “I can make the success of your daddy’s company more likely . . . or bloody near impossible.”
    Genuine hurt stole the luster from her eyes. But the remorse he should’ve felt didn’t come. Instead, as loose and lively as a freed prisoner, he breathed the fetid dockside air. His captivity was at an end.
    “Very well, my lord,” she said.
    “Call me Miles. You used to.”
    “When I held out some hope for your worth in this life.”
    “You once held such hope? My dear, that was nearly generous.”
    “You deserve a great deal more,” she gritted out.
    Her anger was back, pulsing from her in billows. Porcelaincheeks flared with bright, hot color. She leveled a glare that deemed him an insect to be squashed. Miles merely grinned. Aside from the petty fun of her indignation, he could trust her body’s reactions, from the innocent to the erotic—bare truths in their false world.
    “All the same,” he said. “You’ll address me as such if you want my cooperation.”
    She didn’t move, as if gathering the strength to even breathe. Then she swallowed and held up her hand. “Miles, my lord, will you deliver us to the train station? Please?”
    He’d expected to hear defeat in her voice, something beautiful stripped of its grandeur, but she sounded decidedly too self-possessed. Beneath the sweetness of her smile waited venom.
    Her father’s daughter.
    But for now, a win was a win. He reached for her hand.
    Vivienne sat alongside Mr. Kato, the huge, silent African, as he skillfully guided the wagon toward the train station. She wished to continue nursing her dislike for Miles, but Cape Town held her mesmerized. Harsh blue-shadowed mountains angled along the horizon, holding the entire settlement in a hand ready to clamp shut. She’d half expected the blooming branches of her spring garden, but of course, March was the same as September in the north. Autumnal shades already dotted the foothills and lined the limbs of unfamiliar trees. The fertile smell of loam found her in warm, welcome bursts.
    But the city wore a mask. Ostentatious homes, rich withcolor and layers of fresh paint, could only brag from behind the safety of high ornate fences. They loomed over decayed shantytowns, tumbledown tents, and countless squatters. Ugliness gathered in the shadows like a cache of weapons, waiting to do violence.
    While running on pure determination, Viv had been able to retreat from