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must feel something, she must respond, she must.
    His blood began to heat, yet he held himself in check. They would talk in a moment, but first he had the absurd wish that she should respond in the old way.
    It didn’t take long. He felt a last shiver run through her body, one moment she was hanging in his arms, apparently nothing more than a bundle of nerves, and the next she gave a small sigh and her body fell against his as it had done in the early days of their marriage. The ache inside him intensified, it became actual pain. Mon Dieu , he had missed this—she had him in flames with a touch. He’d never known anything like it.
    A couple of heartbeats later, small hands took firm hold of his shoulders. She eased back and her soft murmur reached him through the dark. ‘Tristan.’
    Triumph flooded every vein. The cracks of light edging round the door were thin, the dark almost absolute. If she was little more than a shadow, then so was he. ‘My heart.’ The old endearment slipped out before he had thought. And his hand slid round her head, he was unable to stop himself urging her mouth back to meet his. They fell into each other’s arms in the old way and went on kissing. The kissing got deeper. Wilder. It was as though Tristan had been dragged back in time and they were newly wed. While they were kissing, Tristan could almost imagine that he had never felt guilty for keeping secrets from her. He could almost imagine that they had never separated, and there had never been this silence between them. His blood pounded in his ears. It was impossible to breathe. There was so much to resolve, but it was drowned by the need to kiss and touch.
    With difficulty, he eased back. He had to tell her about Count Myrrdin. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do, he was hard as iron. He wanted to go on touching her; he wanted to keep her close; he wanted to kiss her until they both lost their senses. He was halfway there already. Lord, he would never let her go.
    His thoughts blurred and despite his resolution— I must tell her Count Myrrdin has summoned her to Fontaine —all he could think was how much he wanted her. He fought the impulse to press himself against her and caught himself wondering if an annulment might, after all, be a mistake. Then the old bitterness stirred. She never came to des Iles, she deserted me. She never replied to my letters.
    He heard her swallow, her breathing was unsteady. ‘Tristan, it is marvellous to see you, but should we be kissing with so much unresolved between us?’
    It was on the tip of his tongue to reply that she was his wife and he had every right to kiss her. He had to remind himself that she had fled Brittany and never looked back. ‘Probably not. Francesca, I bring news from Fontaine.’
    Damn the gloom, he couldn’t read her expression, all he could see was her shape. Her very feminine shape, temptingly outlined by the light creeping round the door. Desire coiled inside him, dark and angry. Francesca wasn’t the woman he’d thought her to be and their life together had disintegrated into an utter shambles. He needed a titled lady with a spotless reputation. Despite that, he’d never wanted a woman more than this one and he had no words to tell her.
    Blindly, he reached for her, but his arms closed on thin air.

Chapter Two
    F rancesca drew in a steadying breath, stared at the dark shape that was Tristan and tried to analyse the warmth that had flooded every vein. It was heaven to be with him again, pure heaven, so much so that it was almost impossible to concentrate on what he had said. Something about news from Fontaine.
    She felt most odd. Light-headed. Dizzy with happiness. Tristan had come for her! He had received her letter and he had come for her. Her heart thumped. Had he decided their marriage would stand? He had acknowledged her as his wife before that bully of a knight—that had to be a good