The sun still slanted across the garden, filming the surface of the pool with gold and leaving the air soporific with heat, but suddenly she was so cold that gooseflesh stippled her limbs and set her teeth to chattering. He would never know what a supreme effort it took for her to reply, “So leave. Run off and play with your stethoscope. Learn to knit with it, for all I care. I’m sorry I don’t have a butler to show you out, but I’m sure you’ll find your own way.”

      Just briefly, he paused, as though perhaps he had something more to convey, some small indication that he was not completely unmoved by what had happened between them. But then he straightened his shoulders and swung away.

      Miserably, she watched as he strode across the patio, dwelling on the sight of him and trying not to remember the time when she’d had the right to explore all that height and breadth of sheer masculine beauty. When to hold him in her arms and welcome him into her body had been the joy of both their lives. When to reach up and kiss him for no reason other than that he was her husband and she loved him had been as natural and instinctive as breathing.

      Gradually, his footsteps faded, and as the silence he left behind came pressing down on her so did the tears. Not because he had left her tonight, but because he had reminded her too vividly of the pain she’d experienced when he’d left her before. She had not known he could hurt her so badly a second time.