Kit stretched her arms out, forcing her long fingers to straighten from the claws they’d curled into. She uttered a hollow laugh. “They were so sure of themselves. When I refused Belville the next day, they couldn’t believe it.”

Abruptly, she sat up, swinging about to face Amy. “After that, I always listened to my so-called suitors’ meetings with my guardians. Most instructive. So, you see, Amy dear, while I may envy you your experience, I know how rare it is. I don’t expect love as you know it to find me. It’s had six years to do so and failed. I’ll soon be well and truly on the shelf.”

Kit saw sympathy in Amy’s brown eyes and, smiling ruefully, shook her head. “There’s no earthly point feeling sorry for me, for I don’t feel the least sorry for myself. What man do you know would allow me the freedom I presently enjoy-to go about as I please, to be myself?”

“But you don’t do anything scandalous.”

“I see no point in inviting the attentions of the gabblemongers, and I would never bring scandal to my grandfather’s name. But I recognize no restrictions beyond those. A husband would expect his wife to behave in accord with certain strictures, to be at home when he was, not riding the sands. He’d expect me to follow his dictates, have my world revolve about him, when I’d be wanting to do something quite different.”

Amy frowned. “I can understand your disillusionment, but we vowed we’d marry for love, remember?”

Kit smiled. “We’d marry for love-or not at all.”

Amy flushed, but, before she could speak, Kit went on, her tone one of acceptance: “You’re marrying for love; I’m not marrying at all.”

“Kit!”

Kit laughed. “Don’t fuss so, my dearest goose. I’m enjoying myself hugely. I promise you-I don’t need love.”

Amy held her tongue but, to her mind, love was the very thing Kit did need to make her whole.