Chapter 10

Stepping out, he shivered more from dread than from the cold. More from agony than from pleasure. More from shame than from satisfaction.

How could he have behaved so disgustingly? He’d been a sadistic monster. “Making love” to Kate—a euphemism for what he felt—had been fair game in those days when he enjoyed her and knew that he gave as much pleasure as he got. But to use her, as he had, to blot out the face of another woman was revolting. Mary wouldn’t love this if she knew. Or would she? Would Mary, of all the people in the world, understand that it was his longing for her, his frustration at the things that kept them apart, that had driven him to behave like an animal? Perhaps she would understand that had she not abandoned him, thrown him away like a rag, he wouldn’t have done all that. But how could she understand?

A gentle tap on his shoulder jolted him out of this morbid train of thought.

“Just wanted to make sure you feel alright,” she said. “You were pre