Absolutely, Positively

his hand around the back of her head and held her still for a deep kiss.

    His answer was in that kiss, but just in case she had not understood, Harry said the words aloud. “I'll marry you.”

16

    “You're going to marry Harry Trevelyan?” Venicia kicked aside the lace-trimmed train of the billowing, white wedding gown. She turned away from her image in the mirror to stare at Molly in stunned amazement. “You can't possibly be serious.”

    Molly, seated in a small chair, flapped her hand in a small, hushing gesture. “I am. Very serious.”

    She was aware that the saleswoman behind the counter was eavesdropping. Another customer politely averted her head, but it was obvious that she, too, was all ears.

    The boutique, which specialized in bridal gowns and dresses for members of the wedding party, was not very large. Venicia's exclamation of dismay had not gone unnoticed.

    “But my dear, you said yourself, you and Trevelyan have absolutely nothing in common,” Venicia continued, oblivious to Molly's unsubtle signal for silence. “You said he agreed with you.”

    “I think he's decided we have more in common than he first thought.” Molly studied the lines of the wedding gown with a critical eye. “Are you sure you want to fuss with that long train?”

    “What? Oh, the train. I've always wanted to wear a gown with a train.” Venicia brightened briefly as she shook out the satin skirts. “I feel like a different woman in this gown. Lord knows, I couldn't even afford a new dress when your uncle and I were married. This time around, I'm going to do it right. Cutter insists.”

    “Good for you.” Molly had a sudden inspiration. “You know something? I think I'll do the same thing.”

    “What on earth are you talking about?”

    “I'm going to pull out all the stops for my wedding, too. Fancy gown, catered reception, the works. I can afford it, and it would be good for Harry.”

    “Good for Harry?” Venicia's delight in her own plans vanished once more. “I was afraid this would happen. Cutter has been very worried, also. We both feared you were becoming too involved with Trevelyan.”

    “I'm involved, all right.”

    “Molly, please listen to me. I'm well acquainted with the effects of romantic chemistry these days. Cutter is an extremely romantic man, after all. But you're old enough to understand that there's a difference between a flash-in-the-pan passion and true love.”

    “Sure.”

    “You want what Cutter and I have.” Venicia's eyes misted briefly. “True affection and commitment.”

    “Of course.”

    “Dear, I really don't think you'll find that sort of thing with Trevelyan. He's not your type at all. You must take a more realistic view of your relationship with him.”

    “I am taking a realistic view of it.” Far more realistic than anyone could possibly guess, Molly thought wistfully.

    Realistic meant understanding that Harry was different.

    Realistic meant accepting that he had a long way to go before he would allow himself to admit that he was in love, assuming he ever could admit it. He had an abhorrence of that which could not be explained logically. There was no denying that Harry had too much to untangle within himself before he could deal with such an illogical emotion as love.

    Realistic meant accepting that Harry was a man at war with his own nature.

    Last night in the crucible of the passion that had flared between them, Molly had finally comprehended the deepest truth about Harry. It was not that he was haunted by his parents' deaths, as Olivia had assumed.

    Although he would no doubt suffer from occasional nightmares for the rest of his life, Molly sensed that Harry had found ways to deal with the terrible memories. The proof of his resilience lay in the core of willpower and inner strength that had enabled him to live a productive life.

    The trauma of that episode had not stopped him from carving out a notable career, nor had it kept him from being a good father figure to Josh. Harry coped with his exacting work and his equally exacting families quite well. He had told Molly that the nightmares had become increasingly rare in the past few years.

    No. Although he would never completely escape the lingering sense of guilt he experienced whenever he thought about the way his parents had died, Molly knew that Harry could deal with it. That was not his real problem.

    Harry's real problem was that he was being slowly split asunder by the powerful