The only reason she could have had for marrying him, other than love, was to save Havenhurst. In order to believe that, Ian had first to believe that he’d been fooled by her every kiss, every touch, every word, and that he could not accept. He no longer trusted his heart, but he trusted his intellect.
His intellect warned him that of all the women in the world, no one suited him better in every way than Elizabeth.
Only Elizabeth would have dared to confront him after the acquittal and, after he’d hurt and humiliated her, to tell him that they were going to have a battle of wills that he could not win: “And when you cannot stand it anymore,” she’d promised in that sweet, aching voice of hers, “you’ll come back to me, and I’ll cry in your arms and tell you I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. And then you’ll help me find a way to forgive myself.”
It was, Ian thought with a defeated sigh, damned hard to concede the battle of wills when he couldn’t find the victor so that he could surrender.

Auteur: Judith McNaught