“That is not what I remember, Sebastian. Think. Think what you said, the words you used. The promises you made bind you.”

Beatrice clenched her hands into fists as if she might batter her way out of this. “You are no churchman. How can you know for certain?”

In a distant corner of his mind Sebastian wondered if perhaps he slept and John’s appalling announcement was a part of a nightmare from which he would soon awaken. Surely this madness was the stuff of dreams. Otherwise his life had been disordered beyond recognition in the space of five minutes.

“Do you not remember? You promised to have Sebastian as your husband and he promised to have you as his wife. Both of you promised without conditions. You made a binding marriage between you,” John said. “I have lived among churchmen for the last three years, Bea. Canon law fills the air in Rome. A man who has ears to hear cannot help learning a little.”

Sebastian knew a little canon law, as well. Enough, he had thought, to keep himself from doing just what John claimed they had done. “We did not lie together. It cannot be binding.”

“That does not matter in this case. If you never lie with her, she will still be your wife before God,” John said gently.

“I cannot believe this,” Beatrice said. She went to sit on one of the benches pushed against the wall and leaned her head back, her hands lying slack on her lap. For a moment Sebastian wanted to go sit beside her, companions in calamity. But he could not, not when she had betrayed him, not when she had abandoned honor as easily and thoughtlessly as she might discard a gown that no longer fit.

He had to do something, anything, to avert this disaster.

“I am betrothed to Cecilia,” he said.

“You cannot be,” John said.

At the same moment Cecilia said, “Do not lie, Sebastian. It will only confuse matters.”

“We can pretend it never happened. If no one knows…”

His voice slowed. Truth was sinking into him, the awareness that he would not awaken from this nightmare slowly breaking over him. No matter how he might wish it otherwise, his betrothal to Beatrice was real, as unbreakable and real as marriage. He could behave like a fool and a child, and fight it for a time, but to what end? Damage to his soul, damage to his honor, and marriage to Beatrice at the end of it anyway.

But, God help him, he wished it were not true.

“You will know, Sebastian. And God will know. Can you take another woman to wife, knowing you make a concubine of her? And if you do not marry, who will your heirs be?” John asked.

“How do I get out of this?” Beatrice asked, her voice flat, bled of expression.

Sebastian glanced at her. Against the black of her hood and bodice, her pallor was stark, the color leached even from her down-turned mouth. She looked weary and sad, a woman alone despite the company of her kinsmen. Pity moved in him, pity she did not deserve, pity he refused to feel. Balling his hands into fists, he turned away and walked to the opposite side of the room. He leaned against the wall and pressed his forehead against its cool stone. Behind him, the others continued as if he were still in their midst, while slowly he tried to absorb the shocks of the afternoon— John’s unexpected homecoming, his disastrous announcement.

“Ceci, why do they fight this? What has happened while I have been away?” John asked.

“I do not know, John. I do not now nor have I ever understood why they are at odds.”

“It avails you nothing to do this!” Beatrice cried. “You will do most good by telling me how I may escape!”

“There is no way. You are married to Sebastian,” John said.

“If I deny it? What then, O brother?”

“Sebastian can sue you to live with him.”

“And how many witnesses will he need? Is one enough? And will you oppose me in this, my brother?” The fraying edge of Beatrice’s temper rang clearly in the sharpness of her tone.

“It takes two witnesses to make a case, but if you marry another man, you will be committing bigamy and your children will be bastards,” John said.

“I do not intend to marry again. Once was enough to last me a lifetime.”

“Bea, you know you are married,” Cecilia said.

“There are no witnesses!”

“I will be a witness to your admission of the promise,” Cecilia said, her voice firm. “With John, that is two witnesses.”

“A pox on you!” Beatrice’s voice caught on the last word.

Sebastian lifted his head. The moment had come for him to put an end to her bootless protests. He and Beatrice must face what they had done—it was past time to honor a promise that should not have been forgotten in the first place. This marriage was calamitous, but they had sown its seeds themselves. Who better to reap the bitter crop? He turned and crossed the hall, joining them by the hearth once more. He faced Beatrice, forced himself to confront her beauty, to meet her clear blue eyes steadily and to hold his simmering anger in check.

“I cannot marry another woman, knowing the marriage is a lie. I cannot let her risk her life to bear me a son, knowing that son is a bastard. You are my wife, as much as I wish it otherwise, Beatrice, and if you have a particle of honor left, you will come live with me as my wife.”

“I will not. I will not be wife to a man who scorns me as you do,” Beatrice said, glaring at him as if this garboil was entirely his fault, as if she had not made the same witless promises as he.

His anger flared. “I do not desire to be married to a woman so stupid with pride she will ruin herself rather than yield, but unfortunately, I am betrothed to one and have no choice. In law, Beatrice, you are already my wife and as such you owe me obedience.”

“How dare you!”

John went to sit beside her and laid a hand over hers. “Beatrice, be sensible. You cannot win, not if Ceci and I both bear witness against you. Nor can you wish to spend the rest of your life in limbo, neither wife nor widow nor maid. I do not know what has happened to estrange you from Sebastian nor do I understand why the pair of you are behaving as if we were all back in the nursery, but surely neither of you is foolish enough to ruin your lives.”

Beatrice turned her head and stared at John for a long moment, her free hand gripping the front of the bench with such force her knuckles whitened. “This means I am trapped.”

“We both are,” Sebastian said. Stubborn jade, could she not see that?

“Yes, you are,” John said gently, “but only so long as you both see it so.”

Beatrice slipped her hand free of John’s and pressed it to her temple. “My head aches. I cannot listen to another moment of this. You will please excuse me.” She stood, sketched a stiff curtsy at Sebastian, and left the hall without a backward glance.

Sebastian watched her go, his hands still fisted. Then he turned on John, resentment clenching into a hard knot in the middle of his chest, impossible to swallow or ignore. If John had remained in exile, painting pictures like a merchant’s son… “Why did you come back now? Why could you not stay in Rome?”

“I wanted to come home.” John’s voice was soft. He nodded toward his companion. “I wanted to bring Lucia, my wife, home.”

Sebastian’s face burned. If all his dreams and hopes were in ruins now, it was not because John had come home. It was because he had once been a fool for love.

John went on, his voice hard. “I will not apologize for this, Sebastian. I had no way to know you and Beatrice were not married and raising a handful of yellow-headed babies.”

“I know, I know. Forgive me, I beg of you.” He sighed and put his cap on. “What an accursed garboil this is. I must go to my lawyer and I must find your father. There are contracts to amend.”

He crossed the hall to Cecilia. “Ceci, I am sorry. What will become of you now?” He had thought to marry her, clever and calm. Unlike her sister, she had been a sensible choice.