EVADING THE DUKE

WHEN THE DUKE COMES TO TOWN

ROSE GORDON     JANE CHARLES     SAMANTHA GRACE

NIGHT SHIFT PUBLISHING

Contents

Copyright

The Wooing Game

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

About Rose Gordon

Also by Rose Gordon

Ruined By a Lady

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About Jane Charles

Also by Jane Charles

One Less Lonely Earl

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

About Samantha Grace

Also by Samantha Grace

Thwarting the Duke

Outwitting the Duke

Dismissing the Duke

Copyright © 2016 by Rose Gordon, Jane Charles and Samantha Grace

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-311-04703-8

Created with Vellum

THE WOOING GAME

ROSE GORDON

CHAPTER 1

May 1814

London

James Noble, Earl of Wynn clenched his jaw so tightly his cheeks hurt, his head throbbed and his teeth were on the verge of turning into powder, then he closed his eyes for an extended blink.

Damn.

She was still there.

By she, he meant Charlotte—his wife.

Of course she is still there, he chided himself. He did marry her no less than an hour ago and unfortunately he wasn't any more inclined toward her now than he had been when they'd first met…

Three weeks earlier

“Did you invite some female companions to our game tonight, Wynn?” Lord Ravenscar asked, a wicked gleam in his dark blue eyes.

“No,” James said, schooling his features to remain impassive. Female companions? Why would he invite women of loose morals over while he and Lords Ravenscar, Worthe, and Holbrook played cards? He wanted to win their friendship and money, not be stolen from…or worse. He shuddered. “What would give you such an idea?”

Lord Ravenscar pulled his cards a little closer to his chest and nodded his head in the direction of the large window at the back of James' library.

All eyes flew to the window just in time to catch sight of a stocking-covered foot that was balancing a dainty, red slipper on the ends of its toes.

“What the devil?” James muttered beneath his breath, slamming his cards facedown on the table. He pushed to his feet and stalked across the wooden floor to the window. Without too much thought or care to what might result in startling the hoyden scaling the sides of Wintermore, his country estate and the seat of his earldom, James unhooked the window's lock and jerked open the pane. His demand to know her identity and intentions died on the tip of his tongue when the daring and ungraceful young lady who'd been climbing the bricks lost her footing and with a decidedly unladylike squeal came toppling down.

Instinctively, James reached forward to prevent her from falling to her death. In his mind this was far easier than it was in action and only after nearly falling out of the window himself, his hands found purchase on her form and with all the strength he possessed, he pulled her inside the window, sending both of them to topple to the floor.

Pushing aside his irritation that this dratted female was climbing up the side of his country estate, he half-expected a few words of approval or praise from his friends at his heroic feat.

Instead, he was met with silence.

Well, silence and a loud whistle that was quickly followed by a crack and a grunt —courtesy of Lord Worthe's fist colliding with Ravenscar's nose.

“Son of a—” Ravenscar's words were cut off abruptly with Holbrook's skillfully placed elbow to the man's stomach.

Slightly confused at what had turned two of the calmest gentlemen of James' acquaintance into pugilists of the worst sort, James looked down at the woman who was still in his arms and lying on his chest.

Her lifted face looked vaguely familiar and he might have had better luck trying to place where he'd seen her before, except just a little below her face were her breasts—plump, exposed and resting firmly against his chest.

A strangled sound ripped from Holbrook's throat, breaking James' trance.

“Charlotte?” Holbrook's voice was hard and raspy.

On top of James, the bare-chested young lady wiggled. She pushed her hands on to the floor above James' shoulders as if she were trying to push to her feet. Just then, she tried to push up with another part of her anatomy.

Unfortunately for James, her knee collided with another part of his anatomy. That was all the motivation he needed to stop sneaking peeks at her luscious breasts and help her to her feet.

The motivation to help her, however, was much easier than the act itself. He'd never be able to know just how it had all worked out this way, but somehow when his hands had found purchase on her body, they'd manage to do so in a way that lifted her skirts, exposing her lower half to the room.

Poor girl. He was rather embarrassed for her.

Or he would be if he wasn't in so much pain from where she repeatedly kept jamming her knee into his groin in her attempt to gain her feet.

With a grunt, he finally managed to push her off of him then helped them both to their feet.

“Charlotte,” Gareth, Lord Worthe said, making a vague, gesture to his chest and keeping his head lowered.

Beside James the flushed young woman looked down and let out a little scream. She spun around, offering the four men her back while her hands flew to her chest, presumably to tuck her breasts back into her bodice.

“Charlotte, what the hell are you doing here?” Holbrook burst out about three seconds later.

Keeping her back to them, she said, “I—I came to see Jane.”

“And you couldn't have done that by coming through the front door?” Holbrook thundered.

“I tried,” she said weakly, her back still to all of them. “Smithers said—”

“Did you tell him who you were?” Though Holbrook's question was for Charlotte, his eyes were impaling James.

“He told me to come back in the daytime. He didn't grant my type admittance.”

James inwardly nodded his approval of his butler's actions. Truth to tell, James' father had allowed enough lightskirts into Wintermore than had warmed Prinny's bed. When James had reached his majority and come into his title two years ago, he'd vowed to himself that that was going to stop with him.

“And just whose idea was it for you to climb up to your destination?” Holbrook's entire face looked as if it had just been carved from marble.

James still wasn't quite sure who Charlotte was to Holbrook or why she'd want to be speaking to Lord Worthe's wife, but he certainly didn't envy her.

“Jemma,” the young girl whispered, her lips trembling.

Holbrook's nostrils flared. “I'll go deal with her,” he said then turned to Worthe. “You take care of this.”

James hadn't been so uncomfortable in this very room since the time his father had accused James of stealing his mistress—which, just to be clear, he hadn't. It wasn't his fault she didn't wish to become afflicted with the pox and had fled Wintermore by horseback in the dead of night.

“Perhaps I—” James broke off, suddenly aware that Lord Ravenscar was still in the room, leering at the young lady. “Perhaps we, should go wait in the library,” he finished with a pointed look at Ravenscar.

“And leave Worthe alone with a woman of low morals while his own wife is in the house?” Ravenscar asked, lifting his eyebrow.

Lord Worthe's face grew dark red. “Mind your tongue, Ravenscar. My wife knows as well as you and everyone else in England that nothing will be happening between me and any other.” He pierced the man with his steely stare. “Specifically her own sister.”

Worthe's words shook James to the core. All the pieces suddenly fell into place—how both Holbrook and Worthe knew whom she was, why she'd be here to talk to Lady Worthe, why Holbrook was so furious. She was his sister.

Which meant…

Nothing.

And yet something about Lord Worthe's face told him it didn't mean nothing.

“Ravenscar, out,” Lord Worthe barked.

“But the lady…”

“Will be fine,” Lord Worthe snapped. He gestured to James. “She'll have his protection.”

Ravenscar's snort made James suddenly want to join the other two at throwing punches at him.

He clenched his fists so not to give into the temptation.

With one more long look at Holbrook's sister, Ravenscar dragged his feet to the door. “Enjoy yourselves. Pity I won't be able to—”

Bang!

“Thank you,” Worthe murmured, raking a hand through his hair.

James nodded, a little disappointed he hadn't flung the door shut sooner.

“Charlotte,” Lord Worthe said quietly. “Everyone is gone except you, me and Lord Wynn.” At her nod, he continued. “We need to settle this.”

“Settle what?” James and Charlotte asked in unison.

Lord Worthe ran his hand through his black hair again. “Your wedding.”

Before James could respond to such a proclamation, Charlotte whirled around to face them both, her cheeks still flushed. “I beg your pardon, what did you just say?”

Frowning, Lord Worthe said, “You two will have to marry.”

“Have to?” James echoed with a scoff. “I don't see why.”

“Because you were just rolling around on the floor of your library with Holbrook's sister,” Lord Worthe said.

“Excuse me, Gareth,” Charlotte snapped. “We were not rolling.”

Lord Worthe gave her a disbelieving look. “All right, you weren't rolling,” he conceded. “But it sounded kinder than to say what actually happened.”

“An accident?” James offered. “A rescue?”

“Yes, both of those do fit the circumstance, except…” Worthe blew out a deep breath. “Ravenscar…”

Dread filled James. Worthe was right, of course. Though he'd been innocent in everything that had happened, and Charlotte had been innocent in most of what had happened, Ravenscar would forever remember an entirely different tale. One filled with such vile and false details that Charlotte would be ruined.

He allowed his eyes to do a slow, thorough sweep of her. She was a beautiful young lady. Slim and petite. Fair skin and blue eyes, a stark contrast to her dark hair. He could certainly get used to looking at her and her womanly curves— No! He yanked his eyes away from her. She was Holbrook's sister for heaven's sake. And if that wasn't bad enough, she was a hoyden!

It might have been someone else's idea for Charlotte to scale James' house, but Charlotte didn't have to do such a ridiculous thing. If she saw nothing wrong with her actions tonight, how much worse would she behave when she was married and afforded more freedom?

“I don't think marriage is necessary,” James offered.

Lord Worthe looked unconvinced. As did Charlotte, he noticed. James narrowed his eyes on her. Had this been deliberate?

A thousand thoughts swirled through his mind. None of which were anything he wanted to actually put voice to.

“Have things been settled in here?” Lord Holbrook asked without ceremony, entering the room with all the grace of an untamed lion.

“Yes,” James said, at the same time Lord Worthe said, “No.”

Holbrook's eyes darted back and forth between the two men. “One says yes, and one says no.” He settled his eyes on his sister. “Which is it?”

Charlotte swallowed audibly, but offered her brother no answer.

“Wynn doesn't see the necessity,” Lord Worthe said in a diplomatic tone.

“Necessity,” Holbrook snapped. “My sister was just compromised!”

“And she would have been dead had I not intervened,” James retorted. It might not be what her brother wanted to hear, but it was the truth. All he'd done was save her from sudden death. It wasn't his fault her breasts had made an appearance. However, he doubted it be to his advantage to say such.

“I know.” Lord Holbrook's voice ripped James from his fog. The younger man fell into a defeated heap on James' sofa. “Had the whole thing happened with just the three of us in the room, I'd have merely blistered the ears of my sister and her chaperone. But—”

“Ravenscar,” James finished for him. Blowing out a deep breath, he looked over at Charlotte. His eye caught on her trembling lower lip.

Just then, she sucked it in and steeled her spine.

“No,” she said with harsh conviction. “I don't want to marry him.”

Well, at least they'd finally found something to agree on.

“Then you shouldn't have been acting a fool,” Holbrook said without a hint of compassion.

Pity for the girl built in James' chest. He'd never seen Holbrook be so cold and callous. Then again, if this was James' sister… Every muscle in James' being tightened. Beth was only thirteen, not yet old enough to be thinking about gentleman, but James was already prepared to rip a man apart who dared so much as look at her inappropriately.

“We'll marry next month.” James barely recognized his own voice.

“We most certainly will not,” came the shrill voice of the young woman James didn't think had an inch to argue. “Michael, I don't want to marry—” she waved her hand wildly in James' direction “—a stranger.”

“He's not a stranger,” Holbrook said easily. His face was now as relaxed as it had been when he'd arrived earlier in the evening to join James for a few days of cards and hunting. “He visited Holbrook Hall one summer.”

Charlotte stared at her brother.

James didn't blame her; he scarcely remembered his visit to Holbrook Hall when he was fifteen. Except the afternoon Holbrook had spent the day in bed recovering from an awful sunburn and James had gone for a swim in the pond. The cool water had felt refreshing and he was just starting to enjoy his swim when he heard the one sound every boy—and man—hates: giggles.

It took him about two seconds to find the source: a dirty little girl of no more than seven sitting next to all his clothes on the bank. His turning around to face her had only made her giggle more—and point.

He'd done his best to cover his family jewels, but it was too late. She'd already seen his baubles and had an unbelievable amount of questions.

Never before in his life had he been so embarrassed, and eventually he'd had to shout at her just to get her to leave. The next day it was his turn to leave Holbrook Hall. Apparently, it was in poor form to make the daughter of your hosting family cry.

Just then, recognition dawned on him. She was that sister.

And he'd just betrothed himself to her.

Whether Charlotte remembered their encounter thirteen years earlier or not, James didn't know. Nor was he in any hurry to ask. Instead, he stood quietly rooted to the floor seething, while Holbrook and Charlotte argued back and forth about the fate of her future as if James had absolutely no say in what would be his future, too.

“You're marrying him, Charlotte. I don't want to hear anymore of it.”

James would be lying if he didn't admit in the three weeks between the incident and their wedding, he didn't wonder more than once if she'd run away and jilt him at the altar.

But, just as Holbrook had convinced him, she hadn't.

She'd come to the church and blessedly hadn't dissolved into a fit of vapors during the ceremony as he'd also feared she might.

“Am I so intolerable that you have to scowl at me all the time?” asked the object of his thoughts.

James blew out a deep breath, relaxing his face for the first time since they'd entered the carriage. “I'm not scowling.”

Charlotte snorted. “And I wasn't just made to surrender my life to the most arrogant, toff in all the country.”

Yes, indeed, this would be a marriage matched in heaven…

CHAPTER 2

April 20, 1817

London

When Charlotte was eleven years old she'd once been so thoughtless as to ask her sister Jane if she had known that riding her horse that day was going to result in an accident that would paralyze her from the waist down if she'd have still ridden. Tears had pooled in Jane's hazel eyes and immediately Charlotte wished she hadn't asked. Hearing her sister's monosyllabic answer had crushed Charlotte's heart to dust.

Three years after that horrid night at Wintermore, not a day had passed when Charlotte didn't regret her decision to climb her way into Jane's bedchamber to ask a question that was so inconsequential Charlotte couldn't even remember now. And tonight as she sat in her brother-in-law's opera box, her feelings of regret were more than they'd ever been before.

Fortunately, her sisters and Michael had always made sure she was invited whenever they went anywhere in Town—something her own husband hadn't seen fit to do. A dull ache settled in her chest and she blinked away tears.

Gareth had paid a handsome fee to have the Worthe opera box reconstructed to allow room for Jane's invalid's chair to be able to fit between two of the permanent chairs so she shouldn't be made to sit on an end and be isolated. Charlotte blinked back more tears. Gareth truly loved Jane, and Charlotte couldn't be happier to know that. While Charlotte and Jane sat next to each other with Gareth on the other side of Jane, on the other side of Charlotte, where her own husband should be seated, was her sister-in-law Jemma.

Charlotte had never bothered to solicit details from Jemma or Michael, but the two had been married shortly after she'd married Lord Wynn. The difference was, those two seemed to enjoy each other's company.

Charlotte flashed them each a grateful smile. Catching sight of Michael and his working Adam's apple, she tore her eyes away from him. Not only had that night left her chained to a man who despised her, she'd somehow lost the one gentleman she'd always run to for help. Their conversations since then had been sparse and infrequent to say the least.

On stage, the performers found their positions and the opera started. While her eyes focused on the stage, a small portion of her mind couldn't seem to forget that on the other side of Michael sat an empty chair, the perfect symbol of her empty marriage.

“I do believe that was the best opera I've ever been made to sit through,” Michael declared when the curtain fell for the final time.

Jemma pursed her lips and playfully wagged a finger at him. “Don't undo your good deed of coming tonight by being loose with your lips, my lord.”

Michael reached forward and took her hand in his. He bent his head and lowered his lashes, then bringing her hand to his lips and brushing a kiss across her knuckles he said, “It'll be my pleasure to pay penitence for my misdeed, my lady.”

Jemma blushed.

Jane sighed at the romantic gesture.

Charlotte's lips curled in disgust.

“Are you ready, my love,” Gareth asked Jane.

“No,” Jane said, her brows knitting in confusion. “Don't we need to wait for it to clear out a little more so we can use the—”

“Danby,” Gareth choked, cutting her off.

Chills ran up Charlotte's spine. By some miracle she'd always been able to avoid her matchmaking relation. Her sister, Daphne, however… Charlotte bit her lip, an idea forming.

“He's not that bad,” Jane whispered in Charlotte's ear.

Charlotte blinked at her sister. “Pardon?”

“Your face looks like you've just discovered you were left alone in a lion's cage,” her sister explained.

Charlotte licked her lips and forced a laugh. “I was just thinking about the letter Daphne sent me last Michaelmas from Yorkshire”

Jane sighed. “Don't believe everything you read. Daphne was leaping heart-first into a romance with Mr. Lentz before Danby—” she swung her gaze to her husband “—and Gareth, got involved.”

A small dose of disappointment flooded Charlotte. For the best, she supposed. Danby, or the Duke of Meddlesome as Daphne had referred to him, might have helped her sister find her happily-ever-after, but Charlotte wasn't in a position to have such. And no matter how tempting it might be, she could never bring herself to ask her great-uncle to help her find a lover!

Flames licked her face and she tried as quickly as she could to dispel such an unsettling thought.

“Smile,” Jemma prompted Charlotte in her usual chaperone's tone.

Charlotte pasted a smile on her face that rivaled the other four in the box. The only genuine one belonged to the Duke of Meddlesome himself.

“How are my three favorite nieces and nephews?” the aging man asked jovially.

“Now, how would the scores of other nieces and nephews feel if they knew you—”

Danby ended Michael's question with a scoff punctuated with a thump of his cane. “Stuff it, boy. My favorites are who I say they are.”

“I'm sure his favorites are always determined by who he's in the room with,” Jemma suggested then flashed the older man a wide smile. “But we all know, I'm his real favorite.”

“Shhh,” Danby said, pressing a single finger against his lips, his eyes wide.

Jemma, Jane, and despite her earlier sadness, Charlotte laughed at his antics. Truth to tell, Danby had so many relations it was a wonder an octogenarian such as himself could even remember their names, let alone recognize them out around Town.

“Has Wynn gone to fetch the carriage?” Danby wondered aloud. “I was hoping to speak to him tonight…”

“He was unable to make it,” Charlotte said airily.

The duke frowned. “The man is harder to track than a fox.”

“If you need to see him, I can let him know.” Charlotte prayed he wouldn't ask that of her.

“No, no, my dear. I'll just schedule an appointment with his secretary.” The sour twist of his lips told them all just what he thought about having to do that.

Around her, Jane, Gareth, Jemma, and Michael engaged in a light chitchat with the duke. Charlotte smiled and nodded every so often. It was the best a young lady with a bleak future and an aching heart could do.

As had become his custom since he and Charlotte had settled into his London townhouse, James had waited in his study until his wife had left for the evening with her small army of relations, then he went to White's.

“Win a king's ransom tonight, Wynn?” Nathaniel, Lord Markham asked, falling into the empty chair opposite the table from him.

“Not tonight,” James said with a slight shake of his head.

“Pity. I was hoping to steal it from you.”

James lifted an eyebrow. “Steal, eh?”

“That's how it feels when we play cards,” Nathaniel said. He drained the last of his whiskey. “You're so awful at it, and all.”

Shrugging, James said, “Well, not everyone can make his fortune by being a cardsharp.”

Nathaniel laughed. “You always were a sore loser.”

“That's not all he is.” Ravenscar's voice behind James made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

James didn't hide his scowl as Ravenscar dragged a chair up to the table. All three had attended Eton together, not that having such a history together had made the trio the best of friends. Quite the opposite. James and Nathaniel had always been arm's-length acquaintances who verbally sparred, but meant no harm. Ravenscar…he was out for blood. Unfortunately, James hadn't recognized the man's true character until it was too late.

“…I think you'd better stop,” Nathaniel said, pulling James from his fog.

“It's no secret the man's wife detests him,” Ravenscar said.

“That might be,” Nathaniel agreed. He poked his lower lip out and nodded his head toward James. “And for good reason, I suspect. But must you voice it?”

“Yes,” James answered for the irritating man, sneering.

“You could have stepped aside and let me have her,” Ravenscar said.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you offer for her.”

“That's because you insisted I leave the room.” He smiled in a way that made James uneasy. “I'd have offered for her had I been allowed to stay.”

“Nothing honorable, I have no doubt,” James retorted.

“No.” Ravenscar snorted. “Why should I have? She'd already shown off her wares to everyone in the room. She's built to be a mistress, not a wife.” His smile grew. “And that's exactly what I'd have made her.”

James' blood thundered in his veins but he schooled his features to remain impassive. “If you ever speak of her again, Ravenscar, we'll be meeting at dawn.”

At that, Ravenscar laughed. “I doubt someone as proper as you would do something that your father might have done and sully your name.” He pushed to his feet and grabbed his felt hat. “I have a certain countess to go meet. So if you chaps will excuse me…”

“How do you do it?” Nathaniel asked as soon as Ravenscar had departed company.

“Do what? Make my wife hate me so?” James asked mockingly.

“No. I already have a theory about that,” Nathaniel said, flicking his wrist. “I meant how do you stay stoic when Ravenscar talks so…er…disparagingly about your wife.”

“He wants a reaction.” James idly ran his thumb along the edge of the table. Did Nathaniel think James enjoyed the man saying disparaging things about his wife? “If I were to give him one, he'd only continue.”

Nathaniel cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps you should think about that a little more, then you'll have the answer to your other question.”

Then, without another word of explanation, Nathaniel left the table.

CHAPTER 3

April 22, 1817

“A re you breeding?”

Charlotte inwardly cringed. Most ladies in polite society greeted their daughter-in-law's with a “hullo” or a “how are you today, dear?” Not Lady Wynn. No, this dowager had only one thing on her mind: an heir.

Charlotte forced a smile. “Not yet, I'm afraid.”

Lady Wynn twisted her lips in disapproval. “Perhaps you need some herbs. Then you'd be able to conceive.”

Or mayhap, it would help if your son would visit my bedchamber. “Perhaps,” she agreed. “I'll have Rummy take me to the apothecary this very afternoon and buy every herb he has.” She'd do it, too, then grin behind her teacup when Wynn received the bill.

She'd chastise herself for being so unkind, but… Well, three years of neglect hardens even the softest of hearts.

“That's a start, I suppose,” Lady Wynn said on a sigh. “You do hold your legs up like I told you, don't you?”

Heat flooded Charlotte's face. “Of course,” she assured the older woman. She'd tell her just about anything to settle the matter. If another year went by and Charlotte still hadn't presented Wynn with an heir, his mother might try to insist on coming into her bedchamber to make sure they were doing things right. Charlotte chuckled to herself. If it did come to that, at least then the woman could be assured it wasn't Charlotte's fault three years of marriage hadn't produced an heir.

“Try the herbs,” Lady Wynn repeated. Her face softened and she patted the red fabric of the settee. “How are you otherwise?”

Charlotte joined her on the settee and answered Lady Wynn's usual battery of questions. She was doing well. She enjoyed the opera. Of course she'd be at the Townson ball next week. She wasn't sure if Wynn would be in attendance, but she'd try to encourage it.

She knew he wouldn't come and Charlotte was sure that deep down in her heart his mother knew he wouldn't be there, either.

“If you don't mind my saying, Charlotte—” the older woman licked her lips “—you and Wynn have a peculiar marriage.”

Charlotte folded her hands in her lap. “I don't think it's so different than anyone else's in the Ton.”

“But your sister Jane and—”

“Have a love match,” Charlotte reminded her. “Wynn and I have an arrangement.”

“An arrangement is a good way to describe it,” the dowager said beneath her breath. “But even the others who don't have love matches attend the opera together.”

“Wynn has no interest in the opera,” Charlotte defended. She didn't know why she bothered to defend him. Her mother-in-law was right, even couples who openly disliked each other still attended balls and soirees and operas together.

“Dear, you must understand. People are starting to talk.”

“Starting,” Charlotte repeated, trying to hold her composure. She and Wynn had been feeding the rumor mill since they'd married.

“This isn't humorous, Charlotte.” Lady Wynn's voice held an edge Charlotte had never heard before. Was it irritation or desperation? Or both? “People are starting to speculate about you and my son and I won't have his good name bandied about.”

“Perhaps if you'd been more worried about the Wynn name being bandied about, you should have had this conversation with your husband so mine didn't have to act like a prig in order to make it respectable.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. It wasn't Lady Wynn's fault James was such a prig. Nor was it fair to blame her mother-in-law for her husband's transgressions. Shame flooded Charlotte, but before she could think of the right words to say, her mother-in-law was on her way out.

Charlotte weakly called after her, but Lady Wynn didn't stop and Charlotte didn't blame her.

“A note for you, my lady,” Dulcey intoned a while later, presenting her a silver slaver with a folded piece of vellum squarely in the center.

“Thank you, Dulcey,” she murmured, reaching forward for the note—her husband's preferred way of communication. She frowned. Her name was written on the outside of the vellum. Wynn never wrote more words than necessary, which included her name. There wasn't any other person in the house he'd be writing to, he'd said by way of explanation when she'd questioned him about it. “Do you know who sent this?”

“No, my lady. It arrived just fifteen minutes ago.”

Charlotte nodded and ran the tip of her index finger along her name. She didn't recognize the writing. Likely, it is a note from Lady Wynn, she thought as she flipped it over, tamping down her remorse.

Preparing for the worst, she broke the seal, flipped the vellum over, and began to read.

My Dear Lady Wynn,

Charlotte knit her brows. Who would style a letter to her that way?

'Twas a lovely opera last night, no? I must confess I didn't see much of the actors, as my attention was fastened on something else, or should I say someone else: you.

Charlotte's heart slammed in her chest. Hard. Should she be flattered…or terrified?

Sapphire silk, though beautiful beyond measure, is no comparison to the sapphires in your eyes, my dear. But then, that is my downfall, for to my eyes, you are stunning in everything you wear.

Gripping the paper as tightly as she could, Charlotte tried to keep her eyes from bulging right from their sockets. Was someone funning her or just being downright indecent? She tapped the end of her gloved index finger against the edge of the paper. Had she a husband who gave two bits bout her, she'd bring this to his attention at once. Or Michael. She grimaced. Michael might insist she marry this wretch, too. If having two husbands were legal, that is.

Gareth. It might take him a few days to find the identity of her secret author, but he'd at least have a heart and would offer her protection from…

I do hope to claim a dance—or to my good fortune two—with you next week at the Townsons’ ball.

Had she danced with him already? He wrote to her as if he were familiar with her. She racked her brain to bring to mind all of the dance partners she'd had over the past three Seasons. That was foolish. There were far too many for her to recall, but no one stood out to her as being so forward or interested.

Until then, I shall dream of having you in my arms again.

Again? So they had met. Hmmm. She didn't remember meeting anyone who seemed unsavory. Still, what is the meaning of this? She wasn't afforded long to puzzle it out when she heard the one voice that could ruin even the most joyous of moments: Wynn.

“Lady Wynn.” Her husband pulled to an abrupt halt just inside the drawing room. Pure, unadulterated shock was stamped on his face. “I wasn't expecting to see you,” he explained, recovering his features.

“Am I no longer permitted to sit in the drawing room?”

He frowned. “No, you are.” He ran his fingers through his thick, black hair the way he did every time he spoke to her. “I just assumed you were out with your sister.”

“I planned to visit her after luncheon.” She'd bring her missive with her to show to Gareth then. Instinctively, her fingers dug into the thick vellum and she pulled it closer to her.

Her husband stared curiously at what was in her hand, but Charlotte offered no explanation. His nostrils flared, a sign he actually wished to speak to her.

When they'd first married, she'd held hopes he'd soften his resolve toward her during one of these conversations. It didn't take long to realize that wasn't ever to be a possibility.

“I need to speak to you.”

“I was afraid of that.”

His frown deepened. “Must you always drip sarcasm?”

Charlotte lifted her chin. “Is it not better for us blasted females to drip sarcasm than tears?”

Wynn sat down in the wing-backed chair nearest to him and stared at her. “Sometimes I have the oddest feeling you enjoy our lifelong torture.”

“I hope that you beat yourself senseless whenever such a notion enters your mind.” She swallowed past her unease at being so forward with him. “I'd wager I'm more unhappy than you are.”

“I doubt that,” he murmured, then waved a hand through the air. “It's of no account. I don't think it's a contest anyone would be proud to claim the victor of anyway.”

Finally, something she could agree with him about. “What did you say you needed to talk to me about?” she prompted.

“I didn't.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn't expect to actually find you in here and I intended to leave you a message,” he said, tapping a folded piece of unmarked paper against his knee.

Charlotte stood and swallowed convulsively, praying her voice wouldn't waver with the tears that were on the verge of bursting forth. “Please accept my apologies for ruining another of your days.” She walked over to his rigid form and took the paper he held from his surprisingly loose grasp. “I'll try to remember not to leave my room when you're still home.”

“Don't be foolish. I didn't mean— Charlotte, come back here. We need to talk.”

Enough had been said already and she'd be damned if she was going to let him see her tears. She'd read his note in private and try her best to be the countess he expected her to be.

Or not.

Rage, mortification, and finally disbelief filled her when she closed the door to her room and read his note:

I NEED AN HEIR.

CHAPTER 4

J ames cursed himself for the catastrophe that had transpired in the drawing room. Had he known she was in there, he would have waited. No. That wasn't true. He'd have still gone in there, but he'd have handled it differently.

The truth was, he was less than a month shy of his thirty-first birthday. His apparent need for an heir, coupled with his mother's weekly reminders, had driven him to finally approach the subject with Charlotte. She was his countess, after all. Her brother was a viscount and her sister a countess, she knew her role. Still, he should have handled their meeting better. As it was, he hadn't even told her what he wanted.

He brought his hands to his cheeks; he blew out a deep breath and froze. Where was the note he'd been stupid enough to scratch out? He dropped his hands to his thighs and quickly felt between and underneath his legs. Nothing. He stood. Not on the settee. Reaching one hand into the breast pocket of his coat, he bent down to peek under the settee and frowned. Not in his pocket. Not under the settee.

He remembered having it…

A flicker of a memory flashed in his mind. Charlotte had walked over to him, spouting some nonsense apology and declaring she'd stay in her room like a petulant child. Had she taken the note? He honestly couldn't remember. He remembered holding it. He remembered her childish words and how it always amazed him that such a beautiful woman could have such a venomous tongue. But he didn't remember the fate of the note…

Likely she has it, he reasoned with himself. No matter. He didn't know how to actually tell her it was time for them to secure an heir. It would be better for her to read it. As a boon, she was already furious with him so if she took it and read it now, she could be furious about both things and not have a new reason to be angry with him tonight.

A small, hollow smile bent his lips. He'd never dreamed marriage would be so miserable, but he had to admit, he was starting to understand it a little better.

Seven hours later he wasn't so sure.

“Dulcey, has Lady Wynn returned?”

“No, my lord.” The butler confirmed James' fear.

“I should have forbidden her from leaving,” James muttered.

Dulcey snorted.

James pierced him with his stare. “Did you say something?”

“No, my lord.”

“Good,” James clipped. “I need my coat and hat. I'm going out.”

Ever the dutiful butler, Dulcey handed James his requested items and James was out the door.

James had never given it a thought one way or the other that he lived only six blocks away from his brother-in-law, but on this unusually cool, windy summer's day, he was relieved.

Squaring his shoulders, James stomped up the five steps in front of Worthe's townhouse and banged on the door.

Tanner, the butler, answered the door. “He's in his study, my lord,” Tanner said by way of greeting.

James bobbed his head and handed the butler his hat. He didn't come here to see Worthe, but it might be for the best to have Lord Worthe summons James' wayward bride.

“Ho there,” Worthe greeted, giving James a weak wave before turning back to the papers on his desk.

“Is this a bad time?” James asked from the doorway.

Lord Worthe shook his head. “Just need to settle this ledger, then I'll be joining my wife for dinner.”

“Just your wife?” James prayed Lord Worthe wouldn't take that the wrong way.

“Yes.” Lord Worthe flashed James a smile. “Have you lost yours?”

James frowned. “No.”

Lord Worthe chuckled. “She left here a few hours ago.”

Dozens of questions ran through James' mind. None of which he wanted to actually put voice to, but all of them he wanted the answers to. He nodded.

“She mentioned she needed to go to the apothecary,” Lord Worthe offered.

Apothecary? What the devil would she be doing there? He didn't realize he'd said the words aloud until Lord Worthe spoke.

“She said she needs herbs.”

“Herbs?”

“Seems to me she wants to get it right on the first try.”

Heat flooded James' face. “Did she tell you this?”

“She didn't have to.”

“Then how did—” James broke off. He really didn't want to know any more.

“Why else would she need herbs?” Lord Worthe said with a shrug.

“Yes, why indeed.” Shame flooded him at his words. He should never have written that stupid note.

“Unless…”

James started and narrowed his eyes on his brother-in-law. “Unless what?'

Lord Worthe steepled his hands in front of his chin then dropped them and gave his head a shake. “Nothing.”

“Is there something I need to know?”

“Need to know?” Lord Worthe repeated slowly, drumming his fingertips on his desk. “I'd say so. But—” he pushed away from his desk, put his feet up on the edge, and shrugged “—I doubt you'd care.”

The man's words rankled James. “She's my wife. Everything about her is my concern and if you know something I need to know, you'd better tell me.”

Lord Worthe lifted a finger and waggled it back and forth. “That's why I said you should know, but—” He twisted his lips and turned his head to the side.

James pursed his lips and walked over to the older man's desk, irritation swelling in his chest. “What the devil is—” His words died on his tongue when his eyes flickered over a piece of paper that he'd been certain he'd seen in his wife's hands just this morning in the drawing room. He picked it up and read it.

With each sentence he read, his pulse quickened.

“Who the hell sent this?”

“I don't know,” Lord Worthe said easily. “But I see it's safe to cross your name off the list.”

It took every ounce of restraint James had not to reach across the desk and pummel the irritating man. “No, I didn't write that,” he thundered. “And I'll kill the man who did.”

“Pity.”

“Pity?” James burst out, crumpling that confounded note. “Yes, it will be a pity for him when I cut off his—”

“No, pity for you that you didn't write it,” Lord Worthe said, casual as you please. “You should have seen the look on Charlotte's face when she brought it to me.”

“I send Charlotte little notes all the time,” James fired back. What kind of look had been on Charlotte's face at that…that…nonsense?

“Yes, you do send her notes,” Lord Worthe acknowledged, lifting up another familiar note and waving it before James' face. “The look on her face when she presented me with this one.” He shook his head, his lips thinning. “Not so attractive.”

James scowled at the man and ripped his note from the earl's hand. “Yes, well, me and this other man both have the same intentions with Charlotte. I was just more direct.”

“That might be true, but she's a lady, Wynn, not a mare.”

“I know that.”

“Then perhaps you should treat her like one.”

“I do.” James winced at his tone and collapsed into the empty chair beside him. “She lives in one of the largest townhouses in London, she has more gowns than anyone I know, she is welcome to come and go whenever she pleases.” He snorted. “She doesn't even tell me when she's leaving or coming home or shopping or how much she wants to spend. She does whatever the hell she wants.”

“And do you think that makes her happy?”

“I'm sure it does.”

Lord Worthe's expression didn't change. “Tell me, Wynn, does that make you happy?”

“What does my happiness have to do with anything? We only married because—”

“Never mind that. You two are married now and she isn't going anywhere. So, how can you make things more tolerable until you cock your toes up?”

CHAPTER 5

C harlotte hadn't felt so nervous since the early days of her marriage when she fully expected Lord Highhanded to come visit her bed any night. It took two months of dressing in a filmy nightrail her sister had insisted she order and nervously clutching the bedclothes in anticipation of his visit before she finally realized he would never visit her bedchamber.

Disappointment over never having a child of her own had left her melancholy at first, but she wouldn't be honest if she didn't admit she was somewhat relieved. A child would have been a blessed ray of sunshine in her dark world, but it would have only led to her absolute demise when Lord Wynn decided to separate her from her child and poison him or her against her.

Charlotte blinked back the hot tears that burned her eyes. She'd finally created a shell of a life that seemed tolerable to her for the rest of her life and now he wanted to ruin it. She twisted her fingers in the silk sheets and took in a deep breath. Surely he'd lumber into her room any minute now. He'd been rummaging around in his room for well over twenty minutes now. All he was required to do was remove his clothes, what could possibly be taking him so long?

She took in another breath to calm her nerves and smiled. The apothecary had sent her home with more than a hundred pounds' worth of some of the finest herbs and spices that could be found in the world. “This one will help with task,” the man had said, sliding her a bottle filled with what looked like dried grass. He picked up a bottle marked lavender and winked, “And so will this. Just put it on your neck and wrist and it'll help keep you relaxed. Use as much as you need.”

Charlotte needed more!

Releasing her death grip on her sheets she swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood. She padded over to her bureau and attempted to uncork the bottle of lavender with her trembling hands.

Scratch. Scratch.

Every muscle in her body stilled, her hair rising on end.

Is that his way of seeking permission?

Slowly, she turned toward the adjoining door and froze.

On the floor, just inside her room was a folded piece of unmarked paper.

Trepidation washed over her. Clutching the bottle of lavender as if it'd keep her safe from whatever was scrawled on that paper, she walked over to it and picked it up, then carried it to her bed. She needed to sit desperately. The bottle of lavender slipped from her fingers as if it weighed six stones. Charlotte spread her fingers and wiped her clammy left palm over the gauzy fabric of her nightrail, then transferred his missive to the other hand and wiped her right palm, but it did no good. Her blood pounded in her ears, her heart slammed in her chest, and a cold sweat broke out over her every pore.

Steeling her spine in fearful anticipation she carefully unfolded his note and then sat lifeless staring down at the two words that stared up at her:

I'M SORRY.

James stood stock-still, peering through a tiny crack formed when he'd eased the adjoining door like an idiot waiting for his wife's response when she read the note.

Would she have that wistful grin he occasionally caught her wearing when she didn't know he was across the ballroom? Would a wide grin transform her face the way it did when Jane came over to tell her about their other sister's new husband? Or would she squeal with delight like she did the time their nephew, Christopher, gave her a bouquet of flowers and declared Aunt Charlotte was his favorite person in the whole, wide world?

No.

None of those. Just a blank expression.

He frowned. Was she disappointed he wouldn't be visiting her room? He did a slow sweep of her delicious form, lingering a little longer than necessary at her breasts. His pulse quickened and his body hardened. If she was disappointed… No, he told himself. Not now that he'd just apologized to her for his earlier stupidity. If he went in there now with seduction on his mind, she'd be more furious than a horse with a bee under his saddle.

I'd only wanted to make her happy, he reminded himself. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be possible no matter what he did.

Just as quietly as he'd opened the door, he closed it. Then he went to his bed, flopped down on the feather mattress, buried his head in the pillows, and fighting the urge to release a savage battle cry that would wake the entire city, he went to sleep.

Tomorrow was a new day.

A new day, yes, but that didn't mean it was a better day.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are the most infuriating lady ever born?” James asked without preamble, when he came into the breakfast room and laid eyes upon his wife happily humming. Yes, humming!

“Only you,” she said in a sing-song tone. “Everyone else thinks I'm a perfect delight.”

James snorted. “That's because they don't know you.”

Charlotte pushed her empty plate away from her and stood. “Or perhaps it's because they do.” She shrugged and brushed past him.

Too irritated to bother with breakfast, James headed outside with no destination in mind.

Ten minutes later he was on Lord Worthe's doorstep. The man was married to Charlotte's sister, perhaps he'd have clues to the puzzle known as Charlotte.

“Didn't work,” James said, entering the earl's study.

Lord Worthe, not one to mince words himself, didn't look surprised or confused. “What did you say?”

“That I was sorry.”

Lord Worthe stared at him as if he expected James to add something to that.

“I don't have to apologize for wanting my heir,” James reminded him. “She knows she has a duty to my title. I was trying to be considerate.”

“Considerate,” echoed a voice behind James with a thump of his cane. “You have a lot to learn about ladies.”

Exhaling, James slowly turned to confirm his worst fear— the meddlesome Duke of Danby, Charlotte's great-uncle had joined their conversation. “Your Grace,” he greeted the older man.

“I suppose I shouldn't be expecting another great-great-grandson in the near future,” the man said, hobbling into the room. He sat down in one of Worthe's chairs with a loud groan. “Or ever.”

James crossed his arms over his chest. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“If you're apologizing to your wife for wanting an heir with the guise of being considerate for some unknown reason, it'll be a blasted miracle if you're able to get the deed done.”

Heat blistered James' cheeks, but he continued to hold the duke's gaze. “Perhaps if she wasn't my friend's sister it might be easier to bed her.”

“Poppycock.” Thump! “Gareth is better friends with Holbrook than you'll ever be and his wife is always increasing.”

“A state that is stunning on her, I might add,” Lord Worthe put in, grinning.

“Perhaps if you snuff the candles,” Danby said.

James cringed at the duke's suggestion. An image of Charlotte in that silk trimmed, transparent nightrail from last night formed in his mind. Neither then nor now did he give consideration to her being that young girl who'd been spying on him while he swam naked in the pond. No, last night had dispelled all reservations he'd held about her being Holbrook's sister and the last thing he wanted to do then was snuff the candles.

“See, your problem is now solved,” Danby said with a nod of his head.

“No it's not,” Lord Worthe said helpfully. He reached beneath his desk and opened a drawer. A moment later, a crinkled piece of vellum appeared. Lord Worthe extended it in Danby's direction. “Read this.”

The duke reached a shaky hand out to the paper and closed his wrinkled fingers around it. Silence engulfed the room as he brought it close to his face and read it. By the time he reached the end, his bushy, grey eyebrows were at the top of his forehead.

“You'd better shower her with baubles and endearments if you don't want a cuckoo to inherit your title,” the duke said matter-of-factly.

“Thank you for your assessment,” James said dryly.

“You're welcome,” Danby said with a smile. “Would you care for more of my advice?”

The word “no” was on the tip of James' tongue, but frankly, unless he wanted a cuckoo, he could use any advice being offered. “If you'd like to share it, I'll listen.”

The duke chuckled. “Pride is a damnable thing, boy.” He grimaced and repositioned himself in his chair. “You need to write her a letter.”

“I did,” James burst out.

The duke looked thoroughly surprised. “And?”

“She didn't give a hang.”

“What did you say to her?”

James shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Er…I apologized for being an ass.”

“You did?” The duke's surprised tone was most irritating. “And what did she say?”

“Wait,” Lord Worthe said, holding up a hand. “James, you need to tell him which ass-ish behavior you were apologizing for.”

Gritting his teeth, James glared at the man. Who would have known men could be such gossips? “All right.” James idly scratched his chin. “Yesterday, I wrote Charlotte a note telling her it was time…” They were titled gentlemen, they could take his meaning. “Then in the evening, I sent her another, apologizing.”

“Son, that has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” Danby said flatly, staring blankly at James. “I'm sure you already know why so I won't remind you of your faults—”

James bit the inside of his cheek. He felt foolish enough already, there wasn't any reason to admit that he didn't know what he'd done wrong!

“—what you need to do is write to her anonymously.” He waved that blasted piece of vellum around in his weathered fist. “Like this ambitious buck.”

“I don't think I can,” James said.

“Then have your valet write it out for you,” the duke said, shrugging. “I'm sure you pay him handsomely enough for him to pen a few lines to your lady and keep it on the quiet.”

Truth to tell, he couldn't ask Simmons, his valet, or Dulcey to write the notes to her. She'd recognize their handwriting. With the exception of the two he'd given her yesterday, he'd always had them or Baxter, his secretary, write the notes he sent her. “I don't know what to say to her,” he admitted at last.

“Tell her she's ravishing and has spectacular taste,” Danby said. “This chap told her he dreams of dancing with her. You can't use that now, but if you hurry up about it, you could come up with something to say to woo her.”

“Woo her?” A numb sensation enveloped James from head to toes.

“Yes, woo her,” Danby said in a tone laced with condescension. “Unless you'd like to spend the rest of your life trying to decipher just whose eyes are staring back at you every time you see your heir.”

James would be a liar if he didn't admit, if only to himself, that the duke's blunt words made panic build in his chest. He hated—no, detested—the very thought of being cuckolded.

If anyone was going to get the Ice Queen to melt in his arms and make passionate love to her, it would be him, damn it all.

He gulped down the hard lump in his throat. “What do you propose I do?”

CHAPTER 6

C harlotte stared at the heavy sheets of rain through the window of the drawing room. It had poured hard and heavy for two days now. Another day and she might go mad cooped up in this townhouse with only Mazie, the lady's maid Wynn had hired for her, for companionship.

She frowned.

“Good morning, Lady Wynn,” came her husband's voice. “How's the view this morning?” He walked over to the window where she sat and made a show of looking out the window.

“Dreary,” she murmured, then added beneath her breath, “The perfect reflection of my life.”

Wynn looked down at her, but didn't say anything. At least not with his lips, his brown eyes, however, bespoke of all the things rolling around in his head as they studied her. How unfortunate she'd never been able to grow close enough to him to learn to read them.

He grabbed the edge of a nearby chair and pulled it over near where she sat on the settee. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“Yes.” She gestured toward the window. “Can't you see I'm in the middle of them?”

The left corner of his mouth twitched. “Indeed. Any others?”

“I'm more of an 'off the cuff' type lady, my lord. I'm sure you recall our first meeting.”

“The pond? Yes. I remember it well.”

She knit her brows. “The pond?”

Wynn nodded slowly, his eyes dancing with humor. “The pond,” he confirmed. “At your house.” He winked at her. “Where I was swimming…”

Mortification cascaded over her. A vague memory of a summer’s afternoon when she was just a girl formed in her mind. She’d happened upon one of Michael’s friends swimming in the pond and had seen…had seen…him. All of him! The temperature of the room must have soared.

“Ah, so you do remember that day?” Wynn teased with a chuckle.

Unable to form a proper—or coherent—response, Charlotte nodded. So that’s what Michael had been alluding to the night she and James became betrothed. “I’m not sure which of our first meetings is more awkward.”

Wynn lowered his gaze. “That night was neither of our finest hours,” he offered quietly; the thickness in his voice hard to mistake.

“Finer than the ones that followed our wedding.” She shouldn't have said that, but it was too late and now it was time to ride out the storm she'd just created.

“I don't know,” he said in a casual tone that belied his taut cheeks and hardened jaw. “You were a beautiful bride.”

She could feel her eyes widening, but she couldn't do a thing about it. “Th-thank you.” Why was he complementing her? Did he think he needed to pay penance for yesterday? Her blood ran cold. “I'll give you your heir,” she forced herself to say. “You don't have to—” she waved her hand around in the air— “act polite.”

Was it his imagination or had she put emphasis on the word act?

No matter. The fact was he did need to act polite. Whoever the fool was who was writing Charlotte notes, wouldn't be fool enough to allow her to conceive when he realized she was a virgin and that his role would be discovered with her increasing belly. Still, the very idea of her in another man's arms was too much for him to bear.

“I'm not acting,” he said as smoothly as he could.

“Oh, so then you've learned some gentleman's manners when I wasn't looking?”

Despite the tension choking the life right out of him, James laughed. “You could say that.” He blew out a deep breath. “While I'm relieved to know you're willing to give me an heir, I don't think you want to.”

Charlotte's hands flew to her cheeks and her mouth formed a perfect O. “Oh dear, I wonder how I gave it away?”

“I think it was the icy glare you wore the whole ride home after our wedding.”

Shock flickered over Charlotte's face. “I was just trying to match your cold, brittle expression.”

“Well, it's high time we melt the ice, Charlotte.”

“For the sake of securing your heir.”

James couldn't tell if that was a question or a statement. “Not only that, but it's damned uncomfortable around here in such a chilly atmosphere, wouldn't you say?”

Wynn's words brought her up short. He was right, of course. The past three years had been nearly intolerable, another three decades of it would be hell on earth. “A—all right.” She smoothed her skirts. “How do you suppose we do that?”

“Spend more time together,” he said without hesitation, an annoyingly handsome grin splitting his face.

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.” What am I saying? So many times she'd wish he'd accompany her around Town if only just to staunch everyone's gossip and speculation, but now that it was a possibility, she wasn't so sure. “You don't much care for me, I think you'll care even less for me after a day of shopping for hair ribbons.”

Wynn looked unaffected. “I thought perhaps we could go see a play…but if shopping for hair ribbons is how you'd prefer to spend your time, I'm game.”

A play sounded lovely. But to be seated next to a man whose only reason for being there was so she'd lift her skirt and he could get his heir off her, then abandon her again when the task was done—not so lovely.

Charlotte wondered how to kindly decline his offer for a play and just encourage they go take care of his duty to his title, but she was saved when Dulcey walked into the room, murmuring his excuses for interrupting.

“A letter has arrived for you, my lady.” He extended the slaver in her direction.

Charlotte quickly grabbed the letter then tucked it beneath her.

“Have you found a new way to read letters?” Wynn wondered aloud.

Nervous anticipation built within her. “I'll read it later. Right now I'm talking to my husband.”

He roared with laughter. “Don't mind me,” he said when he'd recovered. “I'll still be here when you finish reading it.”

“What a pity,” she muttered with smile.

He returned her grin and crossed his ankles. “Go on. I'll wait.”

“I'll read it later.” The last thing she wanted to do right then was read a letter from her…er…pursuant? Admirer? Lover? She wasn't sure what to call him!

“What if it's urgent?”

She ground her teeth. “It's not.”

“How do you know? Did you send it to yourself?”

“Of course not! Why would I send a letter to myself?” Hysteria was creeping into her voice and she was powerless to stop it. “Do you think I am so starved for companionship that I'd resort to writing letters to myself and posting them so I'd have something to do with my day?”

If James were any other man, he'd box his ears. To his mind, Charlotte had the life any young lady could possibly want: limitless funds and the freedom to do exactly as she pleased—within reason, of course. He'd never once considered she'd felt lonely or abandoned.

He was a cad. No, that was too kind of a word for him. A worse term didn't immediately come to mind, but whatever it was, it perfectly described James.

“I'm sorry.” Those two words held more sincerity than he'd ever had before. “I—I—I—” He what? He was sorry he'd given her everything he thought she'd need to be content? He couldn't say that. “I only meant to suggest that it'd be impossible for you to know that your letter wasn't urgent without reading it unless you were the one who wrote it,” he said hoarsely, his mind racing to puzzle out a way to fix the bigger issue at hand.

“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flushing a fetching shade of dark pink. “Right. I'm sure it's from Jane. If anything was urgent in her household, Gareth will fix it in a trice.”

Another dagger lodged itself in his chest at his poor treatment of her. “Just as well, I suppose.” The roaring fury inside of himself was a stark contrast to his words. He needed to do something to start fixing his own situation and without delay. Somewhere in the back of his mind an idea formed. “Go ahead and read it,” he encouraged. “I need to go see my man of affairs soon and will be traveling in that direction. We can share a carriage.”

“That sounds perfect. I'll just go up to my room and change first.”

“The letter,” he prompted, instinctively reaching his hand forward to stay her before she bounced off the settee.

“I'll read it upstairs,” she said.

James cocked his head to the side. “Is something afoot?”

“Afoot?” Her tone wavered and her brows knit in a way that made him want to wrap her in a reassuring hug. “No. Why would anything be afoot?”

“Because you're treating a letter from your sister as if it contained the King's deepest secrets,” he mused.

“It's personal.”

He froze. Personal? Was it possible that it truly was a letter from her sister tucked under his wife's derriere and not the one that he'd hired a messenger to deliver? No. He was certain it was the one he'd written to her. “All the more reason to go see her then.” He pushed to his feet and extended a hand down toward her. “All right, my lady, we shall not delay.”

Charlotte stared at him as if he were cracked. Which, clearly he was. With a sigh, she gripped the letter with her left hand and put her right hand in his.

“Does your sister always address her letters to you in that manner?”

Every drop of Charlotte's blood drained to her toes. She'd barely glimpsed the words scrolled on the front of the missive when Dulcey had presented it to her. Now she had no choice.

To the Lovely Lady Wynn

“Of course.” Charlotte forced a laugh, tightening her grip on the paper. “She thinks it's amusing.”

“You do not?”

Charlotte licked her lips. Did he suspect something? Oh, of course he did! “I suppose so,” she lied.

Wynn nodded and offered her his arm. Hesitantly, she placed her hand in the crook of his strong arm. Did he plan to escort her to her room? A shiver ran down her spine. He was in fine form today. Drawing room chitchat, apologies, shamefaced expressions, and now escorting her to her room? Perhaps his physician had recently informed him his life would soon be coming to a close and he needed to get his affairs, including his heir, in order.

She peered up at him under her lashes. He didn't look unwell. But neither had Father before he passed.

“If you need to visit my bed this afternoon, we can just do so now,” she blurted, unsure how else to extend the invitation.

Wynn pulled to a stop, fire flashing in his eyes—the one reaction she could read without training or hesitation. “Why? So you'll be free to go visit your lover later without fear of presenting me with a bastard?”

Every particle of air left Charlotte's lungs with a swift whoosh and by its own accord her left hand connected with his cheek. Well, it would have had there not been a piece of vellum in her grip. “How dare you!”

“How dare you?” He pulled the paper from her hand. Lifting it up out of her tip-toed reach, he wrenched it open, tearing the paper along the wax seal. “Dear Lady Wynn, the Countess of My Heart. Rouge on your lips is like a beacon in the night,” he read in mocking tone. Sneering, he shook her hand off of his arm and thrust the paper back in her direction.

“Wynn, it's not what you think,” she said, blinking back tears. “Please, let me explain.”

CHAPTER 7

J ames didn't want an explanation; he wanted a full decanter of whiskey. What the hell had he just done?

He wanted her to confide in him so he could have a reason for them to spend time together in discovering the identity of the mystery writer, not fling accusations at her and reduce her to tears. Not to mention build up more of a hatred toward him.

But why wouldn't she confide in him, damn it? Her continued resistance to open, let alone acknowledge, the letter in his presence led him to the only logical conclusion: she was enjoying this flirtation, and the very thought drove him mad.

“I don't know who sent that,” she said, reaching for his arm again. Her grip was so tight it would be a miracle if she didn't leave a bruise. “Another letter, one far more indecent arrived earlier this week…”

James fought the urge not to scowl at her comparison of his letter to the original pursuer.

“…I don't know what I might have done to encourage the first letter, and I haven't even left the house since then so I know I didn't do anything further to encourage the second.” She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “I promise, Wynn, I'd never do anything to dishonor your name.”

James fisted his hands in his pockets. Deep down, he knew that to be true. Other than the events that led to their betrothal, he'd never seen Charlotte behave in a way that would invite gossip. “Why didn't you come to me with the first letter?”

“I—I—” Her throat worked. “I didn't think you'd want to be bothered with it so I asked Gareth to help put a stop to it.”

Her words were what he'd expected to hear, but that didn't stop them from delivering the final blow against his resolve. “I'm sorry.” He cleared his throat to hide his raw emotions. “Was he of any help?”

She shook her head. “It's only been three days.” Her lower lip quivered and she caught it with her teeth. “I'm sorry.”

James nodded numbly. It was he who ought to be sorry. Sorry for not being the husband to her he should have been from the start. Sorry he'd made her feel alone and that she had to run to her brother-in-law to fight her battles. He reached his hand toward her face and cupping her right cheek with his hand, brushed away the tears on her cheek with his thumb. “I have an idea.”

“Y—you do?”

“Don't act so surprised.” He offered her a slim smile. “One forms every now and again. Of course I usually have to spend the following week abed with a headache, but it does happen.”

Charlotte's eyes crinkled and a giggle sputtered from her lips. “Sorry,” she said, covering her mouth with a resounding pop.

James waved a hand in front of his face. “I think you should write him back.”

“Pardon?”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “You don't have to act as if I suggested you present yourself to him naked.”

“Didn't you?”

James took a lock of her dark hair and wrapped it around his finger. “No. I said write to him.” He tucked the tendril of her hair behind her ear. “There's a difference.”

“Truly? I had no idea.”

“With sarcasm such as yours, it might be for the best that you're not meeting him naked.”

Charlotte lifted her hand as if she might swat his shoulder then suddenly dropped it back to her side.

James refused to allow disappointment at her sudden change of plans to cast a shadow upon the progress they'd made in the last ten minutes and took a step back then dropped his hand to his side. “All right, the Countess of Hearts, go pour your heart out to your Lord Smitten.”

Frowning, Charlotte said, “What do I write to him?”

James nearly laughed at her innocence. “The same kind of nonsense he's written to you.”

“You want me to have an affair?”

This time, her innocence wasn't quite as charming. “No. I just want you to write to him. Eventually he'll give himself away and when he does I'll rip his limbs off and beat him senseless with them.”

A moment's reservation flared up in Charlotte. She'd already promised her husband that Lord Smitten, as Wynn referred to him, meant nothing to her and promised she wasn't pursuing a lover. Was it necessary for Wynn to maim the man?

Yes, yes, it was. A man like Wynn wouldn't easily let this pass. His pride wouldn't allow it.

“What do you want me to say to him?”

Wynn shrugged. “Whatever you want.” He frowned down at the missive. “Perhaps you could ask him when he saw you wear rouge and we'll have our first clue.”

“Do you think he'll tell me?”

“If all he can do is compliment your lip color, he's simpleton enough.”

Charlotte wasn't as convinced, but if responding to her Lord Smitten would persuade Wynn that she wasn't about to bring scandal down around their ears, she'd do it. Now, if only she could think of what to say to the man to entice him to respond to her with clues to his identity.

Four hours later, she had finally penned the perfect forty-one words.

“Would you like to see my letter?” she asked her husband, coming into his study. She halted, suddenly uncomfortable. Never before had she stepped foot in Wynn's study. Nor had she even seen the inside before. Usually the door was shut or only slightly ajar, not allowing someone passing by much of a view. “Um…” She placed her letter on the top of the bookcase next to her. “I'll just leave this here.”

“No, no,” Wynn said, standing. He waved her over to where he stood behind his desk. “Come, Charlotte. I don't bite.”

Charlotte swallowed and forced her feet to move forward. “Here.” She extended the letter toward him.

He didn't take it. Gesturing toward one of the chairs, he said, “Would you like to sit?”

No. “Have I done something wrong?”

He frowned. “No. I just thought we might chat.”

“Chat?” Had she heard that right?

Wordlessly, Wynn came around the front of his desk and gripped the backs of both of the wing-backed chairs that faced his desk. Looking straight at Charlotte, he began dragging the chairs in her direction. “If you won't come to me, I shall come to you.”

A nervous giggle caught in Charlotte's throat. Did he truly expect them to just chat?

Wynn stopped and turned the chairs so they were at a forty-five degree angle to each other. He sat down in one and patted the blue velvet cushion of the other.

Apparently so.

Charlotte obeyed. “Here,” she said, trying to give him the letter again.

Wynn pushed the edge of the letter. “No, I don't want to read it. I'm sure whatever you wrote will get that fool to spill it.”

Chills ran up Charlotte's spine and she stiffened. “Are you saying only a fool would wish to compliment me?”

Wynn's brown eyes flared wide. “No!” A light pink Charlotte had never seen before touched the top of his cheeks. “Charlotte.” He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “I know I haven't been the husband young girls spin their dreams about, however, I didn't mean my statement as an insult to you in the least.” He reached his hand forward almost as if he were about to touch her, then pulled his hand back and clapped it over his knee. “You're a beautiful, desirable young lady and if that simpleton could only think to compliment the lip color you occasionally smear on your lips—” his left shoulder went up in a lopsided shrug— “he's fool enough to give himself away.”

Charlotte gaped at him. Had he recently suffered a brain fever she was unaware of? “Th-thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Wynn stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles, then folded his hands over his waist. “Is there anything you'd like to talk about?”

Yes, he'd definitely suffered some sort of ailment. “No.”

Wynn pursed his lips and made a series of noises. “Hmmm.” He glanced out the window. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”

Charlotte shook her head.

“Tomorrow?'

Why was he suddenly so curious? “Lady Atherton is hosting a musicale tomorrow night,” she offered.

“Brilliant.” Wynn grinned. “I shall be delighted to accompany you.”

“Will you be just as delighted to accompany yourself? Because I do not plan to attend.”

Wynn's face went blank. “No. The delight-ment ends when you're not on my arm.”

“You're jealous!” Charlotte burst out. Immediately, she brought her hand up to cover her mouth, but it was too late.

“Perhaps a little,” was Wynn's simple reply. He stood, not meeting her eyes, and then straightened his coat. “Now if you'll excuse me. I need get back to the correspondence Baxter sent over. I'll have Dulcey send a man over to let Lady Atherton know we will both be attending the musicale tomorrow night then.” He reached for her hand and brushed a kiss across the top of her knuckles. “Until then, I'll be looking forward to tomorrow night.”

“And the letter?” she asked, unable to pull her hand from his.

“Give it to Dulcey. He can give it to the messenger the next time Lord Smitten sends you a missive.”

CHAPTER 8

J ames was jealous, dammit, which was bad enough. But for Charlotte to know it… Well, it made him just that much more vulnerable. Did she think it an amusing tidbit to share with her family? Or did it make her more drawn to the man behind the letters?

That reminded him of what he needed to do at present.

“Dulcey,” he said.

“Yes, my lord.”

“What is your post here?”

“The butler, my lord,” Dulcey said with a bow and a stoic expression.

“Good, then. I won't need to remind you.”

“No, my lord.”

“You shall bring all of the countess' correspondence to me until further notice.” James held out his hand.

As if he knew exactly what James wanted, Dulcey excused himself for a moment and came back with the letter Charlotte had written to Lord Smitten. He placed it in James' open palm.

“Thank you,” James murmured. “Now send a man over to Lady Atherton's to let them know both Lord and Lady Wynn will be attending their musicale tomorrow night.”

“Yes, my lord. Anything else?”

“No. You're dismissed.”

“And you're besotted,” came a deep voice from behind James.

James spun on his heel. “Danby,” he greeted through a brittle smile, catching a glimpse of a somewhat amused-looking Dulcey from the corner of his eye. Why the blazes did the duke keep sneaking up on him? James lifted his eyebrow and Dulcey sobered.

“Wynn, I was afraid I'd have to hire a Bow Street Runner to track you down.”

“Well, then I guess I just saved you a small fortune,” James said dryly.

Danby harrumphed and tapped his cane on the floor. “I'll need every pence to purchase a more comfortable pair of boots with how long you make a man stand.”

Reluctantly, James invited the man back to his study, then grimaced the whole way as Danby groaned and grumbled about the long walk and James' hospitality, or rather, the lack thereof.

James knew the man was just trying to be cantankerous. On more than one occasion he'd been behind the man as he climbed three flights of stairs at the opera house without muttering a complaint.

“Please, make yourself comfortable and I'll ring for—”

Thwack. The door to James' study flew shut by the end of Danby's cane. “No need to order anything I don't plan to stay long.”

“Are you sure?” James feigned overwhelming concern. “You have to make the same trek to leave the house. I'd hate my face to be the last you see before you meet your maker.”

“I'm sure you would,” the duke muttered, crossing his arms.

“Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing,” James said thoughtfully. “I just might be lauded a hero.”

“The way you're trying to be one in Charlotte's eyes,” Danby asked, a smug expression on his face.

“I'm not trying to be her hero.”

“Just her husband,” Danby concluded.

James remained silent. There was no use in refuting the man's words and they both knew it.

Danby uncrossed his arms and idly polished the top of his cane. “For as much as all of my young family members pretend to hate me, they all have one other thing in common: happiness.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I think it's time I help you and Charlotte.” The twinkle in Danby's eyes made James' stomach flip.

“Thank you for your concern, but I don't think we need any help.”

Danby sorted. “Part of your statement was correct—you don't think.”

Were he anyone else, James would have delivered him a facer. “If you're done insulting me, I have somewhere else I need to be,” James lied.

“Begging for entrance at your wife's bedchamber door?” Danby frowned. “Wynn, I don't mean to be so harsh, but gads, boy, you've been married to Charlotte for three years and I cannot abide to go another Season seeing the two of you— Wait, that's just the thing. I never see the two of you anywhere!” he blustered, thumping his cane again. “I'm an old man, I may not have many years left and it will torment me from the grave if I know I exited this world without making sure my favorite niece wasn't happy.”

James doubted Charlotte was his favorite, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. If he didn't do something, and quick, he'd have the Duke of Meddlesome, as James had heard him oft referred to among some of Charlotte's cousins, poking around his house more than he already was.

“Your Grace, please rest assured, I have this well in hand and you'll be able to go to your grave—whenever that might be—in peace where Charlotte is concerned.”

“Yes, I know,” the man said quickly, too quickly. “Our conversation this afternoon has convinced me that I must make sure of it myself.”

“Pardon me? Not five minutes ago you were accusing me of being besotted with her, then you suggested to help me gain her esteem, and now you're declaring that the only way for you to die in peace is for you to meddle where you're not needed!”

“Welcome to the family, m'boy,” Danby said, tipping his head toward James, then without another word, he quit the room.

James poked his head out the door of his study, noting how quickly—and quietly—the old codger made his exit.

As soon as the man was out of his line of sight, James pulled out the missive burning a hole in his chest.

Dear Sir,

Flattery does not do justice to my knowledge that you've taken notice of me. Dare I ask where it was that you lost a little piece of your heart upon glimpsing me in my green dress?

Your Lady Fair

James gripped the edge of his desk, his mind reeling. Charlotte had been willing to show him this? How much more provoking would it have been had she known he wouldn't see it? He wouldn't think about that now, he'd write her another letter.

CHAPTER 9

C harlotte took a step back and took in her appearance in her full-length mirror. From her perfectly coiffed hair to her perfectly pressed purple silk gown all the way down to her cream slippers Charlotte was dressed to the height of fashion and should have all the confidence of a queen.

Unfortunately, she did not.

She forced a wider smile that resembled a grimace more than anything else.

“Mazie, can you have Lord Wynn informed that I won't be able to go?”

“And what reason would you have him believe?” asked the man himself, poking his head into her bedchamber.

Charlotte started and her hands flew to her chest. “You frightened me.”

“My apologies,” he murmured. “The door was open so I assumed…”

Charlotte wasn't sure how much she liked this new, more familiar version of her husband.

“Did Lord Smitten pour his heart out to you again today?” Wynn asked as soon as the carriage door was closed.

Yes, this more familiar Lord Wynn would take some time to get accustomed to. “No.” She flashed him a smile. “Did he send one to you asking for your blessing?”

“No, he did not,” Wynn said in mock-indignation, shocking Charlotte to the toes. “Was that not the response you were expecting?”

Charlotte shook her head.

Wynn's lips formed a thin smile. “You'll find out a few more surprises about me, if you'll give me a chance.”

Numbly, Charlotte nodded. He was trying. Genuinely trying. “I'm sorry. I'll try to control my tongue.”

“And change what I enjoy best about you? You wouldn't dare!” Wynn's lips thinned and he crossed his arms. “Never mind that. Of course you would.”

Charlotte kicked his knee with the toe of her slipper. “You're incorrigible.”

Wynn's hands flew to his chest. “I am?”

“Now who is the one dripping sarcasm?” she asked, wagging a finger at him.

“I learned from the queen.”

Charlotte grabbed the sides of her skirt and bent her head down.

Wynn laughed at her antics. “Is my queen ready to go be serenaded by London's finest musicians?”

Charlotte choked on her laughter. “Don't repeat that or it'll be obvious to everyone in the room you've never attended one of Lady Atherton's musicales.”

Wynn helped Charlotte down from the carriage. “Should I have brought cotton?” he murmured.

“I'll let you ponder that while we wait for the performance to begin.”

Yes, he most certainly should have brought cotton.

A whole bale at minimum.

The screeching.

The scratching.

The clanging and banging.

The missed notes.

The notes that went on and on for measures without seeming to end only to abruptly stop with a long, high-pitched squeal of the horn.

Oh, the misery.

James looked longingly at the little puff of white cotton in his wife's ear. His fingers itched to pluck it from her ear and cram it into one of his own.

Just then, she turned her head and winked at him then faced the musicians and smiled widely at them.

In the front of the drawing room, the little row of musicians stood and took their bows, then another group came up to play. James wanted to groan. How much more torture could one man endure?

To his utter surprise, the quartet who took the stage possessed far more talent than the last. It didn't hurt that their instruments contained strings rather than horns. Another boon in their favor was that they had a pianist off to the side who banged so loudly on the keys, it was hard to hear much from the two violins and the oboe. Where had this pianist been when the other group was torturing the masses? She could actually play her instrument.

James narrowed his eyes on the pianist. She looked vaguely familiar, but James couldn't see her well enough around the pianoforte.

Around him, everyone started standing and clapping.

James looked at Charlotte to make sure she knew to stand but she was already on her feet, clapping and smiling in a way that could make a man weak in the knees.

“Thank you all for coming,” Lady Atherton said. She made a sitting gesture and everyone took their seats. “Let me introduce all of our musicians.” The older woman rattled off a list of names, waving her bejeweled hands wildly about. “And not without notice, Lady Holbrook on the piano,” she said with a little starch in her tone.

Ah, that's who she is. Charlotte's hoyden chaperone who had convinced her to break into James' house that fateful night. He craned his neck around to see if he could spot Holbrook. It didn't take him long. He was sitting right behind James with a very amused look stamped on his face.

James nodded to him. “Holbrook.”

“Wynn. I hardly recognized you sitting there next to my sister.”

“You mean my wife,” James said, piercing the man with his stare.

Holbrook cocked his head to the side. “Are you claiming her these days?”

Charlotte did not bring enough cotton. Claiming her. What exactly did Michael mean by that?

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” she said, whirling around in her chair so she could see both of them. “If you must speak about me, could you wait to do so until I'm not within hearing distance next time?”

“I'm sorry, Charlotte,” Michael said automatically.

“I'm not,” Wynn declared, meeting her eyes. “Is it considered unkind to let him know that you're my wife?”

“Do you truly want her to answer that, Wynn?” Holbrook whispered with a slight chuckle.

Wynn wanted to box the man's ears. “I've made a lot of mistakes where Charlotte is concerned these past three years but I can only make things right from today forward, I cannot undo the past. Reminding me of it does not change it.”

Those words were more for Charlotte's benefit than her brother's, she was certain of it.

Michael's eyes darted back and forth between Charlotte and Wynn. “I do believe that's a good thing,” he said quietly. He offered Charlotte an encouraging smile, then winked.

Charlotte felt her cheeks warming, but refused to break eye contact with her husband. “Did you enjoy your first musicale, my lord?”

“I daresay I savored every note twice as much as you did,” he commented. “Shall we visit the refreshment table?”

“O-of course.” Didn't he want to leave and go insist on his husbandly duty now that he'd suffered a musicale with her and all but declared himself in front of her brother? She placed her hand in his open palm and allowed him to help her to her feet, then placed her hand in the crook of his arm.

“Would you like a sliver of spiced cake—” Wynn scanned the sparsely covered table, frowning “—or two bites of spiced cake?”

Charlotte twisted her lips into an overdone frown. “That's a hard choice, to be sure. Hmm.” She made a show of bringing her free hand up by her face and tapped her index finger against her jaw. Sighing, she said, “I do believe I'll settle for the sliver of spiced cake and pray I don't regret not selecting the two bites of spiced cake.”

“Indeed,” Wynn said with a slight chuckle. He handed Charlotte a plate with a piece of cake the size of two fingers on it. “What would you like to drink?”

“A teacup of lemonade.”

Wynn's eyes narrowed to slits and he slowly turned his head in the direction of the drink table and groaned. “Yes, there seems to be significantly more lemonade in each glass than the thimbles of champagne.” He shook his head and it sounded oddly like he muttered something about the Athertons being the cheapest people in all Christendom.

“I usually take two,” she admitted.

“Only two?” His incredulous expression made her nearly lose her composure. “Do you mean two dozen?”

“Now, now,” she chastised, wagging her finger at him. “We wouldn't want anyone to think the Earl and Countess of Wynn are greedy, would we?”

“No, but it wouldn't be remiss for us to expose that we're not mice who've come to steal a nibble in the kitchen.”

“So you're the one Cook has been complaining to Mazie about.”

Wynn shot her a sheepish smile. “I'm afraid you've caught me.”

“Have you replaced me so soon, Wynn?” pouted a young woman with more brightly colored feathers in her hair than were on a rooster. She came up beside Wynn and ran her crooked index finger along his jaw. “I haven't seen you about Town this Season. I was afraid—” She broke off and made a show of blushing and biting her lip.

An odd discomfort settled over Charlotte and she tried to pull her hand from the crook of Wynn's arm.

Wynn's large hand covered Charlotte's and he gave her a slight squeeze. “Lady Heloise,” he said stiffly. “May I present to you my countess?”

Something was different about his tone, but Charlotte couldn't place it before Lady Heloise pursed her lips and cut her eyes at Charlotte. “I must be going,” she said with a sniff. “Oh, Lord Crestwood, it's so nice to see you here…”

“I think it's time for us to go,” she whispered.

Wynn sighed and obliged her.

Neither said a word to the other as they bade Charlotte's family goodbye.

“Lady Heloise wants me to marry her daughter,” Wynn said without preamble as soon as the carriage lurched forward.

“Her daughter?” That was the last thing Charlotte expected him to say. “Isn't she still in leading strings?”

“I don't know.” Wynn shrugged. “I never bothered to ask. I already have a wife.”

“But what of a lover?” Immediately she wished she hadn't asked that. Not only was it a question wives never asked their husbands, she truly didn't want to know.

Wynn's large hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers. “No,” he said quietly. “Only a wife.”

CHAPTER 10

C harlotte was a bundle of excitement by the time she reached the door to her bedchamber. Would he join her? Did she want him to? Tingles scampered down her spine. A matter of days ago she'd have allowed him entry, but wouldn't have invited it for any other reason than to get it over with. Now? She bit her lip. His earlier words, as good as a declaration of his faithfulness, echoed in her mind. Though it was common that most gentlemen kept mistresses and she assumed the same for Wynn, knowing that he hadn't had meant more to her than anything else he'd said the last few days.

But did that mean she was ready to share intimacies with him?

Wynn's soft chuckle brought her to the present. “Have no fear, this is where I bid you goodnight.” He lifted her hand and brushed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. “Goodnight, my lady.”

Charlotte could no more pull her hand from his than she could recite the alphabet backward at that very moment.

Wynn's arm reached behind her and opened the door for her, then he released her hand.

Heart slamming in her chest, Charlotte padded into her dimly lit bedchamber.

“My lady,” Mazie whispered from where she was fidgeting in the chair positioned near the fire. “He sent you a letter.”

“Wynn?” Charlotte said without thinking, another thrill of excitement running through her.

“No,” her maid said with a slight giggle. “Your beaux.”

“Oh.” She forced a smile. “Where is it?”

“Over there.” Her lady's maid said, anxiously pointing toward the bed.

“Why is it on my bed?”

“Because that's where Dulcey instructed me to put it.”

“Why would he do that, I wonder.”

“Because that's where the messenger instructed him to put it,” Mazie explained. “It arrived only ten minutes ago.”

Charlotte was not as amused by the whole thing as Mazie was. She picked up the letter and mindlessly fingered the edge. “I wonder if Wynn is in his room.”

“Why, so you can show it to him and give him nightmares about his wife presenting him with a bas—” Mazie broke off, her face flaming as red as her hair. “Just open it.”

Charlotte flipped the letter over and broke the seal.

My Dear Lady,

How splendid you looked this evening, adorned like a queen—my queen. I could gaze upon you all day and night and never grow weary.

Charlotte frowned. Again, all he was doing was complimenting her appearance. Did he have no substance? Or worse, assume she didn't?

She set the letter down on her nightstand. There wasn't any reason to read anymore of that claptrap.

“Mazie, help me get ready for bed.”

When her maid had helped her out of her dress and into her nightrail, Charlotte climbed into bed, her eyes falling on the open letter. With a sigh, she plucked up the vellum and tried to focus her tired eyes on the words. But alas, she was too exhausted from her evening and his compliments too tedious…

James' anticipation at her reaction to his second letter threatened to overtake him. Finally, unable to bear it another second, he eased the adjoining door open just enough to peek inside. Instantly, his eyes found Charlotte. She wore only a crimson silk nightrail, reclining back against her pillow—her eyes were closed and his letter rested on her chest.

He didn't know how to respond to that. Should his heart clench with excitement that she'd taken his letter to her bed or should he be insanely jealous of himself? Probably the latter. For truly, what man would want to lose his wife to a figment of her imagination fueled by himself?

With a sigh, he closed the door and made his way to his own bed—not that he'd be able to sleep.

The first words out of his wife's mouth the following morning only added to his agony…

“Wynn, I need to speak to you.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said with a low, sweeping bow.

“I think you need to respond to him.” Charlotte plunked down the missive he'd had Dulcey deliver to her while they were at the musicale.

Feigning confusion, James slowly lifted the paper. “Why?”

“Because I don't know what to say to that…that…” she placed her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. “I don't even know what to refer to him as.”

James slowly read the letter he'd sent her.

My Dear Lady,

How splendid you looked this evening, adorned like a queen—my queen. I could gaze upon you all day and night and never grow weary.

Perhaps you could find it in your heart to grant me such a pleasure.

“Apparently he doesn't know what to refer to himself as, either,” he suggested, handing her back the unsigned letter.

Charlotte frowned. “That's not helpful, Wynn.”

“James,” he corrected. “I hate it when you call me Wynn.”

Charlotte blinked. “You do?”

“Yes. It makes me want to look over my shoulder to see if my father is lurking there.”

“But everyone calls you Wynn.”

He wanted to laugh at her innocence. “Yes, most do. But my wife shouldn't.”

Slowly, Charlotte nodded. “A—all right, James. What should I do about his indecent request?”

“I'd tell him to bugger off,” he grumbled. She clearly wasn't as impressed with his attempt to woo her as he'd hoped she'd be.

“I'm afraid that would ruin his untarnished image of me,” she said with a sniff. “Then again, he might expect as much from me after being married to you for so long.”

James couldn't tell if she was teasing or if she was angry at him. Forcing a shrug, he picked up his fork. “Perhaps you should tell him how awful I am and that you pray he will come rescue you then.”

How could he be so cold and unconcerned?

Charlotte tamped down that niggling thought right along with any warm feelings she'd begun to sprout for him. “Thank you for the suggestion; that is precisely what I'll do.”

Twenty minutes later, she marched all the way from her room to Dulcey. “See that Lord Wonderful's messenger gets this when he delivers my next letter of love and admiration?” Lord Smitten might be how James referred to the man, but if he agreed to rescue Charlotte, he'd be wonderful, indeed.

Dulcey kept an expressionless face, but she knew his eyes well enough to glimpse the laughter alighting them.

She winked at him then took her leave.

Walking back to her room, she passed James, ignoring him and his arrogantly arched brow.

It took every ounce of self-control James possessed not to immediately go to Dulcey and demand Charlotte's letter.

Instead he waited…fifteen minutes.

Sending the door to his study slamming shut with his foot, James hastily tore open her letter to Lord Wonderful as he'd overheard Charlotte refer to him.

To My Dearest Admirer,

Your words are like a balm to my wounded soul. I dreamt all night of what it would be like to grant your request.

Your Lady Fair

James wanted to scowl and would have had he not been so amused. Flopping down at his desk, he reached for his quill.

My Dear Lady Fair,

Dare I pray your details were as delicious as mine? For I could hardly sleep for the thoughts of you and what I long to do with you were we granted but an hour alone.

Your ever-faithful servant

Though still a virgin at four-and-twenty, Charlotte blushed fiercely at his scandalous insinuation.

“Has he just pledged his undying love to you?” James wondered aloud from where he stood in the open door of the drawing room, leaning against the doorjamb with his left shoulder.

“Not at all.” She smiled at him and fanned herself with the missive. “Though, I do believe it might involve love—” she turned her head to the side “—or at least lust.”

“And that makes you giddier than a simpleton, I see.”

She shrugged. “At least he's not simpleton enough to wait more than three years to make such an advance.”

“And that's why he's Lord Smitten,” James admitted with a self-deprecating grin.

“Indeed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to…er…”

“Go arrange for your loss of virtue?”

If his words affected her at all, she hid it well. “Just don't forget you're the one who suggested it.”

Two hours later James was staring down at another missive from his wife.

My Dear Besotted,

Only an hour? Would you then grow tired of me just as my husband has?

Your Lady Skeptical

Tired of her? Is that what she thought he was? He leaned his chin against his steepled fingers and sighed. Of course she did. He hadn't done anything to make her think otherwise and now wouldn't be the time or she'd know he was the one behind the letters. Tomorrow, he thought. They'd been invited to Gareth and Jane's house for a dinner in honor of Charlotte's sister Daphne and her husband Aaron visiting from Yorkshire. He'd show her then just how attracted to her he was.

But for now…

My Dearest Lady, the Claimant of my heart,

Your husband is an unworthy fool.

For I could never grow weary of your company a moment short of sixty years. Alas, all I could ever request is an hour. (Your husband may be an unworthy fool, but he knows how to swing a rapier…or so I've been told.)

Your humble servant

Charlotte swallowed convulsively. Was he genuinely requesting an assignation? Passion and morals warred within her. She'd never admit it to anyone, but she'd always struggled with being envious of Jane, Jemma, and now Daphne who had husbands who loved them and enjoyed bedding them. What would it be like to be held and kissed and touched by a man who could think of nothing else than taking her to his bed? Oh, but for one night to know the secrets of passion and be tangled in its sheets.

But what about James? Her throat tightened. He might not be fond of her or even attracted to her, but that didn't mean he deserved to be cuckolded, did it? He is making an effort with me, she reminded herself, then frowned. Every time he'd opened his mouth since this morning he'd said something off-handed, almost encouraging her to pursue a relationship with this man!

My Dear Sir,

You must know my husband well—better than even I do, I am afraid.

I fear that an hour wouldn't be possible—

Charlotte abruptly stood and walked to the window. The sun was sinking in the sky; soon it would be time for dinner with James. Good. She needed time to think before she responded to this last letter.

“Is something troubling you?” James asked from across the dinner table.

“Only you,” she retorted with a smile.

James flicked his wrist. “Well, if that's all it is, I suppose everything is as usual.”

“Indeed.”

The footman set down their plates in front of them.

“Have you heard anymore from Lord Smitten?”

Was that sarcasm she detected? Ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat at his jealousy, she said, “Of course. He is quite smitten.”

“Is that so?” he drawled.

“I know that's hard for you to imagine, but there seems to be at least one man in London who'd enjoy me warming his bed.”

James froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he lowered his fork back to his plate with a soft clink. “I didn't think ladies were supposed to desire their husband's attention in such a manner.”

“Is that the only reason you haven't expressed any?”

Something in the far back corner of James' mind told him that any potential happiness he and Charlotte could have together hung on his answer.

Unfortunately, there wasn't an answer he could give her that wouldn't potentially dash it all. The plan. Yes, that was the answer, he should stick to his earlier plan to woo her at her brother-in-law's house like they'd had at the musicale before Lady Heloise ruined it, then when they got home instead of ending things at the door to her bedchamber, show her just how much he did desire her. That's what would be for the best, not saying the wrong thing now.

“Would you like for me to have such an interest?” he asked, praying his voice didn't give him away.

“Of course not!”

James scoffed, then quickly coughed to cover it up. Deny it all she wanted, she was attracted to him. He bit back a smile. Yes, his plan tomorrow just might work.

CHAPTER 11

C harlotte frowned down at the half-written missive she'd begun last night before dinner, still no closer to knowing what to say to Lord Smitten now than when she'd started. The fact was, if James truly wanted to push her to give him an heir, he could do it and she had no option but to agree. He didn't have to try to create any sort of connection to her but he had.

Even if he had been beastly the day before. Nonetheless, she owed her loyalty to her husband—even if it meant living her life with a chronic heartache.

“Are you feeling well?” Mazie asked between brush strokes.

“Of course,” Charlotte lied. She allowed her maid to help her dress, and then went to Jane's house to help her get ready for Daphne's arrival in the afternoon.

Truly, there was nothing for Jane or Charlotte to get ready nor did they particularly need to oversee the servants as they made the preparations Jane had ordered, but if Charlotte didn't leave her house, she just might do something she'd regret: brain her husband or give into her temptation and respond to Lord Smitten's scandalous offer.

No. She wouldn't even think of it.

“Would you like to go lie down?” Jane offered, her brow puckering.

“I'll be all right,” Charlotte assured her, praying it was true.

Jane gripped the wooden handrails on the sides of her invalid's chair and positioned herself closer to Charlotte. “What's troubling you?”

Charlotte hesitated only a split-second then everything, absolutely everything about the events of the past two weeks tumbled from Charlotte's mouth.

“Well,” Jane said, her smile growing. “It sounds to me as if Lord Wynn has become besotted.”

Charlotte frowned a little. “I don't.” She stood and took a few steps, then turned back to her sister. “I thought so, too—” she shrugged and started pacing again “—but yesterday…”

“He's jealous,” Jane said simply.

“I thought so, too,” Charlotte agreed again, turning back toward the window. She took four steps. “But then why would he encourage that I start an affair?”

“Because he's a man.” Jane's simple answer made Charlotte burst into laughter.

“Indeed.” Feeling much better about the whole thing, she resumed her seat beside Jane. “What should I do?”

“Seduce him.”

Again, Jane's simple answer made Charlotte erupt in laughter. Or at least she would have, if she wasn't overcome with nervous-excitement. “How do I—” she lowered her voice, lest the walls grow ears and mouths “—seduce him?”

“Well, considering what you've told me about him not having had intimacies in the past three years, it shouldn't be too hard,” Jane said dryly. “You could wear any number of those nightrails I had the modiste make for you and invite him into your room.” She wagged her eyebrows. “Or you could just let yourself into his.”

Charlotte's cheeks warmed. “What if he doesn't like that?”

Jane stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. “Then you'll know he must enjoy being a eunuch and you should consider responding to your admirer.”

Jane was right and Charlotte knew it. “Thank you for the advice. I shall try it tonight.”

“Good,” Jane said, patting Charlotte's knee. “Now, go home and select your finest gown for this evening and your sheerest nightrail for tonight.”

Always an obedient younger sister, Charlotte did as she was bade.

“You look stunning,” James said when Charlotte entered the drawing room dressed to go to Jane's for dinner.

“Thank you. You look rather dapper yourself.” It was true. Clad in a royal blue coat, overlaying a red waistcoat, white shirt crowned with an immaculately tied cravat boasting an emerald stickpin in the middle, James was to the height of fashion and she couldn't even bring herself to more than glance at his dove breeches!

“I do hope dapper doesn't mean you think I'm becoming a dandy,” James said, taking determined steps in her direction. “Because, I am not.”

“No,” she breathed in agreement. “Nobody would ever accuse you of such.” Not that it was a bad thing, mind you, but for a man such as James who had lived his entire majority concerned about his image and reputation, she understood his concern: he wanted everyone to know he took his title more seriously than vice and fashion.

“Good, because I'd rather spend my attention on other things,” he whispered, his lips so close to her ear she could almost feel them.

Charlotte's breath caught and she licked her lips nervously. Was he planning to seduce her? Another wave of excitement made her skin tingle.

“Shall we?” James flashed her a wide, dazzling smile and offered her his arm.

The tension crackled between them the whole way to Jane's house. Of course, there wasn't enough time for it to die down with the way James sat next to her, pressing the length of his leg against hers. Then because sitting so close made it hard to press his leg against hers without turning his shoulders at a strange angle, he reached his left arm around her—in the name of needing to keep her close for protection, mind you.

By the time she exited the carriage at Jane's, she was ready to climb right back up into the seat, go home and change into her nightrail and lose herself for the rest of the night, buried in his spicy scent and silk sheets.

“Oh, Charlotte!” Daphne said, wrapping Charlotte in a tight hug before she was even fully in the drawing room.

Charlotte returned her younger sister's hug then looked to the handsome man behind Daphne. She assumed it was Aaron Lentz, Daphne's husband. Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Daphne made formal introductions of both Charlotte and James to Aaron.

“You had an enjoyable trip, I presume?” James asked the couple, placing his open hand on the small of Charlotte's back.

It sounded oddly as if Jane, from the side of the room, murmured something about Charlotte and James' enjoyable trip. Fortunately, no one else seemed to hear her and Charlotte winked at Jane.

“We had a most enjoyable trip,” Aaron agreed with a quick grin.

Beside him, Daphne blushed a fierce red. Apparently James and Charlotte weren't the only ones with certain activities on the brain.

Around her, the room buzzed with voices and chitchat as Jane and Gareth and Michael and Jemma all visited with Daphne and Aaron, asking them questions about married life and Yorkshire.

Though James' hand seared her skin through her layers of clothing, her eyes were fixed on Daphne and Aaron. She'd only corresponded through letters with Daphne since she'd decided to get married without warning last Michaelmas. Daphne had declared over and over how happy she was and how in love she and Aaron were. Seeing them together, however, only confirmed it—and more. Daphne's face practically glowed and Aaron's did the same. Everywhere Daphne moved, Aaron's eyes followed. Daphne had written to Charlotte that he was older than her, but to see them together, it was impossible to believe that such a thing made any sort of difference.

The butler came to announce dinner and the couples were off to the dining room.

Damn but James was the luckiest sod to ever step foot in England. Charlotte was beautiful; he already knew that. But she was breathtaking when she smiled like that and there was no mistaking it, her smile was genuine as she visited with her sisters and Jemma, the four of them laughing about this then that.

Dinner is an unfortunate and tedious affair when a man has seduction on the brain.

How prudent that James be such a man. And one with his wife's brother staring at him and lifting his eyebrow in silent question every two minutes, no less.

Doing his best to ignore the duke, James made conversation with the other guests, but easily lost track of the conversation when his attention was stolen by his wife and her dainty foot which was currently navigating its way around his calf. He casually looked over at her. She was talking to Jane, but what she was saying James didn't know, nor did he care. He turned his attention to Gareth and shook his head. Blasted man was staring at his own wife, too. In all likelihood, Aaron was probably just as distracted by his. What curse did these Cavanaugh ladies possess that could entrance their husbands so?

James might never understand it, but neither would he question it. Watching her red lips move as she spoke to her sisters, he could think of little else. Would they be soft? Would they yield under the pressure of his? Would she allow him to taste her mouth? He shifted, suddenly beyond uncomfortable in his current position. His eye caught Holbrook's and he quickly jerked his attention to his plate, but not before he heard Holbrook's knowing chuckle.

James scowled. How was it so obvious to everyone how much he desired Charlotte? What of Charlotte? Had she determined how he felt about her yet?

The way she hardly looked at him—yet continued to torture him with her toes left him conflicted and by the time dinner was over, James had to know. Now.

“In here,” he murmured against Charlotte's hair, guiding her toward a closed door in the hall. Quickly, James opened it and pulled her inside, then closed it as quietly as he could. It was a closet. Perfect. They'd again been at the end of the line so he doubted anyone would notice their absence for a moment or two.

A moment or two was all it'd take for James to determine the truth of it.

Without a word of explanation, he snaked his arm around Charlotte and pulled her tightly against him, reveling in the way her full breasts felt pressed up against his chest, then he bent his head—

James' kiss was not what she'd ever imagined.

It was warm.

It was soft.

It was delicious.

His left hand held her body against his while his right came up to cup her cheek, his lips still on hers with a gentle pressure she'd never thought could be enjoyable. Slowly, all the starch left her body and she felt like nothing more than a boneless heap, kept upright only by his strong embrace. His kiss changed a little, though she couldn't determine how exactly, but he seemed more intent and determined.

She loved it.

Coming up on her toes and twining her arms around his neck, she tried to give him all he demanded and take just as much.

James' tongue coaxed her lips open at the same time the door to their darkened room opened.

“When the two of you decide you require some air, we'll be waiting in the drawing room to play a game of whist,” Michael said, humor filling his tone.

James brushed a kiss across Charlotte's forehead and whispered he was sorry, presumably for them being caught by her brother. “We'll be there when we're ready.”

“Take your time,” Michael said, still not looking directly at either of them. “But just so you're aware, another guest has arrived and it wouldn't do for the gossip mill to start turning.”

“We're coming,” James bit off.

Just then, it was as if time stood still…

“Excellent!” boomed a voice from the drawing room. Danby. “I should be expecting a few more branches on the family tree by Michaelmas. And when I say a few, I mean four.”

Charlotte took his meaning. The old duke was grouping her and James in that count. Not to mention he—and everyone—knew what they'd been doing. Instinctively, Charlotte pressed her head against James' chest. His strong arms engulfed her and held her close.

“It'll be all right,” he murmured before quickly releasing her with one arm and pulling the door shut behind her. “We'll stay here until he's gone.”

Charlotte choked on a giggle. “I think they already know we're in here.”

“Exactly.” He said before covering her lips with his again.

What had reduced James to acting like a green lad, kissing his wife in her sister's closet, he'd never know. And at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care, either. All he wanted was her. To taste her. To hold her. To touch and kiss her. To make love to her until sunup…

But not here in her sister's coat closet!

Reluctantly, he pulled back. “Let's go,” he panted.

“Go?”

James was drawn by the confused tone of her question and kissed her again, a measure of pride building at being able to kiss his own wife senseless. “Home,” he murmured between kisses. “To bed.”

CHAPTER 12

A nyone who encountered the Earl and Countess of Wynn that night would have sworn the two had a love match and were the most indecent two nobles in London.

All the way back home, their lips and hands were all over the other.

By the time they entered the house, Charlotte had somehow divested James of his coat and waistcoat and Charlotte's gown was scandalously unfastened.

Neither cared and both ignored the curious expressions of the staff as James carried her upstairs and all the way to his bedchamber.

“Perhaps you should ring for my maid,” Charlotte said, feeling suddenly nervous.

“I'll be your maid.” James' nimble fingers started working the buttons on the back of her gown. With every inch of skin he exposed, her awareness heightened until she was standing before him in only her shift. “You're beautiful.”

Charlotte sent him a seductive smile. “Do you plan to give me the same opportunity?” she asked, with a slow, lingering sweep of his body.

With far less grace than he'd used in undressing her, James began to yank and pull at his clothes until he stood in only his smalls. Beautiful wasn't typically a word used to describe gentlemen, but if he were a statue—which, he certainly could be a model for with that broad chest, chiseled stomach and sculpted thighs—that word would be perfectly appropriate.

“Magnificent,” she said, taking in as much of his form as the single candle and veiled moonlight allowed.

Seeming not to hear her, James closed the gap between them again and his lips came down on hers with a kiss she was beginning to crave.

She wound her arms around his neck, digging her fingers into the back of his hair, her breasts pressing against his strong chest.

“The bed,” he said, his breathing ragged.

Charlotte nodded, unable to even think a syllable of protest.

James lowered her against the thick, feather mattress. “I'll be right back,” he said, standing. “We've both waited a long time for this. We should light the candles.” He sent her a wolfish grin that made her insides flip. “All of them.”

Charlotte flushed. She didn't think this was something people did with all the candles lit. But now that he was suggesting it, standing almost naked in front of her, she couldn't see a reason why not.

Next to her, James lit a match, illuminating his face and the night table next to the bed.

Immediately, James' blew it out, but not before Charlotte glimpsed the little stack of papers on his nightstand—all written in her hand. Her blood turned to ice. Mortification and anger swirling within her.

“Perhaps—”

“Light the candle, James,” Charlotte said in a tone as frosty as her blood.

“I can explain,” James said.

His offer of an explanation made her feel more the fool. She hadn't made a mistake. Her gut clenched painfully and she clamored to get out of his bed. “I need to go.”

James' strong hands covered her shoulders. “Let me explain.”

She pushed away at his hands, blinking back tears.

He didn't release her. “Charlotte.”

She wriggled in his hold. “Let me go, please,” she said on the verge of hysteria. How could she have been so stupid? He'd played her the fool! And she'd fallen right into it.

With a sigh, James released her and took a step away from the bed to allow her to leave. “Charlotte, I can explain.”

“I'm sure you can. But I don't care to hear it.” She swiped at the blasted tears that had spilled onto her cheeks and moved to sidestep him and leave.

He moved in front of her. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

His hoarse tone and statement made her laugh bitterly. “No, just make a fool of me.”

“No,” he said sharply. “I'm the one who was being made to be the fool.”

“No, you weren't,” she shot back, hating the way her voice wavered. “You knew what was going on the whole time. I, on the other hand, was encouraged to write letters back and forth with someone I didn't know until I was—” She broke off another round of tears clogging her throat.

“Until what?” he prompted, his tone was as impossible to decipher as his expression in the dark room.

Charlotte ignored him and went to side step him again.

He moved in front of her. “Until you what?”

“Leave me alone,” she said between clenched teeth, stepping away from him again.

He moved with her.

She stepped to the side again and again he blocked her.

Everywhere she stepped, he moved right in front of her as if they were the last two pieces on a chessboard moving one space at a time, but neither able to end the other's misery.

“Stop!” Charlotte threw her hands into the air. “If you must know the truth, I had been giving consideration to his request.”

James didn't say anything, which only stoked Charlotte's ire. Did he not care she was considering taking a lover? Or did he secretly hope she'd have agreed so he could shame her publicly and have reason for a divorce? Her heart leapt into her throat. How could she ever have trusted him? Either version of him?

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” she demanded angrily. “Do you still despise me so much for how we met that you'd go through so much trouble to drive me away so you might have your precious heir with someone who wasn't as detestable as me?”

“No.”

James' mind reeled. This wasn't how he expected her to react when she found out the truth. Actually, that wasn't true. He hadn't given any thought to how she'd react. He'd hoped he'd have been able to charm her enough as himself that she'd never know the truth of this. He'd have gladly never brought it up and he doubted she'd have, either.

None of that mattered now, she had found out and if he didn't think of how to fix this—and quick—he'd lose her. Lose her. The words hit him like a punch to the jaw. Since when did he even care if he lost her? That doesn't matter, only that you will lose her. The realization only made him more ill at-ease.

“Charlotte, I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“Well, whether you meant to or not, you did.”

Her words were the final blow to his heart. She'd always been so strong, holding her own to him and never showing weakness.

“I'm sorry. I know I cannot undo what I've done, but I did it with only the best of intentions.”

Charlotte scoffed.

James released a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. “When I saw that first letter, I—I—I didn't know how to react,” he admitted softly. “It was the same day I'd so foolishly informed you I needed my heir, and when Gareth showed me what you'd received in the post and described your reaction, I didn't know what to do other than hire a Bow Street Runner to find him so I could unman him myself. But then Gareth suggested I write to you.” He swallowed. “You have to admit Jane and Gareth have a much better marriage than we do, so I took his advice.”

“Gareth and Jane know about this?”

James fisted his hands at the betrayal he heard in her voice. She must think everyone was trying to play her the fool. How wrong she was! “Yes, but—”

She sobbed.

“Charlotte, this wasn't meant to hurt you.”

“No, then why did you do it?'

“Because I thought it'd give us something to do together,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Do together?”

“Discover the identity of Lord Smitten.”

The way she recoiled told him that was not the answer she wanted to hear.

James reached for her and she pulled back, taking the last bit of his heart with her. She'd never forgive him, he knew this now, and there wasn't any reason to keep her here any longer.

Without a word, he stepped aside and watched as the woman he loved walked away from his room and him.

CHAPTER 13

C harlotte had no fingernails left by the time the clock chimed a decent calling hour, at which point—after six hours of waiting—Charlotte let herself into Jane's bedroom.

“Why did you let him make a fool of me?” she burst out when she saw her sister.

“He didn't make a fool of you,” Jane said dismissively, a little blush stained her cheeks. “We've all been there and understood.”

“Not the closet.” Charlotte threw down all of the unsigned letters she'd received. Now they weren't so anonymous, nor as endearing. “You knew James wrote them.”

“Yes, I did,” Jane confessed, her soft expression unchanging. “And I would have told you what I knew yesterday, but…”

“But?” Charlotte prompted when it became evident Jane didn't intend to finish her sentence.

“It didn't seem like it was important. You had already determined that you were going to seduce your husband, there wasn't any reason for me to mention this and ruin things.” She reached for Charlotte's hand. “I suspect that's why he hadn't mentioned them, either.”

“No, he didn't mention them and he probably never would have had I not found them right before—” She choked on a sob, her face burning with fire. “We were just about to…er…”

“Join,” Jane supplied for her.

Charlotte nodded. “And I saw my letters on the nightstand beside the bed. Then he tried to hide them.”

“Why do you think that was?”

Charlotte sat beside her sister, for as angry as she wanted to be at her sister, she just couldn't hold onto it. Not with Jane. “To make a fool of me. To embarrass me. To lord this over my head.”

Jane shook her head. “None of that. You didn't even do anything wrong,” she said with a slight shrug. “He encouraged you to respond.”

“At first, yes,” Charlotte admitted. “But he only did it so he could—”

“Form a relationship with you,” Jane cut in. “I'm not privy to his thoughts so I don't know what his exact plan from the beginning was, but the outcome was still the same: the two of you have an opportunity to begin again. Every unhappy couple I've ever seen would be happy for such an opportunity.”

“But why didn't he just tell me he wrote them?”

Jane arched an eyebrow at Charlotte. “Did you give him an opportunity to explain last night?”

Shame burned Charlotte's face. Her memory of last night wasn't the clearest as she'd been so numb by the revelation, but she did remember him asking for the chance to explain—and she'd been too hurt and embarrassed to listen.

Jane patted Charlotte's forearm. “Your silence speaks volumes, Charlotte.” She squeezed. “And so does his.”

Charlotte swallowed and met her sister's eyes. “How?”

“I know the two of you did not get off to a good start. I also know that to some his change of heart might seem sudden, but I believe it is genuine. I also believe the reason he didn't tell you he was the author of those letters was the same reason he chose to be the author of them: he wants to protect his heart, too.”

Too. That little three-letter word held more power than Prinny himself. It implied what Charlotte had never considered before: she loved her husband. How was that even possible? He'd been so…difficult. Difficult, yes, cold even, but he'd never actually been cruel. He'd never put a hand on her. He'd never had a mistress or spoke of a by-blow. He'd never even raised his voice to her. He'd merely kept his distance, which likely had as much to do with her keeping her distance from him as it did with him not being initially attracted to her or impressed by how they found themselves betrothed.

The question was— what was she going to do about it?

James stared blankly at the pile of letters on his desk. He'd been sitting there all day it seemed and hadn't moved an inch. There was no reason to. He'd made a hash of things with Charlotte and now nothing else mattered. He'd have snorted had he the energy and desire to do so. A fortnight ago he'd have laughed himself silly at the very thought that he'd be so broken over losing her favor.

Did he even ever have her favor?

The memory of Charlotte melting into his arms and returning his kiss without abandon the night before filled his mind.

Damn.

“My lord, a letter has arrived,” Dulcey said, entering the room.

James gestured to the stack of unopened letters already decorating his desk. “Just put it there. Thank you.”

Dulcey pursed his lips and removed the letter from the slaver with his gloved hand and put it down directly in front of James.

“My father would have threatened to throw you out without a reference,” James said tightly.

Dulcey remained stoic. “I'm sure the lady would write one for me,” he said then turned and left.

James grumbled irritably. Loyal butlers were hard to find, he'd ignore Dulcey's impertinence this time. But if it became a habit… Well, it wouldn't, he'd make sure of that.

With a sigh, he snapped up the unmarked missive Dulcey had gone through great lengths to be obstinate in his delivery of. Frowning, he leaned back in his chair and broke the seal. Immediately, his pulse tripled when he saw that familiar pen.

If I truly am the Countess and Claimant of your Heart, meet me in the earl's chambers.

James was off his chair so fast it toppled backward. Charlotte was in his room? Paying little heed to anything or anyone in his path down the hall and up the stairs to his room, James flew through his townhouse and to his chambers. He gripped the knob and threw the door open, then froze.

Charlotte heard James' heavy boot falls thunder through the halls and froze. She'd been far more confident an hour ago when she'd given Dulcey her letter with the direct order to give it to him, no matter what he said. As soon as he was out of sight, she'd donned a filmy red nightrail and gone to his room to wait on his bed, fully aware that he might not read her missive and she might be waiting until he came to bed that night, and if that's what she must do, she'd do it.

“James,” she said, still paralyzed.

A strangled sound came from James' throat, his eyes fastened on her form.

“You came.” What a stupid thing to say.

He nodded, his throat working.

“I'm sorry about my reaction last night.” She studied the floor in front of her. “I should have heard what you had to say and I'm sorry that I didn't listen. The truth is—” she swallowed uncomfortably “—somewhere between your letters and being around you more, I lost my heart to you and—” Words failed her.

James was to her in a second, his strong arms encompassing her. “I'm an ordinary gentleman, Charlotte. Not a poet, not a playwright—” he snorted “—with the exception of the last six missives—two of which I'd rather forget— that I've sent to you, Dulcey or Simmons or my secretary wrote all the others.” He reached for the loose tendril of hair hanging over her forehead and pushed it behind her ear. “I'm not good with words, written or spoken, but I am good with taking care of things trusted in my possession.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Including hearts.”

“Hearts?” she choked.

“Hearts,” he confirmed, giving her a little squeeze. “If your heritage says anything about you, we shall be blessed beyond measure with an abundance of children and grandchildren for us to love.” He squeezed her again, a little tighter than before. “Together.”

Charlotte's heart slammed in her chest. “Does that mean?”

“It means that I love you, too.”

“I must be the most obvious young lady to have fallen in love,” Charlotte mused.

“Obvious?” James twisted his lips into an overdone frown. “I don't know about that, but you are definitely the most captivating.”

“And you claim you're not good with words.”

“I'd be willing to wager I'm better using something else to express my feelings for you,” he said, pressing that something else into her abdomen.

Charlotte blushed and boldly brushed her fingers over the bulge in his trousers. “I think it's about time we find out.”

EPILOGUE

A month later

“Someone's lying,” James said with a sigh.

Charlotte pursed her lips and wiggled to get more comfortable where she was perched on her husband's lap. Her action only made him more uncomfortable, but in a most wonderful way.

“Who do you think it might be?” she asked, kissing his cheek.

James scowled down at the list of possible meddling, letter-writing culprits. “I don't know,” he admitted. “Everyone one of them offered convincing reasons for why it couldn't have been them.”

At the top of the list was Danby.

Harrumph! “Clever lad,” he mused with a thump of his cane. “Not me, I'm afraid.” When pressed, he added, “A gentleman's word should never be challenged, young man. Unless you would like to be challenged.”

James had asked no further questions.

“While Gareth and I are so very excited for the two of you, we played no part in these shenanigans,” Jane said before looking to her husband for a nod of approval.

Charlotte could accept that, but not before showing the missive to Aaron and Daphne who had been on the receiving ends of matchmaking missives from both Danby and Gareth.

“Not his writing,” Aaron had said, presumably his could be either Gareth or Danby. Jane and Daphne's writing was far too familiar to Charlotte for them to have been able to do such.

Jemma's too.

“As relieved as I am that things have turned around for you, and knowing I didn't make a complete hash of your existence, I cannot accept credit for this,” Michael said, his tone solemn. He shot her a slim, self-deprecating smile. “It seems as I'm not the perfect older, protective brother I always thought I'd be.”

Charlotte wrapped him in a hug. “You do have one more chance, you know?”

Michael nodded once.

After two weeks without a weekly visit from the dowager countess, Charlotte went to see her mother-in-law. After apologizing for her words during their last visit, she briefly explained all she dared about her relationship with James and asked about the letter. “Oh dearest, I wish you'd told me sooner. For had I known, I'd have sent such a letter immediately! More scandalous, too.” Charlotte believed that. “I'm just glad you two have worked it out and I shall be looking forward to the news of your grand event.” She wrinkled her nose. “Be sure you use those herbs. It'll reduce your suffering.”

Charlotte wasn't sure she'd term intimacies as suffering, but there are some things better not discussed with one's mother-in-law.

That only left Ravenscar. The very thought of that reprobate writing to Charlotte had sent James' blood to simmer. “If I'd written that letter, she'd—”

Crack!

James delivered a hard blow to the man's nose. All he needed to know was that Ravenscar hadn't written the letter.

“As much as I wanted to know at first, I don't care so much anymore,” Charlotte said.

James arched a brow. “No?”

“No. Whoever wrote it sent it because they wanted to see us happy together, but that's not exactly what came of it.”

James pulled his head back. “You're not happy?”

“Not just happy—” she kissed his jaw “—I'm in love.”

James' lips captured hers. “I'm in love, too.”

Curious about how Jane snagged Gareth? You can read all about their love at first sight (and marginally scandalous) romance in The Perfect Lady Worthe

ABOUT ROSE GORDON

USA Today Bestselling and Award Winning Author Rose Gordon writes unusually unusual historical romances that have been known to include scarred heroes, feisty heroines, marriage-producing scandals, far too much scheming, naughty literature and always a sweet happily-ever-after. When not escaping to another world via reading or writing a book, she spends her time chasing two young boys around the house, being hunted by wild animals, or sitting on the swing in the backyard where she has to use her arms as shields to deflect projectiles AKA: balls, water balloons, sticks, pinecones, and anything else one of her boys picks up to hurl at his brother who just happens to be hiding behind her.

If you never want to miss a new release, click here to subscribe to her New Release list or visit her website to subscribe and you'll be notified each time a new book becomes available.

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ALSO BY ROSE GORDON

Intentions of the Earl

Liberty For Paul

To Win His Wayward Wife

Her Sudden Groom

Her Reluctant Groom

Her Secondhand Groom

Her Imperfect Groom

His Contract Bride

His Yankee Bride

His Jilted Bride

His Brother’s Bride

The Officer and the Bostoner

The Officer and the Southerner

The Officer and the Traveler

Secrets of a Viscount

Desires of a Baron

The Perfect Lady Worthe

RUINED BY A LADY

JANE CHARLES

Dedication

For my favorite makeup artist, Kieth, whom I’ve learned so much from and who I count as a dear friend. And for Larry. I think the world of you. Thanks for lending me Kieth when I need him.

Love you both,

Jane

CHAPTER 1

Nathaniel,

You and Samuel must return home immediately. The most horrendous circumstance has occurred and I am so beside myself that I do not know what to do. It is far too distressing to even write in a letter. Suffice it to say, nothing this horrific has happened to our family in a very long time, and your presence is needed most urgently.

Mother

April 18, 1817, London

Samuel Storm sucked in a breath the moment those familiar blues eyes met his. It had to be her. But how was it even possible?

He took a step in her direction but Nathaniel, his twin brother, put a hand on his arm and handed him the missive that had been delivered as soon as they stepped out of St. Paul’s. Sam took it without removing his eyes from her. The late afternoon sun shone on her head, making it appear as if her blonde locks were laced with gold, and for a moment she glanced back. Her haunting Caribbean blue eyes met his before she was assisted into a carriage displaying the Duke of Eldridge’s coat of arms. An older man stood waiting. By his regal bearing, no doubt he was Eldridge.

Either the duke’s daughter at one time sat for a rather scandalous portrait, or a woman who looked exactly like her had. That very portrait hung in his home in Barbados, and he needed to know if the two were one and the same.

With reluctance, Sam tore his eyes away from the duke’s carriage and glanced at the missive. The one thing that had not changed in the five years he’d been gone was the habit of his mother to succumb to hysterics.

“What could be so blasted important that she thought it appropriate to pull us from a wedding?” Nate demanded.

Sam handed the summons back to his brother who promptly crushed it in his fist.

“At least the footman ignored her dictate and waited until we exited the church or you might have missed the wedding you stood to witness for Roxburg,” Nate grumbled.

Sam and Mark Easton, the Duke of Roxburg, had been friends for a number of years. The last five of which they’d lived in Barbados, each managing their own sugar plantations. Life had been good living on an island of beautiful women when one was wealthy and a bachelor. Roxburg’s sudden change in title was what brought them back to London. Not that Sam needed to return, but Roxburg had wanted the one gentleman he trusted by his side when facing society once again. Not that he needed Sam. In the month that Sam was away visiting his family, Roxburg had met his wife, and the two had married just a short time ago.

“Let’s make it quick,” Sam was resigned to deal with their mother, but waste no more time than necessary on whatever crisis had arisen. He and Nate had planned on going to their club until it was time for the ball. Roxburg managed to obtain a Special License so that he could be married at the earliest time the church was available, which happened to be today at five. He had also decided to forgo the wedding breakfast in lieu of a ball, which he insisted would begin in a few hours and not late in the evening as was tradition.

“If Mother starts going on and on about torn flounces, stained gloves, or spilled tea at the al fresco, I swear I’ll send her right back home and let Ben deal with our sisters.” Benjamin, the Earl of Kenley, their older brother, could see to their three younger sisters attending the Season.

“I’d hate to see her reaction if something actually horrific occurred,” Sam grumbled after he followed his brother into the carriage and relaxed against the squabs. As he glanced out the window, the duke’s carriage passed and his eyes met those all too familiar blue eyes.

Could it really be her?

He’d first spied the painting in a gallery in New Orleans and knew instantly that he must have it. Not so much because of the lush body that lay in repose upon a fainting coach, a long leg extended and uncovered, though white gossamer shielded the rest of her body, or because of the delicious breasts practically spilled from a fitted corset, or the full, red lips beckoning for a kiss. Not only did he want that woman on his own couch, clad similarly, but he wanted to know her too. Those blue eyes conveyed innocence, seduction, spirit, vulnerability, rebellion, and sadness and pulled him in. He longed to ask why sadness lurked in the deep recesses of her blue irises. Why her mouth may tip at the corner when there was no happiness? Why was she haunted?

It was ridiculous, of course. The girl was a model and the artist was simply excellent at his craft. Yet, when Sam spied the lady in St. Paul’s Church, not only did the same emotion lurk in her eyes, but the sadness seemed deeper.

Yes, she smiled, but it was forced. The tension in her jaw betrayed what she was trying not to show.

Did nobody else realize she wasn’t happy?

He needed to know her.

Just because the lady in the painting bore a striking resemblance to Eldridge’s daughter, it was impossible that it was her. A duke’s daughter did not pose for erotic paintings, yet Sam felt the same pull towards Eldridge’s daughter as he had experienced when he first viewed the painting, and he had every intention of gaining an introduction.

The carriage pulled up before their townhouse and the gentlemen jumped out and hurried to the door. Not because Sam believed distressing news awaited them, but because he wanted to be done with whatever had fluffed mother’s feathers this time.

They found their mother, the Dowager Countess of Kenley, in the sitting room with three of their younger sisters. Hannah was pacing as if she were too agitated to sit. Tabitha was stitching, which he learned she often did when there was little else to occupy her time, and Deborah simply sat in a chair by the window, watching the others as if in deep contemplation.

His oldest brother, Benjamin, relaxed with his lovely and enchanting wife, Mary, sipping tea. It certainly didn’t appear as if there was anything urgent that required his or Nate’s attention, which he already suspected would be the case.

“What happened?” Nate demanded, his tone laced with the irritation Sam felt.

“We were at Lady Emma Heathfield’s al fresco when we saw him.”

“Who?” Sam asked. He had not been back in England all that long, but nobody had uttered a word about any gentleman his mother feared.

“I didn’t know what to do, so of course, we left immediately.” His mother waived a handkerchief in front of her face. “Oh, I do hope he didn’t see us. Though it was highly rude to leave so quickly without paying our respects to Lady Heathfield, but it was necessary given the circumstances. I must send her a note of apology right away.”

“Stop!” Nate yelled. “Who did you see that has you so upset?”

Her eyes widened and she looked at them. “His Grace! The Duke of Danby.”

“I don’t understand why this is important.” He was a duke. Wasn’t he required to be here with Parliament in session, and what the blazes did his great-uncle being in London have to do with them? “You do realize I was at the wedding of my closest friend. I stood as a witness.”

His mother’s eyes grew wide. “But, it is the Duke of Danby.”

“I don’t care if it’s the Crown Prince,” Samuel yelled as he turned for the door. Of all the ridiculous nonsense. He needed a drink and only in a place where reasonable gentlemen were allowed.

“But, you don’t understand,” their mother cried.

“What the blazes is there to understand?” Nate demanded.

“He’s going to ruin everything.”

Sam turned just in time to see his mother’s eyes fill with tears.

“He’ll ruin my family.”

Ben stood and assisted Mary to her feet. “My wife and I are going for a drive in the park.”

“But, but, but….” their mother sputtered.

Ben didn’t look back and stopped before his brothers. “As I need to deal with this all of the time because neither one of you can be bothered to remain in England, you now have the pleasure of calming her while I enjoy the afternoon with my wife, which was ruined by her early return.”

“Forget him,” the Duke of Eldridge ordered his daughter.

Lady Jillian Simpson blinked at her father hoping her face conveyed innocence. “Who?”

“That gentleman you kept looking at in the church.” Her father frowned. “He’s beneath you.”

She knew better than to argue or question him further. Father had very specific ideas about who he believed was worthy of her, not that she’d managed to marry any of them. Save one, but as nobody knew of the marriage, they weren’t aware of the annulment either. It’s as if it never happened.

“It’s bad enough that those Valentines are marrying titles while you remain unwed, but I will not tolerate them marrying better than you.”

They’d just left the wedding of the Duke of Roxburg and Miss Bianca Valentine, which meant Jillian had better set her cap on a duke. She no longer gave a wit of what title a gentleman may or may not have, but even her father must realize that finding an eligible duke to marry might be rather difficult. It wasn’t as if they grew on trees, waiting to be picked.

“That man you were watching is Mr. Samuel Storm.” The mister was said with disgust. “His older brother is the Earl of Kenley and there is another brother between Mr. Storm and the title.”

Heaven forbid she marry a mister. Her father would have an apoplexy. As much as the idea of acting in such a rebellious manner would give her great pleasure, Jillian did not have the nerve to face the inevitable consequences and thus accepted her lot in life. As the daughter of a powerful duke, she would marry the highest title she could attain, and settle into her role as lady, wife, and eventual mother. All she could hope for was that she at least liked her husband, instead of any of the lesser emotions like love. Father hadn’t loved her mother, the daughter of an influential marquess, nor did he believe in its existence.

Jillian glanced out the window. Of course she thought she’d been in love once. She’d been a fool. Young and naïve. Never would she love again.

“You know who you are to charm, Jillian. You are two and twenty, and I will see you married to an acceptable title before this Season is done.”

Taking a deep breath, Jillian straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, shut down all emotions. The cloak of superiority she’d fought in her youth had since become her most comfortable persona and the strongest of armor. As long as she let no one in, she would be safe. And, she must put Mr. Samuel Storm from her mind, if that were possible. There had been something arresting in his clear emerald eyes when they met hers. Almost a recognition, then delight and something else she could not understand. Her breath had caught and her pulse sped. It wasn’t a reaction she was familiar with, and she wished she knew what it meant.

CHAPTER 2

“I’ll come out and ask,” Sam said as they were granted entrance to Roxburg’s mansion. It had taken them hours to calm mother, or so it seemed, but he and Nate finally insisted on leaving when it was time for the ball to begin. “Why is Mother so concerned with Danby being in London?”

“She’s afraid our dear, old, great uncle will find husbands for our sisters.”

“I gathered that, but isn’t that the point of having a Season?” Sam asked.

“Mother is afraid if they marry they’ll move too far away to visit. I believe she’d prefer they marry a tenant farmer and live close to home, or be put on a shelf, rather than risk them marrying a gentlemen and moving far away.”

Sam rolled his eyes as they stepped into the ballroom. “As I understand it, Danby only interferes during Christmas.”

“Yes. He’s been quite busy over the last few years.” Nate grinned. “Embracing the spirit of St. Stephen’s Day, but instead of boxes for servants and gifts to the poor, he delivers brides and grooms to those in need.”

“At least I will be safe.” As he had no intention of being in England this winter, Sam was certain Danby would not bother with him. It wasn’t as if he’d even seen his great uncle in over five years. Danby had probably forgotten Sam’s existence all together.

“I’m sure Danby has much more pressing matters than to worry about whether everyone is marrying as they should.”

As Danby had shown no interest in him as of yet, Sam wanted to keep it that way. “I fully intend to avoid the old bugger in the meantime. I’ve no intention of letting Danby settle anyone on me at Christmas or during the Season.”

They stepped into the grand ballroom already practically overflowing with guests. How was he to find anyone in this crush? Nathaniel disappeared almost immediately with an excuse that he needed to find someone, leaving Sam to find the lady he sought. He pushed his way through the throng, seeking out one face. She had to be here. If she attended the wedding, she would have been invited to the ball.

Sam had nearly walked the entire perimeter when he finally spotted her standing next to her father. Samuel lifted a glass of wine as a footman passed with a tray and remained where he was so that he could study her more. She could be the identical twin to the woman in the portrait.

She smiled and laughed, but there was no happiness in her eyes. She may charm those around her, but from where he stood, her actions appeared to be more calculated than warm. It didn’t set well with him.

Of course, as ridiculous as it may seem, he’d built in his mind who the lady in the portrait was. Sensitive, warm, lost, and in need of love. Many times he’d wondered if she were real, and if he ever was graced with the pleasure of finding her, he’d erase the pain from her eyes.

“What is your fascination with Lady Jillian Simpson?” Mr. David Thorn asked as he came to stand beside Sam.

“She reminds me of someone.” It was all he would say on the matter. Thorn, nor anyone, needed to know of his obsession with the lady in the painting and now Lady Jillian Simpson. He played the name over in his head, liking the sound.

“Are you still with us?” Thorn chuckled and Sam glanced to his friend.

Thorn nodded to her group. “Her father would never approve.”

“Why?” His father had been an earl and even though the title would never be his, he was still a gentlemen of means.

“You don’t have a title, and now that your older brother has married, no doubt an heir will be born, pushing you further away from the earldom.”

He didn’t give a bloody damn about the title and was rather grateful he didn’t have to deal with it at all, which included a hysterical mother who would live on the estate forever. “I just wish an introduction.”

“She is lovely,” Anna, Thorn’s wife said. “Beautiful bone structure. It would be a privilege for any artist to paint her.”

Had that artist felt as privileged? Had he taken advantage of the young woman? Was that why she remained unwed? Not that such a circumstance would make a difference to Samuel.

Stop, he ordered himself. It was impossible that Lady Jillian and the model in the painting were the same, even if he wished it were so.

Lady Jillian slipped her hand into the crook of the arm of Marquess Broadridge, which Sam knew to be her older brother. He and Broadridge had been acquaintances at one time, but until now he’d forgotten Broadridge had a younger sister.

As the two began walking the room, there was a slight change in Lady Jillian’s composure. She relaxed and the smile upon her lips was finally genuine.

“I need an introduction,” Samuel announced as he watched her glide around the perimeter, nodding to apparent acquaintances until they stopped to speak with Lord and Lady Felding just a few steps away from where he stood.

Of all the people in the grand ballroom, Felding and Rosalind were probably the last people who would wish to speak with her, yet her brother insisted past disagreements were forgiven. It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who tried to blackmail Felding into marriage.

However, this was much preferable to standing with her father as he introduced her to the various bachelors he deemed suitable to be her husband. Not that he came out and said so, of course. Many of them Jillian had met before, but his tone changed to respect for those he approved or to cold and dismissive for those he did not. It really didn’t matter if she found them suitable or not, so why should she even participate in his matchmaking schemes?

“Lord and Lady Felding,” Jillian greeted and waited for the cool reception. Instead, she saw kindness in Rosalind’s eyes, and warmth. Yes, it had been two and a half years since that horrible house party, but Jillian assumed they still hated her.

If only she could take back the threats and blackmail. If only she would have sought out friendship with her cousins instead of hating them. Jillian had learned much in the two years since that Christmas. Mostly that a person’s worth had nothing to do with titles, yet her father would never see people differently. Even if the Valentines forgave her, he’d never allow them to be friends.

If only she was as strong as her brother and had the nerve to talk to whoever she wished and whenever she wished.

Felding and her brother exchanged pleasantries on the upcoming racing season and issues in Parliament while Jillian struggled to find something to say. She was never good at small talk. She preferred to listen and not participate, but the longer she stood there, the more uncomfortable it became. “How are your sisters, Lady Felding?”

Rosalind smiled at her. “Bianca is over the moon.”

Of course she was. She’d married Roxburg but a few hours ago. As soon as Roxburg inherited the title, Jillian had been ordered to land him as her husband, if and when he returned from Barbados. That hadn’t worked out as planned. Not that Jillian minded. Roxburg belonged with Bianca. They loved one another, and Jillian would never again stand in the way of anyone’s happiness. Just because she was destined to be married to a gentleman she might not even like, didn’t mean she didn’t want others to find happiness.

Yes, much had changed in two years, and Jillian hoped she was no longer the cold, calculating heiress who had set out to blackmail Felding into marrying her because it was what her father wanted.

“Isabella has found a position with Kirkland Home, and enjoys her work there.”

“Kirkland Home?” Jillian hadn’t heard of the place.

“It’s a home for soldiers who were wounded in the Peninsula War. She spends most of her time assisting those who fought in Quatre Bras and Waterloo, who can no longer work and need a place to live.”

In that moment Jillian envied Isabella the most. Not only was she confident, but she was doing something worthwhile and probably fulfilling, unlike Jillian who had one thing that was expected of her – to marry the right lord and then turn out an heir and a spare. “I’ve heard she’d followed the drum and assisted your brother, Orlando, on the Continent. He is a doctor, correct?”

“Yes,” Lady Felding clarified. “She was glad to return home, but has missed helping the soldiers who need assistance.”

Jillian nodded. “And Perdita?” The youngest of the four sisters.

“She found a position with the Foundling Hospital. She’s always enjoyed being with children and has a particular soft spot for orphans.”

As all the Valentines were orphans, Jillian could understand where one would be drawn to help other orphans.

“Forgive me, but your interest in my family is rather surprising.”

Jillian’s face heated. She’d never apologized, but one was owed. “I was wrong to do what I did. And, I’m no longer the same person or think like my father would like. I sincerely hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” Tears stung her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. She’d been such a horrid person. Filled with hate and jealousy, as well as panic that she wasn’t going to achieve the one thing her father insisted upon. Land Felding as a husband.

Lady Felding’s smile softened. “Of course.” She reached out and took Jillian’s hand. “Perhaps one day we might even be friends.”

“I would like that.” Jillian meant it with her full heart, but knew it would never be. Her father would never allow such an association.

“Felding, Lady Felding.” She turned to find Mr. Thorn approaching with a beautiful blond on his arm. Jillian had heard rumors that Thorn had married but had not yet met his wife. She glanced behind them and her breath nearly left her chest. Mr. Samuel Storm was in their group. It was bad enough to be stuck in an awkward conversation with Lady Felding, but nerves practically closed her throat as he approached. One would think that after nearly four years in Society she wouldn’t be so uncomfortable in any social setting.

Mr. Thorn made the introductions, and their circle widened to accommodate them all. Mr. Storm was directly across from her, looking at her with interest.

Her face heated and she glanced down.

“Storm was telling me that you remind him of someone, Lady Jillian,” Thorn said.

She blinked up. Was that the reason he watched her?

“A painting actually,” Storm explained.

Her heart stopped and Lady Felding stiffened beside her.

“It graces my home. The model has a remarkable resemblance to you.”

She could feel the blood drain from her face. Her eyes shot to Felding. Had his family betrayed her after all?

But, they looked as stunned as she.

She pushed down her panic and smiled sweetly at Storm. “The only portrait that’s been done of me hangs in my father’s home.” It was a huge lie, but it was impossible that he’d have one of the earlier portraits, the scandalous ones that had been painted when she was so naïve and young. Not that sixteen was all that young.

“It is a shame, for I am quite taken with it, and was from the moment I saw it.”

“Where did you purchase it?” she asked out of curiosity.

“A gallery in New Orleans.”

Then it couldn’t possibly be one of hers. Why would the artist take it so far away when her father would have paid the blackmail money to get it back and destroyed? Of course, one of those paintings had also made it into the hands of Felding’s youngest sister, but she promised never to sell it.

But, what if she had and it somehow made it to New Orleans? It was possible Felding didn’t know everything his younger sister did, or they might have decided to get revenge on her after all.

The chords of a waltz struck. “Is this dance taken, Lady Jillian?” Mr. Storm asked.

She blinked at him. “No.”

“Might I have the honor?”

Blast! She should have said yes since she’d already lied to him once.

“She’d loved to,” her brother insisted.

Her father was going to kill her if she waltzed with Mr. Storm. He wasn’t one of the chosen as her brother very well knew.

Storm held out his elbow and she had little choice but to take his arm and be led to the dance floor.

He bowed and she curtseyed, and then he took her hand in his. Hopefully he didn’t notice how her hand trembled. Her entire body was shaking.

The portrait could not be of her. It just couldn’t be.

Mr. Storm settled his hand at the small of her back. The warmth seeped into her gown, heating her skin, though it did little to help the trembling.

Just as they stepped, Jillian glanced up and caught her father’s eye. He glowered at her, and she knew she was done for. Hopefully her brother would come to her defense, or it was going to be a very long carriage ride home.

She blinked back at Mr. Storm as defiance struck. Let her father be angry, she was going to enjoy herself with a mister. “Tell me of New Orleans, Mr. Storm.”

He smiled down at her, warmth in his green eyes. “A lively city, but I’ve only visited a few times.”

“I understand you live in Barbados.”

“Yes.”

“And will you be returning there after the Season?” She wasn’t sure she wished to know the answer. She didn’t know him, but she wanted to, for reasons she couldn’t explain to herself, other than it might give her father an apoplexy.

“I’ve vowed to be back on my plantation before the first snowflakes fall in England.”

This made her laugh. “I don’t know much about the Caribbean, but I do understand it’s warm and always pleasant.”

“It is the most beautiful place on Earth.” Then he looked into her eyes. His darkening. “Next to you.”

Her breath hitched, and all words left her. Gentlemen had told her she was beautiful before, but she hadn’t truly believed them. Gentlemen would say anything to win her over to gain the favor of her father. The same words were different coming from Mr. Storm, and the sincerity in those depths warmed her. Jillian wasn’t used to receiving genuine compliments, and it robbed her of speech all together.

CHAPTER 3

L ady Jillian was the lady in the painting. Of that Samuel was now certain. First, she’d lost all color when he first mentioned it, but recovered rather quickly. When he grasped her hand for the waltz, she shook as if cold. The final proof was the birthmark on her right breast. It couldn’t be seen while they spoke, but now that they stood closer and he glanced down, it was there, just beneath where her bodice gaped. He should not have looked, but he needed to be certain.

There was always the possibility that both the model and Lady Jillian possessed the same, crescent-shaped mark, but highly doubtful. And though she lied to him, Sam well understood why she had. If Society became aware, she’d be ruined, and it would be far worse than simply being caught kissing in the gardens, which is why he didn’t question her further. At least he wouldn’t in a ballroom full of people, but eventually he would learn the why and how that portrait had come to be.

For now, the woman he had fantasized about was in his arms, and they were waltzing, and he didn’t give a damn whether His Grace approved or not.

She’d also gone quiet the moment he complimented her, as if she were shocked. Surely that couldn’t be the case. Gentlemen had probably been throwing such compliments toward since her first Season. Well, unless all the gentlemen in London were fools, which was quite possible. She was old enough to have married, and she was the daughter of a duke, so why did she remain unattached? Not that he had any complaints, as it left her free for him to come to know better. But for now, he’d simply be content holding her as they waltzed from one end of the ballroom to the other.

Not only beautiful, but graceful as well. He didn’t have to adjust his steps because they matched perfectly. Nor did he truly need to lead. It was if they were one, moving together, neither leading nor following. Would it be the same if he had her in bed?

He shut that thought down immediately. Yes, he had fantasized about bedding the woman in the portrait, but now that he knew she was real, he’d need to go about this properly, which would be damned difficult when His Grace was her disapproving father.

The waltz ended and though Samuel was reluctant to let her go, he took a step back. “Shall I return you to your father or brother?”

Lady Jillian cast a quick glance to where father stood. His face, a sea of anger. “My brother, please.”

He offered his elbow and then led her back to his group.

“Thank you for the waltz, Mr. Storm.”

“It was my pleasure, Lady Jillian, and I do hope to have the honor again.”

She glanced down as pink spots blossomed on her cheeks. Why was she not used to compliments? What the hell was wrong with the gentlemen in Town?

He relinquished her over to her brother, and the two bid them goodbye. Samuel watched as they made their way through the room, in the opposite direction of His Grace, who watched his daughter with a frown then turned and skewered Samuel with a look that would send a lesser man running.

Bloody hell! He’d only danced with Eldridge’s daughter. One would think he tossed up her skirts in the middle of the ballroom.

Thorn and Anna had moved on, leaving him alone with Felding and his wife. As he did not know them well, he was just about to take his leave and seek out his brother when Felding said, “Call on me tomorrow.”

Was the marquess giving him an order?

“We need to discuss the matter of a certain portrait that shall not be discussed here.”

She needed fresh air and to gain control of her emotions. Panic, like she hadn’t experienced since Phillipa Johansen, Feldings’ youngest sister, showed her the painting two and a half years ago, nearly engulfed her. As it was imperative that she never show any emotion in the ballroom, Jillian pulled her brother out to the gardens as soon as they reached a door. Her father was already angry with her for dancing with Mr. Storm, of that she was certain, but if her expression changed even the slightest from the false, yet pleasant smile she’d long ago perfected, she’d never hear the end of it. She was a lady, his daughter, and did not suffer from the same hysterical weaknesses of other females.

But Samuel Storm had a painting!

“Sometimes I just want to run away. Change my name and start over,” Jillian said to her brother, as she settled on a bench at the back of the garden.

“It’s not so bad, is it?”

“That’s easy for you to say. You aren’t the only daughter of Eldridge.”

“He only wants what’s best for you.” Henry settled beside her and took her hand in his.

“No, he wants what’s best for him--connections. And each time I don’t land the gentleman he’s determined should be his son-in-law, he continually reminds me of my failings until another is chosen that I must win.” Jillian let her shoulders droop in defeat of what her life was to be. “It’s been nearly unbearable living with him since I failed to secure Roxburg. Had he married anyone else, it might not be so difficult, but the fact that Roxburg chose a Valentine over me has Father angrier than normal.”

“Is there no one you have wished for yourself?”

“I don’t allow myself to contemplate who I’d wish to have for a husband. Father will pick him, and I’ll need to make the best of it.”

Henry turned more fully toward her. “I knew father was demanding, I just didn’t realize that he’d given you no choice.”

Jillian laughed dryly. “I haven’t even been given a choice of what I’m to wear since I was sixteen.” She wasn’t surprised Henry had no idea how nearly every nuance of her life was controlled. There were seven years between them, and they’d never been close. He’d been sent off to school when she was barely out of leading strings, and his visits home were few.

“Perhaps if you had friends these gatherings would be more enjoyable.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t understand. I can’t afford to let anyone close. People will only use you if you do.”

He turned more fully toward her. “These emotions have nothing to do with Father or the gentleman he may or may not marry you to.”

She blinked at him and wiped a tear.

“Do you fear Storm has a painting?”

Humiliation washed through her. She’d been so stupid and blindly trusting then. And, she had learned a hard lesson that nobody could ever be trusted.

“It may only be a resemblance,” Henry offered.

“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

“What do you intend to do?”

She had no answer. It wasn’t as if she could come right out and ask Mr. Storm. Then he’d know for certain that she’d posed.

“Sometimes I wish I was a Valentine.” Jillian sighed. “They don’t care who Father is. They have confidence and, despite their circumstances, have thumbed their noses at Society.”

“Then beg their forgiveness and perhaps a friendship might form.” He leaned in. “As Lady Felding already knows your most protected secret, chances are, her siblings do as well.”

The idea of anyone knowing of, or having viewed any of those paintings made her ill. “I did tonight, when I spoke with Lady Felding.” Jillian crumbled the handkerchief in her hand. “She was kind. Kinder than she should have been, but I can’t hope that any of them will ever befriend me.”

Her brother stared at her for a moment and then sighed. “Very well. Forget friends. If you could have your pick of husband, without Father’s interference, who would it be.”

“I don’t know any gentlemen well enough to know if I wish to be married to them. Though, the ones Father has suggested hold no interest for me.”

He nodded. “Then, who has caught your eye that you’d be interested in furthering an acquaintance?”

She blinked at him.

“If you could have your pick of who you’d like to court you to see if an interest, affection, or even love developed, who would it be?”

“Samuel Storm,” she said without thought, surprising even herself. She couldn’t trust him. He might have one of the paintings, and he could completely ruin her. Yet, there was something about him that intrigued her. It was more than a handsome face, but the sincerity and kindness in his emerald eyes.

“I knew Storm in school. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do with his life, being a younger son, but he’s a worthy gentleman.” Henry smiled at her. “We shall see how we can make that occur.”

“Fairy dreams, Henry. The moment he calls on me, if he were so inclined, Father will have him removed.” Jillian stood and swiped a tear from her cheek. “I cannot dream so large. Father will decide on my husband, and I will do as ordered and land the lord by whatever means I have at my disposal. It’s my lot in life, and conversations like this only make me wish for what I can’t have.”

CHAPTER 4

Samuel pulled a cheroot from his pocket as another gentleman stepped outside and joined him in the shadows. Following the fellow was Lady Jillian and her brother, though neither one of them glanced in his direction to note he was even there. Soon, their voices drifted to them, and he stilled.

The painting was of Lady Jillian. Whatever possessed her to sit for such a risqué portrait in the first place?

The question would gnaw at him until he had the answer.

He twirled the cheroot in his fingers, not ready to light it because he didn’t want them to smell the smoke and know that they were not alone.

Why did she have to beg forgiveness of the Valentines?

A smile pulled at his lips when his name was mentioned. He would like very much to court her to find out if an interest, affection, or even love developed.

At least he now had some understanding as to the emotions that flickered in her eyes, and if anyone bothered to watch, they’d see it too.

The brother and sister stood and walked back in their direction. Samuel turned his back to the walk out of respect of Lady Jillian to save her the embarrassment of knowing she’d been heard. The gentleman beside him ducked further into the shadows, and Sam assumed it was for the same reason.

As soon as the pair disappeared inside, Samuel lit the cheroot and blew a ring of smoke in the air as the other gentleman stepped out of the shadows and held out his hand.

“Benedick Valentine.”

Samuel shook his hand and nodded to the area in which Lady Jillian had been sitting with her brother.

“Yes, one of them.”

“Samuel Storm.”

The man grinned. “Well, the best of luck to you because her father is a royal bastard.”

Sam chuckled. “Why does Lady Jillian need your forgiveness?”

Mr. Valentine shook his head and smiled sadly. “It’s not for me to say, and truthfully, only my sister, Lady Felding, knows the full extent of what happened.”

“Is there hope that she’ll gain it?”

He chuckled. “As for me and my brothers, we’ve moved past the incident, even though we don’t know the depths. My sisters, I’m not sure, but I’ve seen little animosity expressed toward Lady Jillian other than a lack of trust.”

Sam wanted to ask if Valentine knew about the painting but held his tongue. He assumed Lady Jillian’s most protected secret was the portrait, but what if it was something else entirely? “I would appreciate your discretion in this matter and that you not mention to anyone what you overheard.”

“Of course.” Mr. Valentine dropped his cheroot and ground it out with the heel of his boot. “I wish no ill will toward Lady Jillian, and after overhearing her conversation with Broadridge, I rather feel sorry for her.”

“As do I,” Samuel admitted before Valentine walked away. Her relationship with the Valentines, whatever it was, really shouldn’t be a concern of his. However, it did speak to her character, as did the wish for forgiveness and friendship. Anyone who can look at past mistakes and admit they were wrong and wish to rectify the matter was to be respected, not shunned.

As much as she tried to enjoy the rest of the ball, it was nearly impossible. First, Mr. Storm might have one of her portraits, which she prayed was just a likeness of her and some other model, but she feared the truth. Then her father glowered at her all evening, and she was certain it had been because she waltzed with Mr. Storm. He’d railed against her all the way home and told her that she must never speak with Mr. Storm again.

Jillian had nodded and promised and went straight to her chamber so she could think. Thinking turned into worry and then panic, and even though she tried to sleep, she constantly woke.

What if Felding’s sister had sold the painting? Phillipa had promised never to do so, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t suffered a change of heart. Until Jillian knew for certain, she couldn’t relax, and by the following afternoon, with her nerves on edge, she made the decision to call on the marquess under the guise of calling on his wife. She offered her maid five pounds above her earnings to never breathe a word of this visit to her father.

Trusting a servant did not come easy to Jillian, but she had no other choice. She must speak with Felding today.

Instead of being led to the sitting room or parlor as expected, the footman had shown her to the library where she found Felding leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. It’s as if he’d been expecting her, which further convinced her they’d done the one thing they promised they’d never do.

At that moment, all panic bubbled to the surface and she stormed into the room. “You promised. Your sister promised to never sell that painting, and if she decided to do so, it would be to me.” Tears welled but she blinked them back. “Does your family hate me so much?”

He straightened and came forward. “We do not hate you, Lady Jillian.” His words were kind, but they’d still sold the painting.

“But why?”

“We didn’t sell it. It’s still in Philippa’s collection.”

“There is another?” She grasped the back of the chair for support when her knees nearly gave way.

“Apparently, I happen to own it.”

She whipped around to find Mr. Samuel Storm standing by the settee. She hadn’t even seen him when she came in the room.

Humiliation engulfed her. He now knew that it was her. Not only was she embarrassed that he owned one of those horrid paintings, but he now knew that she’d lied to him last night.

Why couldn’t the world just open up and swallow her whole?

“Mr. Storm was just explaining to me that he purchased that painting nearly three years ago,” Felding said.

Her stomach churned and Jillian prayed she didn’t toss up her accounts in the middle of Felding’s library. “Three years?” They were all supposed to be gone, with the exception of the one Felding’s sister owned. Would they continue to surface for the rest of her life? How many had Nico painted?

She couldn’t contemplate that now but had to manage the current situation. She lifted her chin and would face this head on as she had in the past, or at least as her father had. Jillian looked into Mr. Storm’s green eyes with cold determination, ready to negotiate. “What do you want?”

Mr. Storm’s brow furrowed. “Want?”

“Name your price to keep this quiet.”

He drew back and anger spiked in his eyes. “I want nothing.”

How was that even possible? Everyone wanted something and used whatever means to get it. Her father had taught her that well enough.

“I simply wish to continue enjoying the painting.”

“I wish for it to be destroyed.”

Humor lit in his eyes, and the side of his mouth tipped up. “I can assure you, Lady Jillian that is never going to happen.”

Maybe it was one of the earlier ones. When her clothing remained modest. She could only pray that it was.

“Where is it?” she demanded.

“At my home.”

“In Barbados?”

“Yes.”

“Has anyone else seen it?” Maybe it was a private collection, and her humiliation was limited only to him.

“A few, close friends.”

He grinned as if he found humor in this situation, and she wanted to box his ears. Didn’t Mr. Storm know how serious this was?

She studied him and despite his smile, there was a serious edge in his eyes. He knew. Of course he knew, yet he didn’t care.

It was bad enough that he had seen the painting, but she needed to know who else. What if it was someone in society and they mentioned it? “Anyone I would know?”

“Roxburg.”

Her world just grew darker. His Grace would return to Barbados with his new bride, who happened to be a Valentine, the family who hated her for good reason. Once Bianca saw it, nothing would keep her from writing home and telling everyone. If Lady Felding hadn’t already told her siblings about the portrait’s existence, then Bianca certainly would.

Jillian moved around to the front of the chair and sank down, her knees unable to hold her up any longer. “As you will not give up the painting, I beg one favor of you.”

“Yes.”

“Please, never show it to Roxburg’s wife.”

“Bianca would never say anything,” Felding assured her, not that it did any good.

“You don’t know that,” she snapped. “They hate me. All of the Valentines do, and for good reason.”

Felding shook his head. “I can assure you that they don’t. You are making far more out of the circumstances than they ever would.” He came forward. “And, I can assure you, if they hated anyone, which they do not, it would be your father. He is responsible for most of the grief they suffered.”

“Yes, but I was not much better than him not so long ago,” she said quietly.

“Water under the bridge, Lady Jillian.”

Tears stung her eyes and she wished it were true, but she had learned long ago never to trust anyone.

“I can understand why you don’t wish for anyone to view the painting,” Mr. Storm began. “I can assure you that it will never be shown to anyone ever again.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief, though she’d never know if he showed it to anyone or not.

“However, it will remain in my collection because I enjoy gazing upon it.”

Jillian lowered her face into her hands and took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, panic, and humiliation. Short of sailing to Barbados, there was nothing she could do.

She lifted her chin and let her cool mask fall back into place. She’d shown him too much already and given him the power to hurt her, and she needed to take all of it back now. “Thank you.” She stood. “I will take my leave.” With that, she sailed out of the room without a backward glance. Forcing one foot in front of the other, despite how much her legs trembled and her heart beat. If it became any stronger, it would push right through her chest. She needed to get home and into the privacy of her chambers before that happened or she’d collapsed into a puddle of tears.

CHAPTER 5

Sam had just arrived at Felding’s townhouse and taken a seat when Lady Jillian was announced. He and Fielding had barely discussed the painting, only when he had purchased it, before she burst into the room. He’d never seen anyone run the gauntlet of emotions in such a short frame of time. From anger, betrayal, cold calculation, pain, embarrassment, to cool resignation, before she marched out of the room, wearing pride as if it was a cloak to be donned when necessary.

“There is more than one painting?” he asked Felding after she was gone.

“My sister has one in her collection.”

“How many are there?” He thought he was lucky to have one, but after seeing how distressed Lady Jillian was, he wished to purchase them all so she’d know they were gone.

Felding shrugged. “I’ve no idea. We thought that was the last.”

“You thought?” Had they been discovered by others? Was that why nobody had married her? If they were out in Society, unless the ton had changed in the past five years, Lady Jillian wouldn’t be welcomed in homes. Then again, her father was a duke and maybe that made all the difference. “Who else has one?” Also, for some reason, he did not like the idea of any other gentlemen looking upon a portrait similar to his. From the moment he saw it, he’d thought of the painting and the lady as his, and his alone.

“Nobody that we are aware of. That was why Lady Jillian was so shocked when you mentioned it.” Felding strode to the sideboard and poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Samuel.

“Maybe you should explain why there are so many portraits of Lady Jillian, and if they are similar to the one I own, what possessed her to do such a thing?”

Felding stared at him and then he frowned as he settled into the seat across from Sam. “It’s not for me to tell.”

“Clearly, this has been an issue before,” Samuel countered and then remembered something else she’d said. “Why would the Valentines, or you, hate Lady Jillian?”

This time Felding frowned deeper. “If you wish for those answers, you should discuss them with Lady Jillian.”

Samuel wasn’t so certain she’d speak to him again, not that he wasn’t going to pursue her.

“Lady Jillian is a complicated woman.” Felding sighed and took a drink. “At one time I believed her to be kind and sweet, but after a time I saw her as manipulative and cold.”

Samuel had picked up on none of that. Yes, she had shown cool disdain toward him, but it was no more than a shield a knight wore going into battle. If she really were so cold, there would not be so much vulnerability in the depths of her blue eyes. Felding had it wrong.

“I now believe she is more afraid and shielded than anything else, and that’s why she responds the way she does.”

That Samuel did believe. Especially after what he overheard the evening before. “She’s not happy,” Sam finally said.

“I doubt she ever will be.”

Thank goodness her brother arrived as requested. Jillian tried to ask little of Henry, but when she needed to escape, he was the only one she could call upon. At the moment, she desperately needed an escape.

After leaving Felding’s yesterday, she’d returned home, sequestered herself in her chambers, then begged off attending any functions last evening, claiming a headache. In truth, she was terrified of seeing Mr. Storm. With everyone else, she was cool and calm as she should be, but he flustered her, and knowing he had one of the paintings, made her all the more wary. If she didn’t tread lightly, he might very well change his mind and announce her scandalous error to the world.

Oh, she wanted to trust him, but how could she? She didn’t even know him. She’d trusted the kind eyes of a man before and that had ended up in destruction.

Tonight she’d remain at home again, not because she wished it, but because her father would be meeting with his cronies. However, tomorrow night the Earl of Bentley and his wife were holding a ball, and her father had ordered that she would attend unless she was at death’s door. As that was nearly impossible to fake, Jillian resigned herself to attending another function as her father pestered her with orders about decorum and listing those she was allowed to dance with.

As the day wore on, a very real headache developed and Jillian knew if she did not escape the mansion, her head might very well explode.

“What are you doing here?” Father barked when Henry walked into the room.

“Good day to you too, Father.” He turned to Jillian. “I thought you might wish to walk in the park.”

She stood. “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

“Watch that she doesn’t embarrass me again,” Father ordered. “Her judgment is not to be trusted, nor am I confident yours can be either.”

His words cut her, but Jillian was used to hearing them. One mistake when she was sixteen had relegated her to a simpleton who could no longer make decisions for herself, and for each year that passed that she didn’t marry, Father became more difficult to live with and his words crueler to hear.

Every muscle in Jillian’s body relaxed once she was free from her father and his mansion.

Henry chuckled. “Is he still angry over your waltzing with Storm the other evening?”

“If only it were that simple.” She sighed and allowed him to hand her up into his phaeton.

Her brother jumped into the driver’s seat and took hold of the reins. “I’m sorry. I should not have answered for you the other evening.” He cast a look from the corner of his eye. “I plan on calling on Felding to learn if his sister sold the painting,” Henry announced. “And then call on Mr. Storm to learn what I can. I should have before now, but it is a delicate topic and I’ve been deciding how best to approach the matter, especially if it is one of those from your past.”

“It is.” Tears welled, but she quickly blinked them away. “He purchased it three years ago in New Orleans.”

Henry stiffened. “When did you learn this?”

Jillian quickly explained that she couldn’t stand the wondering and worrying and went directly to Felding, only to encounter Mr. Storm.

Her brother relaxed and nodded. “Then there is nothing to worry about, is there?”

“How can you even say that?” she cried. “He owns one of them. Oh, I wish they could all be gathered up and burned.”

“That I do not doubt,” he said dryly as they pulled into Hyde Park. “I know Storm. He’s not the type of person who would do something to intentionally embarrass another. And, as there is nothing that can be done, put them from your mind.”

It was easy for him to say. Nobody had a portrait of him barely clad in clothing lounging about. What a fool she’d been.

“Do you care to walk or do you prefer to ride?”

If her father was here, he’d insist on riding, especially sitting up so high where he could look down on society. It was probably his favorite activity. “I’d like to walk.”

After securing the reins to a post Henry assisted her to the ground and offered his arm. “Try to enjoy the day, Jillian. There is no point in worrying about something you have no control over.”

“Father isn’t intent on running your life and picking your bride while another gentleman holds a scandalous portrait of you. As well-meaning as your advice, it’s not easy to accept.” She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. “Why hasn’t he demanded you marry? You are responsible for the next heir.”

He grinned. “Oh, he has, but I still have not found a woman that I could love who is also so unsuitable that Father would have an apoplexy.”

At least he had some control in thwarting Father, whereas she had none.

“If only I had the same options as you.” She sighed.

“Perhaps you do.” Henry nodded, and she glanced over to find Mr. Samuel Storm approaching with two young ladies on his arms and another following in their wake.

CHAPTER 6

“Thank you for bringing us to the park,” his sister Hannah said for the fifth time since they left the townhouse.

“Being with Mother was simply unbearable,” added Tabitha.

“If she had it her way, we’d not leave the house at all for fear of running into Danby,” added Deborah.

“Don’t worry about mother or our great uncle. Neither Ben, Nate, nor I will allow either of them to manipulate you into a marriage you don’t want.”

“That’s fine and good for now,” complained Hannah. “You’ll be off to Barbados at the end of the Season, and Nate will probably leave for shores unknown, leaving only Ben to interfere.”

“He’s only one gentleman against mother,” insisted Deborah. “We can’t count on Peter to ever be of assistance.” Peter was their twenty-four year old brother who remained scarce. Sam had barely seen him since he’d arrived in London. Not that he blamed the chap. All three of the bachelor sons avoided the household unless necessary.

“The odds are stacked against Ben,” sighed Tabitha.

Though Sam would like to remain and watch out for his sisters, he could not be away from his plantation for months on end. He’d already been gone four months. His estate manager could run things in his absence, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be gone for the potential years it could take to marry off his sisters, even if they should have married by now.

Hannah was two and twenty and Tabitha was twenty, yet mother was scared to death that if they did marry, they’d move to the opposite end of England, and she wouldn’t be near enough to interfere with their lives.

Not that Mother considered it interference, she just wanted her family close so she could care for them, which was the other reason Sam preferred Barbados over England. Only one of his sisters had married so far, and she lived only fifteen miles from the family estate, which suited their mother perfectly.

His younger sisters would just need to learn to handle Mother on their own. He had more pressing matters, such as when he could see Lady Jillian again. He couldn’t call on her because no doubt the duke would send him away, but if he could manage to attend the same functions, he might just have another opportunity to dance and speak with her.

Thoughts of Lady Jillian churned in his mind while he blocked out the complaining of his sisters, but then Sam saw her walking towards them on the arm of her brother.

Her eyes met his and all color drained from her face and a flash of panic lit in her eyes.

Despite his assurance, Lady Jillian did not trust that he would hold her confidence. “There is someone I must greet,” he said, practically pulling his sisters along in his wake.

Lady Jillian and Broadridge stopped at their approach, and Sam was quick to make the introductions to his sisters before turning to Lady Jillian. “Might we walk for a moment?”

Looks of surprise flashed upon his sisters’ faces, and a spark of approval lit in Broadridge’s eyes.

Lady Jillian glanced to her brother, almost as if asking permission. He inclined his head. “I’ll keep your sisters occupied, Storm,” Broadridge said as he sent them off.

Samuel turned down a path that led through some bushes, putting as much distance between them and the crowd as they could while still remaining in sight. Once he was assured they could not be overheard, he turned and looked down into her troubled blue eyes. “Are you going to panic every time you see me?”

“You have something that could ruin me.” Jillian fully expected a demand for his silence. Mr. Storm assured her that he would not, but after a full day of thinking on the subject, she assumed he’d changed his mind. Anyone else wouldn’t hesitate to use blackmail in some manner.

“Which I would never do.”

“How can I know you wouldn’t? Your word?” She practically laughed.

He grasped her hands in his. “What can I do to assure you?”

She studied his face and eyes. The sincerity was there, but she was also no fool, and there was only one thing he could do to make her trust him. “After you return home, ship the painting to me so that it can be destroyed.”

He straightened and let her hands drop. “That I will never do.”

“Then we have nothing further to say to one another.” Jillian turned on her heel, intending to march back to her brother.

“And you’ll spend the rest of your life tying your stomach in knots while waiting for the painting to become public.”

She paused at his words. Simply waiting for the other shoe to drop would see her in Bedlam. There must be a way to get the painting away from him. For a moment she contemplated hiring someone to steal it, but then the thief would see the painting, and if she couldn’t trust Mr. Storm, she certainly couldn’t trust a thief.

“Do you want to know why I purchased that painting in the first place?”

Her face heated. If it were one of the risqué ones, she already knew.

He took a step closer, and she glanced up at him over her shoulder.

“I’m not going to lie and say that the goddess reclining on the fainting couch wasn’t what first drew my attention.”

Oh dear, he had one of the last ones painted. When she’d let her guard down and trusted Nico. Blindly trusted.

Mr. Storm stepped in front of her as he spoke. “From the long, shapely leg to the mouthwatering bodice, adorned with a small crescent mark upon the right breast.”

She swallowed, wishing to run, but the huskiness of his tone, and darkening of those green eyes held her in place.

“The body captivated me. Inspired lust, if I may be so bold, but that isn’t the reason I had to have it.”

Not only was her face heating, but her entire body warmed. Shivers ran down her spine as her bodice grew tight. What was it about Samuel Storm, the low timber of his voice and intense emerald eyes that made her want to launch herself into his arms?

“It wasn’t even the beautiful face that I have the honor of gazing upon now.”

He really did think her beautiful?

“I don’t know why you posed or who the artist was. It makes no difference to me because he captured something that has haunted me since.”

“What?”

“Your eyes.”

She blinked at him. Her eyes were blue. No different than anyone else’s blue eyes, which were quite common in England.

“Eyes so full of emotion, a glimpse into the soul.” He took another step toward her, yet Jillian could not move away, caught up in the intensity of his voice. “Innocence, seduction, spirit, vulnerability, rebellion, and sadness all converging.” He smiled. “I’ve spent years wondering which emotion would emerge the strongest.” He brought a hand up and cradled her cheek. “It pains me to learn that it was sadness, above all, that won.”

CHAPTER 7

She simply stared at him, eyes wide with shock and her beguiling mouth parted in surprise. If they weren’t standing in the middle of this blasted park he would kiss her so thoroughly that she’d understand why he was not about to give up that painting and just how badly he wanted her.

He let his hand drop before he slid his palm behind her head and lowered his mouth to hers. “What functions are you attending tonight?”

She blinked as her eyebrows drew together before she shook her head, as if coming out of a trance. Oh, if only he had the power to mesmerize her.

“I’m staying in,” she finally answered.

“Might I call on you?”

Her eyes widened with fear and she took a step back. “Goodness, no.”

“Is that because you don’t wish for me to court you?”

“Court?”

He grinned. He’d fully shocked her, which he found delightful indeed. “Yes. Court. I’d like to come to know the lady I’ve been obsessing over for the past three years.”

“You truly wish to court me?” Her brow furrowed and she frowned, as if she didn’t believe him.

“Surely I am not the first gentleman to wish to do so?” Why was she so surprised?

Lady Jillian narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “To what purpose?”

“Why can’t you believe it is simply because I wish to know you better?”

“Because nobody ever has. I’m just a means to an end, and if you expect to gain favor with my father, he will never approve.”

He laughed. “I am well aware that I am far beneath him and you.”

“Him,” she corrected quickly.

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Not you?”

“No.” Again she answered quickly.

“Yet, I cannot call on you?”

“Father would never allow it.” The sadness he wished to erase flooded her eyes again. “Thank you for assuring me of your trust. I’m glad we had this conversation.” Lady Jillian turned. “Good day, Mr. Storm.”

She hurried away from him as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels, and Sam was fairly certain that if she wasn’t a lady in a public park, she would have run back to her brother.

Lady Jillian was not immune to him, but she hadn’t granted him permission to call on her either.

Of course, she never would. His Grace had her too well trained, or was she simply too afraid of her father to go against his dictate?

Not that Sam would let that minor inconvenience stop him. As he once obsessed over the painting, he now obsessed over the model. He had to have her or at least know her better. Until then, he’d not be able to move forward or even contemplate returning home. In the end, he may be satisfied with what he learned and be able to hide the painting away. Or he would be taking Lady Jillian back with him to Barbados, whether her father approved or not. And, the only way his future could be determined was if he pursued the lady who haunted his dreams.

Jillian forced a smile as she approached her brother and Mr. Storm’s younger sisters. “Please excuse us. I find I must return home.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned toward her brother’s phaeton. She needed to get out of there before Mr. Storm caught up to her.

Tears stung her eyes, but she held them in check, while her pulse raced and her stomach churned. For the first time in her life, a gentlemen really wished to know her. Court her, not her father or the hope of gaining favor from His Grace.

But what if it was all a lie?

What if there was something he wanted and this was all a ruse?

What did she even know about him, other than the queer sensations in the pit of her stomach, the heating of her blood, the desire to know how he kissed?

Everyone wanted something. Could she trust that he simply wanted her?

“What the blazes is wrong with you?” Henry hissed as he helped her up to the seat.

“I just need to return home.”

He hopped into the driver’s seat and took the reins. “It’s more than that. You’re as pale as a ghost and are shaking like a leaf in a storm.”

Her chest was tight and Jillian was finding it difficult to breathe. Anxiety washed through her, and all she wanted to do was find her bed in a dark room.

“Tell me what has you so upset,” Henry demanded as he moved into traffic. “If Storm has insulted or hurt you in any manner, I will see that he pays.”

Jillian turned to him. “You have it all wrong,” she cried.

“Then what is it?”

“He wishes to court me.”

Her brother didn’t react immediately. After a moment his shoulders relaxed, and then he tilted his head as if in contemplation, and then he smiled. “Good for him.”

“He knows Father will never approve.”

“Somehow I don’t believe Storm will let that stop him, and he has my full support.”

CHAPTER 8

Samuel paced behind the settee in the parlor, waiting. After questioning most of the staff, he found a maid who had a sister who worked in the home of the Duke of Eldridge. Meg’s duty today was not to see to the dusting in the downstairs rooms but to find out where Lady Jillian would be tonight. She’d been gone nearly an hour. How long did it take to ask a simple question?

“Can we go to a ball tonight, Mother?” Hannah asked.

The teacup rattled as Mother set it back into the china saucer. “Are you so anxious to marry?”

“I am two and twenty,” Hannah reminded her.

“A child,” her mother dismissed.

“I believe you’d already been married and safely delivered four children by the time you were the same age as Hannah,” Nate pointed out as he entered the room.

“A much different time,” his mother dismissed. “In this modern age, there is no need for ladies to marry fresh out of the school room.”

Samuel hitched a brow. By the age of the crop of debutants this year, it appeared the rest of Society did not hold with Mother’s opinions.

“Besides, I would have my daughters close. There are plenty of bachelors in Northumberland, and they will marry one of them.”

Deborah frowned and slouched in her seat.

“Then why come to London at all?” Nate demanded.

“For a holiday, of course.”

“A holiday spent in a townhouse in Mayfair with an occasional walk in Hyde Park,” Tabitha grumbled. “We can walk at home.”

The butler hurried into the room, his eyes wide. “It’s His Grace.”

That wasn’t exactly how someone was to be announced.

His mother’s tea cup and saucer clattered as she tried to set it on the table.

“Which His Grace?” Samuel asked calmly, assuming it was Danby but fearing it was Eldridge come to warn him away from Lady Jillian. Not that he intended on obeying any duke, but Sam would suffer through a visit, then do as he wished.

“Me!” The Duke of Danby strode through the doorway.

His mother appeared as if she might have an apoplexy at any moment by the terror on her face.

“To what do we owe this visit, Your Grace,” Nate asked.

“Would you care for tea, Your Grace?” Hannah asked, the only female in the room who retained her composure.

“No, thank you.” He turned his attention, better described as a glare, on Samuel’s mother.

She sank back against the cushions.

“You, Madam, will cease hiding in this house as if the world is full of monsters.”

He shook his cane at her. She pulled even further back as terror filled her eyes.

“You’ve not presented your daughters anywhere since you scurried from the Heathfield al fresco. They will attend the Bentley ball this evening even if I have to come here and drag them there myself.” He narrowed his eyes on her. “You do not want me to be forced to do so.”

“Of course not, Your Grace,” his mother stammered out, and Samuel bit back a grin.

Then Danby turned on him, waving that blasted cane in his direction. “And you will attend me this evening.”

“Me?” Sam had other plans, and they did not include his great uncle. “What of Nathaniel?”

“I have other plans for him.” Danby poked Sam in the chest with his cane. “Dress for a ball, and I will retrieve you tonight.” The duke glared back at his mother. “It will also allow me to make sure your mother is doing as ordered.” Danby then turned to Nate and pulled a pouch from the inside of his suit coat. “Deliver this to Kirkland House. My donation to the good work they do.” He turned and marched from the room, leaving them all in stunned silence.

As the front door clicked, his mother burst into tears.

As was expected, Jillian stood next to her father in the ballroom of the Earl of Bentley, saying nothing and holding herself in reserve as her father greeted one person after another while her mind wandered, as it did more and more of late.

She’d had a day to come to terms with the words of Mr. Storm. After much thought, she decided to trust that he would never reveal her secret. She had to trust someone at some time in her life, and even though she only met the gentleman a few days ago, she decided to trust him.

There was no reason for it, of course. She’d known others much longer and wouldn’t confide what she had for breakfast to them, let alone that she’d posed for scandalous portraits to be painted. Yet Henry believed she could trust him.

Maybe it was because she wanted to believe that there was a gentleman who simply wanted her for her. The very idea thrilled Jillian to her bones. She’d tried to think of reasons why Mr. Storm would wish to gain her father’s favor, but nothing came to mind. He was already wealthy and landed, even if he didn’t have a title. So, he must truly wish to know her, odd as that was to believe.

Not that any of it mattered. Father would never allow her to look in his direction, let alone speak his name or consider walking with him. But at least she had the comfort of knowing that she’d been wanted. Something she had never thought to experience.

Father stiffened by her side, and she glanced to where he was looking. The formidable Duke of Danby was striding toward them with Mr. Samuel Storm by his side. Why would His Grace wish to speak with her father? The two men hated each other.

Danby stopped in front of them. “Eldridge,” he greeted.

“Danby,” her father grumbled then sent a look of disgust to Mr. Storm.

Why were they here? Had Mr. Storm asked Danby to intervene on his behalf? Goodness, this would not go well.

“My great-nephew, Mr. Samuel Storm.”

Jillian’s eyes widened. Storm was related to Danby? He never mentioned the connection, not that it would matter to her father any more than it mattered to her.

“My younger sister’s grandson,” he explained.

Then Danby glared at Mr. Storm. “Well, take Lady Jillian for a turn about the room or something. Eldridge and I have matters to discuss.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. What was she supposed to do?

“Lady Jillian.” Mr. Storm offered his elbow.

Jillian’s pulse pounded, fear of her father if she took his arm and the excitement of being with Mr. Storm warred inside her.

Then, as if an imp prodded her, Jillian threw caution to the wind and slipped her hand into the crook of Mr. Storm’s arm and allowed him to lead her away from the two imposing dukes.

“I promise, I did not put my great-uncle up to this. I had no idea what his intentions were when he demanded I attend him this evening.”

“I can’t find it in myself to mind.” And she didn’t. In fact, she was thrilled to her toes. Her father was most likely fuming, but he hadn’t kept her from walking off with Mr. Storm either.

She glanced back at the two dukes. Both frowned as they spoke to each other. She could practically feel the tension from here.

“Forget them,” Mr. Storm said just as the chords of a waltz began. “Might I have the honor of this dance?”

“It’s already promised to Lord Lowery.”

The corner of his mouth tipped. “He is not here and I am. Dance with me?”

She couldn’t help but return his smile. “Yes.”

“Ah, there it is.”

“What?”

“A bit of rebellion in those lovely blue eyes. It’s much better than before.”

Jillian was feeling rebellious. She wanted to dance with Mr. Storm. She wanted to dance the night away in his arms, not the unpleasant Lord Lowery, whom her father has determined would be a good match for her.

“Which functions will you be attending?” he asked once they were waltzing about the room.

“I do not know. Father rarely informs me until I’m required to prepare for whatever he deems worthy of our attendance.”

“There is a way to get word to me. Once you know, of course.”

Jillian bit her bottom lip and stared up into his eyes. “How?” Her father would murder her and then lock her in her chamber if he ever learned.

“Agnes, an upstairs maid, are you familiar with her?”

“My Agnes?” What did he know of the servants in her household?

“Her sister is a maid in my family’s home. That is how I learned where you’d be tonight.”

Her eyes grew wide. “It’s not a coincidence you’re here?”

“I had every intention of coming here until Danby demanded my attendance. Had he wished to attend another function, I would have refused so I could be here.” He glanced back at his great-uncle. “I’m not his servant to answer to his every demand regardless of what he may believe,” Mr. Storm bit out.

“He wanted you here on purpose? To what end?”

“Unfortunately, I know all too well what my great-uncle is up to.” Mr. Storm glared at Danby as they passed. “I’ll deal with him later.”

“How would Agnes get a message to you?”

“Because Meg’s new position in our household, is to sit in your kitchen until Agnes reports on your activities for the day.”

“What if she’s caught? Agnes could be sacked? And what of the other servants in the kitchens. How can you trust they won’t report to my father?”

“I believe you have far more support in that household than you realize.”

Jillian frowned. Was it true? She barely spoke to the staff, not since her personal maid had betrayed her. She wasn’t unkind, she just no longer shared any of herself.

“So, will you do it? Tell Agnes where you will be so that I can be there as well?”

Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Did she dare?

“Don’t let fear win,” he whispered.

Jillian smiled. She was tired of being afraid and unhappy. “Yes.”

He grinned.

She could meet him every day, but nothing would change. Father would still never approve. But this might be the only excitement she would ever have.

CHAPTER 9

A s the waltz ended, Sam had no choice but to relinquish Jillian back to her father. His Grace glared at both of them.

“You were to dance with Lord Lowery,” he reminded her.

“I did not see him,” Lady Jillian replied obediently.

“Had you been standing with me, where you belong, you would have noted him approach me.”

Jillian cast her eyes toward the floor. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“You will make it up to him by allowing him to drive you in the park tomorrow.”

“Yes, Father.”

At least Sam now knew where she’d be, not that he could pursue her in the park while with Lord Lowery, but Sam would think of something before then.

“Come.” Danby barked at Sam as if he were a pet dog. The only reason he obeyed was because he and Danby needed to come to an understating.

“Thank you for your company and the waltz, Lady Jillian.” He bowed and took his leave, following his great-uncle out of the manor, stopping beside him as he waited for his carriage to be brought around.

“Do not ever do that again.”

“What?” Danby demanded.

“Manipulate my life.”

“You wanted to dance with her. I arranged it. You should be thanking me.”

“I do not need your assistance or that of anyone else in my pursuit of Lady Jillian. You will cease interfering in my life.”

Danby turned fully toward Sam. “Do you know that Eldridge had the audacity to claim that you are not good enough for his daughter?”

Now that was a conversation Sam wished he’d been privy too.

“You. Grandson of a Whitton. The blood of my family is not good enough for the likes of his daughter?” Danby stomped his cane. “I never liked that dandiprat, and I never will. If you were wise, you’d give up on Lady Jillian too because you are far too good for the likes of her.”

Sam had seen Danby angry in the past, but never this enraged. “She is the daughter of a duke,” Sam pointed out.

“With a shameful past,” Danby returned.

Sam took a step back. Did his great-uncle know about the paintings?

Of course he did. Danby knew everything.

“Her past is not what matters,” Sam informed His Grace. “Nor does your opinion on the matter of Lady Jillian. And further, I will not stand by while you manipulate my life and determine who I can or can’t marry.” He took a step forward. “I am not one of your grandchildren that you can order about, so do not call on me, summon me, or track me down again, as I will evade you at every turn. Do we understand one another?”

“Bah!” Danby turned as the carriage pulled forward. “Don’t come begging for my help when you find you can’t manage this on your own.”

“Trust me, Your Grace. I won’t.”

Silence! And the longer it continued, the more nervous she became. After father told her last night that Jillian would ride with Lord Lowery today, he’d said nothing further to her. Surely, he was going to blast her for dancing with Mr. Storm, but he hadn’t.

Even now, he sipped his coffee while he read the papers, his breakfast dishes having been taken away. As she was finished eating as well, Jillian, quietly as she could, pushed her chair back with every intention of sneaking away and bringing no attention to herself.

The papers rustled as her father lowered them. “I’ll have you know that I informed Danby last evening that his great-nephew is not to contact you again.”

She swallowed and waited.

“As if I’d consider a mister,” he said with disgust. “Even if Storm held his brother’s title of Earl, I’d not consider him since he’s relate to that ass.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You will stay away from him.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Do not be a fool, Jillian. He’ll use you, as others have in the past. You will not shame me again.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now, go on. Lowery will call at three. You will be in this evening because I need to be elsewhere. Tomorrow you will attend a picnic at the Thorndykes with your brother.”

“Thorndykes?”

“It’s been arranged so that Thorn’s wife can meet his friends and others in Society in a less formal setting. Your brother will be taking you because I have no interest in meeting some vicar’s niece.” He picked up the papers. “Now run along and cease bothering me.”

Jillian didn’t need to be prodded and quickly left the breakfast room and returned to her chamber. Agnes swept the hall just outside her door. She glanced up, question in her dark brown eyes at Jillian’s approach.

Her stomach tightened. Did she trust her? She’d trusted her personal maid before and had been betrayed.

Jillian opened her door and paused. As frightening as it was, she was going to take the risk. “Agnes, could you attend me please?”

“Right away, Lady Jillian.”

Jillian stepped into her room and the maid followed, closing the door behind her.

“Do you know where you’ll be so I can tell my sister?”

Jillian bit her lip as fear clawed at her heart. “You will not tell my father?”

“Heavens, no. It’s about time you did something for yourself and not be ordered around by the likes of him.”

Jillian blinked, surprised at her candor.

“Lady Jillian, if I might speak boldly.”

“Go on.”

“We’ve known you since you were a wee lass. You were such a delightful child. And, we know what happened, and saw the change. Your father has not done right by you, and if he has it his way, you’ll never be happy.”

Tears stung her eyes. Jillian had no idea this was what the servants thought. “I’m not a nice person. In fact, I’m horrible.”

“That’s His Grace’s doing and you don’t have to be that way if you don’t wish it.” Agnes patted her hand like she used to when she was a child. “We’ll keep your confidence,”

Her heart warmed just a bit. Perhaps it was the thawing of ice, but for the second time in as many days, Jillian decided to trust again and told Agnes her schedule.

CHAPTER 10

“Storm, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” David Thorn asked as he came down the stairs, straightening his cravat.

“What do you know of Lord Lowery?”

Thorn frowned. “That he’d rather travel the racing circuit than attend any ball.”

“Couldn’t that be said for most gentlemen of our acquaintance?”

Thorn paused for a moment. “True.” Then turned down a corridor and Sam followed him into the library.

“Though, the gentleman is more horse mad than most, and he also has a weakness for gambling.”

Interesting. Was Eldridge aware of these facts?

“Why are you so interested in the chap?”

“He’s taking a particular lady for a drive this afternoon, and I wish to somehow steal her away for a moment or two.”

Thorn’s eyebrows rose and he grinned. “Something I was very good at once upon a time. But I preferred to think of it as rescuing unsuspecting souls from the unsavory and dull.”

Which was the very reason why Sam had come to Thorn for advice. Who better to ask than a former rake? “What and who would be the easiest distraction?”

“Look no further,” Thorn laughed. “Lowery’s been trying to set a meeting with me to discuss using my stud.” He studied Sam. “Who is this lady whom you are pursuing with such interest?”

“Lady Jillian Simpson.”

His eyes widened in shock. “Are you mad? I’ve already warned you that her father won’t approve, and after the way he glared at the two of you at Bentley’s ball, I don’t expect him to change his opinion.”

“So I gathered,” Sam answered dryly. “Not that I intend to let it stop me.”

If she had to listen to any more on horseflesh or racing, Jillian was going to scream. She and Lowery had no common interests, and after they’d divested of topics of weather, Lowery had decided to talk endlessly about his racers and his estate, which boasted the finest stables in England, according to him. Jillian couldn’t have gotten a word in if she wished. Though he wasn’t unpleasant, Lowery still talked to and at her.

She was just about to plead a headache and asked to be taken home when Lowery called out to Mr. Thorn. Thank goodness. Now he could talk at someone else for a bit.

Her breath hitched. Mr. Storm was riding right beside him, and Jillian couldn’t stop the smile forming on her lips.

“Lowery, Lady Jillian,” they greeted.

“See here, Thorn, I’ve been trying to arrange an appointment with you about that stu…” Lowery glimpsed at Jillian. “Yes, well, if we might talk in private.”

“I’d be happy to walk with Lady Jillian,” Mr. Stone offered.

“It’s very kind of you, Storm.” Lowery then looked at Jillian as if her were waiting for her to simply hop out of the landau so that he might continue his conversation. It was Mr. Storm who dismounted from his horse and came around to assist her. He tossed the reins to Lowery. “Do keep an eye on her.”

“Will do, and you keep an eye on Lady Jillian.”

“Yes, do keep an eye on me,” Jillian said with disgust once they were far enough away not to be overheard.

“Are you apt to run away? Should you still be on leading strings?” Mr. Storm teased.

“Some believe I should,” Jillian laughed. “Why are you here? And don’t tell me it was a coincidence because I won’t believe you.”

“It’s fully intentional, and my good friend Thorn intends to keep Lowery occupied so that we can walk.”

“And how will he manage to do that?”

“Lowery’s been pressing Thorn about the use of a stud.”

“Stop!” Jillian put her hands over her ears.

“I apologize. The topic is too delicate to discuss with a lady.”

“You misunderstand.” She laughed. “If I have to hear any more on the topic horses, I shall scream.”

Storm grinned. “I take it he isn’t exactly a delightful conversationalist.”

“Unless you are horse mad, then no.”

“I enjoy hearing you laugh,” he said after a moment. “I don’t believe I’ve heard it until now.”

“I rarely have cause,” she admitted. In fact, Jillian couldn’t remember the last time she felt free enough to laugh. It wasn’t appropriate behavior, ever.

“It is a shame.” He stopped and turned toward her. “Your eyes sparkle, much like the stars upon the Caribbean Sea.”

“Such flattery, Mr. Storm.”

“Sam. I would have you call me Sam or Samuel.”

“Samuel.” She liked the way the name rolled off her tongue. “And you may address me by Jillian, unless someone is close enough to hear.” She leaned closer to him. “We wouldn’t want that reported back to Father.”

“No.” His emerald eyes softened as he offered an arm again and they continued to walk.

“What possessed you to return to England after five years, Samuel?”

“Roxburg. He needed to return to claim his inheritance. I was simply here for support.”

“When will you be returning?” Did she want to know? What if it was soon?

“I had planned on leaving at the end of the month.”

Disappointment flooded her. Even though she knew whatever was developing between her and Samuel was only temporary, a month was just not long enough.

“However, we had not yet met when that decision was made. Now, I’m no longer in as much of a rush to return to Barbados as I was when the Season first began.”

Her face heated. He was charming and most likely a rouge, but Jillian didn’t care. She’d never been so delighted to spend time with someone, and she was going to enjoy every moment she was allowed to steal.

“Storm!”

Jillian and Samuel turned to find Lowery waving to them and they both sighed.

“I shall return you to your escort.”

“Thank you.”

“As long as you know, I’m relinquishing you on a temporary basis.”

If only that were true. Unfortunately, every moment spent with Samuel would be temporary.

CHAPTER 11

“Is that her?” Hannah whispered. Thorn had asked him to bring a female guest because his mother did not do well when the numbers were uneven. This was a picnic, not a formal dinner, but Lady Thorndyke could be very peculiar at times. This also explained why so many of the bachelors were escorting a cousin or sister. Sam had chosen his oldest sister, Hannah, to accompany him to the gathering at the Thorndyke estate only an hour away from London because she really did need to be free from their mother, if only for a short time. As she was also the same age as Jillian, Sam hoped the two would hit it off.

“Yes.” Sam answered his sister and watched as Jillian entered the garden on the arm of her brother. Where was His Grace? Had his luck turned that he’d be able to have Jillian by his side today?

Jillian glanced up and saw him. Her lovely blue eyes widened and a small smile came to her lips before her attention was drawn away by her brother.

“She is very pretty,” Hannah said after a moment. “Why aren’t you courting her?”

“Her father wouldn’t approve,” Sam answered quietly. “I wish to know her better before I risk the wrath of Eldridge.”

His sister nodded.

“I would appreciate it if you keep this between us. I have no desire to hear Mother’s opinion on the matter or anyone else’s.”

“You have my word. She has scared away every gentleman who may have considered courting me since my first Season.”

Something had to be done about that woman. But, not right now. Once his own affairs were in order, Sam would see to looking out for his sisters, if he wasn’t back in Barbados, of course.

The Earl of Stalter stepped into the garden with his sister on his arm. Stalter and Lady Eve were related to Jillian, cousins removed, he believed. It might be in his best interest to renew their former friendship as he intended to do with Broadridge. The three of them were the same age and had attended school together. His living in Barbados for the last five years is the only reason their friendship was not what it once had been.

Hannah sucked in a breath. Sam looked down at her. “I take it Mother’s plans have not kept you from wishing for courtship outside of Northumberland.”

Her face turned a pale shade of pink. “He’s never noticed me,” she admitted with sadness.

“Perhaps you simply need an introduction, then I’m sure he’d notice.”

The pink in her cheeks deepened to a red. “He is an earl,” she hissed as if she was far beneath him.

“As was our father, and now Ben,” Sam reminded her. Where had Hannah gotten it into her mind that she was beneath others?

“It doesn’t matter. He’d not be interested in someone like me.”

“What the blazes do you mean by that?” When had Hannah developed insecurities?

“I don’t wish to speak of it here.” She smiled up at him. “Let’s enjoy ourselves without Mother’s interference.

He nodded, but this conversation was far from over.

Sam watched Jillian move from group to group on the arm of her brother and waited for his afternoon to be ruined by the entrance of the Duke of Eldridge. It never came and soon they were filling plates.

He and Hannah were too far away from Jillian and her brother, but at least he could gaze upon her during the meal. Several times their eyes locked and held. He couldn’t wait for the blasted meal to be over and for the entertainments to begin, whatever those entertainments were. It didn’t matter as long as he could find a way to be at Jillian’s side.

This party was made up of the younger set, at least those who were thirty years or younger, with the exception of the Thorndykes. The rest of the guests were Thorn’s friends and made for a jovial and lighthearted mood, all for the purpose of introducing his wife, Anna.

Thorn stood and called the gentlemen together. “A toast, in the library.”

They followed him inside, leaving the ladies quite alone. Odd that, but Samuel couldn’t imagine they’d be gone long, and followed the rest. Cheroots were passed about and brandy poured. Thorn lifted his glass. “To my wife.”

The men toasted to Mrs. Thorn.

Then Thorn grinned. “Congratulate me, gentlemen, I am to be a father.”

Sam nearly choked on his brandy. It was difficult enough to get used to the idea of Thorn being married. But a father?

He pointed to Blake Chetwey. “I should warn you that my wife has every intention on descending upon your estate when the time comes because she wants to be near your wife.”

Quentin Post and Patrick Delaney laughed.

“Let’s hope her delivery is far less eventful than my wife’s.” Chetwey raised a glass as did the others. Sam glanced at Post, Delaney, and Chetwey who were shaking their heads. What had he missed? At least Chetwey’s wife was healthy as was their child, but he still had the nagging suspicion something had happened that he, nor many in the room, were aware of.

“Now, one final order of business,” he announced. “There is to be a scavenger hunt, and I would be remiss if you were not partnered with the lady of your choice.” He grinned. “Some habits are not easily broken.”

Those in the room laughed.

“Before you think you might be able to take the lady off on your own, the groups will be of six, thus you will all be chaperoning each other.”

A few gentlemen groaned but it was all in good humor.

“The list of ladies is here. Simply add your name beside the lady you wish to be partnered with.”

Others reached the list before Sam and he hoped nobody chose Jillian before he had a chance. By the time it was his turn only a few ladies remained free. One of them being Jillian, and he wrote his name beside hers. Directly below it was his sister’s, and he couldn’t help but grin when he saw that Stalter had written his name beside hers. His sister was definitely wrong about the earl not noticing her because Stalter had been the first in line and could have had anyone he wished.

Soon the men were in smaller groups as they finished their brandy and cheroots before rejoining the ladies, and Sam found himself standing with Post, Chetwey, Delaney, and Stalter.

“Did you ever rid Marisdùn of that odor, Quent?” Stalter asked.

“Marisdùn?” Sam asked.

“Castle that Quent inherited,” Chetwey answered. “He and Bradenham have had a Samhain masquerade there for the last two years. Always an enjoyable and interesting party.”

“Interesting is one word to describe it,” Delaney said before taking a drink of brandy.

“As to your question,” Post said. “I do believe we’ve aired the place out completely.” He turned to Sam. “You know, you really should stay in England, Storm. You’ve missed quite a lot while you were off in Barbados.”

“I have no intention of living here year round, but will consider visiting in the spring and summer months.” Of course, all that depended on if he married, who he married, and if he needed to interfere on his sisters’ behalf during the Season. He’d need to have a long chat with his brothers because Ben certainly hadn’t been doing his duty to them.

Jillian watched as Lady Hannah Storm crossed to the teacart and then made her way to the blanket Jillian was sitting upon. She and Lady Hannah were barely acquaintances. In fact, everyone here was an acquaintance, and that’s the way it had always been. She’d also tried not to ever let it bother her. She kept her chin high and back stiff, keeping others at a distance. Her father taught her that there were no real friends in the world, only people who wanted something from you. A lesson she had learned at the age of six and ten. She’d done well since and convinced herself that it didn’t matter and that the friendships she witnessed were nothing to be jealous of because one was the means to the end for the other.

Except she no longer wanted to be this way, nor did she believe Father’s view of Society was correct. And she hadn’t realized how very alone she’d been until Samuel Storm had blown into her life.

Jillian also understood why none of those gathered in the gardens would wish to be her friend. Bianca Valentine, the recent bride of the Duke of Roxburg, stood in conversation with Lady Felding. The two were sisters, and she’d almost ruined their lives. They had good reason to hate her. As for the rest of the ladies, she’d never encouraged a friendship and held herself aloof, being better than they were. Not that she truly believed that was true, but as her father would not approve, it was easier to remain reserved than endure his lectures. Within the first year of her entry into Society, those who might have been friends no longer bothered with her. In fact, she wasn’t even the one who’d been invited to this gathering. It had been her brother, and he only brought her so there would be even numbers.

It served her right that everyone kept their distance. She was a horrible person. She didn’t deserve their friendship, and she certainly didn’t deserve Samuel. She hated herself and what she’d become. Her father might have made her this way, but she had allowed it. She didn’t deserve to be happy because of the pain she’d caused others.

“Hello,” Lady Hannah greeted. “May I join you?”

Jillian blinked at her. “Yes.”

Lady Hannah settled down beside Jillian, taking her by surprise.

Oh, she had never been very good at conversation. Rarely did she have to participate. She did well enough at a supper table, where topics were general and benign, but when the ladies retired to await the gentlemen, she usually sat by herself sipping tea.

“I have a confession,” Lady Hannah blurted out.

“Yes.”

“I am horrible at social gatherings.”

Jillian laughed. “As am I.”

Lady Hannah frowned. “I find that very difficult to believe.”

Which was further proof that she was very good at exhibiting what she wished people to see. “Truthfully, I can become anxious when I am in conversation with those I don’t know.”

Lady Hannah pulled back. “If you would like me leave…”

“No!” Jillian hastened to say. This was the first time in a long time that someone wished to speak with her, and she didn’t want to send them scurrying away.

“If you’re certain,” Lady Hannah hesitated.

“I am positive.”

“Very well.” She grinned. “I normally don’t speak to someone I don’t know very well, but I wanted to become better acquainted with you.”

Jillian frowned. “Why?” Had she heard the rumors of how horrible she was?

“My brother, Samuel, couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

Jillian’s face heated. “I’ve made his acquaintance.”

“I do believe he is quite smitten,” Lady Hannah confessed.

Jillian was more than smitten. Not that it did any good. At the end of the Season, she’d probably be wed to Lord Lowery who was more interested in horseflesh than he’d ever be in his own wife.

Before Jillian could say anything, not that she knew what to say, the gentlemen returned to the garden. Her cousin, Stalter, and brother found her and came forward.

“Lady Hannah Storm, may I introduce my brother, the Marquess of Broadridge and my cousin, the Earl of Stalter.”

Lady Hannah stood. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Her face blossomed with pink cheeks and Jillian couldn’t imagine why Lady Hannah would be embarrassed.

Her cousin, sister to Stalter, Eve Grell, joined them, looking at Jillian oddly. The two had never been close. Not like Jillian would have liked, but it was her fault and not anyone else’s.

“Hannah, there you are,” Samuel said, coming to his sister’s side. He greeted Jillian and then her cousin and turned as Thorn stepped out of the house.

“Today there is to be a scavenger hunt,” Thorn announced. “You will be assigned a partner and then put into teams of six.”

Jillian stifled a groan. She hated these events. She was always paired with people who didn’t like her, and for good reason, and frankly, she was very poor at these games. She didn’t do well figuring out the clues and always was left to feel like an idiot.

Thorn began listing the partners and she held her breath, afraid to look around and see the look of disappointment on the poor gentleman’s face who was stuck with her.

“Lady Jillian Simpson is to be paired with Mr. Samuel Storm.”

She blinked and looked up. Had she heard correctly?

“It looks like we are to be partnered,” Samuel said.

“It appears so.”

Samuel as a partner alleviated some of her anxiety, but would he be disappointed in her when he realized she wasn’t very good at this game?

CHAPTER 12

In the end, the two of them were paired with Mr. and Mrs. Blake Chetwey as well as Mr. and Mrs. Jordan Trent. This could work out well. Chetwey was his friend and would be of assistance, and Trent once had a reputation to rival Thorn’s, so certainly he’d understand that Sam would wish to be alone with Jillian if only for a short time.

“Oh, I’ve never been any good at figuring out the clues,” Mrs. Trent said.

“Me either,” Mrs. Chetwey agreed.

Jillian visibly relaxed at his side. “I am so glad, because I am horrible at scavenger hunts.”

“Your first clues,” Thorn announced. “Each team should take one but do not open them until I say.”

It was Chetwey who went to get theirs and brought it back. They waited until all the groups were together and then Thorn told them they could open the clue.

I’m full of water

But don’t take a sip

I’m here for enjoyment

Not a dip

“A fountain?” Jillian said.

“I thought you said you weren’t very good at this game,” Sam teased.

She blinked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes. “I’m not.”

He just hoped she wasn’t intent on playing because he had other plans.

Thorn had a large fountain at the back of the garden and the other four in their group hurried ahead. Samuel and Jillian walked slower. There had to be a way that they could separate from the group without being obvious.

By the time Sam and Jillian reached the others, they’d already read the clue.

“A shelter hidden within the green,” said Trent.

“A folly? Gazebo?” Mrs. Trent guessed.

All of them turned to look at the copse of trees surrounding three sides of the estate.

“Where do we begin?” Chetwey asked

“We can all go in separate directions and hope we find it,” Sam suggested.

Trent’s lips quirked when he looked from Sam to Jillian and back again. “We are required to remain together.”

Blast. He didn’t want to ruin the game by disqualifying them because he wanted to be alone with Jillian.

“Then which direction?” Mrs. Trent asked.

“Others are going east.”

“The path is larger than any others,” mussed Lady Chetwey.

“Doesn’t that seem a bit too obvious,” Trent suggested. “Unless Thorn wishes to keep this easy.”

“I don’t think he would,” said Chetwey.

Sam agreed with his assessment and assumed that each clue would become more difficult. “Then I suggest we go west.” Samuel grinned.

“West it is,” Trent said and started off in that direction.

It was soon clear why nobody went in this direction. There was but a very narrow path when a much wider one went in the opposite direction. Wild flowers of purple and pink bloomed among the wild foliage, and animals scurried in the dried leaves. “It’s lovely,” Mrs. Chetwey said.

Sam was just about to suggest they turn back when the white of a building peeked through the trees. The others hurried ahead. Jillian, who had been by his side, let out a little cry before she fell forward, landing on her palms.

Thank goodness for her gloves or her hands would be quite scraped, though that didn’t lessen the pain in her wrists. Further, her ankle throbbed.

Samuel was kneeling on the ground by her side in an instant. “Are you harmed?”

“Embarrassed,” Jillian laughed as she rolled over and sat up.

“Here, let me help you.” With this arm about her waist, Sam helped Jillian come to her feet. She shook out her gown and brushed the twigs and leaves from her skirts. Her left ankle ached, but she didn’t want to say anything until she tested it with walking.

“What happened?” Chetwey called, coming back to them.

“My foot caught on something.”

Chetwey crouched and cleared the area revealing a large root that she’d caught her foot on. “We should clean up the area before anyone else is injured.”

“We’re the only ones who have come this way,” Samuel said.

“The others will be along if they don’t give up. The next clue is in the gazebo.”

“Then we are ahead of the game,” Jillian said brightly and took a step toward the gazebo. Pain shot up her leg and she would have fallen again if Sam hadn’t grasped her about the waist. Before she knew what was happening, he swept her into his arms and marched toward the gazebo and settled her down on the bench.

Mrs. Chetwey rushed forward. “What pains you?”

“My left ankle,” Jillian answered between clenched teeth.

Mrs. Chetwey reached for the hem of her skirt. “May I?”

Jillian nodded.

“Turn your backs, gentlemen.”

They did and Mrs. Trent knelt beside Mrs. Chetwey. She folded her skirts above her knee then lifted Jillian’s left foot. With each movement she winced with pain. “You need to stay off of this for a bit.”

“I can’t,” Jillian protested. “What of the hunt? We all need to stay together.”

“I think an injury is an exception to the rule,” Sam insisted. “I’ll take Lady Jillian back to the picnic area and explain while the rest of you continue.”

Mrs. Chetwey frowned. “I’d feel better if she rested first, with her ankle propped somehow, before you carry her back.”

“That’s it then. We’re done.” Mrs. Trent settled on one of the benches.

“No. You must continue,” Jillian insisted. She’d feel horrible if they had to forfeit because she managed to injure herself.

“We can’t leave you alone, or alone with Mr. Storm.”

“They won’t be alone long,” Mr. Trent insisted. “Others will eventually come this way, and Lady Jillian is injured.”

“I can call out warnings to watch their step while the four of you continue and win.” Samuel grinned. “But, you must promise to share the prize.”

“Blake, find me some small logs.” Mrs. Chetwey smoothed Jillian’s skirts back over the lower portion of her legs. “Mr. Trent and Mr. Storm, perhaps you should clear the dead leaves from the rest of the path so others are not injured.”

She turned back to Jillian. “Once I return home, I’ll have a poultice delivered. You should apply it before you go to sleep and keep your ankle propped up.”

Jillian nodded. “Thank you.”

“In a few days, you should be able to move about.”

She didn’t mind being incapacitated for a few days, but she also wouldn’t be able to visit with Samuel. Her father would never allow him to call on her. This was both a blessing and a curse.

Mr. Chetwey returned with a few small logs. Mrs. Chetwey selected one and then instructed Jillian to recline on the bench with her back against a post. It wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as she anticipated. Mrs. Chetwey then asked for Samuel’s jacket, which he shrugged out of and handed to her. She folded it gently, laid it on the log then slid it under Jillian’s ankle. “You should remain like this for half an hour, if you can, and then Mr. Storm can carry you back to the gardens.”

“Mr. Storm, you should sit over there,” Mrs. Trent pointed to the spot furthest from Jillian. “There is no reason to call Lady Jillian’s reputation into question because she’s been injured.”

Jillian’s face heated. At one time she would have used this very opportunity to land the husband her father had chosen. She hadn’t wanted any of them. Not really. However, to be ruined by Mr. Storm would not be such a bad thing.

“I promise to behave in the most gentlemanly fashion,” Samuel said as he settled in the spot Mrs. Trent had pointed to.

“Now, where are we off to?” Mr. Chetwey asked.

“I believe the barn,” answered Mr. Trent, and before long, Jillian and Samuel were left quite alone in the gazebo, simply looking at each other.

“I’m sorry you have to miss out on the fun. I don’t mind if you wish to join them.”

“I am exactly where I wish to be, with the lady I wish to be with.”

“You hardly know me,” Jillian said as her cheeks heated.

“But I want to know everything.”

Pain stabbed at her heart. Once he knew everything, he’d never spend another moment in her company. “No. You don’t. I am an awful person.”

Samuel frowned. “I find that impossible to believe.”

“Trust me. I am.” As much as she wanted a pleasurable Season with a gentleman she enjoyed spending time with and rebelling against her father, it was unfair to Samuel. He was only attracted to her because of a painting and knew nothing about her. Hadn’t he noticed that nobody spoke with her earlier? Didn’t he find it odd that all the other guests were friendly, except with her? Well, other than his sister, but she was simply curious.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself, and then let me decide if you are truly so horrible.”

Tears stung her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away. She didn’t want to tell him anything, but he had a right to know before he wasted any further time with her. “I’ll begin with the portrait. You must be curious.” She would start with the first of her foolishness and once he heard, he’d surely turn away from her, and then she wouldn’t have to tell him about the worst of her behavior.

Samuel leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest as he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to be as comfortable with herself as Samuel was with himself.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I’ve wondered how it is possible the daughter of a duke came to pose in such a manner.”

Her face was on fire. “I will tell you, but you must watch for others. I will tell you but no one else.”

His face sobered and he nodded.

Jillian took a deep breath. “I was sixteen when it started and seventeen when the last of them were completed,” she began.

“Last of them?”

Jillian shook her head to dismiss the question, not wanting to get ahead of herself. “My maid, who I thought was my friend, suggested I have a portrait done as a surprise for my father.” Jillian smiled sadly. “She’d been my maid since I was a girl and was only a few years older than I. She was my only playmate and I trusted her. I also thought it a grand idea since I was always trying to find a way to win my father’s approval.” The smile slipped. “She took me to an artist she knew.”

Jillian couldn’t look at Samuel any longer. She didn’t want to see sympathy or disgust or any other reaction he may have to her foolishness.

“At first she remained in the room with us, but as the sittings became more frequent, she would leave us alone. I had no idea how many sittings were necessary for a portrait,” she laughed bitterly. “Nico seduced me with words and made me believe he had fallen in love with me.” She quickly glanced at Samuel. “He did not physically seduce me,” she insisted. “But he might as well have.”

“Do watch your step, Broadridge,” Samuel called out and Jillian quit talking. Even though her brother knew what had occurred, he would not appreciate her telling anyone else and she certainly didn’t want the others in his group to hear either.

Henry stepped into the gazebo. He looked from Jillian to Storm and back. “Why aren’t you with your group?” he demanded.

“Your sister turned her ankle, and Mrs. Chetwey insisted she sit with it raised for half an hour before returning.”

“What would Mrs. Chetwey know of injuries?” Broadridge asked, something Jillian hadn’t even questioned.

“She’s a healer of sorts,” Lord Patrick Delaney said. “She’s often helped the ill and injured near Marisdùn when the doctor is not available. If she says Lady Jillian should rest, then she should.”

Henry frowned further. “Then I shall remain with you.”

“And forfeit?” Jillian asked. “It’s a hurt ankle. Mr. Storm is a gentlemen and has remained far away from be. Besides, anyone could come across us at any time.”

Henry studied them and she could tell he was trying to decide whether to stay or leave. “A word, Mr. Storm?” Henry nodded to a place beyond the gazebo.

CHAPTER 13

Sam followed Broadridge into the woods, further away from the others. He wasn’t sure what to expect.

“What are your intentions toward my sister?” Broadridge demanded.

“Intentions?” Should he tell Broadridge the truth or keep his own confidence?

“I’d have to be blind not to notice that you’ve taken an interest in Jillian.”

If he had, who else had? Was Eldridge aware? If he had an inkling as to Sam’s feelings, he’d lock Jillian far away from him. “If you must know, I am quite taken with your sister and wish to court her.”

Broadridge frowned which didn’t bode well for Sam’s future.

“You know my father will never approve.”

“That fact was made quite clear to my great-uncle Danby.”

Broadridge paced away while Sam remained rooted where he was. “I’m afraid that because you apparently own a certain painting, you might believe my sister to be something she is not.”

“I am well aware she is a lady. Until I met her, I wasn’t sure, but I am now.”

Broadridge nodded. “Do not judge her on actions of when she was six and ten.”

“I’d never judge anyone because of the foolishness of youth, and I hope nobody would judge me on some of the decisions I made in the past.” Not that he’d heard the entire story, but it was clear Jillian had been taken advantage of. He almost felt guilty for owning one of those portraits and having taken great pleasure in looking upon it. Especially since she’d only been sixteen at the time, even though she looked older.

Broadridge stopped pacing and stared at him. “I don’t wish for my sister to be hurt. She’s had to deal with enough from our father. If she develops a tendré for you, which I believe she has, and you reject her in the end, it could very well devastate her.”

“I have no intention of hurting Lady Jillian. I’ve come to care for her.” It was more than caring, but Sam wasn’t exactly comfortable confessing the depth of his feelings to anyone. He wasn’t even sure he trusted them. He’d just met her. It could be no more than an infatuation that had been building for four years.

“Yet, you don’t really know her,” Broadridge pointed out.

Why were they so concerned that he’d find something disagreeable about Jillian? Sam couldn’t imagine she’d done anything so terrible that he’d wish to dismiss her from his life.

“I’d like the opportunity to know her, but we are not given a chance because your father will not allow it.”

Broadridge frowned again. “I will allow the two of you to come to know each other on one condition.”

Was her brother really going to be of assistance? “Which is?”

“If the time comes that you no longer wish to be associated with my sister, please do not do so in a manner that would break her heart. Let her make the decision not to associate with you so that she can save face.”

Jillian wished she could hear what Henry was staying to Samuel. Their expressions bespoke of a serious conversation, and her stomach knotted. As difficult as it was to tell Samuel what a dreadful person she really was, she needed to tell him, and the sooner the better, before he wasted any more time with her. Hopefully Henry wouldn’t send him on his way and decide to sit with her.

The two men returned to the gazebo and Samuel resumed his seat.

“Do you know where we are off to?” Henry asked the rest of his group.

“I believe it’s the stables,” Lord Brachton suggested.

Jillian just grinned. One group was going to the stables and another to the barn, making her wonder which was correct. Not that it mattered to her. She’d much rather sit with Samuel than run about the estate looking for clues. Even if their conversation would be painful. At least to her.

As the group left, Samuel turned to her.

“What did my brother say to you?” She had to know because it was eating at her.

“I promised not to ruin you.” He grinned.

Her gut told her it was more, but Jillian didn’t press.

“You were telling me about this artist,” Samuel prompted and Jillian sighed.

“Nico Bianchi. I am not even sure that was his real name any longer, but he affected the Italian accent well enough.”

Samuel nodded.

“Eventually, Nico convinced me he wished to have portraits that only he would see and could gaze upon until we could be together. In my naivety, I believed him and allowed more and more of my clothing to disappear.” She had to look away. Humiliation engulfed her. “Then, one day my maid disappeared. I’d turned seventeen two months earlier and was anxious to surprise my father with the portrait before I embarked on my first season.” Her gut tightened as if it was yesterday. “I was to have another sitting, but my maid had run off. As it had been a week since I had seen Nico, I couldn’t wait for my maid to return, so I took a hackney to his studio.”

Jillian glanced at Samuel. His jaw was tight and those green eyes dark and hard.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. She might as well get to the end of the story and prepare herself for his rejection. “The entire place was empty save for a few rags and brushes. A week later my father received the first portrait with a demand for payment, or Nico would sell the remaining ones to the public.” She looked down. “I had never been so humiliated in my life nor felt more foolish.”

“Or betrayed,” Samuel offered, his tone soft and sympathetic.

It was almost her undoing, but Jillian shut the lid on her emotions. She couldn’t afford to break down now. She’d wait until she was alone in her chambers, liked she’d done so often before. “Father paid for seven more portraits before Nico claimed that there were no more. Everything was done through different messengers, and even though Father had investigators try to locate him, Nico was never found.”

“I take it your maid disappeared as well?”

Jillian nodded. “I learned the lesson that my father had been trying to teach me all my life.”

“What is that?”

“You can never trust anyone.”

CHAPTER 14

Did that mean she didn’t trust him? Sam could understand why Jillian would be less trusting after being taken advantage of so horribly, but one couldn’t judge everyone by the actions of a single person.

“I became a horrible person after that. I shut myself off from others. My father kept me close, mainly because he believed my judgment impaired, but also to assure that I did as he instructed.”

“Such as?”

Her face heated. “I’m sure it is not important. I’ve told you enough and you must think me very foolish. I would understand if you no longer wish to be associated with me.”

She couldn’t even look at him, though Sam well understood her embarrassment. “I can assure you, Jillian, the portraits and how they came about do not make me think any less of you.”

She frowned up at him. “How could they not?”

“Simply because you were innocent and sheltered, and you were not at all prepared for people like Nico.” He wanted desperately to go to her and pull her into his arms, offer what comfort he could, but to do so would have him turning his back on the path, and he didn’t wish to add to her current embarrassment by ruining her in the process.

“Why don’t you tell me about Barbados?” she countered.

“Very well.” He was not finished discussing her because he’d yet to hear anything that made Jillian a horrible person. “It may be the most beautiful place on this earth.”

She smiled at him, interest alit in her blue eyes.

“My home sits on a hill. From my chamber I can look out over the sugarcane fields to the white beaches, which at times have a pink hue. Beyond the sand is the turquoise of the ocean, and when the sea is stormy, I can hear the waves crash and pound. When all of the windows are open, the softest breeze fills the house. One of my favorite pastimes is to sit on the veranda and enjoy coffee in the morning, watching the sunrise and the waves roll in. It’s the most peaceful place on earth.”

“It sounds heavenly.” She sighed.

Perhaps one day he would be able to share the experience with Jillian. “It is.” His eyes met hers, and the draw was so strong that he almost stood and went to her, not giving a damn if anyone came upon them. He wished to taste those inviting lips, to feel her body against his, and run his fingers through her golden curls. Sam was just about to stand when movement caught his eye and Felding emerged from the path.

He and his wife studied the two of them, as did the couple with them, Lord and Lady Bartlette. Following them was his brother, Benjamin and his wife Mary.

“Do watch where you’re walking so you won’t suffer a twisted ankle as Lady Jillian did,” Sam called out.

“Oh dear,” Lady Felding said, coming further. “Is there anything we can do?”

“That is very kind,” Jillian said, looking away. “Mrs. Chetwey said I am to rest before going back.”

“Are you comfortable?” she asked then looked at Sam. “Shall one of us remain?”

“It’s unnecessary,” Jillian murmured not looking at Lady Felding.

It was as though she were uncomfortable around the Feldings. Then he remembered the day in Felding’s library, when Jillian had asked him if they hated her so very much. Why would anyone hate her?

“We are hardly alone with scavengers coming upon us every few moments. My brother thought it safe that the two of us remain,” Jillian insisted.

“As long as I stay right here.” Sam laughed and then pointed to the piece of parchment anchored in place by a rock. “You’ll find your next clue right there.”

They gathered around the clue and read, all except Ben and Mary who looked from Sam to Jillian and back again, before Ben introduced Mary to Jillian. No doubt his brother would have questions for him later.

“It is either the stables or the barn,” Bartlette said.

“We’ll go to the one that is closest.” Felding placed the clue back under the rock for the next group then bid them goodbye.

“Why do you believe Felding and his wife hate you? You said as much when you called on him the day after Bentley’s ball.”

Jillian’s face heated and knew she’d need to answer this very carefully. And, she’d rather she told Samuel than for him to hear the rumors. It was hardly a secret she’d set her cap for Felding, only to be embarrassed when he chose a missionary’s daughter without consequence over the daughter of a duke. “My father decided that I was to marry Felding, and I thought I’d managed to bring him up to scratch when he invited my brother and me to a house party. All too soon I realized it was his now wife that Felding was interested in and not me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He was Father’s choice and I can assure you, I was not in love with Felding.” Jillian waived away his concern. “However, I was afraid of what Father would do if I didn’t secure a proposal from Felding.” She couldn’t look at Sam and turned away. “When Felding finally told me that we would not suit, I didn’t handle it well. In fact, I panicked. I could not go home and tell Father I had failed.”

“What did you do?” Samuel asked quietly.

Jillian looked up and met his green eyes. “In sharing with you what I did to make Felding, his family, and the Valentines hate me so, I’d be betraying a trust, which I will not do.”

“Is it so bad?”

“I behaved abominably in order to pressure Felding into marriage. My father ordered me to land him, and I did my best to do so, hurting others in the process.” Tears stung her eyes. Jillian hated herself and the person she’d become. She didn’t want Samuel to look at her like so many others, but she wouldn’t sacrifice her principles by telling secrets that were not hers to tell.

Samuel stood and slowly walked to her and took a seat at her side.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he swiped it away with the pad of his thumb. “I find myself coming to care for you? Quite possibly falling in love with you?”

It was as if a vice clamped down on her heart, and the pain was instant. Jillian almost wished she’d never experienced the tenderness Samuel was showing her now because then she’d know all too well what she’d be missing for the rest of her life. She blinked up at him. “You don’t understand. I am not loveable, and you’ll realize that in time.”

“I don’t believe you.” With that, he leaned close, their lips nearly touching, breaths mingling, and her pulse picked up before he lowered his lips to hers. So gentle and soft as his thumb caressed her cheek, making her heart ache all the more for what would never be hers.

He pulled back and looked down at her. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“I’m glad you did.” Her face heated, and as much as she enjoyed his kiss and knowing he didn’t hate her, that didn’t mean he would feel the same when she was done.

Jillian pulled away. “You need to understand. I did not stop in my threats out of the goodness of my heart,” she admitted before looking away. “I fully intended to use blackmail to get my way.”

Samuel studied her with wariness.

“To stop me, his sister revealed the painting she’d purchased, which I assume is similar to the one you own. If I didn’t relent, she would sell it or place it in a gallery.”

His hand still caressed his cheek. “How long ago was this?”

“Two and a half years.”

“Felding, nor his wife, seem to hold any ill-will against you.”

Jillian practically snorted. “That’s because Felding, his wife, and their families are far better people than I can ever hope to be.”

CHAPTER 15

“That isn’t true.”

Sam and Jillian jerked apart at the voice to find Roxburg and his wife standing not far from the Gazebo. Where the blazes had they come from? They weren’t even on the path.

“Your Graces.” Jillian moved as if she was going to stand.

“You will rest your ankle,” Sam ordered. “Roxburg and I go back too far to stand on ceremony, nor would he wish you to further your injury so that you might curtsey.”

“What happened?” the new duchess asked.

“I tripped over a root and twisted my ankle,” Jillian answered.

His oldest friend led his wife into the gazebo and they both sat. Sam returned to the place he had previously occupied. If anyone else had come across him and Jillian, she’d be quite ruined, which wouldn’t be so terrible. But, he didn’t wish for her reputation to suffer.

“How long have you been standing there?” Jillian asked slowly.

Her Grace bit her bottom lip and winced.

“Long enough to hear what you said about Felding and witness a kiss.” Roxburg answered a bit stiffly.

Jillian winced and looked away.

“Where is the rest of your group?” Samuel asked.

Roxburg shrugged. “Somehow we lost them.” His wife turned nearly the shade of a poppy and Sam could guess how they’d been left behind. They had been married less than a week, and Sam was certain Roxburg would rather be alone with this wife than at a damn picnic.

“Mr. Storm was telling me of Barbados,” Jillian said. “It sounds lovely.”

“The most beautiful place on Earth.” Roxburg took his wife’s hand in his. “And I can’t wait to show it to Bianca.”

“You will not remain in England?” Jillian seemed rather stunned, which was to be expected. Roxburg was a new duke with vast holdings.

“Not in the winter. I will not be here when it is cold.”

“The very idea of no more cold winters sounds very appealing.” Her Grace grinned.

“There the two of you are,” Stalter called out, as Hannah followed with Mr. and Mrs. Stanwick.

“We got distracted by the many trees.” Roxburg offered an unrepentant grin.

Hannah looked at Jillian and her leg propped over the log and frowned. Samuel quickly explained, as he would to each group that came across them, what had occurred.

“Where is the clue?” Roxburg finally asked and Sam pointed to it.

He and Stanwick read over it and said “barn” at the same time.

“Why not stables?” Stalter asked.

“Thorn would never let anyone near his racers,” Stanwick answered.

Samuel turned back to Jillian as the latest group returned to the path. “I believe you have made more out of the situation than you should.”

“Her Grace is being kind, but she doesn’t even know the rest.”

“There’s more?” His stomach tightened, unable to imagine anything worse than what she alluded to.

“The topic of my marriage.”

“Marriage?” his blood chilled. Lady Jillian was married? Then why the blazes wasn’t she with her husband?

“I was a bride for a very short time, but never a wife.”

Did that mean she was still an innocent? Not that it mattered to Sam, but what else would make her a bride but not a wife except lack of consummation. “When?”

After this, Samuel would surely turn from her. Any thoughts of love he might have had a few moments ago would disappear. As much as she wished to hold his heart, it was unfair to him, and eventually he’d come to hate her like everyone else. It was better to suffer the pain of rejection now instead of later. “Two years ago. A Lord Hopkins,” Jillian finally answered. “Father determined he was to be my husband. Hopkins had no intention of asking for my hand.” It was better to say it quick, and get it over with. “When Lord Hopkins told me that he was returning to Cornwall, I panicked, as I did with Felding, and threw myself at him. My father found me kissing Hopkins and ordered him to marry me.”

“How come nobody seems to know about your marriage? And, where is Lord Hopkins?”

“Father didn’t want the marriage to appear rushed, thus bringing my reputation into question, so there was a very quiet wedding because Father didn’t want to risk Hopkins crying off, then my betrothal was announced.” She shook her head. “Father is very good at manipulating situations to his liking and buying silence when necessary.” She sighed. “The wedding was to take place at Hopkins’ parish church in Penzance after the banns had been cried.”

Samuel nodded, listening intently.

“Before we even arrived at his estate, Lord Hopkins met his wife at an inn.”

“Wife? He was already married?”

“It’s not as bad as you’re imagining,” Jillian smiled sadly. “She had disappeared at sea and been presumed dead. She was actually stranded on an island south of Cornwall and finally rescued.”

“What happened? Hopkins can’t have two wives.”

“No.” Jillian chuckled. “Father saw to an annulment, very quietly of course, and the marriage was as if it had never taken place. Nobody knew, save a handful of people, and they were too afraid of my father to breathe a word of it.”

Samuel simply stared at her, his mouth agape. She’d thought it was what she had done to Felding that disgusted him, not Hopkins.

He finally leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, studying her. At least he now knew the horrible truth. Jillian expected Samuel to remain kind until the picnic was over, but she didn’t expect to see him again. Not after today.

“You’ve yet to tell me anything that changes my opinion of you.”

She blinked at him. How could he not see what a horrible person she was? “I threatened and trapped gentlemen into marriage with the same cold-hearted deliberation as a general goes into battle. I’m not a nice person.”

“Wasn’t.”

“Pardon?”

“Hopkins was what, two years ago, you said?”

“Yes.”

“Who have you tried to trap into marriage since?”

“Nobody.”

“Is that because your father hasn’t chosen anyone.”

Jillian sighed. “He’s chosen several, I just didn’t want to end up married to someone who will hate me in the end.”

“You no longer fear your father?” Samuel asked.

“I’m terrified of him. But the worst he can do is marry me off to someone who is cold and indifferent, or horse mad,” she chuckled. “The last person I was to land was Roxburg. I fully intended to charm and point out what a good match we were, but I would no longer trap anyone.”

Samuel grinned. “Did you take dancing lessons?”

Her face heated. Roxburg had disguised himself as a dancing master before the season opened so that he could meet the eligible ladies in a setting where they were more likely to be themselves. “Yes. And, as he happened to fall in love with the accompanist before the first ball opened, I didn’t even bother to try and charm him.”

“Did you know he wished to pursue Miss Valentine?”

Jillian grinned. “No. However, I was very aware that the dancing master, Mr. East, was falling in love with Miss Valentine. It was clear to everyone, and nobody ever dreamed he was the prodigal duke.”

Samuel chuckled. “I leave him in London to return home and a month later find him in love.” His eyes met hers and the humor disappeared. “I now see how emotions can be engaged so quickly.”

Jillian blinked at him. “We still barely know one another.”

“You’ve shared the worst of yourself with me. I’m still here.”

“I don’t know why. I’ve treated others with cold indifference, kept them at a distance, and have spent most of my adult life looking down my nose at anyone who I deemed beneath me.”

“Which I believe you do more out of protection than anything else.”

She gasped. How could he see through her so clearly? She behaved as her father trained her, and it worked to keep anyone from getting close enough to hurt her. It was rather unnerving.

“And, you aren’t the same person as you were then. Otherwise you would not be spending time with me. Your father would never approve, and I’m not titled.” He sat forward. “You would still be bitter over Felding and, instead of holding their secrets, would be telling me everything since I already know what they held over you.”

Samuel stood and walked to her. “Further, you would have compromised Roxburg the first chance you got, even though he loved someone else.” He sat beside her. “And finally, you wouldn’t be so full of self-loathing as you are now.” He picked her hand up and squeezed. “If anything, my feelings may be even deeper.”

Tears stung her eyes. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“Yes! You do.”

Her heart swelled as hope blossomed, but did she have the courage to continue meeting Samuel in secret? Or at least keep it a secret from her father?

Before she could even finish the question, Jillian knew, without a doubt, she’d risk everything to spend as many moments as she could with Samuel Storm.

CHAPTER 16

Sam paced the library, a glass of rum in his hand, warring with his emotions and thoughts of Lady Jillian.

What was it about her that inspired desire and quite possibly love? The familiarity with her appearance had been with him for four years, and had inspired lust, but there were many women in his life who had done the same.

The haunted look in her eyes had drawn him to the portrait. Now he knew why her eyes conveyed so many emotions, and that was even before she’d been told to land Felding and then Hopkins.

Jillian had only been a girl, not even out of the schoolroom, when she’d been painted, but she carried the maturity of someone much older. Most sixteen-year-old girls were immature, and the one emotion not portrayed in her blue eyes was silliness. Had she ever even been allowed to be a child?

His heart may be engaged along with desire, yet Sam intended to proceed with caution. He’d be a fool to leap after everything Jillian had told him. Was this just a rebellion against His Grace, a temporary situation in which she was using him but would marry the highest title in the end? That was where his concern lay.

Last night he’d been invited to Roxburg’s home, along with Lord and Lady Felding. The four of them wished to warn him about Jillian. While she’d not betrayed the Valentine’s secret, they told him what she’d threatened – to tell society that they weren’t the orphaned children of missionaries but that half of them were bastard children. The news was rather shocking, but Samuel understood why his friends still married their wives. When you find the one you are to love, circumstances of birth or titles matter little.

They, in turn, had been surprised to learn that Jillian had already told him everything, except the Valentine family secrets, which lessened some of the tensions that had filled the air when he first arrived. Once they were aware there were no secrets between them, they relaxed but still warned him away from Jillian because she was cold, indifferent, and held herself superior to everyone. They couldn’t believe there was any warmth or kindness to her, except Roxburg, who had glimpsed a different side of Jillian.

At first Samuel had been angry, as if they were not giving her a chance, but if he had heard the same about a lady one of his friends was pursuing, he might take them aside as well and warn them before it was too late. He also realized, they didn’t know her at all--only what Jillian presented to the world.

Jillian had told him many things that he should have found disturbing, and if he were thinking with his head instead of other parts of his anatomy, perhaps he would have put distance between them. But, her heart wasn’t black as his friends may believe. It was simply hidden out of self-preservation. One thing was certain, he needed to see her again and as soon as possible. Despite his concerns, he still wanted her.

“It’s been a bloody week!” Samuel complained as he paced while Nate and Benjamin watched on in humor.

“I don’t know why you’re even bothering with Lady Jillian. There are better-suited ladies,” Danby barked.

Samuel turned to find his great-uncle in the doorway. “Who I pursue is none of your concern.” Why the hell hadn’t his great-uncle been announced?

“I forbid you to have anything further to do with Lady Jillian.”

Sam gapped at his great-uncle. “You have no control over who I pursue or even marry.”

“I’m saving you time and heartache,” Danby announced.

“I’m not one of your grandchildren to be ordered about,” Sam reminded him. “If you wish to play matchmaker, pick on another great-niece or nephew. Not me.”

“Heed my words, young man, or you will be very sorry.” Then he turned on Nate, thrusting his cane in his direction. “You will cease visiting Kirkland House. You’ve served King and Country and there’s no reason to continue lowering yourself by associating with anyone connected with the soldier’s home.”

Danby glared at Ben. “It’s bad enough that Stalter is sniffing around Hannah’s skirts, and I can assure you, nothing will come of that particular relationship either.” He lifted his cane. “Nobody in my family will ever be attached to the spawn of the late Marquess of Wingate, which includes, Lord Stalter.” He pointed to Benjamin. As the eldest, Ben was the one who decided who his younger sisters married. Then Danby pointed to Nate. “Isabella Valentine.” Then thrust that blasted cane at Sam. “Lady Jillian.” Danby straightened. “Nobody in that family is worthy of a Whitton.” With that he turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

“Bloody bastard,” Nate mumbled quietly.

Sam focused on his twin. “Isabella Valentine?” Was he aware of their family secrets, and was it his place to warn his brother?

“You concern yourself with Lady Jillian, and I’ll concern myself with Isabella.” He glanced back to the entry where their great-uncle had exited. “And Danby can concern himself with others.”

Her ankle was fine and without the least bit of tenderness, yet her father had not allowed her to leave the house. The injury was a week ago, and she was fully capable of going to entertainments. Further, she needed to attend functions. How else was she to see Samuel again?

With each day that passed, Jillian became more anxious. Samuel had admitted to caring for her, but was he still of the same mind and heart? He’d had a week to think about everything she’d said. What if he realized how horrible she truly was and didn’t wish to see her again?

That was her biggest fear, and with each day that passed, Jillian became more convinced that the next time she saw Samuel Storm he would cut her direct.

“I believe you could use a drive in the park,” Henry said as he came into the sitting room.

“Please.” Jillian stood. “Just let me get my hat.”

Henry nodded.

As soon as she reached the upper level, Jillian did not go straight to her room, but searched for Agnes, who was nowhere to be found. Blast. She needed to tell her where she was going. If Samuel didn’t show, then she’d know he had a change of heart.

Her maid was dusting her chamber when she entered. “I need to speak with Agnes. Where might she be?”

The maid bit her upper lip and lowered her eyes. “I believe her sister came to call again, which she has done daily. They are in the kitchens.”

Hope surged in Jillian’s heart. Samuel still wanted to know where she’d be.

“Oh, I see.” Then she turned toward the armoire. “My brother has come by to take me for a drive in the park.”

“Do you need my assistance, Lady Jillian?”

She shook her head wondering how she could get a message to Agnes.

“Then I believe I will go to the kitchens for a spot of tea, if you don’t mind.” Her cheeks pinkened, and there was a small smile on her lips. “I’ll be sure to let Agnes know you were looking for her but that you’ve gone to the park.”

“Thank you.” How many of the servants knew she was meeting Mr. Storm in secret?

She was almost afraid to find out because the more who knew, the easier it would be for her father to find out.

“You haven’t left the house since the picnic,” Henry said as he pulled his phaeton into traffic. “Is that Father’s dictate or your decision?”

“Father’s,” Jillian sighed. “At first it was my ankle, then he decided I did not yet need to return to Society.”

“If he wants you to marry, shouldn’t he allow you out of the house?”

Jillian shrugged. “I’ll be attending the Lo Sbaglio Fortunato on Saturday, but he’s mentioned no other entertainments.

“He’s also informed me I’d be attending the opera,” Henry complained. “I hate operas.”

“It’s better than sitting at home, reading or stitching. It’s not like I receive visitors.”

“I didn’t realize it was so bad.” Henry turned the phaeton into Hyde Park. “Would it help if I took you driving each day until Father finally allows you to go somewhere else?”

Excitement bubbled in her chest. “Would you?”

He smiled down. “Of course. How else is Storm going to court you if you never leave the townhouse? I’m very much aware of his interest in you and fully support his courtship.”

“To what purpose?” she asked as dejection settled inside her once again. “Father would never allow it.”

“Any gentleman who would risk the wrath of Father deserves a chance at making you happy.” He grasped her hand. “You do deserve to be happy, Jillian.”

She wasn’t certain she agreed with him, but she had to try.

As they drove further into the park, Jillian looked for Samuel, and her heart sank.

He wasn’t there.

She tried to tell herself that Samuel hadn’t received the message, but was afraid that he had and decided not to join her. Maybe Agnes’ sister had been visiting so Samuel would know what places to avoid instead of wanting to find her.

“Perhaps we should just return home,” she finally said

“We just arrived.”

Jillian glanced down. “I’d hoped to see Mr. Storm, but I should have known better.” Jillian worried her hands together. “I told him.”

“Told him what?”

“Everything. About Felding, but leaving out the blackmail. About Hopkins and why there were portraits.”

Henry sobered and nodded. “What did he say?”

She blinked away tears of disappointment. “That he cared for me.”

“And you no longer believe him?”

“I think he’s had time to reconsider what kind of person I am and decided he no longer wishes to associate with me.”

“Then why did he just drive into the park with his sisters?”

Jillian glanced, afraid her brother was mistaken. But Samuel was there, with his three younger sisters. “He came,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 17

The moment Samuel spotted her, his pulse increased. As soon as Meg burst into the library to tell him that Lady Jillian was going to the park with her brother, he quickly gathered his sisters to accompany him. He couldn’t very well ride through the park on his own. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He could, but he’d be subjected to matchmaking mothers or be stuck talking to those he didn’t wish to talk to.

Broadridge pulled his phaeton out of traffic, then assisted Jillian to the ground. Samuel instructed the driver to pull the open landau out of traffic, then assisted his sisters to the walk. As causal as possible, he strolled toward Broadridge and Jillian, trying not to appear rushed. The last thing he needed was someone reporting back to her father or his great-uncle that the two of them were meeting.

“Lady Jillian, you’ve recovered from your injured ankle?”

Her smile was brilliant. “Yes. Thank you for asking.”

They simply stood staring at each other, there was so much he wished to say, but he couldn’t exactly say anything in front of her brother or his sisters.

“Would you care to walk with me, Lady Jillian?”

“I’d find it delightful. Thank you.”

She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and together they strolled onto the green grass, away from the walking traffic, putting distance between them and everyone else in the park.

“I’ve missed you,” Sam confessed.

Jillian said nothing but her cheeks blossomed with a rosy glow.

“I’ve been thinking of ways to see you, so that your father doesn’t learn.”

She blinked up at him.

“Too many people see us in the park and could report back.” He also didn’t want Danby to find out. Sam wasn’t sure what His Grace could do to him, but he wasn’t willing to find out.

“We can’t talk at an entertainment or Father will learn.”

He stopped and looked down at her. “What of the lending library or the museum? I have yet to see Elgin’s marbles.”

“I’ll be attending the Lo Sbaglio Fortunato on Saturday at King’s Theatre.”

Samuel took her hands in his. “I shall be there as well.” It hadn’t been his intention to attend the opera, but if it was a chance see Jillian again, he’d attend.

They stood staring at each other, and it took everything inside him to keep from pulling Jillian into his arms and kissing her.

“What time tomorrow?” she finally asked.

“Meet me at two at the lending library on Beak Street.”

She nodded, then slipped her hand back into the crook of his arm as Samuel returned Jillian to her brother.

“Where are you going?” Eldridge barked at Jillian as he came down the corridor.

Jillian held up the three books. “The lending library.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Who is going with you?”

“Becky.” Her maid stood silently in the shadows. “If you needed the carriage, we can walk. It isn’t so far.”

“Take the blasted carriage but don’t be gone long.”

Inwardly, she blew out a sigh of relief. “I won’t,” she promised and exited the townhouse, her nerves on edge. What if he had someone follow her? What if one of the servants told him what she was about? Of course, none of them knew. Not even her maid, though Becky might become suspicious if she saw Samuel.

Oh, this was such a risk, but Jillian had to take the risk. All she thought about was Samuel and when she’d see him again. She’d never felt this way about anyone. It scared her. There was safety in being matched with a title and doing your duty to family. Pursuing someone of your heart was an entirely different matter, and she prayed that when all was done, she wasn’t completely destroyed in the aftermath.

A footman assisted her from the carriage and then Becky. “You may stay here,” she told her maid. “I shan’t be long.”

“Very good, Lady Jillian.”

On second thought, she may be longer than usual. “Why don’t you take a cup of tea or get an ice.” Jillian pressed coins into Becky’s hand.

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

Becky frowned and then looked up, her eyes widening. “Of course. Thank you. I’ll take my time, Lady Jillian.” Becky wasn’t looking at Jillian but into the lending library.

“No, Becky. Thank you.” With that, she turned and entered the lending library but didn’t see Samuel as she expected. After placing the books on the desk, she wandered the aisles pretending to glance at other tomes. As she walked further and further back, Jillian began to wonder if he was even there at all.

When she reached the furthest of the stacks, those containing boring treatises, she was about to return to the front when an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her between two tall bookshelves.

Jillian nearly gave a yelp, but a hand had covered her mouth. She knew instantly it was Samuel and slowly turned in his arms. He said nothing, but lowered his mouth to hers. Jillian nearly melted into a puddle as his mouth molded against hers and he deepened the kiss. Of their own volition, her arms wound around his neck and her fingers threaded through his dark, thick hair as her body heated.

His hands caressed her back and down to her hips as he pulled Jillian tight against his body. Heat pooled in the most private areas of her person while her breasts swelled, almost painfully against her tight bodice. Sam’s lips left her and trailed along her cheek and then neck, and it was all she could do not to moan. Jillian bit her lip to keep quiet as the most delicious sensations rioted through her body.

After a moment Samuel pulled back and stared down at her, his eyes as dark as a forest and his breathing labored. “Perhaps it isn’t wise that we meet in private.”

“Perhaps.” Jillian couldn’t hold back her smile. She’d never experienced the sensations pulsing through her body.

He cleared his throat and drew further back and offered his arm. “What books are you wishing to find today, Lady Jillian?”

She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and allowed Samuel to lead her through the stacks. How was he so calm? It was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other.

“I’m not certain. Do you have a recommendation?”

He pulled a book from a shelf. “Fanny Hill is not something you should take home.”

Jillian frowned. “What is it about?”

Samuel leaned in, “Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.”

Her face heated. “Mr. Storm,” she chastised.

He chuckled. “I should apologize, but when I’m with you, all I can think about is pleasuring.”

Goodness! She didn’t know what to say. Yes, his kisses and caresses were quite delightful, unlike anything she’d experienced, but she also wasn’t so naïve that she didn’t know much more took place between a man and a woman than what she’d just experienced with Samuel.

“I’ll direct you to more appropriate reading, or your father will never let you return.”

CHAPTER 18

Why the blazes had he suggested Fanny Hill? Jillian might have posed for paintings that could be described as erotic, but she was still very innocent. Her responses to his kisses were hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure how to proceed, and she was tentative when he deepened the kiss before mating her tongue with his.

Since meeting Jillian in person, Sam’s fantasies about her would put Fanny Hill to shame, which was why he was glad they were to meet at the museum today. There would be no chance that the two of them could sneak off and be alone, Samuel wasn’t sure he had the strength not to seduce her further.

All thoughts of seduction disappeared when he turned to find Jillian entering the museum on the arm of her brother. Broadridge would watch them like a hawk, as he should. Sam would do the same if any gentleman wished to court one of his sisters. Though, he’d hoped Stalter would have called on Hannah by now, but he’d only danced with her at a few balls. What the blazes was wrong with him?

If Samuel wasn’t so focused on Jillian, he’d track down Stalter to determine exactly what the earl’s intentions were.

“Storm,” Broadridge greeted.

“Broadridge,” Sam returned, and then turned to Jillian. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Lady Jillian.”

“Likewise.” She smiled at him.

Broadridge didn’t relinquish Jillian’s arm to him, instead he kept his sister close, forcing Sam to walk on the other side of her, making small talk when not discussing the various exhibits.

It was bloody hell not to have her on his arm, or to be able to drag her to a dark corner and steal a kiss. As much as it was torture to be so near and unable to touch Jillian, Samuel followed them from room to room until it felt like they’d seen the entire blasted museum, including the new addition of the Elgin Marbles.

While the museum was enjoyable, having Henry with her rather dampened Jillian’s enthusiasm for the outing. She wanted to kiss Samuel again, but with her brother there, it was impossible.

It was her own fault. She’s the one who expressed interest in going to the museum. It was Henry who stated he’d be glad to accompany her, leaving her maid to remain home. Jillian had almost kicked him under the table for being so helpful.

But, it was for the best. She’d behaved rather forward in the lending library and didn’t wish for Samuel to think her virtue was lacking.

It was also frustrating. Tonight she was forced to stand with her father and dance with the gentlemen of his choosing while Samuel remained on the opposite side of the room at the ball being hosted by her uncle, the Marquess of Wingate. She hated watching him dance with other ladies of the ton. Ladies whose fathers would consider him worthy even if he was just a mister. Ladies that were beautiful and far nicer than she’d ever been.

Jealousy wormed its way through her gut, and it also made her question their relationship. Nothing was defined. He wasn’t courting her because he wasn’t allowed, so they met in secret. She wasn’t ashamed to be seen with him, but feared her father if he learned the truth. However, was Samuel meeting her in secret because he was embarrassed to be in her company?

Had she learned nothing from her past? Meeting a man in secret only led to trouble. Yet, she had no choice, and those meetings weren’t exactly clandestine, as her brother had been present much of the time. But, why was Samuel motivated to see her secretly? Were his intentions honorable, or was he simply out to seduce her?

That’s what scared her. As kind and wonderful as he’d been, Jillian was still afraid she was once again too trusting, as she had been with that snake Nico.

Jillian’s stomach churned. Was this a game to Samuel?

He waltzed past Jillian, partnering her cousin, Lady Eve Grell, daughter of the host of this ball, and didn’t even look in her direction. Jillian’s stomach tightened further. Her uncle would never consider Samuel beneath Eve. Not like Jillian’s father did. And, they were striking together.

What had she done?

She’d told Samuel everything, allowed him to kiss her, opened her heart to him, and yes, she’d fallen in love when she didn’t believe it possible. But he couldn’t look at her.

Jillian closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was being irrational, of which she was well aware, but that didn’t stop her insecurities from creeping in and claiming her mood. She had no proof that she was anything more to Samuel than a distraction. If she meant anything to him, he’d at least look in her direction instead of pretending she didn’t exist.

Blowing out a breath, she lifted her chin and forced a polite smile, determined not to let anyone see her pain. If she had nothing else, at least she had her pride. Not that anyone would notice.

Oh, why had she allowed herself to trust again?

CHAPTER 19

N ot once had Jillian left her father’s side at the Wingate ball. He’d waited, sneaking covert glances at her so that Eldridge wouldn’t notice his interest, but she never left his side. Not even to visit the retiring room. Further, they’d left before supper.

Something was wrong, and it ate at him. From the time she entered the ballroom, when she appeared more relaxed than usual to the moment she left, her back rigid and chin held high. Her armor. What had made her do that?

He would have asked that night, but he never got the chance.

He would have asked yesterday, but she did not leave the house. Or if she had, Jillian had not informed Agnes.

At least he knew she’d be attending the opera this evening. Though he wasn’t sure they’d have a moment to speak, he’d at least be able to see how she fared.

He entered the box to find Danby already seated, but this was Benjamin’s box. Didn’t Danby have his own? And, didn’t he have other great-nieces and nephews who required his attention? Or, bills being considered in Parliament? Anything other than attending the opera and sitting in his brother’s box?

“Good evening,” Danby greeted.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Sam ground out.

Instead of taking a front seat, he settled in the one behind Danby. Looking at the back of his head was preferable to engaging in conversation.

A moment later Mary entered on Benjamin’s arm, and they both stopped and shared a look.

Danby turned. “You have better seats. Can’t stand mine half the time.” With that he turned around again.

Sam clenched his fist together to keep from wrapping his hands around Danby’s neck as Benjamin showed Mary to her seat. The box was well situated, at the left side of the stage.

He hadn’t been to the theatre in over five years and had no idea who owned which of the many boxes surrounding and across from them, and the reason Sam began studying the occupants of private boxes across from theirs. If he didn’t see Jillian in one of those, he’d join Roxburg, whose box was directly across from his and one level below, so that Sam could look for Jillian on this side of the theatre.

She was here somewhere. Of that he was certain, unless her plans had changed after his maid had left Eldridge’s house.

As each box filled, he studied the patrons until finally, Jillian entered on the arm of her brother. She settled in the front seat in the box adjacent to Roxburg’s. This was perfect. He’d be able to watch her, though he preferred to be sitting with her. Unfortunately, Edlridge entered a few moments later, giving Sam no choice but to remain where he was.

Jillian retained the same composure as she had at the ball. Back stiff, chin high, a pleased and forced smile upon her lips. She did not look around either. It was as if she didn’t wish to see anyone or feared making eye contact. Eldridge, on the other hand, looked everywhere. His shrewd eyes staring into each box before looking at the next. Sam slouched down in his seat, able to hide behind Danby given his great-uncle’s height.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of Eldridge, Sam just didn’t want to alert the man to his presence in the event Jillian attempted to leave their box.

As soon as Eldridge looked further away, Sam ducked into the corridor and made his way to the other side of the theatre and down one tier, counting as he went until he was outside of where Jillian sat.

She’d hoped he’d be here, though why she wished to torture herself, Jillian wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if they could speak given her father was present. Further, she wasn’t even sure Samuel wished to speak with her again. They hadn’t spoken since the museum and that had only been polite conversation. A complete contrast to their visit in the lending library. Of course, Samuel couldn’t exactly kiss her with Henry present.

Her heart stilled for a minute then began thumping in her chest. Was that why he’d only been polite at the museum and ignored her at the ball? He’d been disappointed in kissing her? He hadn’t enjoyed it, or experienced the same burst of desire to want more. She had an idea of what more was, but had never experienced it. She’d never even experienced kisses like the ones Samuel had given her and had no idea mouths sometimes parted and tongues could be involved.

Jillian fanned herself as her body heated with the memories. Even just thinking about his hands caressing her and his lips on her neck affected her breathing, causing her bodice to feel tighter than it should.

Goodness, it was warm in here.

As the lamps were dimmed and the performers took the stage, Jillian stood. She had to get out of there, at least for a moment so she could breathe again.

“Where are you going?” her father hissed.

“I need air.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s just overly warm. I just want to step into the corridor where it’s cooler. I’ll be but a moment.”

“Don’t make me look for you.”

“Of course not,” she said before slipping out the door.

Jillian closed the door behind her and leaned against the wall, thankful for the coolness of the corridor and the silence.

“Is all well, Jillian?”

She blinked her eyes open to find Samuel standing right in front of her, and her breath hitched.

“What are you doing here?” She grabbed his elbow and pulled him away from her family’s box.

“I was hoping to see you.”

“Why?”

He frowned with concern. “Because I have not seen you since Thursday.” He grasped her waist and pulled her close. “I missed you.”

Jillian put her hands on his chest, surprised at the firmness, and pushed back. “Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look at me at my uncle’s ball.”

Samuel frowned down at her. “I didn’t dare.”

His response confused her. “I don’t understand.”

He pulled her back against him. “I didn’t dare,” he bit out between clenched teeth. “I feared I wouldn’t be able to hide my desire for you. Afraid that your father, and anyone else, would see how much I care for you.”

Jillian frowned. She wanted to believe him, but did she dare? “You enjoyed waltzing with my cousin and dancing with several other ladies.”

The corner of his mouth tipped. “Were you jealous?”

Jillian firmed her lips, refusing to answer. Of course she was jealous. Green with envy, but if Samuel knew, it would give him even more power over her heart, and the pain of watching him at the ball while he ignored her was still too fresh.

“Jillian, they meant nothing. They mean nothing. It’s you I want.” He placed his fingers under her chin, lifting it so she was looking in his eyes. “It is you I love.”

“Love?” Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly.

“Yes.” He smiled. “My mind is telling me that it’s impossible as we hardly know one another, but my heart says otherwise.”

She heard what he was saying--very clearly, yet she feared she was mistaken, or misunderstanding him. How was it possible that Samuel Storm loved her?

“Well, say something,” he prodded her.

“I’m not sure what to say.”

The smile slipped from Samuel’s lips. “Is it possible you do not return my feelings?”

She stared into the depths of his emerald eyes, warmth flooding her, her chest growing tight with emotion. “But I do. I just can’t believe you would love me.”

He grinned then chuckled. “Ah, Jillian, there is much to love about you, and if it takes my entire life, I will convince you.”

A life with Samuel Storm sounded like pure heaven. “I would like that.” Except, her father would never allow it. “But it’s impossible.”

“Your father?”

She nodded.

“Then we won’t waste our time seeking his permission.”

“But we must.”

“Not if you allow me to take you to Gretna Green. There we’ll marry and make our way to Edinburgh, and then take a ship to Barbados, leaving England behind for as long as you wish.”

She’d dreamed of starting over. Samuel was giving her that chance. And she’d be with him and only him. To be loved and to love him back. It was frightening and a risk, but far better than what awaited her here—a marriage of convenience to a gentleman she could never love. “Yes!”

“Thank God. I wasn’t sure what I would do if you rejected me.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“And, I hope to hear you laugh often,” he said right before taking her lips with his. Her knees nearly gave way as heat rushed through her veins and she grasped his shoulders to remain upright.

“Unhand my daughter now!”

Samuel stilled and lifted his head. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Your Grace. You see, Jillian has consented to be my wife.”

“I’ll have you strung up from the gallows for molesting my daughter if you do not step away from her now.”

She’d heard her father angry before, but the determination in his voice chilled her to the bone. Jillian pulled away from Samuel and turned to face her father.

CHAPTER 20

Samuel did not want to relinquish Jillian to her father for fear that he’d never see her again, so he grasped onto her hand.

“I suggest we take this matter to a private room before all of us are embarrassed,” Danby said as he approached.

Bloody hell. His great-uncle was only going to make matters more difficult since he’d ordered Samuel to stay away from Jillian. He should tell them both to go to hell and then run from the theatre with Jillian at his side. Danby was old and couldn’t keep up, and Eldridge was too stiff and proper to give chase.

“We don’t need your interference,” Eldridge barked.

“I disagree as it is your daughter attempting to ruin my great-nephew.” Then Danby glared at Samuel. “I told you that I did not want you to pursue Lady Jillian,” his great-uncle ground out.

“You have no say in what I do,” Sam countered and couldn’t help the little bit of pleasure at thwarting Danby. He wanted Jillian regardless, but it was doubly sweet knowing Danby hated the idea so very much. “And I don’t believe it’s possible for a lady to ruin a gentleman.”

“Ha!” Danby barked. “It is when that gentleman is my relation.” He thumped a cane and looked around. “There’s got to be a damn private room around here somewhere.”

“Pardon me.” A young man in the theatre livery came hurrying down the hall. “You are disturbing the patrons.”

Both dukes glared at him and the young man stopped instantly, eyes wide as if he were just recognizing them, then quickly executed a bow. “My apologies, Your Graces.”

“Where can we talk privately?” Danby demanded.

“I’m not talking to you at all but taking my daughter home.”

“Please, this way,” the young man begged, nearly in panic.

Danby and Eldridge glared at each other and Sam was highly sick of the two of them thinking they had control over him or Jillian. He’d let them say their peace, but in the end, she would be his regardless of their objections.

Sam put a hand at the small of Jillian’s back and guided her down the corridor, following the young man until they came to an out of the way parlor of sorts.

Eldridge slammed the door behind them after entering and turned his anger on Danby. “I will have you know that it was Storm who was molesting my daughter, not the other way around.”

“It appeared to me they were both enjoying the interlude,” Danby argued.

“How dare you!” Eldridge took a step forward. “I’ve a mind to call you out.”

“Don’t be a bloody fool, Eldridge. We’re both too old for such juvenile stupidity.”

Eldridge gasped at the insult.

“Enough!” Sam yelled. “Neither one of you has a say. Jillian is of an age to make her own decisions, and we intend to marry whether either of you like it or not.”

“She will not.” Eldridge grabbed Jillian’s arm in an attempt to drag her to him, making her wince.

Sam saw red when pain slashed through Jillian’s eyes. “You will let go of my betrothed this instant,” he said with cold deliberation as he tightened his hand into a fist. He didn’t give a damn if the man was a duke and would plant him a facer if he didn’t relinquish his hold on Jillian.

Eldridge looked him in the eye and must have realized Sam was not to be trifled with because he slowly let his hand drop. Sam drew Jillian back to his side.

“We should discuss this tomorrow when we all have cooler heads,” Eldridge offered. “You may call on Jillian at noon, and the three of us will discuss the future.”

“You are mistaken, Your Grace,” Sam said. “Jillian and I leave for Gretna Green tonight. After the way you just treated her, do you really think I’d allow you to take her home without my protection?”

“He wouldn’t hurt me, Samuel,” Jillian insisted.

“Perhaps, but I don’t trust that he won’t move you to the country or hide you sometime during the night.”

The tightening of Eldridge’s jaw was all the proof Sam needed to know that he’d guessed at the duke’s plans.

“I will accompany her to her home and wait while she packs for our trip. I will not be leaving her alone with you.”

Eldridge straightened. “And if I refuse? I can have you stopped anywhere from here to Gretna and have you arrested for kidnapping.”

A chill ran down his spine and Sam amended his plans. Just because everyone eloping went to Gretna Green didn’t mean it was necessary that they do. A couple could be married over the anvil anywhere in Scotland and Sam fully intended for their marriage to take place in Edinburgh as soon as they crossed the border and before boarding a ship. Not that he’d share his plans with Eldridge.

“Which is why they will be traveling in my carriage, surrounded by my guard. Nobody would dare stop my carriage,” Danby announced.

Sam blinked at his great-uncle. “I thought you were against my marriage to Lady Jillian.”

His Grace’s eyes widened for a moment and then he shrugged. “Samuel, you and Nathaniel have always been stubborn. Even from birth when you didn’t have the courtesy to arrive in a timely manner. I knew the more I forbade you to pursue and court Lady Jillian, the more likely you would do, just to spite me.” Danby grinned. “And I do believe it worked out well.”

“I did not pursue her simply to spite you, Your Grace.”

“Of course not, but you must admit that in doing so, you took great pleasure when believing you thwarted me.”

Bloody hell, Danby had manipulated him. Not that he pushed Sam toward Jillian, but defying him had been immensely enjoyable. Sam hated the fact that he’d played right into his great-uncle’s hands.

This was not how her marriage was to have been. Jillian was to have worn an elegant gown of lace in St. Paul’s with all of Society looking on. Not in a blacksmith’s shop, holding a bouquet of wild flowers while wearing a travel-stained gown. However, she wouldn’t change anything about her wedding for all of the world.

This was her wedding, and it was perfect. Simple and honest and she’d never doubt Samuel’s love again. Not only had he stood up to her father, but he’d whisked her away in almost a fairytale fashion. Their trip north was filled with love and laughter in the comfortable traveling coach owned by his great-uncle.

Samuel slipped a thin gold band onto her finger. “I promise to purchase a more appropriate ring.”

“Don’t.” She stared at the gold. “This is perfect and I want no other.”

And then, before the smithy could finish announcing they were married, Samuel swept her up in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers, practically devouring her, heating her blood, as he’d done so often during their trip north. Except this time, he wouldn’t stop with just kissing her, and she couldn’t wait to find out what pleasures awaited them both.

“The inn is across the road,” the smithy said after clearing his throat.

Samuel pulled back and set her back on the ground. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the smithy grinned. “Now run along.”

Samuel tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her to the inn. “We will remain here tonight or maybe a week.” He winked at her. “And, then we’ll return to London.”

Jillian stopped. “I thought we were traveling on to Barbados.” Of course, it’s what she had assumed because of what he’d said at the theatre, but they really hadn’t discussed further plans.

“I wish to show off my wife.” He grinned. “I think it’s time you actually enjoyed a Season, and I also plan to see that my sisters do as well.”

He led her up the stairs to the room they’d now share and stopped before the door.

“But first, it’s time to truly make you my wife.”

ABOUT JANE CHARLES

Jane Charles is a USA Today Bestselling author who has lived in the Midwest her entire life. As a child she would more likely be found outside with a baseball than a book in her hand. In fact, Jane hated reading until she was sixteen. Out of boredom on a long road trip she borrowed her older sister’s historical romance and fell in love with reading. She long ago lost count of how many novels she has read over the years and her love for them never died. Along with romance she has a passion for history and the two soon combined when she penned her first historical romance. What turned into a hobby became a passion. In addition to historical romances, she has been pulled to write contemporary and began penning her new series, Baxter Academy of Arts. She intends to continue writing both historical and contemporary.

Connect with Jane

- @JaneACharles

- JaneACharles

www.janecharlesauthor.com

janecharles522@gmail.com

ALSO BY JANE CHARLES

THE TENACIOUS TRENTS

Compromised For Christmas

Landing a Laird

A Misguided Lord

A Perfect Gentlemen

Devil in Her Dreams

A Lass For Christmas

A Reluctant Rake

Lady Revealed

Lady Disguised

Lady Concealed

A Tenacious Trent’s Wedding

Lady Admired

WIGGON’S SCHOOL FOR ELEGANT YOUNG LADIES

To Walk in the Sun

Ghosts From the Past

A GENTLEMAN’S GUIDE TO ONCE UPON A TIME

His Impetuous Debutante

His Contrary Bride

His Not So Sensible Miss

His Christmas Match

MUSES

Her Muse, Lord Patrick

Her Muse, Her Magic

One More Haunted Evening

ONE LESS LONELY EARL

SAMANTHA GRACE

CHAPTER 1

C olin MacBride, the Earl of Blackwood, folded his arms atop the massive oak desk in his study at Blackwood Castle and wondered if his sister-in-law was intentionally trying his patience, or if it was purely by accident.

The petite blond sat in the chair across from him, her prominent chin lifted stubbornly. “I will not be put off. I demand resolution.”

He glanced at his identical twin brother standing at the sideboard pouring a scotch and silently appealed for help. James met his gaze and shrugged. Colin’s brother seemed as lost as he was when it came to dealing with their oldest brother’s widow.

Colin aimed an apologetic smile in her direction, hoping a show of sympathy would stave off an argument—and knowing it was a hopeless cause. “I am sorry, Audrey, but I won’t increase your pin money. As we have discussed on several occasions, it is necessary to live frugally for the time being.”

His sister-in-law sniffed, raising her aquiline nose in the air. “I am Lady Blackwood, and I haven’t given you leave to address me by my first name.”

“My brothers call you Audrey,” he pointed out, slightly nonplussed to be caught in this contentious relationship with the lady of the house.

Colin never expected to inherit the title from Malcolm, nor had he anticipated having any dealings with his sister-in-law beyond the requisite visits to Blackwood Castle around the holidays. His oldest brother had begun filling his nursery when Colin, James, and Gavin were still at Oxford. As fate would have it, Malcolm had fathered only girls—five clever little minxes that had wormed their ways into Colin’s heart with their first smiles. He didn’t mind admitting, he was smitten with his nieces. Their mother was another story.

“James and Gavin may address me however they like,” Audrey said. “They have not limited my accounts at the milliner and dress shop, and neither did Malcolm.”

Perhaps if Colin’s older brother hadn’t indulged Audrey’s every whim, their financial situation might be less grim. Colin practiced restraint, forcing a tight smile rather than speaking ill of his brother. He suspected Audrey missed his brother a great deal, and he attributed her frequent tantrums to grief. James and Gavin said he was being too generous. From all reports, she had been ill tempered long before their eldest brother had been thrown from his horse last spring.

Colin cleared his throat, not wishing to recall the tragedy that had taken his brother’s life. “I take no pleasure in placing limits on you, Lady Blackwood. Yet, it appears I must, since you have placed none on yourself—despite my requests. Your pin money will not be increased again, and the shopkeepers in Danby will no longer extend you credit.”

“You deplorable cur!” She burst from the chair and planted her palms against the desk as if she might vault over it to attack him. A furious blush flooded her ivory face. “Am I to be treated no better than a prisoner? What about necessities?”

Colin’s brother James approached with two tumblers of scotch and slid one across the desk’s lacquered surface. Colin left the drink untouched as he met his sister-in-law’s challenging stare. James perched on the edge of the desk and watched their heated exchanged like a spectator at a boxing match.

“You may present me with a list of necessities,” Colin said reasonably, “and if your request is indeed a need rather than a luxury, I will insure you have it.”

Colin’s twin brushed a lock of dark hair from his own forehead, and his steel-blue gaze flickered toward Audrey. Colin and James were mirror images of each other, and most people couldn’t tell them apart.

Audrey slapped the desktop before straightening her spine and plopping her hands on her hips. “What about a governess for Malcolm’s daughters? Your nieces’ education has been neglected long enough. But perhaps you consider it a luxury.”

“Gads. She always resorts to guilt, doesn’t she?” James shook his head before sipping his drink.

Surely, she didn’t hold Colin responsible for the two governesses they had lost over the summer. With Audrey’s tendency to lord her position over the young women and pepper them with harsh criticisms, was it any wonder they had trouble keeping one longer than a month?

“You know I placed an advertisement as soon as the last governess gave notice.” Colin thought he responded to her accusation of neglect with an impressive amount of calmness, considering his knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the desk. “Now, if you will excuse us, Lady Blackwood, we were in the middle of discussing estate business before you barged into the study and demanded an audience.”

She hadn’t even removed her hat and gloves upon returning from the village before marching into the study to berate him for the restraints he’d placed upon her spending. His sister-in-law glowered a moment longer, then snatched the glass of scotch and defiantly took a gulp. Tears sprang to her eyes as she fought to keep from coughing.

Colin remained silent, refusing to engage in her childish game. When she realized she wouldn’t get a rise out of him, she stormed from the room with the tumbler clutched in her hand. The slam of the door echoed off the stone walls.

“Are you going to allow her to steal your scotch?” James asked.

“It is hard to determine who needs it more” —Colin sank against the back of the leather chair— “her or me.”

“I concede your point.” Colin’s twin pushed from the desk to claim the chair their sister-in-law had vacated. His gaze bore into Colin. When they were younger, it seemed speaking hadn’t been required to know what the other was thinking. A slight prickle at Colin’s nape suggested now was one of those times.

“You were in here a long time with Mr. Patel,” James said. “I sense a storm approaching.”

The new land steward’s report had been dire, and Colin wished he had that drink now. He trusted James to keep his head about him once he learned the nature of their situation. Nevertheless, Colin wasn’t eager to admit the truth—even to himself.

“The condition of the flock is worse than I was led to believe when I arrived at Blackwood Castle,” he said. “We had an alarming decline in the flock numbers this spring. Too many stillbirths, and far too many ewes were lost in the process.”

James grunted under his breath and swirled the scotch in the cut crystal glass. Colin suspected they were thinking the same thing. Malcolm had mismanaged the flock, and the problem had been brewing for at least a year. Possibly longer.

As usual, Malcolm hadn’t confided in Colin or his other brothers because he had never seen them as his equals. He had been thirteen years old when Colin and James were born and fifteen when Gavin came along. Malcolm had treated his three younger brothers like boys, even though Colin and James were five and twenty now.

“Mr. Patel is guarded with his predictions about the estate’s sustainability,” Colin said. “There are a few healthy rams for breeding as well as mature ewes, but the fields are poor. We are destined to lose more of the flock over winter unless we can procure decent pasture.”

His brother’s strong brows dropped low over his eyes. “Is that all? Well, we have nothing to fret about then, do we?”

Colin did not miss the sarcasm lacing his brother’s words. He glanced at his desk. Two days ago, he’d shoved a summons from their meddlesome neighbor in the top drawer. He had planned to dispose of it the next time a fire was built in the grate, but he’d forgotten about it. Now it called to him. “I could appeal to Danby for help.”

James drew back in horror. “You cannot be serious. Have you forgotten how that old curmudgeon tried to manipulate Malcolm into marrying one of his granddaughters?”

“Of course I haven’t, but this is a chance to discuss the pastureland to the east. I might be able to convince the duke that we can be of assistance to each other.

“Do you truly expect Danby to listen to a word you have to say? He wants you for one reason only—to saddle you with a wife.” James scoffed. “If anything, he will dangle the land in front of you to insure your cooperation.”

“I won’t allow the duke to catch me in the parson’s noose. We will discus the land. Nothing more. Despite rumors to the contrary, I believe him to be a reasonable man.”

“Reasonable?” James barked with laughter. “You are dicked in the nob if you believe you will fare any better with our neighbor than Father or Malcolm did. Danby knows his great-grandfather stole that land from our family, but he will never surrender it—not without stipulations.”

James had good cause to believe as he did. Their grandfather had been promised a return of the land in question upon marriage to Danby’s sister, but Lady Margaret had eloped with another man two weeks before the wedding. Grandfather’s pride had suffered, and he’d never forgiven her for putting him through a yearlong courtship only to leave him empty-handed in the end. The broken betrothal had intensified the feud between the two families.

Some years ago, the current Duke of Danby tried to entice Malcolm to marry one of his granddaughters in exchange for the same land, but Colin’s eldest brother had already set his heart on Audrey. As Colin recalled, the gossip rags that Season had been filled with scandalous accounts of several loud altercations between Malcolm and Danby whenever they’d accidentally crossed paths.

Colin was not hot-tempered like his brother, however, and trusted any conversation he had with the duke would not be exciting enough for print.

“I will not ask Danby to surrender the land.” Colin snagged his coat from the back of the chair and shrugged into it. “As you have pointed out, it did not work for Father or Malcolm.” He headed toward a set of polished oak doors more suited for a race of giants than any member of the MacBride clan, and he and his brothers would never be described as short.

“Wait! Are you calling on the duke now?”

“It does seem best to put the matter behind me.”

His brother surged to his feet to follow Colin from the study, their equally long strides reaching the curved staircase in no time. Blackwood Castle was solid like a cave, but bright with massive windows every two feet to bathe the marble in a golden glow. Colin hadn’t resided there since he and James were sent to boarding school at age nine, but the castle was still home. He couldn’t allow Blackwood to fall into ruin.

“What do you propose to do?” James’s voice echoed off the stone ceiling.

“I am going to save our home,” Colin said.

“But how?” His brother grabbed his arm as they reached the ground floor, detaining him. “Tell me what you will say to Danby.”

Colin sighed impatiently. “I will ask the duke to allow our sheep to graze on the land, and I will offer him a percentage of the profits when the sheep are sheared in the spring. He makes no use of the pasture, but I am to understand it is well maintained. Sheep to keep the terrain tended and payment for his good deed; what more could he want?”

“You are a fool to even ask. Danby probably knew about the condition of our flock and fields before you did. He anticipated you would come to him asking for help.”

Colin pointedly scowled at his brother’s fingers locked around his forearm, and James released him.

“The duke asked to see me,” Colin said, “not the other way around. You give him too much credit.”

“You don’t give him enough,” his brother countered. “Are you aware his grandson is staying at Danby Castle?”

“I hardly see the need to be worried. Our nieces are too young for the marriage mart.”

Malcolm’s oldest daughter was only twelve-years-old. Colin expected to support his sister-in-law and nieces for many more years, and he wished to do right by the girls.

James crossed his arms. “Julian Beckford is already married. He arrived with his pregnant wife and her family.”

“And this should concern me because...”

“Mrs. Beckford has a sister of marriageable age. I expect the duke wants to help his grandson foist her onto another man.”

“Danby will be disappointed then.” Colin stalked across the stone foyer en route to the door leading outside. He wasn’t in any position to take on another dependent, which the duke likely knew already. The question remained if the man cared that he would be sentencing Mrs. Beckford’s sister to an uncertain future if he manipulated a match with Colin.

CHAPTER 2

M eredith Halliday glanced sideways at the duke as they strolled through Danby Castle gardens, praying her tongue would work properly when she was expected to speak. Her brother-in-law’s grandfather hadn’t said a word after ordering her to join him for his afternoon constitutional. She was quite on pins and needles dreading the lecture she expected to receive now that she’d been separated from her sister.

The Duke of Danby was no direct relation to her, but that didn’t stop the patriarch from treating her as any other family member under his protection. He held expectations for his grandchildren—duties that must be fulfilled. Every one of them was expected to marry and fill a nursery.

In that order.

Nonsense was not to be tolerated.

Furthermore, Meredith had failed to live up to his demands. Her first time on the marriage mart had been a disaster, and she dreaded the thought of ever stepping foot in a London ballroom again.

“I am told a young lady’s first time in Society can be overwhelming.” The duke’s voice startled her. “However, Julian said you met the challenge with an impressive amount of mettle.”

Meredith’s brother-in-law had a tendency to overlook her faults because he was smitten with her sister and would do or say anything to avoid upsetting his wife.

Meredith wet her suddenly dry lips and felt herself grasping for control of her words. “Y-your grandson is t-too k-kind.” Inwardly, she cringed at the shakiness of her voice. Before she continued, she silently reminded herself to slow down. “I was fortunate to have a Season, Your Grace. I am grateful to Julian for making it possible.”

Not only had her brother-in-law financed her Season, he’d settled a dowry on her that should have secured her future. Unfortunately, the promise of a small fortune hadn’t been enough to overcome her bumbling tongue.

Every time an eligible gentleman had asked for her dance card, she’d stuttered. Meredith thought she had outgrown her childhood affliction, but it had merely been in slumber, waiting to make her look like a fool and ruin any chances of her attracting a suitor.

One evening at the theatre, she’d gulped when she’d tried to speak and nearly coughed herself into unconsciousness. Startled, the gentleman had made a quick escape, leaving her to lean on her sister while she’d tried to catch her breath. She could still picture the sneers from the onlookers after she’d recovered.

After embarrassing herself on too many occasions, Meredith had become fearful of stumbling over her tongue, so she’d simply smiled when anyone spoke to her. It hadn’t taken long for her to earn the reputation of being a halfwit. Toward the end, her humiliation had become unbearable, and she’d taken to hiding in the retiring room.

She didn’t believe for one moment the powerful Duke of Danby knew nothing about her foibles. He seemed to have eyes everywhere.

“If I may speak frankly, Your Grace, it is a relief to be at Danby Castle.” Which was pleasingly far from London.

The duke patted her hand where it was resting on his arm as they continued along the wide, grassy path. “The Season is not suited for everyone, Meri.”

And Meredith was not suited for the Season. Furthermore, why should she or anyone expect her to be? She was not a real lady. Her father had been a doctor, and after his death, her mother had taken in sewing while her sister worked as a midwife to support them. Meredith’s life had changed dramatically when Felicity married Julian, but a giraffe in a ball gown was still a giraffe.

“I do so enjoy an afternoon stroll through the gardens,” Danby murmured. “The duchess was especially fond of this section. I think of her every time I pass this way.”

Meredith inhaled the beguiling scent of pink phlox that lined both sides of the pathway. Everywhere she looked, islands of brilliant color dotted the landscape. The delicate lavender petals of the spotted crane’s bill, the striking green feather-like foliage of dog fennel, and white clumps of marsh mallows on the bush created a soothing balm for the soul. “It is a lovely garden, Your Grace.”

The duke’s serene smile eased her fears that he wanted to revisit her blunders in Town, but she couldn’t relax fully until he revealed his true purpose in insisting she walk with him. Danby’s actions were rarely uncalculated, not that she believed he intended any maliciousness. It simply didn’t seem to occur to him that he wasn’t in control of everything and everyone around him.

She didn’t quite have the courage to broach the topic, but he ended her suspense.

“Meri, dear. Am I to understand you wish to take a governess position?”

She winced. Her brother-in-law wouldn’t have presented her desire to enter into service in a favorable light. Her sister, Felicity, had been outspoken about her opposition. Meredith didn’t dare hope the duke would take her side in the argument, or even understand her wishes.

Felicity was expecting her second child, and she’d seemed insulted when Meredith offered to become the baby’s nurse. Her sister wanted to see her happily married like she was, but Meredith felt one of them needed to be pragmatic. Marriage was not in her future, and she couldn’t expect her brother-in-law to support her forever.

Her fingers twitched on the duke’s arm. “I—I believe I would make a fine governess, Your Grace. I am well versed in arithmetic, literature, Latin, and the arts.”

“Indeed.” Danby’s mouth settled into a firm line.

Her brother-in-law had hired a tutor for her when Felicity had fretted over Meredith becoming bored with the lady’s education she’d been receiving. It seemed the duke was aware of her unorthodox studies, and he wasn’t impressed.

“Y-your grandson h-has been very g-generous with me.” Heat rushed into her cheeks as she tripped over her words.

In silence, they followed the path as it wound back toward the house. The duke turned clever eyes in her direction. His weathered face showed the signs of five and eighty years of experienced living, but his mind was as sharp as a young man’s.

“What about marriage?” he asked. “Are you not also suited for the position of wife?”

Her gaze dropped to the path as if she was watching for rabbit holes. “I believe my failed Season proves I am not.”

“You are a girl of nineteen, Meredith. Spinsterhood is far away for one so young. You’ve had but one Season.”

He didn’t understand that no matter how many Seasons she had, she would never find a husband. What gentleman wanted a wife who stuttered? Everyone would think he’d married an idiot who would bear him idiot children.

She peered at the duke from beneath the rim of her bonnet, pleading with her eyes. “Please, Your Grace. I cannot withstand another Season. I would die if I had to go through the humiliation again.”

“Of course you wouldn’t die. Chin up. Theatrics do not suit you any more than spinsterhood, so there will be no more of that nonsense. You would bear up to it if you must.”

Meredith’s heart thumped heavily in her chest. He was going to force her back to Town next year. She briefly considered, and discarded, the idea of falling on her knees and begging for mercy. As he had already indicated, drama was not allowed.

He sighed, the corners of his lips drooping in a show of displeasure. “Nevertheless, I believe there might be an alternative. I have recently come across an advertisement seeking a governess.”

She gasped. “You would help me secure a position?”

He stopped to pluck a stem of lavender and held it to his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. When he exhaled, he sighed with satisfaction. “I will help you find a suitable situation.”

Meredith barely refrained from tossing her arms around his neck and laughing with relief. Ladies did not comport themselves in such a manner, and while she didn’t truly belong in the ranks of the upper class, she hated to disappoint the duke. Therefore, she imitated one of the bland smiles the society ladies in London used in most every situation. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

They headed back toward the castle in companionable silence. She was pleased their conversation had gone well, and she hadn’t allowed her nerves to drive her to her chambers with complaints of a headache when the duke had ordered her to join him. She feared she had misjudged him.

At the doors leading into the castle, the duke’s butler intercepted them. He sketched a bow to Meredith and awaited permission to speak. The duke canted his head.

“Pardon the interruption, Your Grace, but Lord Blackwood has arrived at the door and claims you summoned him.”

“Splendid. I had hoped I wouldn’t be required to send a second invitation. Escort him to my study.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” Dawson turned on his heel and stalked back toward the castle.

The duke offered a gracious smile to Meredith. “Forgive me, Meri. The earl and I have a matter to discuss that cannot wait. Tea will be taken in the green drawing room across from my study. I will join you after I see to the earl. Invite your mother and sister to keep you company while I am occupied. I am told ladies enjoy their time without gentlemen present, so they may engage in gossip.”

The twinkle in his eye clued her in to his teasing. Even if he was serious, there was very little gossip to be had at Danby Castle. The past two weeks had been uneventful, although the family at large would descend on the castle soon enough when grouse season opened. Considering Meredith had met many of Danby’s grandchildren—some she’d known since she was fourteen—their arrival didn’t cause her any concern.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I will retrieve Mama and Felicity at once.” She was anxious to tell her mother and sister about the duke’s offer to help her secure a governess position.

CHAPTER 3

C olin remained standing when Danby’s footman invited him to have a seat to await the duke. He would meet his neighbor on equal footing, eye-to-eye. Colin had witnessed Danby subtly assert his dominance over other men within the House of Lords enough times over the previous session to realize it was best to stand one’s ground when dealing with the duke.

He studied the colossal painting above the fireplace. Red-jacketed men seated on horseback were forever frozen in midflight as their hunters sailed over a rock wall. The door creaked, alerting him to the duke’s arrival, and he turned to greet the other man.

Danby paused in the arched doorway as if Colin had caught him unaware. “Did my man offer you a drink?”

Colin nodded curtly. “I declined.”

“Very good.” The duke’s grey eyebrows lifted slightly. With an enigmatic smile, he closed the door behind him and crossed to his desk, moving with dignified grace. “Have a seat, Lord Blackwood.”

Colin set his jaw, waiting until the other man lowered into the chair behind his desk before claiming one of the wingbacks opposite him.

Leaning back in his chair, Danby made a steeple with his fingers and regarded Colin with his head marginally cocked to one side. “I thought I might need to send a second summons. It has been two days since the first was delivered to your door.” The duke’s tone held a note of accusation.

“Pressing matters have required my attention. I apologize for the delay.” In truth, Colin would have ignored his neighbor’s summons indefinitely, but it was necessary to set aside his prejudice toward the duke for the good of Blackwood Castle.

“I am aware of your troubles,” Danby said.

“Oh?” Colin’s spine stiffened. Suspecting the duke was privy to the state of Blackwood’s flock hadn’t bothered him nearly as much as knowing it was fact. The man likely had spies everywhere.

“I like to keep abreast of my neighbors’ situations,” the duke said, “so I might offer my assistance when needed. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Isn’t that what we are charged to do, Blackwood?”

“I believe that is the saying.” Colin was careful to maintain a neutral expression. There had never been any love between the Danbys and MacBrides, but allowing a decades’ old feud to interfere with reaching an agreement with the duke would be foolhardy. Colin had a family to feed now.

“May I ask what rumors have reached you about Blackwood Castle?”

“I put no stock in gossip.” Danby flicked his hand as if shooing a fly. “But if there is any truth to your flock being unwell and your fields poor, perhaps we can help one another.”

Colin issued a humorless chuckle. The duke’s assistance would come at a steep price, of course.

“Your Grace, you may not believe everything the gossipmongers say, but you seem to lend them your ear.”

“It would be unwise to refuse to listen, Lord Blackwood. A kernel of truth often is buried within the retelling of salacious tales.” The duke’s eyes gleamed with mirth. “I also read the newssheet.”

Colin didn’t understand the connection, but he wasn’t interested in drawing out their meeting by asking the duke to explain. “I am afraid you heard correctly about the condition of Blackwood’s flock and fields, and I have come prepared to offer a proposition. The pastureland bordering our estates is unused. I would like your permission to winter the flock on the land in exchange for a portion of the profits when the sheep are sheared in the spring.”

“Interesting,” Danby said. “I had another arrangement in mind, but I like the sound of this. Please continue.”

Colin suppressed a victorious smirk. James had called him a fool for approaching Danby, and he would relish crowing about his success when he returned to the castle.

“I am willing to offer you twenty percent of the profit,” Colin said. “Once the sheep are sheared and the wool has gone to market, you may count on receiving your due.”

“I am a wealthy, old man, Lord Blackwood. What am I to do with more coin?”

“What about your heirs? Fortifying the coffers will only benefit them.”

“You are family-minded. I admire that quality in a man.” Danby smiled like a fat barn cat toying with a mouse and folded his arms on the desktop. “You have presented your terms, and now it is my turn.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Negotiations are not one-sided, young man. I have my own demands before we finalize an agreement.”

“Demands?” Colin eased back against the seat cushion, a cold wariness seeping into his bones. James’s words rang in his ears. Danby always wants something more. “And what would those demands be, Your Grace?”

“Nothing you are unable to deliver.”

Colin suspected he knew exactly what the duke would demand, but Colin wanted to hear the words before he refused Danby’s terms. Taking on a wife to support for years to come was not a fair trade for limited use of the land. Danby had to know he would be overreaching.

The duke drummed his fingers against the desktop, hesitating as if contemplating how to proceed. “As you may be aware,” he said eventually, “my grandson Julian Beckford is in residence with his wife and young son. They intend to stay until Mrs. Beckford delivers her second child. My grandson’s sister-in-law has accompanied them, as would be expected of a lovely young woman in need of a gentleman’s protection. Dr. Halliday died when the poor dear was a girl. To lose a parent at a young age is tragic. I would not wish it upon any child.”

Colin’s wariness blossomed, and a weight settled in his gut. His own mother had died soon after his youngest brother was born. He didn’t care for the sense of commonality he suddenly felt with young woman.

“Miss Halliday is concerned about becoming a burden to my grandson,” Danby said. “She is a reasonable sort, although it is impossible to consider such a charming young lady could be a burden to anyone. I believe you will find her quite impressive. She has mastered many subjects one would not expect the fairer sex to study in addition to those tasks required of a lady. I am sure you will find her manners are well refined. I feel confident in saying Meredith Halliday would be an asset to any household of import.”

“Undoubtedly,” Colin drawled, his mouth hitching up on one side. He hadn’t expected the duke’s machinations to be quite so transparent. Colin had given him more credit than Danby deserved. “Miss Halliday sounds lovely, but—”

“Qualified,” the duke cut in.

“Er... Qualified?”

“Correct. Miss Halliday is lovely, as you say, but most importantly, she is highly qualified.”

Colin gaped. Granted, marriages were often a business arrangement, but Danby made the institution sound decidedly unromantic—not that Colin had ever entertained the thought of making a love match. If anyone asked, he would be forced to admit he hadn’t considered marriage at all. Had his older brother lived out his full life, Colin’s bachelorhood never would have come into question.

“I wouldn’t be recommending her otherwise,” the duke continued, tactfully averting his gaze as if he didn’t notice Colin’s slack jaw. “Miss Halliday will make a fine governess for your nieces. I assume the position has not been filled since the advertisement continues to be printed in the newssheet.”

Colin snapped his mouth closed. “You want me to hire her for a governess position?”

“I do.”

That did make more sense than asking Colin to marry below his station, but he didn’t quite trust that the duke was being forthcoming. “Is that all you want from me?”

Danby’s forehead creased. “Would you like me to ask for something more?”

“Not particularly, no.” Colin hesitated when the duke flashed one of his mysterious grins. Danby was masterminding something, but damned if Colin could determine his hidden agenda.

“Very well. I am pleased with our proposed arrangement.” The duke planted his hands on the desk and pushed to his feet. “Do we have an agreement?” He rounded the desk to seal their deal with a handshake.

Colin eased from the chair, eyeing the other man’s hand as if it were a serpent. He reached to finalize the agreement, noting the gleam in Danby’s eyes. Colin jerked his hand back before he made contact and dropped it by his side. “You are scheming. I see it in your demeanor.”

The duke scoffed. “Paranoia seems to be a MacBride family trait.”

“We have learned the hard way blindly trusting the Danbys is unwise. If my great great-grandfather hadn’t put faith in your great-grandfather—”

“Must you revive old grudges?” Danby asked with a beleaguered sigh. “I’ve granted permission to use the land, and all I ask in return is for you to hire Miss Halliday. It should be no hardship, especially when I expect her to tender her resignation within the first week.”

“You expect her to quit.” Colin couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Why the bloody hell are you recommending her if you expect her to resign?”

“Meri is not meant to become a governess. I have other plans for her, but first she must come to realize a position in service is not her calling.” The duke paused, his shrewd gaze sweeping over Colin. “I am fond of the girl and desire her happiness. I want to see her well-settled in marriage.”

Just as Colin had suspected, the duke was trying to play matchmaker. His lips twitched with a barely contained smile. He was enjoying matching wits with Danby, and coming out the victor. Not many gentlemen were successful at avoiding the man’s well-laid traps.

Colin inclined his head, offering him due respect. “May your search be fruitful, Your Grace.”

“Your best wishes are appreciated but unnecessary. I have found a suitor for Miss Halliday—Baron Lovell. We spoke prior to my departure from London. He is eager to make the lady’s acquaintance upon his return to Yorkshire.”

Maximilien Lovell owned a modest estate north of the town of Danby, and it was little wonder the baron was in the market for a wife. Rumors among the ton purported a large inheritance from his mother’s family was being held in a trust until Lovell married and produced an heir. Undoubtedly, the young buck’s grandfather had hoped matrimony and fatherhood would tame him.

“Lovell is eager to marry so he can gain access to a fortune,” Colin said. “He isn’t likely to be selective, but I am certain you are aware of his situation.”

“I heard rumblings to that effect.” There was a twitch at the duke’s temple.

Colin narrowed his gaze. Danby was withholding information. “What is wrong with Miss Halliday?”

“Nothing. As I mentioned earlier, she is a lovely young lady.”

Yet, she required the duke’s assistance to attract a husband. Colin didn’t trust Danby for a moment. “I won’t expose my nieces to a woman of questionable morals or judgment. What are you hiding?”

“Your imagination is running amok, Blackwood.”

The glower Danby aimed at him might have sent another man scrambling for safety, but Colin crossed his arms, holding out for an answer. Like his father and brother before him, he refused to be taken in hand by anyone.

The older man made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “Meri had her difficulties in London, but nothing of a depraved nature. I won’t stand for you insinuating otherwise.” Danby rounded his desk once more, retrieved a sheet of foolscap from a desk drawer, and grabbed a pot of ink and a quill. “I am changing the conditions of our agreement, and I want it in writing.”

“You cannot go back on your word.”

The duke’s eyebrows lifted as he took his seat. “You did not accept the first offer. Now it has been withdrawn.”

Danby dipped the quill in the inkpot and scrawled something across the paper. Colin’s heart pounded against his ribs when the duke continued writing.

“Tell me what you want. I need that land.” He cringed at the note of desperation underlying his words.

Danby’s quill halted and he glanced up. “Hire Miss Halliday to be your nieces’ governess, and make certain she resigns before Lord Lovell arrives. I estimate you have three weeks at best to convince her that accepting a position in service is a mistake.”

“Three weeks? God’s blood! How am I supposed to make her resign?”

“I’m certain you will think of something—if your sister-in-law doesn’t chase her away the first day. I understand Lady Blackwood has become an expert at running off the help.”

The urge to defend Malcolm’s wife gripped him. Audrey might vex him to no end, but she was family.

Danby returned to writing. “One additional stipulation. Be charming with Miss Halliday. Compliment her. Engage in harmless flirtations. She is bashful by nature, but I expect a bit of attention and flattery on your part will help settle her nerves before she is expected to meet Lord Lovell.”

“You want me teach her how to flirt?”

Danby’s gaze flicked toward the ceiling as if silently appealing for patience. “I want her to become comfortable speaking with a man, and you can assist in the task.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“And yet, it is my price for using the pasture.”

Colin gritted his teeth. He wasn’t one of Danby’s playthings, and he refused to portray the Lothario for anyone. “You know where to find me when you’ve recovered your senses.” With blood simmering in his veins, Colin stalked for the door.

Danby was too slow to catch him. Muttering a string of curses, Colin threw open the door and slammed it into a footman holding a tea service. The servant tripped and everything on the tray tumbled to the marble floor and shattered.

Danby came up behind Colin, clucking his tongue. “William, whatever were you doing lurking outside my study door? I hope you were not eavesdropping.”

The footman looked up with wide, startled eyes from where he was kneeling to gather the broken pieces of china. “No, Your Grace. Mr. Dawson said—”

“That will be all,” Danby snapped. “Have Mrs. Ealey send housemaids to tend to the mess.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Forgive me.”

The butler appeared around the corner of the corridor. Danby nodded an acknowledgment. “Dawson, I expect you will have a talk with this young pup and explain the expectations of this household.”

“I will do as you say, Your Grace. Come along, William.”

The poor sap William scrambled to pick up the larger pieces, then rose to hurry after his superior. Danby’s behavior with the servant. The mysterious appearance of the butler. Everything reeked of Machiavellian designs only Danby was privy to. Perhaps Colin was nothing but a source of entertainment to the duke, and he had no real plans to allow Blackwood sheep on the land.

He jabbed a finger in Danby’s direction. “You truly are a devil-hearted blackguard with the morals of a—”

“Your Grace, has someone been injured?”

Colin whipped his head around to locate the owner of the lyrical, feminine voice and lost all thought of what he’d been saying. It belonged to a most stunning young woman with eyes the loveliest shade of brown—warm umber ringed with a dark cocoa. They sparkled with curiosity as she exited a room across from the duke’s study.

“I heard a commotion.” She held Colin enthralled as she came forward to lay a delicate hand on Danby’s arm, her pink bow mouth curving into a frown. “Is everything all right?”

The duke’s stern face softened. “There was a minor accident, Meredith, but no one was hurt.” Danby held up his hand. “Stay where you are, Felicity. There are shards everywhere.”

A more mature version of the lady on Danby’s arm froze in the doorway and offered a patient smile for the curmudgeon. She passed a hand over her round midsection. “Thank you for the warning, Your Grace. I haven’t seen my feet for weeks now, and I’d just as soon not ruin my best slippers.”

The younger woman laughed, the sound warming Colin’s heart, and his determination to storm from Danby Castle began to crumble. He found himself smiling, too.

The lady in the doorway could only be Julian Beckford’s wife, which meant this charming vision in front of him must be her sister. He hadn’t considered that Miss Halliday might be beautiful. He cleared his throat, drawing the duke’s attention. When Danby said nothing, Colin raised his eyebrows in anticipation of an introduction.

The duke gave a slight nod. “Ladies, please allow me to present Lord Blackwood, our neighbor to the west. The earl was just leaving.”

Miss Halliday dropped into a low curtsey. “My lord.”

Colin stepped forward to urge her up, but he jerked his hand back when Danby made a pleased humming sound. “That isn’t necessary, Miss Halliday,” Colin said.

Her lashes flickered as she looked up and pink washed over her ivory cheeks. “Y-you know who I a-am?”

Danby tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as if offering his protection. “I spoke of you in the study, Meri.”

“Oh!” Her complexion changed to crimson, but she was smiling again. “Forgive me, Lord Blackwood. For a moment, I thought we might have met in London during the Season.”

It was far from flattering that she wouldn’t recall having made Colin’s acquaintance. He certainly wouldn’t have forgotten her. “The duke reported you are interested in a governess position,” he said, “and since he is aware we are in need of one at Blackwood Castle, he highly recommended you.”

Miss Halliday and her sister gasped at the same time.

“Is that true, Your Grace?” Mrs. Beckford asked with a small furrowing of her brow. “I am uncertain I can manage without Meri. She is of great comfort to me at this stage of my pregnancy.”

When Miss Halliday’s face fell, Colin experienced the ache of her disappointment. He didn’t comprehend her desire to take a service position, but clearly it was important to her. “Blackwood Castle is not far, Mrs. Beckford. Your sister would have leave to visit whenever she is not teaching the children.”

“Do you not want to interview me first, my lord?” Miss Halliday asked.

He smiled with as much detachment as he could feign. “I’m certain that is unnecessary after such high praise from His Grace.”

The Duke of Danby ignored Mrs. Beckford’s disapproving frown, and graciously accepted Miss Halliday’s gratitude.

“I expect you tomorrow at eleven.” Colin refrained from bowing over her hand, reasoning an employer would not extend such courtesy to the governess. “I will send a carriage to collect you at a quarter ‘til.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Colin met the duke’s triumphant stare. “Once you have the contract drawn up, you may send it to Blackwood Castle for my signature.”

“Your word is sufficient, sir, and you have mine.”

When Colin found his horse waiting for him outside the castle, he felt he’d been managed quite handily. Interestingly, he no longer cared.

CHAPTER 4

The next morning Meredith gathered her books from her chambers and headed below stairs to wait in the castle yard. It was earlier than the appointed time to meet the carriage that would carry her to Blackwood Castle, but Meredith was hoping to avoid her sister. Last night they had argued about her acceptance of the governess position, and Meredith didn’t want to revisit their quarrel before meeting her charges. Starting on the right foot was important.

Meredith and Felicity rarely had disagreements, but when they did, neither was quick to admit to being wrong. Mama said they were both too stubborn for their own good—a trait they had inherited from their father. And like Papa, she and Felicity had an innate desire to contribute something worthwhile to the world. If anyone should be able to understand Meredith’s desire to teach, it should be her sister. Felicity’s refusal to see anything through Meredith’s eyes disappointed her.

She swept past her sister’s closed door, noting the chamber was quiet. Felicity was likely still abed, since sleep was a precious commodity at her advanced stage of pregnancy. When Meredith reached the end of the corridor, she raced down the stairs. If the duke caught her running, he’d chastise her for unladylike behavior. But he and Julian were out for a morning ride, and she truly wanted to escape the castle before her sister woke.

Meredith was halfway to the front door when Felicity strolled from the drawing room wearing a blue print cotton day gown fashioned to accommodate her expanding belly.

“There you are,” her sister said. “I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind about the governess position.”

Meredith drew to a reluctant halt. She was put out with her sister, but she also loved her a great deal and hated being at odds. “I am on my way to the castle yard to await Lord Blackwood’s carriage. I suppose you are disappointed that I didn’t come to my senses overnight.”

Felicity smiled ruefully. “This morning Julian reminded me of some of the things I said at supper, and I realized I owe you an apology. I would like to blame everything on my pregnancy, but that is the coward’s way.”

The rigidness of Meredith’s spine melted a little, but she hugged the books close to her chest. She wasn’t quite convinced that her sister’s comment was evidence of her acceptance of her decision.

Felicity came closer to place her hand on Meredith’s shoulder. “Please, try to understand that I only wish to see you happy. If our situations were reversed, I believe you would feel the same. You have a home with us as long as you need it, therefore, entering service is unnecessary.”

Meredith swallowed a groan. She should have kept walking and pretended she hadn’t seen her sister. “I haven’t much time. Could we postpone this discussion until later?”

She would be returning to Danby Castle that evening because it was the only way her family would agree to allow her to take the position. No matter how many times Meredith had pointed out that residing under her employer’s roof was not only acceptable, it was expected of a governess, Felicity and Mama had refused to listen. Julian had been quick to agree with them, too.

She suspected everyone except the duke believed she would forget about her unsuccessful Season and return to London next year, but she wouldn’t. The marriage mart was the most unnatural phenomenon she’d ever experienced. How a lady was supposed to decide if she wanted to marry a man after only a few dances baffled the mind. If she had paid attention to her initial reservations and stayed in Bath, she wouldn’t have humiliated herself.

Felicity sighed and turned back toward the drawing room. “We will have approximately ten minutes on the ride to Blackwood Castle to discuss this further. I don’t wish to leave it until this evening.”

“Wait a moment. Are you coming with me?”

Felicity disappeared into the drawing room without answering, but she was back a few moments later with a pair of kid gloves and her bonnet. She stopped in front of a looking glass hanging on the wall and donned her hat. “You can’t go alone. You require a chaperone.”

“I am a governess now. Arriving with a chaperone will appear ridiculous.”

Felicity shrugged as she secured the bonnet’s ribbons beneath her chin, her reflection copying her movements. She spun around to face Meredith with a determined gleam in her eyes. “You are an innocent young lady, and I won’t have the locals spreading gossip about you.”

“What do you think will be said about you for gallivanting around the countryside in your state?”

“There is nothing improper about calling on the neighbors, and I expect everyone will commend me for protecting my younger sister’s reputation.”

“You are impossible,” Meredith mumbled and stalked for the front door. Felicity followed her outside.

“I am completely impossible,” she chirped happily. “I almost pity you for having such an impossibly caring sister.”

Meredith rolled her eyes. It was hard to argue when her sister agreed with her. She found Felicity’s knack for playfully twisting another’s words amusing—most of the time.

“I’d planned to practice my elocution in the carriage,” Meredith said, “but it will feel awkward now. Making a good impression is important.”

“I am certain you have no cause for worry. Lord Blackwood seemed satisfied by the duke’s personal recommendation.”

Meredith was more concerned with impressing the earl’s wife. Danby had been tightlipped about his neighbors at dinner last night, forcing Meredith to send her lady’s maid on a mission to learn everything she could about the residents at Blackwood Castle. What she’d learned did not put her at ease.

Reportedly, Lady Blackwood tossed aside governesses like a debutante discarded ball gowns. There was a chance Meredith wouldn’t make it through the first morning before the countess turned her out, and her stomach had been fluttering with nerves all morning.

“I wish you were more concerned with earning my approval.” Her sister inhaled sharply and held her breath a moment before slowly exhaling.

Meredith frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Of course.” Felicity sounded suspiciously out of breath. “You must know we enjoy having you with us. Julian is no more eager to see you go than I am.”

Felicity and her husband would keep Meredith into her dotage if she would allow it, but her lot in life was not to become pampered and useless. Of that much, she was certain, but she couldn’t deny the twinges of homesickness she experienced when she contemplated separating from her family when they returned to Bath. Her nephew would change so much between visits, and she would miss all the baby’s firsts. A splinter of doubt wedged itself into her heart.

“I am grateful to you and Julian. Truly, I am.” She craned her neck to search for signs of the Blackwood carriage, praying it would hurry before her sister could discover the chink in her armor.

“Take heart,” Meredith said with false cheerfulness. “Perhaps Lord Blackwood will find my qualifications lacking. I could be back within the hour.”

Her qualifications were not really a source of worry. Meredith had always excelled at her lessons. Even before her sister had married Julian and a tutor was hired for her, Meredith’s education had been exemplary. Felicity—having learned medicine at their father’s side when he was still alive—had introduced Meredith to the study of human anatomy, deductive reasoning, and Latin, which was an advantage many ladies were never given. Meredith was as capable of educating a gentleman’s son as she was of teaching his daughters.

Her sister kneaded her lower back with both hands, wincing slightly. “I wouldn’t complain if we were back within the hour.”

Meredith shook her head in disbelief. Despite her sister’s denial, she was not well. She had been grimacing on and off for the last three days. “Felicity, I believe you should go lie down. Remember how bumpy the lane is. You will be miserable even on a short drive.”

“I will be all right.” The tense lines on her forehead said otherwise.

“I do not need a chaperone,” Meredith insisted. “Lady Blackwood will be there, but if I promise to take my maid, will stay you behind?”

“You needn’t worry about—” Felicity squeezed her eyes together and hissed, clutching her stomach.

Meredith slipped her arm around her sister’s waist to assist her back inside the castle. She waved off a footman when he tried to approach, knowing Felicity was too proud to accept his help.

Meredith guided her toward the staircase. “You are returning to your chambers. Perhaps Julian should send for the midwife.”

Felicity leaned against her. “I am not in labor. I had early contractions with Reid, too.”

“I recall you lying down when you had them, so no more arguments.”

They climbed the stairs, and Meredith escorted her sister to her chambers. Once Felicity was in bed with pillows propped behind her back, Meredith sat on the edge of the bed.

“I will send word to Blackwood Castle that I won’t be able to assume my duties until tomorrow.”

Her sister’s face softened, and she captured Meredith’s hand. “Meri, don’t you want to fall in love and marry someday? You love children. Are you willing to forego the chance to become a mother?”

Her sister’s question initiated a dull pang beneath her breastbone. Meredith had begun the Season with dreams of following her sister’s example and finding a good man to love. But when she’d overheard Lord Hessenford speaking about her to a group of gentlemen at Almack’s, her hopes were crushed. She could still hear the derisive sneer to his voice as he proclaimed her an idiot and the men’s guffaws when he’d imitated her stutter.

Her cheeks heated at the remembered humiliation. “Becoming a governess would allow me contact with children.”

“It wouldn’t be the same.” Felicity gently squeezed her hand. “Remember how sweet it was to hold Reid in your arms the first time? Some day you will hold your own babe if only you are patient.”

Meredith glanced toward the door. It was better to avoid thinking about what she would be losing by pursuing this path and focus on what she would gain—a purpose. “Lord Blackwood’s carriage will be here any moment. I should go meet the driver and ask him to relay my message. Surely, the earl and countess will understand the need to delay.”

Felicity’s shoulders sank. “I might not agree with your choice, but if you insist on taking the position, you should arrive as expected. As you said, it is important to make a good impression.”

Her sister’s support meant a lot to Meredith. She smiled and leaned forward to place a kiss on Felicity’s forehead. “Please try to rest while I am gone,” Meredith said.

Felicity held on to her hand as she tried to slip from the side of the bed. “I only want you to be happy, Meri.”

“This will make me happy. I cannot abide a life of idleness any more than you can.”

Although Felicity had married a man she adored, she hadn’t been able to give up her love for medicine. She restricted her ministrations to their servants for propriety’s sake, except in dire situations. Julian had never tried to stop her from saving lives, as she had done when the local midwife sought her assistance in a breech birth earlier that spring.

“How many burns, cuts, and bumps have you tended since we settled in Bath?” Meredith asked. “How many sniffles and irritable bellies?”

“A fair number, but there is a need, and I love—” Felicity’s eyes widened. Perhaps her sister was finally coming to understand. Eventually, she nodded. “I have been overstepping my bounds, have I not?”

“Perhaps a bit, but I know you are well-intentioned.” Meredith patted her sister’s hand before releasing it and turning toward the door.

“At least take your maid when you go. I am holding out hope you will reconsider marriage, and safeguards must be taken to protect your reputation.”

“I will, and please stop worrying.” It was a wasted effort on Felicity’s part. Meredith would not be changing her mind.

CHAPTER 5

Harsh whispers outside Colin’s study door shattered his concentration, and he paused in the middle of moving his rook. When he met his brother’s gaze across the chessboard, James’s eyes glimmered with anticipated victory. Colin replaced the Jasperware porcelain piece and leaned back to study the board once more. James growled softly, but it was all in good fun.

Both possessed competitive natures, which had served them well over the years. Their desires to best each other had driven them to earn the highest marks at Eton and become two of the best cricket players the school had ever seen—much to their father’s pleasure. The rivalry continued when they were admitted into Oxford, and it hadn’t lessened any over the subsequent years.

“Are you insane?” a male voice blurted outside the door. Someone shushed him, but he paid no heed to the warning. “Do you want to get me turned out? You tell him.”

“I canna tell him.” A thread of hysteria stitched the young woman’s words together, and her voice rang with familiarity. “It isna proper.”

His brother’s dark brows rose high on his forehead. “Is that Audrey’s maid?”

“Rhona, present yourself,” Colin called out to the lady’s maid, “and bring your cohort. You’ve nothing to fear.”

“Perhaps you don’t bite,” James said with a smirk, “but Audrey does. They should fear her.”

He silenced his brother with a glower as Michael—a young footman who’d recently reached his fifteenth year—shuffled through the door with the Scottish maid slinking in behind him. Neither servant could meet Colin’s gaze and instead, watched their feet.

He cleared his throat.

Rhona peeked around the footman, and a scarlet blush engulfed her face. It didn’t require much imagination to ascertain Colin’s message to Audrey had been less the well received. And his sister-in-law’s corresponding message to him probably involved a good dose of profanity, which would account for the maid’s flustered appearance.

In an attempt to ease the girl’s worries, he smiled. The servants couldn’t be held accountable for Audrey’s abrasive manners and salty language. “Am I to assume Lady Blackwood is indisposed and unable to meet this morning prior to the arrival of the new governess?”

“Er... Aye, milaird.” Rhona shoved a hunk of loose auburn hair beneath the mobcap Audrey insisted the girl wear. “Something to that effect,” she mumbled under her breath.

James chuckled.

Colin thanked and dismissed the servants before returning to the chess match as if there hadn’t been an interruption. He refused to react to Audrey’s attempt to rile him. She took too much pleasure in the act. His brother followed his lead and held his tongue.

Discovering James’s knight was left unprotected, he captured it. James responded by eliminating Colin’s rook.

“Damnation,” Colin muttered and leaned closer to study the board. A soft clearing of a throat drew his attention toward the doorway where the butler stood framed in the threshold. Bickley’s posture was stiff enough to make a statue envious.

“Has Miss Halliday arrived?” Colin was out of his seat and crossing the room before the manservant could answer.

“Yes, milord.” Bickley moved aside so Colin could pass. “I’ve seen her settled as you requested,” he called out as Colin set a course for the drawing room.

“Very good.” He stalked through the stone corridor, his determined steps echoing as he went.

“You seem eager.” His brother’s voice behind him startled him. “She must be pleasing to the eye.”

Colin stopped and turned to face James with the most neutral expression he could muster. Miss Halliday was beautiful, but her appearance did not account for his eagerness—at least not entirely. He was more anxious to see to his family’s security, which hinged on the new governess tendering her resignation as soon as possible. Of course, that wouldn’t come before she assumed her duties, so he wanted to get on with matters.

“Were you planning to accompany me?” he asked his brother. “We are discussing expectations. I am certain you would find it dull.”

“I sense you would rather I not.” James’s eyes sparked with interest. “I must admit to being doubly curious about Miss Halliday now.”

Upon his return from Danby Castle, Colin had confided in James about the agreement with the duke. His brother had demanded to know what was wrong with Miss Halliday, and even though Colin had posed the same question to Danby, James’s skepticism had riled him. He’d been quick to defend the new governess. Perhaps too quick, which was likely the reason his brother insisted on following him now.

Colin shrugged. “Do as you wish, but don’t complain to me if you grow bored.”

“Oh, I am certain I will find this encounter very entertaining,” James said with a sly smile.

“Splendid.” Colin ground his teeth as he continued toward the drawing room. Outside the door, he drew his brother to a halt. James had a charm about him that often left ladies clamoring for his attention, and the thought of Miss Halliday falling under his brother’s spell left a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

“To be perfectly clear,” he whispered, “you need to keep your hands to yourself.”

James’s grin widened. “Why? Do you fancy the lady for yourself?”

“No,” he said while his blood rushed faster through his veins. His body refused to allow him to lie to himself, but it didn’t matter if he wanted Miss Halliday. He couldn’t afford her. “Danby wouldn’t like it, and we can do nothing to jeopardize the agreement.”

“I thought the old duke mentioned flirting,” James said sotto voce. “I could meet his terms.”

“Not and keep your nose in joint.” Colin entered the room ahead of his brother.

Miss Halliday was alone, standing at the window looking over the rolling pasture beyond the glass. Sunlight illuminated her profile—slender nose, high cheekbones, pert chin. And her rich brown hair was shrouded in a hazy glow. Her beauty struck him like a punch to the gut, and a strange wheezing sound escaped him.

She turned toward the noise, coming up short. Her cocoa gaze shot back and forth between him and James. “T-twins,” she murmured.

“Cut from the exact same cloth,” James confirmed. “I am James MacBride, and you have met my brother.”

“Yes, L-lord Blackwood. W-we met when he collided with the f-footman yesterday.” Pink tinged the apples of her cheeks as James graced her with a winsome smile.

“How interesting. Colin failed to mention an accident. Please, you must sit and tell the story.”

Colin snapped out of his stupor and came forward to escort her to the sitting area. “I am sure Miss Halliday is anxious to meet her charges. We shouldn’t fritter away her teaching time with anecdotes when there are more important matters to discuss.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Her smile was shy when she linked arms with him and allowed him to guide her toward the most comfortable chair. Her gaze darted toward the doorway. “Will Lady Blackwood be joining us soon?”

He managed a strained smile. “I am afraid the countess is indisposed at the moment. I expect she will visit the classroom this afternoon.”

“Oh.” Miss Halliday halted, swallowing hard. “M-my maid is waiting in the servants’ quarters.”

Of course, she required a chaperone. Danby would insist upon protecting her reputation when his true intentions were to see her married. “I will request Mr. Bickley send someone to retrieve her.”

“No, no. That is unnecessary.” A nervous titter accompanied her words. “We will not be long, will we?”

“The servants at Blackwood Castle are loyal,” James piped up from his place on the sofa. “You needn’t worry anyone outside of Blackwood will be privy to today.”

She looked to Colin for reassurance, which he readily gave. Danby was the closet neighbor, and it was to the duke’s benefit to keep the entire affair secret. Colin was certain Baron Lovell would never know his bride had once dabbled in education.

Reaching the chair, Colin urged her to sit. No sooner did her derriere touch the butter yellow upholstery than she was back on her feet. “I wanted to write notes while we speak. I left my notebook...”

Colin followed the direction of her wagging finger and found she’d placed a stack of books on a table close to the window. “Allow me,” he said.

Miss Halliday offered her gratitude before sitting again. Colin retrieved her notebook, found a pencil in a drawer of the rarely used Chippendale desk, and settled on the sofa beside James after delivering the items.

She opened her notebook and initiated a small interview of her own, asking for the children’s names and ages, how well the three oldest girls could read, and if the younger ones had started learning their letters.

“Rebecca can read,” Colin answered. “I’ve seen her reading to her sisters before bed.”

Miss Halliday consulted her notes. “The oldest girl, and she is twelve-years-old.”

“Correct.”

“At ten, I would expect Emily to be a proficient reader as well.”

“I’m sure she is,” Colin said, although he knew very little about his nieces’ education.

Malcolm had hired a governess for his daughters, but the troubles with keeping one hadn’t occurred until this summer when Colin was in London attending his first session at the House of Lords. He imagined his older brother had served as a buffer between Audrey and the help, and without Malcolm’s calming presence, tensions had run too high.

To Colin, it seemed the best course of action to take with Miss Halliday would be to keep his distance and allow Audrey to run roughshod over the young woman until she quit. Throwing Miss Halliday to the lioness, however, struck him as unnecessarily cruel.

She finished jotting in her notebook. “I see Iris is nine. Where is she in her education?”

Colin shrugged and appealed to his brother for help.

“I cannot recall ever seeing her with a book,” James said. “I suspect she has no interest in reading. She is more likely to be racing through the corridors than sitting still.”

Miss Halliday shot Colin a bewildered look and thanked James. “What can you tell me about Catherine and Nora?”

“I’m sure they are much too young to have started reading,” Colin said with confidence. At four- and five-years-old, he still thought of Catherine and Nora as babies, although he knew they weren’t.

Miss Halliday posed several more questions about their study of etiquette, skill with a paintbrush, and ability to cipher numbers, but neither Colin nor James had answers. With a slight frown, she closed her notebook. “Forgive my over eagerness, Lord Blackwood. Perhaps it would be best if I posed these questions to your wife when she visits the classroom.”

A shocked laugh burst from him. “Audrey isn’t my wife. She was married to my older brother. Your charges are my nieces.”

“I-I assumed—I thought because she is Lady Blackwood that you and she...” Miss Halliday began thumping the pencil against the chair’s gilded armrest, seemingly unaware of the incessant tapping noise she created.

“I understand,” Colin said. “I can see how that might be misleading. Our brother died from injuries sustained in a riding accident last spring, and I inherited the earldom.”

The tapping stopped, and she regarded him with her mouth slightly ajar. He barreled on before she could recover enough to offer the obligatory words of sympathy.

“I have been guardian to Malcolm’s daughters for a short time only, and my presence was required in London this summer. I hope you do not judge me too harshly for being unfamiliar with their academic achievements thus far.”

“It would not enter my mind to judge you, my lord.” She shook her had sadly. “Your poor nieces. My heart goes out to all of you. I am certain your lives have been turned on end.”

Compassion swelled in her deep brown eyes and elicited a pang in his chest. It was true his life would never be the same. He had responsibilities he’d never anticipated, but most worrisome was whether he could provide everything the girls required from a father. Looking into Miss Halliday’s eyes, he sensed she understood their needs better than he, but it wasn’t surprising. According to Danby, she had lost her father when she was young. Her wisdom was hard earned.

“Thank you for informing me,” Miss Halliday said. “My students may need special allowances made in the classroom at times. Grieving one’s father can be an arduous task, and I vow not to drive them too hard.”

“Perhaps their previous governesses were not as understanding,” James mused.

And perhaps Colin should allow his sister-in-law the benefit of the doubt. Audrey was inconsiderate, hot-tempered, and critical, but she loved her daughters with a ferociousness he couldn’t deny. Watching over the help’s shoulder might have been necessary.

“Thank you, Miss Halliday. I believe the girls’ education is in good hands,” Colin said. “Shall we go meet your students?”

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

James declined to join them, offering an excuse about needing to see to correspondence, which suited Colin. Miss Halliday’s choice to take a governess position both baffled and intrigued him, and he was eager to indulge his curiosity out from under his brother’s watchful eyes.

CHAPTER 6

M eredith accepted Lord Blackwood’s offer to carry her books to the third floor classroom and accompanied him from the drawing room.

“Catherine and Nora are in the nursery under the care of their nanny,” the earl said. “I thought perhaps you would prefer to meet with the older girls first.”

“Yes, thank you.”

As they moved through the foyer side by side—not even an arm’s length separating them—the initial jitteriness she’d experienced upon her arrival melted away like butter on a warm roll. The earl had a way about him that put her at ease while also triggering an intense awareness of him.

A faint lilt to his voice hinted at a cheerful disposition. A teasing whiff of woodsy cologne reminded her of the cedar-lined chest she’d filled with her most treasured possessions as a girl. And as inappropriate as it was to harbor such thoughts for one’s employer, she couldn’t deny that he cut a very dashing figure in his tailored fawn trousers and navy coat. He was twice as handsome as any of the men she’d encountered in London, and it was a wonder she could remember her name when he turned his exquisite blue gaze upon her.

As they climbed the curved staircase, he continued to speak of his nieces.

“My brother already mentioned Iris rarely sits still, but that is simply because she is a curious sort. She likes to know how and why objects work. A little patience might be required, but I assure you that she is well-intentioned.”

“I am certain we will get along well, my lord. I, too, was a curious child.” Meredith noted the softening of his jaw and smiled with satisfaction. Lord Blackwood seemed sincerely interested in seeing that his nieces received the finest instruction possible. Meredith would do her best to provide his charges with an education to make him proud.

“Rebecca may not appear to be listening at times,” he said as they reached the top of the stairs and he directed her down a long corridor, “but she notices everything. She is a brilliant girl who is capable of looking at a drawing once then recalling even the most minute details.”

“What a magnificent talent. All of the girls sound lovely.” Meredith was growing quite eager to meet them.

Faded blue silk carpets muffled their footsteps as they walked through the corridor. They passed rooms with doors left ajar, which allowed sunlight to filter into the space. She took the opportunity to snoop along the way and spotted a medieval tapestry of a wedding scene hanging on a wall in one of the rooms. Danby Castle had its share of tapestries scattered throughout, and Meredith had always enjoyed creating small stories to match the vignettes. Perhaps she could use Lord Blackwood’s tapestry in one of her lessons.

“We moved the classroom to one of the guest chambers recently,” the earl said. “I hope you find it to your liking. You should come to me if there is anything missing that you need, and I will see that you have it. It is important the girls have every advantage.”

She murmured her thanks for his thoughtful offer as warmth swelled within her chest. Her father had valued her and her sister very much, and he’d prodded them to learn every subject that a man would be expected to know. Meredith had always thought Papa was an anomaly, but it appeared Lord Blackwood held similar attitudes toward the fairer gender.

“There were no windows in the former classroom,” he said. “James, Gavin, and I dreaded spending our mornings there.”

“Is Gavin another brother?”

“He is the youngest, but he is not in residence at the moment. He is attending a house party in Sussex.”

“Were you not invited?” Meredith blurted and immediately wanted to slap her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to be impertinent—just curious.

Lord Blackwood slanted a smile toward her. “I was, but I sent my regrets. Truthfully, I would rather be home.” He shrugged as he stopped a few steps in front of one of the opened doors. The sound of girls’ laughter spilled from the room. “I suppose house parties, assemblies, and balls have lost their appeal for me.”

“They never appealed to me,” she said. “Well, I do enjoy spending the holidays with the family at Danby Castle. I am less enthused about large crowds of strangers, however. I couldn’t wait to leave London.”

“I am certain you were not alone in your desire to escape the crush. Where do you call home?”

It would be presumptuous of her to say she was home now that she’d come to Blackwood Castle. If the family was pleased with her teaching and kept her on for the long term, however, this would become her residence eventually. But that was fact, and her answer was based on an intuition. Blackwood Castle felt right for her.

“My mother, sister, brother-in-law, and I took up residence in Bath five years ago,” Meredith said. “Felicity thought taking the waters would be helpful for our mother. She has rheumatism.”

She didn’t know what had gotten into her; she was chattering on like a magpie. Usually, she was at a loss when it came to conversing with gentlemen, but she seemed incapable of being quiet now.

“Julian—my sister’s husband—found a house to let within a month of our arrival, and we have been there ever since. He is rather indulgent when it comes to my sister.”

“As any good husband should be,” Lord Blackwood said with a trace of humor to his tone. “Within reason, of course.”

“Yes, you are right, my lord. Felicity is nothing if not reasonable. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” A heated flush climbed her face as she considered what he must think of her discussing family secrets. “Please allow me to reassure you that I will manage your nieces’ expectations in such matters when we study household budgeting.”

“I have no concerns about your influence, Miss Halliday.” His cynical smile suggested he felt differently about other sources of influence in his nieces’ lives, but he didn’t allow her time to ponder his comment. “Has it been helpful?” he asked.

She blinked, feeling slightly lost. “I beg your pardon?”

“The waters. Have they helped your mother?”

“Oh!” A breezy laugh covered her slight embarrassment at having forgotten their conversation from seconds earlier. “Yes, as long as she visits the baths faithfully, they are helpful. The cooler climate in Yorkshire creates more difficulties for her, which makes bed rest necessary at times. Nevertheless, she insists on being present when Felicity gives birth, and the duke insisted Dr. Campion would provide superior care.”

Lord Blackwood nodded as if digesting the information. “Dr. Campion married Danby’s granddaughter not long ago. One of the triplets.”

“Lady Patience,” Meredith said before falling silent a moment to consider the implications. She hoped the duke hadn’t recommended Dr. Campion simply due to his tie to the family. “He is a good doctor, isn’t he?”

The earl smiled reassuringly. “Danby and I rarely agree on anything, but Dr. Campion has earned my admiration as well. He has been summoned to Blackwood Castle on more than one occasion to tend to various family members, and all has turned out well.”

Unfortunately, Lord Blackwood’s eldest brother seemed to be the exception, although there was a chance the former earl hadn’t been in Yorkshire at the time of his death. Meredith would like to know the details simply because he was her students’ father, but she couldn’t ask without possibly appearing insensitive and rude.

The noise from the room was growing louder. She nodded toward the doorway. “May I meet the girls?”

“Right this way, Miss Halliday.” Lord Blackwood preceded her into the classroom, eliciting a few excited squeals. Three beautiful girls charged him, each vying for his attention. Smiling at Meredith, he passed her books to her before ruffling his niece’s sandy blond hair. He hiked the smallest girl into his arms, even though she was much too old to be treated like a child in leading strings, and placed a kiss to her temple.

Meredith’s heart fluttered. It was the most thoughtful and loving gesture—to recognize their hunger for affection and dole it out freely. Meredith had been close to the oldest girl’s age when her own father had fallen at a patient’s home and died suddenly. Many times, she’d longed for the reassurance and security that only a father could provide. To know Lord Blackwood was so sensitive to his nieces’ emotional needs...

Law! She might be the tiniest bit smitten with him now.

“I have brought someone to meet you,” Lord Blackwood said to his nieces. “Please welcome Miss Halliday. She is your new governess.”

Rebecca, Emily, and Iris stayed close to their uncle, peering at her with equal measures of wariness and interest.

Meredith greeted each girl in turn, and they dutifully responded. At first, the three oldest girls seemed reserved, but it didn’t take long before Meredith was able to coax them into talking about their favorite subjects and touting their accomplishments.

“Let’s start our lessons with arithmetic,” Meredith said once she had their attention. “Please have a seat so we might begin.”

Her students proved to be eager and raced each other to the table. Iris was the winner, but Emily accidentally plowed into her and sent her sprawling onto the table. The youngest girls issued great belly laughs. Rebecca, however, quietly claimed a chair, folded her hands on her lap, and regarded Meredith with an expression that was too grave by half for a girl of twelve. It seemed Meredith was facing her first test as a teacher, and her reaction would set the tone for their time together.

She crossed to the table, chuckling, and assisted Iris to a chair while Emily found one for herself. “After our short lesson, I believe we should take exercise outside.”

She caught a glimpse of Lord Blackwood’s approving smile before focusing her attention solely on her students. When she set her books aside and retrieved slates for the girls, she expected the earl would leave, but he sat in the rocker close to the window to oversee her first lesson. She might have been nervous to have an observer if it were anyone else. To his credit, he remained unobtrusive and allowed her to perform her duties.

Each girl was given a different equation to solve designed to challenge them without causing too much frustration. Meredith was checking over their work with them when a waifish lady with golden blond hair entered the room. Her eyes narrowed a fraction when her gaze landed on Lord Blackwood sitting in the rocker, but she aimed a bright smile at Meredith and came forward to gather her hands in hers.

“Miss Halliday, I cannot tell you what an honor it is to have you at Blackwood Castle. The earl assures me that your credentials are exemplary, and my daughters’ education is in the best of hands.”

As Meredith had suspected, the woman was Lady Blackwood, and her warm welcome added to the perfection of Meredith’s first day as the new governess at Blackwood Castle. Her classroom was beautiful and bright. Her students were divine. And her employers were everything she’d dreamed they might be.

She’d never been one to boast, but she was rather eager to tell Felicity just how perfect she had it at Blackwood Castle.

CHAPTER 7

C olin moved to the edge of the rocker the moment Audrey entered the classroom. The wisest course of action would be to allow his sister-in-law to do what she did best—antagonize the governess until she tendered her resignation—but he found he liked Miss Halliday, and he wouldn’t allow her to be abused.

Before he could fully push from the chair to run interference, Audrey swept toward Miss Halliday with a smile and welcomed her to Blackwood Castle. Colin cautiously sank back onto the seat and watched the unexpected exchange. His sister-in-law was the epitome of graciousness as she engaged Miss Halliday in conversation and politely answered the governess’s questions. When Miss Halliday was finished gathering information about the girls’ education, she requested permission to take Rebecca, Emily, and Iris for a walk.

“What a lovely idea.” Audrey beamed at Miss Halliday. “I believe the girls would enjoy it very much.”

Iris released a whoop and skipped toward the door.

“Just a moment,” his sister-in-law called, waving her daughter back. “Allow your mama to kiss your cheek before you go.”

Iris dutifully trudged across the room to stand in line behind her sisters to accept a kiss from her mother. When it was her turn, she tossed her arms around Audrey’s neck and squeezed her tightly. Audrey laughed, hugging her in return.

Miss Halliday corralled his nieces and ushered them from the classroom. Audrey’s smile stayed in place well after her daughters left the room. Colin had never seen this side of his sister-in-law. He began to wonder if he had been too harsh in his judgment of her—until she spoke.

“Poor Colin, whatever will you do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I am sure you will figure it out,” she said as she sauntered in his direction. “Eventually. You are rather dull-witted at times.” She stopped inches in front of him, her skirts brushing against his knees, and tipped her head to the side as if studying him for the first time. A mix of malice and anticipation churned behind her eyes.

Audrey took too much pleasure in goading him into losing his temper. He’d not oblige her today. Gripping the arms of the rocking chair, he imagined holding tightly to his faltering sense of calm.

“When I look at you,” she said with a sneer, “I cannot help but compare you to Malcolm, and you fall short every time. I am beginning to suspect you don’t really share the same father.”

“Enough!” Colin snapped and bolted from the chair.

Audrey stumbled back a few steps. Her complexion suddenly appeared flat and chalky.

“Malcolm’s mother—our mother—treated you like a daughter,” he said. “You will not insult her. Apologize at once.”

“To you?” Her voice quivered slightly, but she straightened her spine. Her brazenness was returning in a rush, brightening her cheeks and eyes. “I will never apologize to you. You do not deserve it. Not with what you are trying to do to my daughters. They need an education, you blackguard.”

Gads. The woman was impossible. “I am seeing to my nieces’ education. They are with their governess now.”

“Not for long if you have your way. I heard you talking with James last night.” She skewered him with a malevolent glare. “You want Miss Halliday to resign, so you can tell everyone that you tried to provide for Malcolm’s daughters. You want to use me as the scapegoat—to tell everyone Blackwood’s governess problem is my fault, when the truth is you are too miserly to employ one.”

“Any time you want to know something, you could ask me. Lurking outside the door is unnecessary.”

Her sour expression conveyed her thoughts on conversing with him like a reasonable person would.

Colin wasn’t surprised to learn that she’d been spying on him and James before dinner last night. Her behavior had been suspicious, the way she’d hurried to her seat and refused to look at either of them throughout the meal.

“If you had begun eavesdropping earlier,” he said, “you would know the advertisement is still being printed in the newssheet. The search for a governess continues, and I hope to have a replacement arranged by the time Miss Halliday resigns.”

Audrey cursed his stupidity and threw her hands in the air. “She is not going anywhere. She is a perfectly good governess.”

“I am afraid she must.”

“You are making no bloody sense. Give me one reason why Miss Halliday cannot stay.”

The coffers are dwindling. Your husband mismanaged the flock, and he was too prideful to ask for help. He allowed you to incur debts he could not pay. The reasons were plentiful, but he was tired of arguing with his brother’s wife. His morning had started so well with Miss Halliday’s arrival, and he wished he could bottle the contentment he’d felt watching her interact with Rebecca, Emily, and Iris.

“It is complicated,” Colin said. He gave his sister-in-law a brief overview of their financial situation and explained the arrangement he’d made with Danby to use his land. “Our future depends on the survival of the flock this winter.”

“No.” Audrey crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve made a mistake in your calculations, and the new steward is worthless. Malcolm would have told me if the estate was in trouble.”

“He didn’t tell anyone, Audrey. I will show you the accounts if you like. If we lose any of the flock, we are facing many lean years ahead.”

“Malcolm never would have trusted Danby.”

“He’d have had no choice. I have no choice.”

“I don’t know whether to believe you.” The fire in his sister-in-law’s eyes began to dwindle, and she ran shaky hands up and down her arms. “What manner of man insists on an arrangement such as this? What if the girls form an attachment with Miss Halliday? They could be crushed when she leaves.”

Colin grimaced. Audrey’s concern was legitimate. Hurting his nieces was too steep a price to pay, but if he didn’t fulfill his part of the bargain, how much more would they suffer?

“Perhaps if you lend your assistance,” he said, “we can send Miss Halliday back to Danby Castle before she earns the girls’ admiration.”

Send her back to marry Lord Lovell. The thought was like a splinter trapped beneath his skin, irritating and difficult to dislodge. A sweet girl like Miss Halliday deserved better than to be tethered to a libertine. Danby must be mad to have brokered a match with the baron.

“You will receive no help from me,” Audrey snipped. “Be a man and get rid of her youself.”

She stomped toward the exit and almost collided with James. He allowed her to leave then strolled into the classroom. “I heard arguing when I came above stairs. I thought you might need assistance.”

“Not with Audrey. I think I’ve become immune to her theatrics.” Colin moved to the window overlooking the gardens and searched for Miss Halliday and the girls. It took him a moment, but he spied them at the far end of the hedge maze. Caroline, Nora, and their nanny had joined the group. The older girls ran ahead while the youngest two, who were trying very hard to keep pace with their sisters, fell behind. Miss Halliday and Mrs. Browning didn’t allow any of them to go far before urging them to come back.

His brother joined him at the window. “It is good to see them laughing again.”

“Yes, and it is concerning.” Colin relayed their sister-in-law’s worries about the girls becoming attached to Miss Halliday and then losing her. “Perhaps Audrey is right about renegotiating with Danby. I should request another meeting. Either way, she refuses to help drive away her daughters’ new governess, and I cannot say that I blame her. Miss Halliday is a splendid teacher.”

James slapped his back. “Making Danby see reason would be quite the feat, but I agree you should try. In the meantime, I will do what I can to encourage Miss Halliday to tender her resignation in case you are unsuccessful. The less time she spends with the girls, the better.”

Colin slanted a glance at his brother and was troubled by the cocky smile on his face. “Just don’t touch her.”

James chuckled. “I hadn’t even considered it, but taking liberties could speed the process along.”

“I mean it, James.” Colin’s gaze followed Miss Halliday as she strolled hand in hand with Nora now. “If you touch her, I will punch your face inside out.”

He could say his threat was motivated by concern that Danby would renege on their agreement if Miss Halliday were compromised, but he would be lying. He wanted her for himself.

CHAPTER 8

M eredith practically bounced out of bed the next morning. Even though she had stayed up late the night prior preparing her lessons, she didn’t feel the slightest bit sluggish when she yanked the bell pull to summon her maid.

Her first day in the classroom had filled her with energy and purpose, and she was eager to see what this day would bring. If she arrived earlier enough, she would have time to set up the room before the MacBride girls had their breakfast. The youngest girls’ nanny planned to bring them to the classroom this morning to listen to their older sisters read aloud.

Meredith and Mrs. Browning had gotten on well yesterday, despite the large difference in their ages. The older woman reminded Meredith of her mother in a way. She addressed the girls with the same gentleness Mama had always shown her and Felicity. Even when their mother was under the weather, which was too often these days, she never raised her voice. Meredith found both of the women inspiring and hoped she could live up to their examples.

She had already begun her toilette when her maid arrived. “Good morning, Lily.”

Her maid’s greeting was slightly less enthusiastic than Meredith’s, and she rubbed her eye with her fist. It appeared Meredith had dragged her from bed.

“I need your assistance dressing, but it won’t be necessary for you to accompany me to Blackwood Castle today.”

Lily raised her honey-colored eyebrows, but she said nothing.

“I know it is wash day,” Meredith said. “You are needed here, and I can manage on my own.” She would be with her charges all day, and she wasn’t likely to have any further dealings with Lord Blackwood now that he had laid out her duties.

“Yes, miss.”

Meredith thought she detected a note of skepticism from Lily. “I will be alone with my charges all day.”

“I understand.”

Meredith frowned as her maid crossed to the wardrobe. She’d definitely seen Lily purse her lips in disapproval before she turned away.

“I doubt I will even see Lord Blackwood,” Meredith said. “He is much too busy and important to concern himself with the governess.”

She tried to shrug off the veil of disappointment settling over her at the thought and reminded herself that her only interest was in the children’s education. It wasn’t completely true. Lord Blackwood had roused her curiosity, but she would be doing herself no favors by indulging it.

Still, she couldn’t help wondering why he seemed so different from the noblemen she had met in London. She couldn’t imagine any of the popinjays that had been presented to her caring about a child’s education beyond the financing of it. Yet, the earl had spent his morning in the classroom, insuring his nieces were comfortable with their new governess. He truly was a unique gentleman, a man worthy of further study.

Lily returned with a pink day dress covered with tiny roses embroidered in silk thread. It was an ambitious frock designed to attract a husband—not something a governess would wear. Her wardrobe was filled with such dresses, but she would have to wait for her first wages to purchase a more demure fabric and sew a dress better suited for her position. Fortunately, she had inherited her mother’s skill with a needle.

“What about Mr. MacBride?” Lily asked.

Meredith’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“You said you are unlikely to encounter Lord Blackwood. Do you expect you might cross paths with Mr. MacBride?”

She had forgotten all about the earl’s brother, but she wasn’t worried about him. James MacBride had made himself scarce beyond the introductions and initial meeting to discuss her students’ current skills. “I am sure I won’t see him again.”

When she arrived at Blackwood Castle an hour later, she was proven wrong.

Meredith gaped at the chaotic scene just inside the front door. “Wh-what h-happened?”

James MacBride beamed at her from the first step of the stairwell while all five of her students giggled from their places at the gallery overlooking the foyer. Mrs. Browning, the nanny, held a hand to her forehead as if trying to ward off a headache. A couple of upstairs maids peered over the railing with wide-eyed horror.

“These are sheep.” Mr. MacBride fanned his arms over the flocks’ wooly heads.

“Yes, I—I can s-see that well enough.”

The black and white faced creatures were everywhere, and a musty odor hung over the room. She knew very little about sheep, but they seemed like docile creatures. That a herd might storm a castle was too outrageous to consider. Yet, she couldn’t imagine they were meant to be inside.

One of the sheep accidentally bumped her with its curled horn and knocked her into the entry table. She braced her weight against it to keep from falling. “How did they g-get inside?”

“I herded them through the door, of course.” Their uncle’s incredulous tone set off another round of giggles from the girls. “Sheep are the MacBrides’ livelihood. They are part of my nieces’ heritage. I’ve brought them inside for your lesson.”

Good heavens. The man must be mad. That could certainly account for the trouble with maintaining a governess. Mrs. Browning had mentioned yesterday that Meredith was the third one to be hired in the last four months, and she hoped Meredith planned to stay. Meredith didn’t see that she had much choice. She had only gotten the position because the duke had secured it for her. If she resigned, she would likely be giving up her only chance to teach, and she would be back on the marriage mart next year.

“I see,” she said, injecting as much diplomacy into her voice as she could muster.

And she did understand his position to some degree. Learning about one’s heritage was important. It could help form the girls’ sense of belonging to something solid and unchanging. Even as members of the MacBride clan were buried or marriages brought new ones into the fold, it would forever be a family—their family.

Despite the importance of studying one’s heritage, however, crowding sheep into a foyer was the mark of insanity. “P-perhaps we should move the lesson outside. W-where there is more room.”

The front door opened behind her. “What is going on here?”

Lord Blackwood’s baritone voice rumbled through her, filling her with pleasant tingles. His steel blue gaze narrowed on his brother as he pulled off his riding gloves. The color was high in the earl’s cheeks as if the cooler morning air had kissed them. She couldn’t look away from the picture of vitality he presented.

“James, I asked you a question.”

She decided to come to Mr. MacBride’s rescue. “Good morning, my lord.” She curtsied to the earl to remind herself of her position as much as to show her respect. “Mr. MacBride has rightfully pointed out that I should be teaching my students about their heritage. We were just discussing how to move the lesson outdoors.”

The earl’s eyes flared. “You can tell us apart.”

Heat flooded her face. She hadn’t given it any thought when she’d walked through the door and identified the earl’s brother at a glance, but they were different in ways she couldn’t miss. Lord Blackwood was more refined in his dress, and it was reflected in the way he wore his cravat. A simple cascade with a cravat pin. By comparison, his brother was showy with his elaborate knot and colorful waistcoats, although James MacBride would hardly be called a dandy.

There were subtle differences in their voices and eyes, too. Mr. MacBride’s sparkled with mirth—or perhaps madness. She wouldn’t rule out the possibility. Lord Blackwood’s eyes, however, vacillated between intense interest when she spoke and kind acceptance. His response to her had a tendency to knock her off kilter, as did the smile he aimed at her now.

“I suppose I can tell you apart, my lord.”

“Amazing,” Lord Blackwood murmured. “Well, I suppose James and I should move the flock outside, so you can begin your lesson.”

He opened both doors and urged her to step aside. Meredith shuffled further into the foyer and pressed her back against the wall. He yelled for someone in the castle yard to gather a couple of men to help drive the sheep back to the paddock.

“Yes, milord,” a gruff voice answered before muttering something she couldn’t decipher. She could only guess that the speaker thought the situation was as odd as she did.

Lord Blackwood maneuvered behind one of the sheep and gave its rump a tap with his boot. “Go on. Outside with you.”

At first, the animal didn’t budge, but with persistence and a harder shove to its hindquarters, it nearly jumped on its neighbor’s back. This set off a round of anxious bleating as they flailed about on the marble floor. Eventually, the sheep nearest the open doors tumbled outside. The others began to follow, calling out to each other. A few stragglers tried to break away, but there was nowhere for them to go when Lord Blackwood spread his arms wide, creating an imaginary barrier. Wisely, all other doors leading from the foyer had been closed, blocking alternate routes of escape. Mr. MacBride discouraged the ones that tried to dart up the stairs by clapping his hands and making a racket that would scare the devil himself.

Meredith pressed her body further back against the wall, praying her toes wouldn’t be trampled. In the end, she suffered no ill harm. She couldn’t say the same for the foyer floor, which was smeared with muddy hoof prints. Lord Blackwood surveyed the damage and sent a scolding look in his brother’s direction. Mr. MacBride simply raised his eyebrows as if he was oblivious to what he’d done wrong.

Meredith glanced up at the girls. The youngest had their faces pressed between the railing slats. “Are you wearing boots?” she asked.

Rebecca shook her head while her sisters called out, “No.”

“Then you should don them before we go outside.”

The girls scrambled to do as she’d requested. Mrs. Browning followed, assuring Meredith that she would hurry them along. Their excited laughter could be heard from the corridor, fading as they moved further away.

Mr. MacBride grinned. “It looks like you have everything well in hand, Colin. I am planning a trip into the village this morning, so I will excuse myself.”

She and Lord Blackwood dumbly watched him as he picked his way across the foyer and walked out the front doors. They stood in silence a few moments until Meredith couldn’t bear it any longer. She cleared her throat.

“I am afraid I know nothing about sheep,” she said. “Your nieces are unlikely to learn much from me today, but if you have books I could borrow, I could educate myself soon enough.”

His full lips eased into a smile. “I thought perhaps you would tender your resignation after my brother’s antics. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

His comment rang false. She had a strange feeling he knew exactly what Mr. MacBride had been thinking, and she didn’t find it reassuring.

“Does your brother often engage in such...?” Madness? Unpredictability? “Um, capers?”

“No.” Lord Blackwood’s dark brows veered toward each other. “On second thought, yes. All the time. Does his behavior worry you?”

“Not at all.” Surely, she had imagined the hopeful inflection in his voice. “Now, about those books.”

“I am happy to lend you a few from the library, but may I offer my assistance today? The girls are expecting a lesson.”

Her smile was restrained, and somewhat stiff. Otherwise, she would be beaming, and the earl would realize how giddy his offer made her. “I think that would be wise. Thank you, my lord.”

CHAPTER 9

C olin shook his head in wonder as the intrepid Miss Halliday marched his nieces past his study door to spend another afternoon in the company of sheep. They were two weeks into her employment, and she appeared no closer to resigning her post than she had been on her first day. Her unflappability was admirable, but it didn’t bode well for meeting Danby’s timeline, and Colin was failing miserably with the duke, too.

Thrice, he had written to Danby suggesting a renegotiation of their terms, and three times, he’d been rejected. The duke’s latest reply, which had arrived moments earlier, left no doubt in Colin’s mind that his neighbor was a stubborn old goat.

I expect Miss Halliday to tender her resignation before Lord Lovell arrives in Yorkshire. The sooner she realizes it is in her best interests to marry well, the better off everyone will be. I trust you will employ whatever means necessary to drive her from Blackwood Castle. Do not give me cause to regret placing my faith in you.

Aside from tossing Miss Halliday over his shoulder and toting her back to Danby Castle, he hadn’t a clue as to how to return her to the duke, since no one at Blackwood had been able to discourage her yet. Colin took secret pleasure in her mettle, but the duke need not know it.

There was much to admire in Miss Halliday. She arrived each day brimming with enthusiasm, and it was contagious. Joining her and his nieces for their daily excursions to the pasture reminded him of how much he loved his ancestral land. His determination to see the estate recover and flourish was renewed each time he looked over the moors.

Of equal importance, he wanted the residents of Blackwood Castle to thrive, which required more than food and shelter. Often these days, his nieces’ laughter filled the castle. Even he and Audrey had reached a tenuous truce, and Miss Halliday was responsible. She was helping to mend what had become broken at Blackwood. The prospect of letting her go was no longer an option, but neither did it feel right to consider her an employee. She was so much more to him.

This evening he would be dining with his banker to discuss financing options to feed the flock through the winter. Perhaps he could find an investor or sell a pair of his father’s cuff links. If the duke wouldn’t cooperate, Colin would find another way to improve his lot and offer Miss Halliday something more permanent. Her wishes would dictate exactly what that might be.

“Do you still wish to join us, my lord?” The governess’s inquiry jolted his attention away from the duke’s letter. “I don’t know how much longer I can convince your nieces to wait. They are eager to see the pups.”

Her smile was a scintillating ray of sunshine that heated him through. She stood in the doorway, twisting slightly side-to-side. Her powder blue skirts flared to reveal the tips of her sensible boots. She always seemed on the verge of dancing away.

Colin crumpled the missive, grabbed his hat, and followed her before she left him, tossing the duke’s letter in the bin on the way. “What are we learning about today?”

Miss Halliday arched an eyebrow; a teasing smile played about her lips. “I thought you were in charge when it came to the sheep.”

“Quite right,” he said with a chuckle. “I was simply testing you.”

Colin had a tendency to get carried away and take control whenever the lessons involved the flock, but it wasn’t due to Miss Halliday failing to do her reading. She had acquired an impressive amount of knowledge on sheep farming over the last couple of weeks. Sometimes he forgot all of this was new to her.

When they joined his nieces in the castle yard, Colin’s brother was there with the lamb he’d taken to carrying around the castle in a bid to frighten Miss Halliday into quitting. It was proving to be a futile endeavor.

James doffed his hat, offering everyone a view of his untidy hair, and greeted Colin and Miss Halliday. “I am sure you remember my dearest friend, Lady Harriet Lambkins,” he said. “We are on our way to take refreshment this afternoon.”

The girls giggled and looked expectantly toward their teacher, awaiting her reaction. Miss Halliday dropped into a perfect curtsey. “Good afternoon, your ladyship. It is lovely to see you again.”

Colin’s nieces burst into laughter with Iris holding her belly and doubling over as if the entire affair was unbearably funny. James met Colin’s gaze and shrugged while struggling to suppress a grin.

Colin canted his head. “I trust you will enjoy the rest of your afternoon, my lady.”

This set off another round of laughter. James hugged Lady Lambkins and made a show of reassuring her that no one was laughing at her as he pretended to stomp away in a huff.

Miss Halliday turned to watch him go. “Your brother is very fond of that lamb.”

“It is but a passing fancy, I think.”

She chuckled and linked arms when Colin offered his escort to the barn. He appreciated that she tolerated his brother’s antics with good humor, although Colin was almost certain she thought he might be an escaped Bedlamite. If he didn’t know James was putting on a show, he might believe it, too. In addition to toting the lamb around the castle every day, Colin’s brother had been known to burst into the classroom several times over the last couple of weeks with his hair tousled and clothing askew to ask which little girl had eaten the carrots he kept in his pocket. Colin was sure it was quite disruptive, but Miss Halliday never complained.

She had even politely choked down a biscuit from the plate James delivered to the drawing room the other day when she was teaching the older girls how to pour tea. Emily and Iris had been less tactful, and very dramatic when they had dashed outside to spit the offending biscuit in the dirt. Their longtime cook had been furious with James when she realized he’d ruined her recipe by switching the sugar and salt. And Cook wasn’t inclined to forgive Colin any time soon either.

You should keep the rogue on a shorter lead. Your father wouldn’t have abided your brother’s foolishness.

Colin knew Cook was right, and since it would no longer be necessary to scare away Miss Halliday if the meeting with his banker was successful, he would order James to stop said foolishness.

The sun was hot at their backs as he and Miss Halliday strolled along the dirt path arm in arm. They had formed an easy camaraderie over the last couple of weeks that he didn’t share with many, aside from his brothers. Colin wasn’t bashful, per se. He simply didn’t enjoy idle chitchat, which seemed to be the only conversation many members of the upper class were capable of having. While he could be playful with Miss Halliday, he could also discuss his concerns for his nieces’ wellbeing without feeling like he was talking to a potted plant.

Her unique perspective on family, teaching, and life in general resonated with him and encouraged him to take stock of what he wanted for his future. For the first time, he was entertaining thoughts of marriage and filling his own nursery. It was a heady notion.

“Where is Mrs. Browning today?” he asked as his youngest nieces skipped ahead.

“She is cleaning the nursery. I told her that I could manage alone.”

He angled a glance in Miss Halliday’s direction. “Would you prefer I stay behind, too? Do you really not want assistance?”

“I was being nice. They outnumber me five to one. Of course I want your help.” She laughed. The sound of it was rich and pulled a smile from him. “I would be lost without you. I feel quite out of my element sometimes.”

“You have handled country life very well. It is hard to believe you never ventured from the city until your sister married Beckford.”

“It is a nice life,” she said. “I expect many years of happiness at Blackwood Castle.”

His heart burgeoned with hope before it realized she meant that she would be staying on as the governess, and it was in that moment he realized his heart had known his desire for days now. He drew her closer to his side and smiled when she leaned into him.

Rebecca hung back with them, walking only a few paces ahead. “Mama said Dr. Campion and his bride returned yesterday.”

“Yes, and just in time,” Miss Halliday said. “My sister expects she will have her baby any day now.”

Rebecca spun around, walking backward while she addressed her governess. “May I visit Danby Castle after the baby is born? Would your sister allow me to see the baby?”

“I am sure Felicity would love to show you her newest son or daughter. She might even allow you to hold him or her.”

Colin’s oldest niece giggled and twirled back around to see where she was going. Rebecca had begun talking more over the last week, shedding her shyness around her governess. It was a splendid development, and even more evidence that Miss Halliday belonged at Blackwood Castle.

As their group neared the barn, one of the collie pups ventured outside, spotted the girls, and clumsily bounded toward them. His brothers and sisters, hearing delighted squeals, waddled outside to investigate. Their full bellies nearly dragged the ground as they trotted across the packed dirt to greet them. Each of Colin’s nieces chose a favorite pup to lavish with hugs and kisses. Miss Halliday dropped his arm and hurried forward to kneel beside the youngest girl.

“We have to be gentle,” she said to Nora when the girl tried to lift the puppy by his neck. “He is only a baby. Do you remember how I taught you to hold a baby?”

“Yes, Miss Halliday.” Nora created a cradle with her arms, and Miss Halliday carefully gave her the pup. His pink tongue swiped Nora’s chin, and she grinned, her dimples appearing. “He licked me!”

Her teacher laughed. “Just don’t lick him back.”

“Ew!” Nora wrinkled her nose. “That would taste bad.”

“About as bad as the biscuits around here, I imagine,” Miss Halliday mumbled to herself, but Colin caught every word and chuckled.

Caroline’s pup slowly began to slip through her arms, its hind legs dangling several inches off the ground.

“May I hold him?” Colin asked and held out his hands.

Caroline furrowed her brow as if considering his request.

“Please,” he said, drawing out the word and flashing what he hoped was a winsome smile.

Eventually, she inclined her head with an exaggerated huff and surrendered the puppy. “She is not a boy. Her name is... Lady Harriet, uh...”

“Lambkins?” he teased.

“No, Uncle.” She lifted her small chin, reminding him of her mother. “It is Puppykins.”

Colin tweaked her sweet pink cheek. “You are much too clever, Caro.”

The girl clasped her hands at her chest and flashed a wide smile at his sincere compliment. His nieces surprised him at every turn with their absolute brilliance.

Miss Halliday helped Nora place the puppy on the ground then stood. “Who can tell me why Blackwood breeds collies rather than pugs or poodles?”

“What is a pug?” Iris asked.

Her oldest sister Rebecca shushed her before answering Miss Halliday’s question. “Collies help herd the sheep and protect them from predators.”

Iris shot her hand into the air to hail her teacher’s attention. “What’s a predator?”

“Don’t be an imbecile,” Emily said and elbowed Iris in the side. “Everyone knows it’s a wild dog.”

“Not everyone.” Iris shoved her sister and called her a goose. Their governess stepped between them before the two came to blows.

“Now, now. Fisticuffs are not part of our lesson today.”

“What about fencing?” Iris blurted with a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes.

“That is next week,” Miss Halliday said with a wink. “Right after you finish your watercolors.”

Emily giggled into her hand, and Iris cheered. Both knew very well none of them would ever be allowed to wield blades. Since both girls had gotten in shots at one another, and neither had really been scolded, they returned to discussing the collies without further incident.

Colin shared a secret smile with Miss Halliday over their heads. She was nothing like the governesses or tutors his father had hired to teach him and his younger brothers. Perhaps if the educators had been quicker to laugh and easier with the rod, Colin would have been more interested in his lessons.

Aside from discussing the working dog’s role on a farm, Miss Halliday turned their brief stop to pet the puppies into a lesson on mammals—and how they were different from reptiles, birds, and amphibians. She asked the older girls to apply what they learned to determine if lambs, puppies, and babies were all mammals. Caroline and Nora were the two naysayers in the group, pronouncing it impossible when they looked nothing alike.

The group had moved out into the field where the youngest were practicing their numbers by counting sheep when Mrs. Browning came to the fence. “It is time for supper,” she called.

Miss Halliday waved to the nanny and dismissed her students. “I should gather my belongings and return to Danby Castle.”

When she tried to duck past Colin, he gently captured her arm. “Must you go?”

He’d been hoping for a moment alone with her to determine if their wishes for the future might be in alignment.

She blinked, taking in the sight of his hand around her wrist before raising her gaze toward him. Confusion clouded her brown eyes. “I know it is an unusual arrangement, my lord. As governess, I should have a room at Blackwood, but my sister will give birth any day. I promise to be at your nieces’ disposal once she does.”

“That wasn’t my meaning. I understand your sister needs you.” He lifted her wrist to entwine the fingers of his free hand with hers, wishing he could feel her skin against his. “But I would like to speak with you.”

Her eyes grew round. “Wh-why?”

He could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her labored breath matched his own. With her near, his heart thumped vigorously. He felt more alive than he ever had, and he yearned to hold her. As if a magnetic force drew him, he swayed toward her.

Her eyes widened even more. “M-my lord, I d-do not understand. H-have I done something w-wrong?”

Evidence of her alarm broke the spell he’d been under. She only stuttered when she was anxious, and he hadn’t intended to upset her. He released her hand and moved to a respectable distance. “Forgive me, Miss Halliday. I forgot myself. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

The wrinkling of her brow displayed her confusion. She crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly.

Damnation. He was a bloody imbecile. Obviously, she did not share the attraction he felt, and while he’d been entertaining the possibilities of what might be growing between them, their daily excursions with his nieces were simply part of her duties. He should cancel the meeting with his banker, fulfill his agreement with Danby, and put the past couple of weeks behind him. It would be the least difficult path to travel, but he didn’t want simple. He wanted her.

“Are you content at Blackwood?” he asked.

Her head snapped up. “Of course, my lord. I have been treated very well.”

“You obviously have a love for teaching, and you get on well with my nieces.”

“Th-they are delightful.” Behind her eyes, a war seemed to be waging; confusion and fear threatened to send her dashing for the castle. “Are you certain I’ve done nothing wrong? Is Lady Blackwood displeased? If I have offended her—”

“You needn’t be concerned about your performance. You are marvelous.”

“Oh.” Her mouth formed a perfect puckered little circle, and all he could think about was kissing her. It threatened to drive all other thoughts from his head.

He swallowed hard. “I enjoy our time together very much, Miss Halliday. I wonder if you might feel the same.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The air grew heavy, vibrating like a plucked violin string as he held his breath, awaiting her response. A spark of desire darkened her cocoa brown eyes and fanned the flames of his own need. Neither of them looked away. They seemed locked in this moment and careening toward an end that could not be undone.

He cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded husky when he spoke. “If you don’t wish for me to kiss you, perhaps you should go.”

She slowly uncrossed her arms and allowed them to hang at her sides.

“Now,” he snarled, unintentionally harsh.

She held her ground. The tip of her tongue darted across her lips, leaving them glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. “A-and if I do wish for y-you to kiss me...?”

His heart stumbled and slammed into his ribs. “Then I am your servant.” They stepped toward one another, and Colin swept her against him. Her body fit perfectly with his; her mouth was soft beneath his. A soft moan slipped from her and sent his blood—hot and pulsing—tearing through his veins. He could devour her in one kiss; he could lose himself in her.

But she was an innocent.

He was a gentleman.

And he wanted to build a forever with her.

Reluctantly, he ended their kiss and hugged her. She laid her head on his shoulder. His breath came in heavy gasps as he tried to regain control. At last, when he’d recovered, he brushed his lips across her forehead.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Miss Halliday,” he murmured as she snuggled closer, “except capture my heart.”

CHAPTER 10

M eredith’s legs shook as Lord Blackwood escorted her back to the castle to gather her belongings. Exhilaration and mortification battled for control inside of her. Her sister had warned her the earl seemed interested in more than Meredith’s teaching abilities, but she had dismissed Felicity’s worries as fanciful and attributed them to overprotectiveness.

Colin MacBride was an earl; Meredith was a physician’s daughter. Even though her sister had married above her station, it was a rare occurrence, and Meredith wasn’t naive. A kiss between a governess and her employer seldom led to an offer of marriage—but heavens above. It had been the kiss of a lifetime. And Lord Blackwood had been stealing little pieces of her heart since the beginning: the way he doted on his nieces, his interest in their education, speaking with Meredith as if she was his equal. How could she squelch the hope blossoming within her chest?

She held her breath and glanced at the earl for a hint of what her future held. He offered an easy smile.

“I detect a trace of rain on the air. Hopefully, it will hold off until evening. I have a meeting with my banker in”—he pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket to check the time—“two hours.”

Meredith blinked. Her head was reeling from their kiss, and he was thinking about the weather and business. Their encounter didn’t appear to have affected him in the least. Her hope deflated a little.

“If you are not needed urgently at Danby Castle,” he said as he slipped his watch back into the pocket, “I will escort you home before traveling on to the village.”

“Thank you.”

She dropped her gaze to the well-traveled path beneath her boots. He was behaving as if he kissed young ladies every day. The urge to ask if theirs meant anything to him bubbled up at the back of her throat, but she swallowed against it. She didn’t want to know if she was one among many who had succumbed to his charms.

Heat rushed into her face at the thought; they walked in silence.

She loved being a governess to the little girls at Blackwood Castle. She’d never been happier in her life, but now she couldn’t imagine returning every day, pretending with their uncle that nothing had changed—that he hadn’t kissed her and unearthed a desire she’d buried halfway into her unsuccessful season.

Meredith longed to be a wife and mother, and she wanted that life with Colin.

She pressed her fingers against the throbbing ache building at her temple. The earl drew her to a halt in the castle yard.

“Is everything all right?”

She nodded as the backs of her eyes began to itch. She really didn’t want to cry, but if he didn’t stop looking at her with heat in his gaze, she wouldn’t be able to forget that she’d invited him to kiss her.

“You may speak freely, Meredith. What is on your mind?” He reached to cradle her face. She angled her head away, and his hand fell to his side.

“I’ve frightened you.”

She shook her head. His image blurred, and dreaded tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. She swiped at them with her fingers, wetting her gloves.

“I have,” he said, “and I am ashamed for allowing my...eagerness to overcome my good manners.”

If his words were meant to provide comfort, they failed. More tears fell on her cheeks, and they were coming faster. He retrieved a handkerchief, handed it to her, and drew her beneath his arm. She stiffened, trying not to sag against his side, but the temptation was great. Pulling away, she dried her eyes and sniffled.

“I really should go, and I do not want the girls to see me like this.”

His sigh sounded weary. “I understand. You may wait in the drawing room while I retrieve your belongings.” He escorted her inside and left her perched on the settee. When he reached the drawing room threshold, he turned back to her. “I should explain.”

“Please, may I have a moment to collect myself?” If he said what she suspected—that kissing her had meant nothing—she would start blubbering and make a larger fool of herself.

“Of course.” Furrows appeared on his forehead. “But when I return with your personal items, we should discuss what happened.”

She took a shaky breath and nodded as heat consumed her once again. Apparently satisfied, he left for the classroom. She dabbed at her eyes once more, wondering how she could face him when he returned.

He’d only been gone a few moments when Lady Blackwood stalked into the drawing room and closed the doors. Meredith sat up straighter. A cold knot formed in the pit of her belly when the countess leaned against the doors and glowered in her direction.

“You sneak,” Lady Blackwood hissed. “How dare you play your games in my house?”

Meredith gasped. Lady Blackwood had been stern with her a few times when Meredith hadn’t followed her directions to the letter, but she had never berated her with such ferocity. Meredith searched her memory for what she could have done wrong and couldn’t think of anything. She’d coaxed the girls into eating their vegetables at noon, and she’d had them change into old frocks before they’d walked to the pasture.

The countess’s blond brows arched higher on her forehead. “I saw you and Blackwood in the castle yard.”

Meredith’s spine grew rigid when the woman speared her with an icy glare and crossed the room. Lord Blackwood’s sister-in-law stopped in front of Meredith, looking down her nose at her. “Are you hoping for a marriage match? Do you think you could be the next countess?”

“That has never been my aim, ma’am.” Meredith clenched her fists in her lap. The woman’s sardonic tone reminded her too much of the insults she had suffered in London.

“I have played your game and won.” The countess leaned forward, lording her position over Meredith. “I earned my place, you grasping little trollop. I devoted two years toward catching my husband, and you think you can waltz into Blackwood Castle and wheedle a marriage proposal from Colin in two weeks?”

The roar of Meredith’s blood pumping through her veins whooshed in her ears. She’d had enough of the vile woman’s abuse. Giving in to her base desires had been a mistake, but she would never use manipulation to further her gains. “I am here to teach your daughters. My friendship with Lord Blackwood is no cause for concern.”

“Friendship.” One side of the woman’s mouth curved up. “You seemed chummy a moment ago. I believe you desire more than friendship, Miss Halliday, and the game has been played on you.”

The sound of crackling paper caught Meredith’s attention, and she realized the countess had been holding something behind her back.

“Colin doesn’t want you here.” She thrust the paper in Meredith’s face, and Meredith flinched. “He only agreed to hire you in exchange for land, and he will do anything necessary to fulfill his agreement with Danby. He does not care for you.”

Meredith took the letter and silently read the damning words. A lump formed in her throat as she neared the end. Lady Blackwood spoke the truth. Meredith was simply a bargain to fulfill, and the duke had betrayed her.

The countess backed away and pointed toward the door. “Leave my house at once. You are not wanted here.”

Meredith rose from the settee, bade the countess a good day, and swept from the drawing room with her head held high and the letter in hand. Once she was outside, however, she lifted her skirts and ran away in a most undignified manner. She was almost halfway to Danby Castle before she realized fleeing was unnecessary.

Lord Blackwood wasn’t giving chase.

She slowed her pace. Dampness plastered several strands of hair to her forehead, and her breath came out in forceful puffs.

“He isn’t coming,” she murmured as if saying it aloud might make it easier to accept, but it didn’t. Disappointment crashed down on her, sitting heavily on her chest, and her boots suddenly felt like they were made of stone.

She had fallen for the earl when all along he’d probably been seeking a way to compel her to resign. And most troubling of all, he’d been scheming with the duke, a man she’d come to love like a grandfather.

Righteous anger blazed through her, searing her skin. The Duke of Danby was a menace to all who wished to remain uncoupled. It was high time someone set him straight about meddling in other’s affairs, and since none of his blood kin seemed to want to take on the task, Meredith would.

When she reached Danby Castle, she marched straight for the duke’s study, knocked once, and barged inside with the proof of his guilt clutched in her fist.

Colin’s brother detained him in the corridor when he exited the classroom with Meredith’s books. Colin didn’t want to keep her waiting, but James stood blocking the path with his hands propped on his waist; his expression was grim.

“I thought you should know a downstairs maid spotted Audrey leaving your study earlier. She appeared to be empty-handed, so I assume you have taken measures to protect the household purse.”

“I’ve hidden it well,” Colin said with a decisive nod. Since he had caught her taking money from his desk a week earlier, he wasn’t surprised by the report. “Audrey will receive her pin money soon, which should buoy her spirits for a couple of days and keep her out of trouble. Now, if you will excuse me...”

He tried to go around James, but his brother stepped in front of him. “What are we going to do about her?”

Colin growled under his breath. He didn’t have the time or the desire to discuss his sister-in-law. “We will continue to tolerate her because she is the girls’ mother. I don’t see any other choice.”

James rubbed his forehead, frowning. “Perhaps you are right, but I intend to give it more thought.”

“Yes, well. Please do your thinking elsewhere. Miss Halliday is waiting for me in the drawing room.”

James raised his hands in surrender and allowed Colin to pass. He jogged down the stairs and entered the drawing room a few moments later, expecting to find Meredith where he’d left her. He froze inside the doorway. The room was empty and unnervingly silent.

“Miss Halliday?”

Naturally, she didn’t answer. No popping up from behind the settee or jumping out of the curtains. He didn’t know why he’d called out to her except he couldn’t quite grasp that she wasn’t there. Where would she have gone?

With her books still in his arms, he stalked into the foyer and along the stone passage en route to Audrey’s sitting room. He found his sister-in-law reclining on the lush fainting couch with the back of her hand draped across her eyes.

“Have you seen Miss Halliday?” he asked.

Audrey didn’t deign to move an inch to look at him. “I am not her keeper. Go away.”

“Audrey!” His bark startled her, and her hand fell away from her face. “Sit up and address me with the proper respect.”

Her eyes were wide as she slowly pushed to a seated position and folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, my lord.”

He took a cleansing breath to harness his temper before speaking again. The prospect of spending the next twenty or more years fighting with this woman exhausted him. “The girls may not see us arguing, but they sense the tension between us. Malcolm wouldn’t want this type of home for them.”

A muscle twitched in her jaw, and he could see his comment had penetrated her shield.

“What will it take to make you happy, Audrey? I don’t want to quarrel any more.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as if she thought he might be trying to trick her. He waited in silence for her to sort out her feelings and decide if she could trust him. Eventually, she made a choice.

“You do not care what I need, my lord. Now, please leave me in peace.” She reclined on the couch and covered her eyes.

Colin sighed. If it weren’t for his nieces, he would have given up on his sister-in-law months ago.

Since Audrey had no information about Meredith’s whereabouts, he happily left his sister-in-law alone to steep in her misery. He searched the drawing room again before heading to the library and then the conservatory—where occasionally Meredith could be found studying the plants. She wasn’t in any of the places he searched, and none of the house servants had seen her within the last half hour. Finally, he went to look for her in the castle yard.

“Have you seen Miss Halliday?” he asked one of the young grooms in training. The boy pointed toward the lane.

“She went that way, my lord. I asked if she wanted a carriage to carry her to Danby Castle, but she seemed in a hurry to get away. Said she would walk and thanked me for my concern.”

Hellfire. Colin knew he should have explained himself immediately rather than waiting, but she had requested a moment to collect herself and denying her would have been ungentlemanly.

“Ready a mount,” he said. “I wish to call at Danby Castle.”

And he wouldn’t leave until Meredith agreed to come home where she belonged—by his side as his wife—no matter what the Duke of Danby had to say on the matter.

When he arrived at his neighbor’s home a while later, Colin discovered executing his plan was going to be slightly more complicated than he’d anticipated. He was shown to the duke’s study, and this time he wasn’t kept waiting. Danby stalked toward him, his face turning an unusual shade of scarlet and purple.

“You showed her the letter? Are you a damned fool?” Danby swung his fist toward Colin, aiming for his gut.

CHAPTER 11

C olin grunted in surprise and pain when the duke’s fist plowed into his stomach. For a man of his advanced age, Danby’s punch had unexpected strength behind it.

“Grandfather!”

Julian Beckford, whom Colin hadn’t noticed earlier, bolted from a chair in front of Danby’s desk to intervene.

The duke drew back his arm to strike Colin again, but Colin was prepared and blocked the blow with his forearm. Beckford grabbed his grandfather from behind before he could throw another punch, much to Colin’s gratitude. He hadn’t come to box with the duke but to fight for Meredith.

Danby wrestled to break free of his grandson’s hold, and it appeared he might succeed.

“I love her,” Colin blurted. “I want to marry her.”

The duke ceased struggling, sagging in Beckford’s arms. He was panting, and his face was a startling shade of blood red—never a good sign for a man of his age.

“Look what you’ve done to yourself,” Beckford scolded his grandfather. “You are no longer a young buck to be challenging men to fisticuffs. Let me help you to your chair, and for god’s sake, calm yourself.”

Colin jumped at the chance to offer his assistance, too. Danby leaned on both of them as they maneuvered him behind his desk and helped him lower into his chair.

“I am sending for Dr. Campion.” Beckford didn’t wait for his grandfather’s consent before grabbing the bell from the corner of the desk and ringing for a servant. For once, Danby didn’t appear inclined to argue. When a footman responded to the call, Beckford gave orders to retrieve the doctor and be swift about it.

Danby’s face was losing some of the redness, and he was no longer taking big gulps of air when the servant shot out of the door.

“Your Grace,” Colin said, “I realize you had your eye on Baron Lovell for Miss Halliday, but she deserves someone better suited for marriage than a scoundrel.”

The duke shook his head. His chest was still rising and falling rapidly, although his breathing was markedly improved from a moment ago.

“She does,” Colin insisted, “and you cannot be stubborn about it. Meredith is remarkable. Her fortitude would be impressive for a man, much less a beautiful young lady. She is intelligent, compassionate, and practical, which I fear is a virtue she will need as my wife if you offer your blessing for me to ask for her hand.”

Julian Beckford perched on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms with a bemused smile. Colin looked back and forth between the men. Perhaps he should be appealing to Meredith’s brother-in-law instead, but Danby’s wishes came to pass too often to deny his influence over his family.

Colin addressed both men. “I admit Blackwood has fallen on hard times, but I am determined to see the estate restored. I would be unable to offer Miss Halliday many luxuries in the beginning of our marriage, but I do not believe she places much value on frivolous things. I can promise her my undying love, and she would not want for necessities. I am already her devoted servant. Please, give me your blessing to pledge my troth to Miss Halliday.”

The duke scoffed.

“Grandfather.” Beckford seemed as taken aback by Danby’s response to Colin’s heartfelt plea as he was.

“I am not stubborn,” Danby said with a lift of his nose. “And if either of you believe I would allow any relation of mine to marry that louse Baron Lovell, you need Dr. Campion to examine your heads for bumps.”

Colin and Beckford exchanged a worried glance. The duke was speaking nonsense.

“Grandfather, I saw the letter,” Beckford reminded him. “It was your handwriting, and it clearly stated your wishes to see Meri wed to Lovell. You demanded Lord Blackwood help you to that end.”

The duke scoffed again. “I only said that because the earl is stubborn. He is a MacBride and cannot help himself.”

Colin squinted at him, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“You never would have allowed an introduction if you had known I’d chosen you for Meri’s husband,” Danby said. “And your stubbornness would have kept you from finding love. I named Lovell because I knew you to be a man of honor. I anticipated once you came to care for Meri, you would want to protect her from the scoundrel by offering marriage.”

“That is diabolical,” Beckford said with more than a trace of admiration to his tone.

Colin glowered at Meredith’s brother-in-law, but he, too, was impressed by the duke’s machinations. And a little worried. “Why did you choose me?”

Danby fanned his hand away from his body with his palm up as if presenting the obvious. “One less lonely earl in Yorkshire never hurt anyone.”

Colin laughed. “I never said I was lonely.”

The duke simply shrugged.

In truth, Colin hadn’t been lonely prior to meeting Meredith, but if he lost her, she would leave an immense hole in his existence that no one else could ever fill.

“You know why I chose you, Blackwood.” The duke smiled and his words came back to Colin. You are a man of honor. “Now go convince that sweet young lady that she didn’t make a mistake by falling in love with you.”

“She is walking in the garden with my wife,” Beckford said. “I will summon a footman to show you the way.”

“No.” Colin was already at the door. “I will find her.” He didn’t want a footman slowing down his pursuit.

Meredith and her sister picked their way across the uneven field around Danby Castle. Long blades of grass brushed against Meredith’s calves causing them to itch. In the purpling sky, the fields were more vibrant. The white of the wild flowers shone like beacons and the hills were blanketed in emerald. In the far distance, a flash lit the sky in shades of coral.

“This is silly,” she said over her shoulder to Felicity, who had fallen behind. “We are going to be caught in the rain.”

Meredith spun around to head back toward the castle and discovered Felicity bent forward with her hands braced on her knees. Her cheeks boasted a bright pink flush, and she was exhaling through pursed lips.

“I—do not—mind the—rain.” Meredith’s sister could barely speak for all the effort she’d expended trying to keep up. It had been madness to wander this far from the castle. The massive stone structure was still within sight, but it appeared considerably smaller at this distance.

“Well, perhaps I mind.” Meredith linked arms with Felicity to draw her back toward the castle. “Julian told us to stay in the gardens. I shouldn’t have allowed you to venture this far with me.”

“Julian worries—too much.”

Meredith didn’t like how breathless her sister sounded. She shouldn’t have allowed Felicity to convince her a walk in the pasture might clear her mind. What had become clear was her sister had had a hidden motive when she’d suggested it. She wanted Meredith to confide in her about her troubles that afternoon, and Meredith understood and appreciated her sister’s desire to comfort her.

She and Felicity shared a unique bond that had formed right after their father died. When they’d felt lost in those first few weeks, they had held each other’s hands in the dark. As Meredith would drift to sleep, Felicity would whisper, Don’t be afraid, Meri. I will keep you safe.

Meredith believed uttering those words had comforted Felicity too, for there was security to be found in being needed. She wanted to unburden her heart to her older sister now, but she couldn’t sort through all the jumbled and contradictory feelings she held inside of her. It was easier to express anger over the plotting that had gone on behind her back than admit she had fallen in love with an unworthy man.

They stopped walking to allow Felicity another moment of rest. Meredith pushed a loose strand of her sister’s brunette hair behind her sister’s ear. Felicity had grown pale all of a sudden.

“I believe Julian’s worries are justified,” Meredith said. “You are not feeling well.”

“I am fine.” Her sister’s smile seemed strained, but her eyes shone with compassion and affection. “But I am worried about you. I wish you would tell me everything that happened at Blackwood Castle today.”

Meredith’s chin quivered as she tried to suppress her emotions. Felicity had enough to worry about with her young son and a new baby on the way. Still, the temptation to lighten Meredith’s own load was strong.

“I think I might love him,” she admitted.

“Oh, Meri.” Her sister hugged her as best as she could with her pregnant belly between them. “I knew there was something more you were not saying. Does he love you, too?”

“No.” She kissed her sister’s cheek and gave her a quick squeeze in return before pulling back with a sad smile. “I will sort everything out on my own, but thank you for being here for me.”

“I am your sister. Where else would I be?” Felicity looped her arm with Meredith’s, and they resumed the walk to the castle. They hadn’t gone far when Felicity gasped. Her eyes flew open wide, and she looked up at Meredith in alarm.

“What is it?” Meredith asked with a thread of anxiety woven through her voice. “Is the baby kicking again?”

Her sister shook her head. “I need you to remain calm. Will you do that for me?”

Meredith’s anxiety blossomed. “Y-yes.”

“My water just broke.”

“Oh, dear Lord!” This seemed like an appropriate moment to panic. “What should I do? Do I run for help or stay with you?”

“Help me back to the castle,” Felicity said, trying to sound calm but Meredith could see worry lines on her forehead. “And we should hurry.”

Felicity thought they weren’t going to make it back in time. Without hesitation, Meredith draped her sister’s arm around her neck to support her weight. “You are not having this baby in a field. Do you hear me?”

“You are yelling in my ear,” Felicity snapped. “How could I not hear you?”

Meredith tugged her forward. “Save your surliness for your husband. He is the one who got you into this ordeal.”

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to be—” Felicity groaned, doubling over and grabbing her stomach.

“How long have you been having these pains?” Meredith asked when the worst of it seemed to pass.

Her sister simply moaned in reply.

“You stubborn mule!” Meredith should’ve known her sister would ignore her own needs to tend to her. She wanted to shake Felicity until her teeth rattled, but that really wouldn’t help matters. “You have been having contractions this whole time, haven’t you?”

Meredith didn’t expect an answer, which was fortuitous since she didn’t get one. Every few steps, Felicity had to stop until the pain passed. Sweat began to run in rivulets down Meredith’s back as the times they were forced to stop grew closer together. When another contraction consumed her sister, she reconsidered the wisdom in going for help.

“I am going to retrieve Julian,” she said. “We will never make it in time alone.”

Felicity clutched her arm, her fingers digging deep into Meredith’s skin as another powerful pain swept through her. “Please,” she panted. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry, but I must.” Meredith pried her sister’s fingers from her arm. “I will be back very soon. I promise.”

For the second time that day, Meredith dashed for the castle. The uneven ground caused her to stumble, but she righted her balance and kept going. In the distance, she spotted a figure moving in their direction.

“Over here,” she called, waving her arms overhead. “Hurry! I need help.”

The man broke into a run, answering her call. As he neared, she realized it was Colin, but she was too frightened for her sister to worry about their rescuer’s identity.

When they reached one another, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her sister. “Felicity is having her baby. Now. She cannot walk any further.”

Colin released her hand, rushing forward to lift Felicity into his arms and tote her back to the castle. Meredith had to hurry alongside him to match his long strides. The sky had darkened to a dark plum and lightning stretched across it like weathered tree branches.

At the edge of the garden, Colin urged Meredith to go ahead to alert the servants. “Dr. Campion was called for the duke. He should be here by now.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. “Why does the duke need a doctor? Is he ill?” Danby had blanched when she had taken him to task earlier, but otherwise, he’d seemed healthy.

“He bruised his knuckles,” Colin said. “He is fine. Now, go. I’ve only helped deliver lambs. I doubt I will be of any help if your sister decides to have her baby in the garden.”

Meredith heard Felicity berating him as she raced toward the house. Julian must have spotted them from the castle because he charged out the door before she reached it. “Is she hurt?” He didn’t wait for an answer.

“She’s having the baby,” Meredith called to his back.

Colin relinquished her sister to Julian as Dr. Campion bolted outside with his black doctor’s case. Felicity had one just like it that had belonged to their father.

“Take me to my chambers. We’ll need boiling water to sterilize your instruments.” Meredith’s sister continued to bark directions at the poor man all the way inside, but to be fair, Felicity had likely delivered more babies than the good doctor. She would definitely hold an opinion on the correct way to go about it.

When the trio disappeared inside, Meredith grabbed her head with both hands and exhaled loudly. Her legs were quivering. “I cannot believe we made it. I need to sit.”

Colin placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward a stone bench nestled in a bed of thyme. She collapsed on the hard surface, spent after such a trying afternoon. The earl left his hand on her back, and she didn’t possess the wherewithal to tell him to remove it. The warmth of his hand seeped through her gown, comfortable and oddly familiar.

“You left before I returned with your books,” he said.

She fixed her gaze on the flowers in front of her and nodded, although a response wasn’t needed.

“Do you remember that I wanted to speak with you—about what happened between us?” His hand made a slow pass up her back then back down to her hip. He continued to caress her, lulling her with the gentleness of his touch.

“We both know what happened between us,” she said, “and now I know why. The countess showed me the letter and explained everything. You wanted to drive me away to fulfill your bargain with the duke.”

“Audrey knows very little,” he said with a slight edge to his voice. “You should never listen to her again. If you wish to know something, you should come to me. I promise to be honest with you always.”

“You speak as if we have a future together.”

He touched his fingertips to Meredith’s chin and urged her to look at him. His steel blue eyes were dark like the sky. The intensity behind them crackled like the lightning in the distance. “I kissed you because I want a future with you. Not because of a bargain that I made before I met you. I love you, Meredith.”

Her breath caught, and she couldn’t speak.

“I love you,” he repeated and rested his forehead against hers. There was something very intimate and affectionate in his action, and Meredith’s heart began to open once more. “I cannot live another day without knowing you will be part of my life forever. I need you, Meri. I desire you like no other.”

When he lowered to one knee beside the bench and gathered her hands in his, she thought she might be dreaming. His gaze was as clear as his voice. “Will you become my wife?”

Meredith would like to say she made him squirm a moment, to agonize over her answer, but she didn’t. Unlike Lady Blackwood, she wasn’t playing games. But she would be grateful for her prize—the love of her handsome Lord Blackwood.

She captured his face between her palms and murmured, “Yes, my love. I will be your wife, and yes to forever.”

Then she pressed her lips against his to seal the promise of a long and happy future together.

EPILOGUE

M eredith squeezed her husband’s hand as Rebecca, Emily, Iris, Caroline, and Nora took their places on the small dais Colin had built for their first vocal performance. Her students had worked very hard in preparation for their autumn musicale, and she was anxious for hers and Colin’s families to hear their sweet voices.

She tossed a quick smile over her shoulder at her sister sitting in the row behind her. Felicity winked as she cradled her beautiful new daughter in her arms. The proud papa Julian sat beside her, bouncing their eldest son Reid on his knee. Meredith reached to tickle her nephew and was rewarded with a heart-stopping giggle. Much to her pleasure, her sister and brother-in-law had decided to stay on at Danby Castle until spring, and she couldn’t help wondering if that had been part of the Duke of Danby’s plan all along.

As for the duke, he had arrived for the musicale earlier than everyone else, earning himself a front row seat beside Meredith.

“I hope they sound better than my daughters did at that age,” he whispered. She wrinkled her nose at him, and he grinned.

After she and Colin had announced their intentions to marry and gained Mama’s permission, the duke had humbly requested an audience with her. Meredith had never seen him grovel. In fact, she was shocked to learn he was even familiar with the word. Since his apology had seemed mostly sincere—there was the part where he’d crowed about being right about her and Colin being perfectly matched match—she had offered her forgiveness without reservation.

Besides, the duke had been right about Colin, and she was secretly grateful for his interference, although she would never admit it. Danby was too boastful as it was. It had been a successful matchmaking Season in London, and the duke took full responsibility for the latest group of Danby grandchildren finding their ways to the altar. He didn’t need further encouragement.

“Here comes the accompanist,” her mother said from her seat directly behind Meredith as Mrs. Browning, the girls’ nanny, entered the drawing room with a sheet of music. Meredith had been thrilled to learn Mrs. Browning knew how to play the instrument, so Meredith could enjoy the show like the rest of the family.

“I observed the girls practicing yesterday,” Mama said. “They sound like little angels.”

Colin slid his knuckle along the side of Meredith’s thigh and shared a private smile with her. Just that morning, he’d told her how much her mother’s acceptance of his nieces meant to him.

“They are singing Malcolm’s song,” Colin said to James, who’d claimed the chair on his other side.

The girls’ father had composed the piece for their mother when they were courting. It was a beautiful, heartfelt song, but simple enough for the girls to perform. With Audrey’s permission, Meredith had taught them the words and invited their mother to share the story of their parents’ courtship. Regretfully, Audrey had declined, but Meredith was sympathetic. Her sister-in-law was not the most sentimental person, but she often grew misty-eyed when she spoke of her husband.

Meredith raised her eyebrows in her brother-in-law’s direction. “I’m surprised you didn’t escort Lady Harriet Lambkins this evening.”

“She had to stay home to dye her wool,” James shot back with a good-natured grin. “She sends her regrets.”

“You must tell your dearest friend that we missed her.” Since learning the lengths Colin’s brother had gone to in order to scare her away, Meredith couldn’t allow him to escape without a bit of teasing.

The duke elbowed her in the side. “Is your mother still taking the shrew to Bath next week?”

“Your Grace,” Meredith hissed and angled a glance at Audrey sitting on the other side of James.

The girls’ mother stared straight ahead like she hadn’t heard the duke, but it would be impossible with Danby speaking as if he was addressing the House of Lords and wanted everyone seated in the back row to hear him.

“My mother and her guest are leaving next Friday,” Meredith said in a hushed voice. The duke did not follow her example.

“That mother of yours is a saint.”

Mama shushed Danby and playfully threatened to make him switch chairs with her if he didn’t behave.

Meredith agreed that her mother must be a saint to travel with Audrey. Colin’s sister-in-law had leapt at the chance to leave Yorkshire for several weeks to partake of the healing waters. Mama believed it would be a healing experience for everyone, especially Meredith and Colin, who wanted to enjoy the first few weeks as newlyweds in peace.

Meredith was concerned the girls would miss their mother when she was gone, but Audrey had promised to return by Christmas. The girls would be well cared for in her absence and kept busy with their lessons. Meredith and Colin would make certain of it.

Even though Meredith had a dowry and the duke was allowing Blackwood sheep to winter on Danby land, she and Colin had decided it would be best for her to continue as the girls’ governess. They had been through too many changes this year already and deserved a bit of predictability.

As soon as Mrs. Browning sat down at the pianoforte, Meredith’s students stood up straight with their hands clasped at their waists.

“It is beginning,” she whispered to Colin, her heart bursting with pride.

He threaded his fingers with hers as he beamed at his darling nieces. It was the first musicale to be held at Blackwood Castle, and a first time for the Danbys and MacBrides to gather as friends. But if Meredith had any say, and she truly believed she did with Colin on her side, it wouldn’t be the last.

ABOUT SAMANTHA GRACE

Historical romance author Samantha Grace discovered the appeal of a great love story when she was just a young girl, thanks to Disney's "Robin Hood". She didn't care that Robin Hood and Maid Marian were cartoon animals. It was her first happily-ever-after experience and she didn't want the warm fuzzies to end. Now that Samantha is grown, she enjoys creating her own happy-endings for characters that spring from her imagination. Publisher's Weekly describes her stories as "fresh and romantic" with subtle humor and charm. Samantha describes romance writing as the best job ever.

Part-time medical social worker, moonlighting author, and Pilates nut, she enjoys a happy and hectic life with her real life hero and two kids in the Midwest.

Connect with Samantha

- @SamGraceAuthor

- Samantha-Grace-264436686918343

www.samanthagraceauthor.com

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