“Why do I frighten you, Lily?”

She shook her head vehemently, appalled at her cowardice. “You don’t!”

He was her husband, after all. It wasn’t as though he would hurt her in any way. It was herself she feared, what she might become if she let herself respond fully. “I told you I’m not afraid of you.”

His chuckle was wry. “Well, darling, you scare the hell out of me.”

Surprised, her train of thought lost, she turned to face him. “I do?”

He nodded, one side of his mouth kicking up in a half smile. “Indeed. You are so different from any woman I have ever known.” He trailed one finger up her arm to her shoulder. “So very different.”

Lily closed her eyes and sighed. “I don’t know what you want.”

“Yes, you do. I want all of you, Lily. Everything within you. Everything you are!”

Praise for Lyn Stone’s recent titles

The Scot

“A delightful tale of a young woman determined to have freedom within her marriage, if not under the law.”

—Romantic Times

The Highland Wife

“Laced with lovable characters, witty dialogue, humor and poignancy, this is a tale to savor.”

—Romantic Times

Bride of Trouville

“I could not stop reading this one…. Don’t miss this winner!”

—Affaire de Coeur

The Knight’s Bride

“Stone has done herself proud with this delightful story…a cast of endearing characters and a fresh, innovative plot.”

—Publishers Weekly

The Viscount
Lyn Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is for Mary Ann Caissie, a friend I treasure.

Thanks for sharing good times and bad, kiddo.

Your smile and optimism are priceless.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

London—April 1859

L ily Bradshaw quickly rolled off the bed and bunched up the heavy blanket so it would appear that she lay there sleeping if anyone looked in. Then she crept over and huddled beside the locked door. There was no other place to hide. And then, not for long.

“Has she awakened?” a voice rasped. Though obviously intended as a whisper, it almost boomed within the near silence.

“I expect it will be a while, considering,” came the smooth, untroubled reply, hardly even muted below a normal conversational tone.

Lily had been awake for nearly an hour by her reckoning. She had lain, clutching at the scratchy blanket, frozen with fear as her eyes grew accustomed to the meager light from the small barred window set high in the door. The cell reeked of urine and despair. And it was cold. Very cold. She shivered now and deliberately slowed her breathing, knowing she could not afford panic.

“Is she in there alone?” A shadow blocked light for a few seconds as if someone peered inside, gave up the attempt to see anything and then moved away.

“Yes. We isolate new arrivals here until they can be examined and placed in the proper ward. No time for that yet, of course, since her admittance was an emergency of sorts. Would you care to see her?” Silky and dark, the tone was more frightening than that of the one growling the questions.

“Not necessary. You know what to do next?”

“Of course.” A short pause, then Silky Voice spoke again. “I will give her more of this laudanum tonight before she wakes completely. That will ensure she remains tractable. Then I will give her something stimulating to put her in top form for her examination. You have notified the proper authorities?”

“Word will be sent in the morning once I hear from you that all is in order here.”

“Excellent.”

Lily shivered and covered her mouth to stifle a whimper of terror. She was not precisely sure who her examiners were supposed to be, but from the howls and screams echoing through the walls and floors this past hour, she could make a ready guess. Someone had locked her in a madhouse and was planning to prove her insane.

Her next thought was of Beau. What had they done with her son? Surely he still remained safe at Sylvana Hall. Safe with his nurse, playing with his toys, reading his primer and doing his sums. No one had any reason whatsoever to harm a small lad of seven. But then, no one had reason to put her in an asylum, either. Or had they?

Suddenly as that, common sense caught up with her and she realized precisely who would benefit. With her declared insane, her husband’s brother Clive would gain control of both her son and his inheritance. And, as his uncle and only male relative, nothing would stand between Clive and the title. Except for the little boy who held it now.

Jonathan had died two years ago. Had Clive been waiting for enough time to pass after Jonathan’s death so that he wouldn’t rouse suspicion? Perhaps his own funds had run out. Or maybe greed had simply overcame him.

She could not say for certain whether the man with that growling whisper was her brother-in-law, but it was possible…even probable. Who else could it be?

No sooner had she thought it than she heard the voice again. “Suppose she is lucid when they arrive. In their view, two brief episodes of hysteria might not qualify as insanity and warrant…this.”

“Not to worry. She will convince them.” Lily could hear a smile in the other man’s assurance. “But we should move her immediately to Plympton’s after you obtain the writ for her committal.”

“Why not simply leave her here in London?”

She was in London? How in the world had she gotten here?

“Plympton is privately run, of course,” said Silky Voice, “and it will be easier to manage her care there than here in London. Safer, and certainly more convenient for me. I shall have the earl to deal with, as well, if all goes as planned.”

A nasty scoff. “That old lunatic? Duquesne should have put him away years ago instead of keeping him at home. So you’re to be one of his attendants?”

Silky Voice again. “Assuming Lord Duquesne hires me, which I’m certain he will. I hear he’s desperate for another caretaker. My interview with the viscount takes place tomorrow at nine and I have letters of referral. I shouldn’t think he’d be too particular, and even if he is, I am well qualified.”

“Just be certain you’re here when she is examined. I warn you, muck this up and you will not be working anywhere, Brinks. Do I make myself clear? I want her taken care of.”

Silence.

Then one set of footsteps moved away until they became inaudible.

Lily’s heart drummed so loudly, she was afraid the man remaining—Brinks, was it?—on the other side of the portal could hear it thumping.

She had to get out. Now. Before her greedy brother-in-law arranged for her permanent incarceration. But where could she go? She hated London and never came here if she could avoid it. She knew virtually no one here.

But you do, a small voice whispered inside her head. And he helped you once before.

Lily shook her head at the ridiculous thought. The only reason he even came to mind was the mention of his name just now. Viscount Duquesne had his own troubles. Why should he do anything for her?

Though they hailed from the same county, Lily had not seen the man in years, not since she was a child. Dark rumors concerning his shadowy dealings with society’s dregs, his apparent willingness to do anything—no matter how dangerous or outrageous—for a price, had rendered him a social pariah.

Even if that were not the case, his lack of fortune and his father’s illness would have put him beyond the pale. Not someone a lady approached for help. Duquesne was an outcast, so she had heard, living in an eyesore of a once-grand mansion on the fringe of Mayfair.

Even if she had firm promise of his assistance, how in the world could she escape this place? Though she was five feet, seven inches, tall for a woman, she doubted she possessed enough physical strength to overpower a man.

She shifted nervously and her boot heel scraped against the floor. Her breath hissed inward at the sound as she froze.

She remembered returning to the library at Sylvana Hall following her afternoon ride, removing her hat, accepting a sherry from Clive and sipping it. She disliked sherry, but his politeness had been so out of the ordinary, she had taken it. Thank God she had dashed most of it into the potted plant when he was looking out the window or she might still be unconscious. The cad must have drugged her.

If, indeed, it was Clive. The voice she’d heard was somewhat muted and teemed with an excitement Clive rarely exhibited. She simply could not be certain. Though they were far from close, she had always gotten on well enough with him, or so she thought.

Had she been brought here this afternoon? Yesterday? The day before? There were no windows opening to the outside, so there was no way to judge the time of day or night. She guessed night, since lamplight flickered through the bars in her door. But if there were no windows in that outer room, either, then it could be midday for all she knew. The bare cell was furnished with only a bed that was bolted to the wall and a small tin chamberpot. She glanced at the item now and decided it would be useless as a weapon.

Thank God they had not undressed her or removed her riding boots. One of those might work. The heels were substantial with their metal crescents tacked on to prevent wearing down of the heavy leather. She slipped the boots off, hefting one in her hand to test its weight.

She heard the footsteps of the second man. He was leaving, too! “Brinks? Oh, Mr. Brinks!” she called, drawing out his name, trying to sound distraught. Not much acting was required for that. “Could you come in?” Hopefully he would be curious as to how she had learned his name.

The sound of his departure halted immediately. Lily sensed him just on the other side of the door, listening.

She turned her face away when she spoke so he would not know she waited near it. She slurred her words. “I am so thirsty. I would do anything for a drink. Anything,” she added with a loud sigh. “I feel so tired. So…weak. Mmm.”

Long minutes passed. He hadn’t gone away. He must be considering the advisability of entering, or perhaps of administering more of the mixture that had rendered her unconscious. Come in. Come in. Now, before I lose my courage.

Her silent pleas were answered when she heard the rattle and snick of the key in the lock.

A head poked inside cautiously, then a shoulder. A hand holding a lamp.

Desperate, knowing he would soon discover that tangled blanket on the bed was not her person, Lily reached out, grabbed his hair and yanked him inside before he thought to resist. She kicked at his feet. They flew out from under him and he fell, sprawling forward with a loud grunt as he hit the floor. She struck immediately. The heavy heel of her boot cracked soundly against his temple and he lay still.

His lamp had crashed to the floor and fire leaped from the small puddle of fuel. She grabbed the blanket off the bed and tossed it over the blaze, relieved when it extinguished the flame. However, she was now in the dark again with only faint light emanating from the crack of the door that stood ajar and the small window in it.

She hurriedly ripped at the buttons on the front of her riding habit and shrugged off the jacket. Then she slipped out of her shirtwaist, skirt and petticoat. Might as well go the whole way, she thought, pulling off her chemise. Naked save for her stockings and garters, Lily began to strip the attendant of his clothing. Every stitch.

In what seemed ages and yet the blink of an eye, she managed to redress herself. His clothes fit her a bit loosely, but well enough. He was slight of build for a man, heavier than she was, though not significantly taller. His boots were too large, but she would have to make do with them since hers were obviously those of a woman. She stuffed her own silk stockings in the toes and pulled them on.

He began to stir then and she lifted her own boot, striking hard a second time before conscience could stop her. Why should she care if she hurt the wretch? Look what he’d had in mind for her!

Lily found his money and two letters. Those missives gave her an idea how she might approach Duquesne. Assuming she was successful in getting out of here.

Also, there were two small, stoppered bottles in his pocket. The elixirs that were meant for her? Neither was labeled. One smelled like laudanum. She parted his lips, firmly pinched his nose shut and poured the liquid from that one down his throat. All of it.

He swallowed, coughed and moaned only once. She looked at the other container, recalled what he had mentioned about it putting her in top form, and tucked it into a vest pocket.

After cursory notice of the money she discovered—scarcely enough to hire a hackney across town—she slipped his flat leather folder back into the inner pocket of the coat.

Searching hastily, she found the pocketknife that had clunked to the floor when she had undressed him. Anyone seeing her on the way out or later on the streets would instantly recognize her as a woman. She opened the blade of his knife and began to hack away her long locks without a thought to their loss other than relief.

When she felt her hair was short enough to augment her disguise, Lily gathered up the loose hair, bundled up her own clothing and then spread everything flat beneath the thin mattress so he wouldn’t find it immediately when he awoke. Left naked, he would probably hesitate for a while before calling for help.

She opened the door a bit more so that she could see better and located the ring of keys that had dropped when he fell. She stuck those in her pocket.

With a mighty effort, she grasped the fellow beneath his arms and dragged him. The struggle to get him off the floor and onto the bed exhausted her, but she finally managed.

A quick glance around the small chamber assured her that it would pass a cursory inspection if anyone peeked through the door window or opened the door to look.

There was nothing substantial to use to tie him so a gag would be useless. Her only recourse was to get out of the building and away from here before he came around again and made a fuss. She prayed that the liquid she had poured down his throat would be powerful enough to keep him asleep for a while.

After locking him in, Lily pocketed the keys again and strode down the dimly lit corridor to her right. This was the direction the sound of the other man’s footsteps had taken. Was it not?

There were windows to one side of it, closed doors to rooms on the other. She saw it was, indeed, already dark outside.

The odors in the asylum were atrocious and the intermittent sounds of human misery, heartbreaking. Lily assiduously ignored both, trying not to wonder how many were locked away in here unlawfully, as she had been.

She continued, walking purposefully, practicing what she considered the gait of a man. A sort of swagger. Longer strides, toes more out than in, since she knew that toeing in caused the hips to sway. She tugged her cuffs as she had often seen her father do and pulled back her shoulders. That thrust out her bosom, she realized when the shirtfront tightened across it. She hunched a bit to make that less obvious.

The corridor opened into a larger chamber. Lily strode right past a sleeping attendant and traversed yet another wide passageway that she found led to the cavernous entrance hall.

Two men sat conversing on the far side, well away from the main doors. One called out a good-night and she threw up a hand in acknowledgment without looking directly at them or speaking. But when she tried the door, her last obstacle before reaching freedom, she found it securely locked.

Terror gripped her, sucking the breath right out of her lungs. Then she remembered the keys. She fished them out of her pocket and isolated the largest one, hoping her guess was correct. Quickly she inserted it in the door and twisted it right, then left.

Thank God. Again she tried the door handle and, miraculously, the door opened smoothly on its hinges without so much as a squeak of protest.

With a shudder of heartfelt relief mixed with apprehension, Lily strode out, down the stone steps to the street and disappeared into the night.

Only after she crossed the Thames from Southwark, and knew she had escaped her immediate nightmare, did she pause to think about where she was going next. Her knowledge of London was rudimentary at best.

Did she dare turn to Duquesne? Did she have a choice?

Would he or anyone else help her if Clive had already put it about that she was insane? She had made a scene at the Danson’s soiree, there was no escaping that.

Was that one of the incidents of hysteria he would use to convince people? To tell the truth, she had not felt at all herself that evening and could scarcely remember much of what she had said and done. How long had he been planning to spirit her away and lock her up? Had he even drugged her that night to make her seem mad?

She leaned against the solid brick wall of a deserted haberdasher’s shop and shuddered like a leaf in a fierce wind. Tears covered her face and filled her throat and chest. Her breath came in gasps, her head ached to perdition and her knees felt weak as water.

No matter how hard she tried, Lily could not decide what she should do next. What a sheltered existence she had led before her marriage and even after Jonathan had died. No one would protect her now that she needed it. Her father, gone. Her husband, gone. Her son, too young. Her brother-in-law, dangerous. Suddenly furious that no one had given her any preparation in fending for herself, Lily cursed. Right out loud.

All she had wanted thus far was to live a quiet life in the country and to raise her beloved son to shoulder his responsibilities and be a kind and loving man like his father. Since she was twelve or so, her own father had drummed into her that’s what she should aspire to. A lot of good that had done.

Anger was a stranger to her, this horrid, all-consuming rage she felt now. And yet she was thankful for it. At least her fury had lent her the impetus to act and kept her from being paralyzed by her fear. She would not give in to the fear now that she had come this far.

Dare she trust Duquesne not to send her directly back to Clive once she related what had happened? Or should she follow through with the outrageous idea prompted by the letters she had found in Brinks’s pocket?

That she would even consider seeking out such a dangerous man brought an even more troubling question to mind. Was it possible Clive was justified? Could she truly be insane?

Guy watched his ancient butler, Bodkins, shuffle just inside the doorway. The poor old bloke should be in bed, but he’d be up and around even after Guy retired for the night. How Bodkins managed at his age was indeed a mystery.

It was nigh on nine o’clock. One more entry to make in the accounts and he would have them up to date. A first. He picked a bit of lint off the point of his pen and frowned at the stain on his thumbnail. “Yes, what is it, Boddy?”

“A young gent’s arrived, milord. A Mr. Pinks.”

“Brinks?” That appointment was scheduled for tomorrow morning. Unless Boddy had forgotten to mention it had been changed. The old fellow’s hearing had all but deserted him and his memory was not what it should be.

Ah, well, Brinks was here, might as well have done with it. He would either do for the position or he wouldn’t. Shouldn’t take long to discover which. “Very well. Send him in.” When Bodkins remained where he was, Guy repeated, louder this time.

Bodkins made a slow turn and retraced his steps. Guy shook his head sadly, wondering how much longer he could afford to allow the old dear to keep working. Putting him out to pasture would surely kill him, but if he stayed on here…

“Lord Duquesne,” Bodkins announced, his ancient voice cracking. He cleared his throat noisily. “Mr. Pinks to see you.”

Guy looked up and smiled. Charm never hurt and often helped where employees were concerned. “Mr. Brinks. Good of you to come.”

He reached over to adjust the flame in the lamp. The lighting was insufficient even then. The dark walls of the house seemed to drink up light like thirsty sponges.

Guy regarded his visitor, trying not to do so through narrowed eyes. Damn, he’d be needing spectacles one of these days if he didn’t spring for more lamps.

Economizing had become too ingrained a habit when it had been necessary. Even though he wished to keep up the appearance of penury, he might have to adjust spending for a few of his private needs.

He studied Brinks. The bloke was too slightly built for the employment Guy had in mind. And too young, obviously. But perhaps he might work as an assistant to Mimms, someone to fetch and carry things. Taking care of the earl was a time-consuming and physically demanding task, and the valet was aging. Guy had decided that two attendants would be better than one. He almost winced at the thought of the added expense. Habits died hard.

He forced a pleasant expression. “I thought we were to meet tomorrow morning.”

“There…there was a sudden change of plan,” Brinks said hesitantly. “I am most eager for the job and free to leave immediately. Now. Tonight. If you’ll furnish transportation, I could go on ahead, sir.”

His voice was rather high-pitched. And he seemed frightened, ducking his head that way. This would never do. If he feared a sane man, he would surely quail in the presence of one as unstable as the earl.

“Well, I haven’t exactly hired you yet, now have I? Were you sacked?” Guy asked directly.

“No, my lord. I have two letters of recommendation.”

“May I see them?”

“Of course.” Hesitantly the lad crossed the room, his steps tentative, his head still bowed.

“Come, come, let’s have them,” Guy ordered, beckoning impatiently.

As Brinks complied, Guy noted the softness of the ungloved hand that offered the envelopes. The well-tended nails were slightly dirty. Guy would have preferred some indication the bloke could work, and failing that, that he would at least be conscientious about cleanliness.

Quickly he took out the pages and gave them a perfunctory read. One was from a Sir Alexander Morison who had been physician to Hoxton’s hospital for the insane three years before. The other from the chief administrator who worked there now. By all reports, Mr. John Brinks was a dedicated employee who was never late and always conscientious in the performance of his assigned duties.

Guy laid the letters aside and spread his palms flat on his desk, regarding his visitor with some amusement. “Do you think I might see something other than the top of your head? You aren’t afraid of me, are you, Mr. Brinks?”

The face appeared then, limned with warm light from the lamp that sat just to one side of the applicant. Guy’s breath caught at the sight.

Small wonder the boy had kept his head down. Any fellow that pretty would have a damned difficult time obtaining employment anywhere other than on a stage playing female roles. Or perhaps in an institution where his unusual looks would probably go unremarked by his charges.

However, something was wrong here. Brinks hardly looked old enough to have worked three years anywhere other than as a student at school.

“What is your age?” Guy asked, his interested gaze traveling the length of the slender, graceful frame and back to the youthful face.

“Twenty-six, my lord. Nearly twenty-seven.”

“The devil you say.” Guy scoffed and shook his head. “Well, even so, I regret I can’t hire you. You won’t suit.”

“Why not?” The words were a mere whisper.

“Because you are too small, for one thing. This will require someone with greater strength than yours. Sorry.”

Brinks didn’t move.

“Oh.” Guy realized he still had the reference letters spread out on the desk. He quickly replaced them in the envelopes and handed them back. “I wish you luck in securing another position, Mr. Brinks. And again, thank you for responding.”

Even with that obvious a dismissal, Brinks still didn’t leave. He seemed unable to stir.

“Is there something else?” Guy asked, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

“You must hire me, my lord. Please. Indeed, I must leave London immediately. The sooner, the better.”

Guy studied the unique features carefully. Apprehension lit the earnest dark blue eyes framed with long lashes. Color heightened the cheekbones any woman would kill to possess. Lips, naturally full and red a moment earlier, were now firmed to a pale tight line of desperation.

“Why so eager to get away, Mr. Brinks? Explain and I might be inclined to help you.”

Confusion reigned for a full minute, then a sigh rent the air. “A patient, my lord. He’s been released from the hospital and has come after me. I dare not even return to my rooms to collect my things. This man is dangerous. He has threatened my life!”

A lie, of course. Easily detected, too. Guy wondered whether Brinks realized the girlish pitch that ensued with the pleading. Interesting. “How is it that this dangerous individual was released?”

“A…mistake, my lord.”

Guy crossed his arms and ran a finger over his lips thoughtfully. “I thought all of the criminals at Bedlam had been removed to Broadmoor some time ago.”

“This man has committed no crime that I know of. Yet. In his confused state, he blames me for his confinement in hospital because I was the one to…to take care of him.”

“Ah. And how has he threatened your life? How? Be specific, please,” Guy ordered.

“Well, uh, he’s been following me.” Brinks swallowed hard, obviously struggling to control the fidgets. Unused to lying this way, Guy figured.

“Following you, eh?” he asked, encouraging further elaboration.

“Yes, and going about Town claiming to be me on occasion. He has even charged some things to my accounts at several shops! I dare not even show myself about the city for fear some will take me as the imposter.”

“My word, what a dastardly thing for him to do!” Guy exclaimed, becoming more fascinated by the minute with this Banbury tale. “Do tell, what else has he done?”

“I fear to guess, my lord. Please, could you furnish me with transportation of some sort and send me on to Edgefield this very night?”

“I see. And if I should do this, you feel you would be safe?”

The nod was almost frantic. “I believe so. I would be most beholden to you if you would arrange it. I promise I would work hard and care for your father as if he were my own.” A slight pause ensued. “For as long as I am there.”

Guy straightened in his chair and leaned forward. “You know of Edgefield? How is that? The place of employment was never mentioned in my query to your director.”

Brinks hesitated, then took a deep breath. “That is where your father resides, is it not?”

“I prefer my father’s place of residence to remain undisclosed. Most people believe he is at our family seat in Northumberland and I prefer they continue to believe that. You will tell no one of this, do you hear?”

“Of course not, my lord.” Brinks shifted, either unable or unwilling to fabricate any further explanation.

Guy meant to find how this bit of information had got out. “You obviously know more of my circumstances than is warranted. Are you from Kent yourself?”

“Uh…I hail from nearby Maidstone. I suppose I must have overheard someone say…” The explanation drifted away to an uncomfortable silence.

Guy knew it was useless to continue in that vein. He would have to be more direct. There was definitely something peculiar here and he needed to find out what it was.

This application was no jest, he was sure of that now. Desperation and fear ran deep in those troubled eyes that were avoiding his.

Playing at this no longer proved amusing and it was time to end it.

Guy stood. “The interview is now concluded. I do believe you need help,” he said with all honesty.

“Then you will hire me? I may leave London now?” Relief softened the face to the point where it was no longer merely pretty.

Guy frowned at the realization. With the worst edge of terror alleviated, Brinks had transformed into an exquisite beauty.

“No, you are not hired,” he answered emphatically as he leaned forward over his desk, resting his weight on his palms, his face scarcely two feet distant from the frightened applicant.

“Please, sir! You must!”

Guy shook his head slowly. “I believe it’s time for you to abandon this farce and tell me why a young woman would hack off her hair, don a cheap suit of clothes and seek out employment as a man. It is a dangerous charade, dear girl, whatever your reasons. Are you mad?”

Chapter Two

L ily ran, her last hope fleeing faster than her feet. She flung open the door, dashed out into the hallway and ran headlong into the old butler.

With a cry and a grunt, they fell sprawling, a tangle of arms and legs. Before she could scramble to her feet, a large hand manacled her wrist.

“Be still!” Duquesne thundered, crouching over her like a fiend from hell. His tawny hair tumbled across his brow. His piercing eyes, the gray of deadly steel, devoid now of former pleasantness, dared her to move. His jaw clenched and his full lips firmed in a grimace.

Lily cringed. The vise of his fingers loosened, but he did not release her as his attention turned to the elderly servant.

“Boddy? Easy now. Don’t try to rise too soon. Is anything broken?” He spoke loudly, but with what seemed tender concern.

She watched, amazed at the way he handled his servant, encouraging him to tentatively test his neck, back and each limb. Then Duquesne stood and assisted the old man to his feet, dragging Lily upright much less carefully with his other hand.

“None the worse, m’lord,” croaked the old man who was frowning at her.

“Thank God for that,” Duquesne said with a gust of relief. He raised his voice again, but not in anger. “Even so, I believe you’d best go and lie down. Lean on me and we’ll make for your room.”

The butler straightened and stood away, jutting out his pointy chin and adjusting his waistcoat. One palsied hand patted down the long strands of gray that had previously covered his shiny bald dome.

His squinty gaze focused on Lily’s wrist, still caught fast in Duquesne’s grip. “I shall summon the night watch.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Duquesne declared. “Off to bed with you, and that’s an order.” His firm words echoed in the cavernous hallway.

“As you wish, m’lord.” The butler shot a threatening look at Lily and shuffled off into the shadows mumbling to himself.

Duquesne forced her back into his study and over to one of the high-backed leather chairs. “Sit,” he ordered, letting go of her arm and turning to close the door.

He looked fierce. And terribly handsome, a tall, broad-shouldered figure of a man with strong classic features and a supremely self-confident air.

That had been the first thing she had noticed about him, how handsome he was. She had known handsome men before, several of them. Bounders, the lot. For instance, Clive was handsome. Her husband Jonathan had not been. Consequently, the attribute of good looks did absolutely nothing in the way of recommending trust in this man.

The concern he had shown to his servant obviously did not extend to her.

He drew up to his full, considerable height, his hands on his hips. “Now either you will explain yourself or I shall haul you to the magistrate and have him determine why you applied for employment with false references.”

Lily could not think of any lie that might elicit his aid any better than the truth would do. Earlier she had considered simply laying the situation before him and pleading for help. She wished she had done that at the outset. Her chances might have been better. Now she had no choice.

All she had wanted was the means to reach home, to make certain her son was safe and not in Clive’s clutches. Since she had already been dressed for the part and no one—not the men at the hospital, the hack driver or the old butler himself—had paused to question her gender this evening, Lily had believed playing out her charade as Brinks might work. Unfortunately she had not anticipated the keen eye of Lord Duquesne.

She had elected not to trust a man about whom she knew nothing. Well, hardly anything past one brief encounter when she was a child and current rumors of his rough existence. Lily was aware, of course, that Edgemont, one of his father’s estates, lay adjacent to that of her son. She had heard that Duquesne’s father, the earl, was sequestered there and that Duquesne had chosen some years ago to reside permanently in London.

If Brinks had not mentioned his name tonight, she would never have thought to come here. The problem was, Lily knew more about Duquesne—little as that was—than she did about anyone else in London.

This house declared more about the current state of his finances than she might have guessed. There was little furniture in evidence, at least in the foyer, hallway and his study. No paintings, sculptures or any other trappings of wealth. Except for this room, what she had seen of the place thus far made it look abandoned and uninhabited.

The chair in which she sat badly needed repair and the ancient velvet draperies at the window appeared threadbare even in the low light cast by the lamp. For the first time she noticed that the bookshelves lining three walls of the chamber were almost completely bare.

A fragile hope bloomed. Perhaps, if she could not appeal to Duquesne’s honor, he could be bought. Everyone knew he needed money. Why else would he do what he did? But he was a solitary soul and that was evident, too. Perhaps he liked his circumstances just as they were. Then again, perhaps not. She must take the chance, Lily decided. She would purchase his protection, whatever the cost.

His clothing gave her pause. It was not cheap, by any means. The nankeen trousers were obviously tailor-made for his form. The linen shirt, though wrinkled, was, also. Over that he wore a long open robe of cut velvet that must have come dear, though it was old and somewhat out of style.

She noted his feet were bare. Long, narrow and pale, they imparted just a note of vulnerability that made him seem human.

He now leaned against the front of the scarred old desk, arms folded over his massive chest, ankles crossed, and waited for her confession. “Well?”

Lily cleared her throat and sat forward, hands clasped on her knees. She looked up at him, feeling like a penitent and hating it. “I must throw myself upon your mercy, my lord, and hope that you will afford me protection.”

He raised one eyebrow and quirked his head as if to encourage her to go on. Not so much as a flicker of sympathy.

She sighed, looked down at the faded carpet, glanced at his feet again, then back at the fearsome countenance. “I am Baroness Bradshaw.” She hesitated, waiting for him to challenge her claim. When he did not, she continued. “I believe my husband’s younger brother drugged me yesterday—or perhaps the day previous…What day is this?”

“Saturday,” he replied succinctly.

“Yesterday, then. I had been riding, came into my library and was offered a glass of wine. I only drank half. The next thing I knew, I awakened, locked in a cell in Bedlam. Of course, I didn’t know that until I escaped, but—”

He smiled slightly and bit his bottom lip, but still did not comment. Now both eyebrows rose in a silent question.

“After I awoke, I overheard two men conversing outside the door. When one left and the other entered, I knocked him on the head with the heel of my riding boot, dosed him with the vial of whatever he meant for me. These.” She reached into a pocket and produced the two small bottles. “Then I escaped in his clothes.” She looked down at her attire and back at him.

He glanced away from her, shook his head and chuckled.

Lily jumped up, tears springing to her eyes. “How dare you laugh!”

Suddenly as that, he sobered, unfolding his arms and resting his hands on his hips. “You may tell whatever jokester sent you that I am no fool. This has been a colossal waste of my time as well as yours.”

“No one sent me!”

“Then I cannot imagine why you are here concocting this elaborate ruse. I happen to know that Bradshaw died of heart failure two years ago. Now I’ll have the truth from you, or else.”

Exasperated, Lily clenched her eyes, wrung her hands and heaved a sigh. “I am Jonathan’s widow. Mother to Beaumont, the current Lord Bradshaw.”

“Ah,” Duquesne said with a scoff. “You must not be aware I once met the person John Bradshaw wed and she most assuredly is not you.”

“You knew my father, Vicar Upchurch. Surely you recall his daughter marrying above her station eight years ago? It was the news of the county at the time. Even here in Town, tongues were wagging, I expect.”

He bent, examining her features. Muttering an epithet, he shook his head, snatched up her right arm and roughly pushed up her sleeve. “We’ll see if that’s so,” he snapped, holding her arm to the light. The jagged scar in the middle of her forearm shone white in the glare of the flame.

At once, his features clouded with confusion and his eyes met hers. “But…but the child I saw was—”

“Skinny is the word you must be seeking,” Lily snapped. “Skinny and short for my age. I so regret I do not clearly recall our meeting, my lord. I’m certain we would have gotten on famously.”

But she did remember that tall, gangly youth with the kind eyes and a frown of concern for her pain. A fellow more than willing to rescue a child. He had barked orders at her father, whom no one ever dared to command. Then he had lifted her in his strong arms and carried her, murmuring comforting things near her ear. She dearly hoped a vestige of that kindness and willingness to help remained.

He grimaced, his gaze casting about as if searching for details of the incident. “The vicar interrupted my afternoon on the green and commandeered my phaeton to rush you to Dr. Ephriam. You had fallen from a tree and broken your arm. The bone was…never mind.” Again, he peered down at her scar. “A poor job he made of the repair. Did it heal without incident?”

Lily jerked her arm away and tugged down the fabric to hide the scar. “So you believe me now?”

He gently smoothed her sleeve with his palm and nodded, his lips pressed together as if pained at having sought proof of her identity. “Yes. I believe you are who you claim to be.”

“Then will you help me? My son could be in danger. If you would but furnish me a mount to ride home, I would be most grateful.”

“In danger? Why?”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Because my child is the only thing standing between Jonathan’s brother and the title, of course.”

“The boy is now at Sylvana Hall?”

Lily pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment before answering. “In the care of his nurse…I hope.” She fought tears and managed to keep them from falling. God above, how frightened she was for Beau.

Again, Duquesne raised his hand, this time giving her shoulder a bracing squeeze of reassurance. “I’ll make arrangements immediately. Have a spot of that brandy while you wait.”

“I’ll come with you,” she declared.

Duquesne shook his head and offered her a smile. “Please, trust me… I’m sorry, but I cannot recall your name.”

For a long moment she studied his eyes. They were clear, a clear, gentle gray now, their expression beseeching and somewhat regretful. She also noted a lack of deceit. “I am Lillian,” she replied.

His smile widened, perfectly open and guileless, the smile of a friend happily reunited with a friend. “Lily, of course. Your father called you Lily.”

And just like that, he was gone. Out the door with all speed, bound for she knew not where. Perhaps to summon the Watch or to send word to Clive to come here and collect her. But Lily thought not.

That was not quite true. She knew not. Duquesne would have said outright that that was what he intended if he’d meant to turn her over. Somehow, Lily felt she could afford to put her life in his hands. How strange for her to trust on such short acquaintance when she had been betrayed the way she had.

But Lily saw something in Duquesne that touched her. He was so alone and yet not bitter about it. There was also a wariness about him with regard to her, and she realized it was due to instant attraction. Though she knew she was not a great beauty, Lily was no fool.

He attracted her, too, in a very physical way. Allowed to progress, Lily knew that would seriously complicate matters. She would never trade her body for a man’s assistance.

Or would she? No, that sort of dishonorable arrangement would never do.

But she had no money left after hiring the hack to get here, and there did not appear to be any coin here in this poor place to steal. Walking to Sylvana Hall would take entirely too long to be of any use. Besides, that was precisely what Clive would expect her to do and he would surely catch her along the way.

Her best chance now lay with Duquesne’s providing her means to arrive home quickly before Brinks awoke, raised a cry and notified Clive that she was missing.

Lily spent some time deciding what she might do once she arrived at the Hall, how she would spirit Beau away from there to safety and where they might go. But where could they go? Sylvana Hall was their home. She had responsibilities there that she had no intention of turning over to Clive. Unless she could prove what she thought he had done, he would remain a threat. What she and Beau needed was a permanent guard. Then an outrageous plan occurred to her.

A headache formed directly between her eyes, a me-grim she could not afford at present considering all she had to accomplish before morning.

She took up the half-empty bottle of brandy from the desk and looked for a glass. Finding none, she upended the bottle to her lips and allowed herself two sips for courage.

That was how he found her when he returned.

Guy stifled a laugh at the picture she presented, one hand propped rakishly on the edge of his desk, her hips cocked to one side and her head leaning back to drink his liquor.

The light caught on the ragged wisps of her red-gold curls, furnishing a halo effect. Gilding Lily, the rowdy angel, he thought with an inner smile.

He felt damned glad she was not what he had first thought her to be, some charlatan’s whore sent round to ply a scam or worse. Or perhaps a spy. He was ever alert for those since he did a bit of work now and again for the war department and had accrued a few enemies due to that. Fortunately, with peace breaking out, those chores were mostly behind him now and—profits aside—he was relieved.

Lily’s story seemed too bizarre for a fiction. While Guy did not know Clive Bradshaw personally, he knew there were men who would do damn near anything to acquire a title and whatever went with it. She was right to worry about the boy. And, judging by what she had suffered at Bradshaw’s hands, she should be more worried than she was about herself. Damned if he didn’t admire her spirit.

She lowered the bottle to the desk with a solid thunk and faced him as directly as a man might have done. “Is my mount ready?”

Guy crossed to the desk, reached around her to snag the bottle and took a healthy swig himself. He offered it to her again and watched her shake her head impatiently.

He set the decanter aside for the moment. “I’ve sent for someone reliable, a man I trust with my life. When he arrives, I shall have him go and fetch your son and his nurse. Safer if you wait here.”

The blue eyes went wide. “I cannot stay here!”

“Better than in the madhouse,” he quipped, looking around him, “though not by much, I’m afraid.”

She began to pace, rubbing her arms with her palms in a gesture that betrayed more consternation than he had seen yet from her. “Mrs. Prine will likely die of apoplexy if a perfect stranger demands they leave the Hall and go with him to London. And besides, she doesn’t ride,” Lily said, flinging the words over her shoulder as she paused at the window.

“By hook, crook or pony cart, she’ll arrive with her charge no later than midafternoon, I promise. And you need not worry for their safety.”

Her hands flared helplessly. “I cannot simply sit and wait!”

“Of course not. You must go upstairs and have a good sleep. Your son will be shocked enough at your appearance. If you look done-in, as well, he’ll be frightened out of his wits.”

She scoffed. “You don’t know my Beau!”

Guy smiled. “Has your grit, does he? How old is the scamp?”

He proffered the bottle again and she took it, downed a delicate sip and handed it back, resuming her pacing as she did so.

“He turned seven last month.”

“Ah, well, I wager he’ll relish the adventure.”

She collapsed into the chair and buried her face in her hands. Guy watched her sob twice, then go still. She sniffed heavily once and brushed the tears from her face with a determined swipe of both palms. “Botheration!” Then she shrugged and looked up at him. “Forgive me. I know how men despise tears.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said gently, raking the disheveled curls off her brow with his finger.

“I would like to avoid being treated as one,” she quipped with a self-conscious laugh and another sniff.

Indeed. “Why don’t you begin from the beginning and tell me again how it happened in detail? No matter how insignificant you think something might be, include it. I might be able to use it.”

“Use it? For what?”

“I don’t know yet, but you may rest assured this is not over, Lily. Not by a long mark. Bradshaw made a bold move and has gone too far to simply let it lie. Now begin, and leave out nothing.”

He watched her carefully as she related her story.

“So you recognized Bradshaw’s voice?” he asked her when she’d finished.

“No, but who else could it have been? I assumed it was Clive because he is the only one who would gain anything by such a deed. He would assume control of my widow’s portion—the usual third of the estate—and also the remainder that is being held in trust for Beau. Not to mention Beau himself.” She swallowed hard, fighting to maintain control of her emotions. “If he would imprison me the way he intended, I shudder to think what he might do to a defenseless child who stands between him and what he wants.”

What had been done to Lily frightened her, Guy could see, but not nearly so much as what Bradshaw might be planning for her son. She was right about one thing. Being the nearest male relative, Bradshaw would acquire the title himself if the boy were out of his way.

“Who might be assisting him in this plot aside from Brinks? That’s what worries me,” Guy admitted. “He would have to prove your insanity in order to obtain a paper of committal to an institution.”

Guy watched her gaze slide away as she worried her lips with her teeth. “What is it? What are you not telling me, Lily?”

She sighed and sat back in the chair, looking almost defeated. “I rarely go out in Society, but I did attend a small soiree the Dansons held at Livsby Grange a week ago. I attended at Clive’s insistence. Apparently, I…I caused something of a scene there.”

Guy’s attention keened. “Of what sort?”

She busily pleated the hem of her coat as she made the admission. “Well, we partook of the buffet provided. Clive brought me a small plate and a cup of punch. All went well at first. I knew most of the neighbors who attended and the conversation was pleasant enough. Soon after we finished our refreshment, we took seats for the entertainment.” She halted.

“Go on. What happened?”

“The lights were lowered. A short while later…everyone began swaying as if to a song I couldn’t hear. There was a loud buzzing in the chamber. The noises within it grew terribly keen. Frightening. Then…everyone changed into…”

“Into what, Lily?” Guy asked, keeping his voice low and nonthreatening.

She blinked rapidly and her breathing came in fits and starts. “Horrible…things,” she whispered, obviously lost in the memory. “I must have screamed. I can’t remember. Clive whisked me out and the last I recall was being tossed into his carriage.”

“And later? What did you do?”

She raised her hands, palms up, then let them collapse on the arms of the chair. “Nightmares. I dreamt for the longest time, thinking I would never wake. You see, I knew I was sleeping, that none of it was real. But still it terrified me. The next day I decided I must have consumed something wholly disagreeable to my digestion. I was ill all morning. Other than an occasional bout of palpitations and a lack of appetite, I seemed well over it by that evening.”

“Nothing of a similar nature has occurred since then?” Guy asked.

“No. He must have drugged me.” She looked up at him, her gaze extremely worried. “Suppose some of those present believed me mad? Could Clive employ their testimony against me, do you think?”

No doubt in Guy’s mind that was precisely what was intended, but he held those thoughts to himself for the moment. She was upset enough as it was. Instead he said, “We must find a way to put you out of his reach for a while until we decide what must be done.”

“Clive is the only one with the right to have me confined, is he not?”

Guy nodded. “Since your husband is dead and your son too young to make that sort of determination, Bradshaw would be the one.”

“Then God help me,” she whispered. “I should have left off mourning at half a year and married Jeremy Longchamps when he asked.”

Guy laughed out loud, surprising both of them. “You can not be serious! He would give you about as much protection as a broken flyswatter. He fights like a girl.”

She smiled at that. “You obviously know Jeremy.”

“All too well,” Guy admitted, glad for the lighter topic. “We were at school together. How is it that you know him?”

“He was a great friend of Jonathan’s. We entertained him often. I quite like the fellow, odd quirks and all.”

“But not enough to marry him, obviously.” Thank heaven for that spot of good sense.

“No, not enough for that. I would have felt more like a sister to him than a wife, though he entertains Beau and thinks the world of him.” She sighed. “But marrying Jeremy might have prevented this problem. However, I don’t regret my decision, really. He deserves someone who would really care for him in a way I never could.”

“I shouldn’t think Jeremy would notice, he’s so full of himself,” Guy quipped. Though Longchamps had used to prove amusing at times, Guy had seldom encountered a fellow more feather-brained and oblivious to the goings-on around him.

“You do not seem to be that way,” she said. When Guy looked at her, she narrowed her eyes and regarded him as a cat might do a mouse. “You have been very kind in your treatment of me tonight. Are you always so gentle with those weaker than you?”

Guy smiled. “There is certainly no honor in throwing one’s strength around.”

“Yes, you do seem accommodating and I appreciate that. Tell me, Lord Duquesne—”

“It’s Guy, if you please.”

“Very well. Guy. Tell me, how do you feel about a marriage of convenience?” her expression looked pensive and even a bit sly.

“That depends. Whom do you have in mind?”

“You, of course.” She gestured toward him with one hand.

“Me? Ye gods and little fishes, I’m appalled at the very thought,” he answered with real conviction. “You don’t mean—”

“But I do.” She looked around her as if assessing his study. “It appears you could use…an infusion of wealth. I could provide that.”

“This is ridiculous!” But was it?

Arrangements such as she proposed happened all the time. Only not to him. Never once had he entertained the idea of marrying for money.

He frowned at her impudence. His paucity of funds had become a well-known fact in recent years. The upkeep and taxes on the estates at Marksdon, Perrins Close and Edgefield, as well as the town house here, were outrageous.

When one added the expense of providing the best of care for his father, Guy had stretched even his improved resources near their limits. Though he had overcome the threat of ruin some time ago, he kept to his frugal ways.

There were worse things than being regarded as poor. That state offered a certain freedom that being wealthy did not. It certainly whittled down his social obligations, which suited him just fine. Aside from the Kendales and the Hammersleys, damned few of his so-called peers bothered to give him so much as a nod.

Keeping his distance had become a way of life. A safer way, especially where women were concerned. Caring too much was not wise. Loving was bloody well stupid.

He answered Lily as gently as he could. “It’s kind of you to offer for me, and you do me great honor, Lily, but I must decline. You see, I’ll never marry. I cannot.”

“Of course you can,” she argued in as near a plaintive tone as he’d yet heard her utter. “Whyever not?”

He leaned closer to her as if to impart a secret. “Because, dear heart, there is bonafide insanity in my bloodline, as you must know. Everyone who is anyone is certainly well aware of it, no matter how carefully they tiptoe around the subject in my presence.”

Her eyes softened with sympathy. “Oh, Guy, I do regret your father’s indisposition and that you feel you need warn me of it, but his condition has no bearing on this at all. I am not the least concerned about that. All I would ask is that you provide the safety of your name for me and my son. In return, I shall give you my widow’s portion. A fair trade in anyone’s estimation. What do you say?”

“That you’d be irresponsible to disregard such a drawback, Lily. My father is out of his mind and has been for years. I absolutely refuse to make anyone heir to that.”

“Well then, we should be perfectly suited since I am unable to bear any more children.” Though she smiled, her eyes said too much of what that admission cost her.

He did not remark on it for fear of causing her to dwell on the sad fact. At least she had one son, one more than he could ever risk having.

Bravely, she went on. “It would solve any financial woes that might plague you. Beau could use a man’s guidance, if you felt inclined to bother with him. Jonathan has been gone for two years now, and I must admit that I do miss married life.” She smiled sincerely then, ducked her gaze for a second and blushed.

Guy could not help being shocked and a bit amused. “My, my, you are outspoken for a lady. Donning those trousers must have gone straight to your head.”

“Spoken frankly as any man, you mean? I was only thinking that this is no time to mince words. I truly do miss being a wife.”

He considered the magnitude of what she had just confessed. A woman of quality never allowed she had any interest in the matter of bedding. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was precisely what she had just declared. He pretended to take another meaning from her words, one more acceptable for discussion. “So you loved your husband that dearly, did you?”

She grinned back at him, as if to say she knew that he knew exactly what she had meant. “Oh, Jonathan was a brick. He and I got on like the best of mates even though he was much older. I adored him above anything.”

Guy smiled, happy for her good fortune for as long as it had lasted. “How excellent for the both of you. In general, there are damned few marriages that recommend the institution. Though I have witnessed a rare exception or two, I, for one, have little faith in the state of wedded bliss.” He shook his head and sighed, thinking that would surely end this strange conversation.

Instead of the disappointment he expected, her face brightened with delight. “There you are, then! You shan’t be disappointed if we aren’t deliriously engaged. Shall we have a go?”

“No!” he exclaimed, amazed by her continued tenacity. “We shan’t have a go! I never said—”

She batted a hand at him and rolled her eyes with obvious impatience. “Oh, come now, Duquesne. You cannot tell me you have no use for my money, even if you don’t particularly like me.”

“Of course I like you, Lily! It’s only that…” But for the life of him, he could not list a single reason to refuse her. She had shot all of them down like bottles on a fence.

“And we could be friends,” she persisted.

“Friends, eh?” It wasn’t as if anyone else would ever have him for a husband, given his family history. Or the reputation he’d made all on his own. And as for Lily, apparently she had already experienced the love of her life. Twice that luck would be too much for any woman—anyone at all, in fact—to expect.

If he agreed, he could certainly put the dowry to good use, invest it and see that the original capital remained hers while the interest went to support the estates and tenants for which they both would be responsible. His holdings would become hers in entirety when he passed on and eventually become her son’s since Guy would leave no progeny of his own.

This could prove a decent arrangement, he thought practically. Of course, he had no idea how much wealth was involved, but that hardly mattered at this point.

He was not going to do this. He should not.

But if he did, he could give up all these havey-cavey business dealings he had to manage here in Town. Damn, but he was weary of the subterfuge, the low forms of life he had to coddle or threaten for information. He could retire to the country. Be the gentleman his father would have wanted him to be. The man he had almost become before tragedy struck and forced him to use his wiles to keep solvent. For a while it had seemed challenging, adventurous, even at times great fun, but now….

No, he was not going to marry this woman. It would not do. He had managed by himself for too long to share his life with anyone.

Then he thought about the boy, thrust into such a vulnerable position by the title he had yet to grow into. Guy couldn’t deny he would probably enjoy being a parent. He thought he might like children and regretted he could never father any.

Hell, he felt half-child himself, still playing at Turks and Thieves in the dark of night with deadly playmates. He thought of Smarky, scourge of Spittalfield, and Bardy the Bold with his Saracen dagger and delight in death-dealing. Excellent reasons right there to tell Lily no. He could put her in danger by mere association with him.

But she was already immersed up to her neck in trouble, now wasn’t she? Who else of her acquaintances would fend off her enemies for her, if he didn’t agree to do it?

There was the woman herself, the biggest temptation of all. Lily had spirit, courage and a lively imagination. He could certainly do worse for himself and never any better, by his reckoning. But did he have the right…?

The imp could arouse him with only a smile and most likely realized this power. Aside from her unique and fascinating looks, there was something slightly wild and delicious about Lily, something he could not begin to describe, that tantalized him.

Her scent, sweet and undefinable, perhaps. Or her voice, dulcet of tone and faintly raspy. Seductive when she intended, compelling attention even when she did not. Definitely more than the sum of her lovely parts, Lily Upchurch Bradshaw was an original.

Despite that, he knew that he need not worry about falling in love with her. If ever there was a man safe from that sanguine emotion, it would be himself, considering the practice he’d had avoiding it. Love, to him, meant marriage, children and a future. His father’s madness precluded Guy marrying well. Until Lily.

There was that one almost overwhelming aspect of Lily that he hated to admit enticed him because it seemed unworthy, even salacious, to consider it. He shouldn’t, but he certainly did factor it into the equation.

The plain fact was that Guy had not tupped a woman these past nine years without the onus of accidental pregnancy looming over him like a threatening storm cloud. Freedom from that fear danced here within reach, daring him to reach out and embrace it. To embrace her.

Another woman had come to him asking for help less than a year before. Sara Ryan had been a beautiful woman. And in dire straits, too. Yet the idea of bedding her, much less marrying her, had never even occurred to him. Why would he even consider such a thing with this one? Well, she had asked, for one thing. And then there was that other benefit….

“You are considering it, aren’t you?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with the anticipation of victory.

As sheer flattery went, Guy could not help being affected by her enthusiasm for her plan. Even so…

“I am considering it very carefully,” he told her, “since one of us must give a thought to caution.”

One golden eyebrow rose. “The infamous Devil Duquesne, a cautious man?” she taunted. “Who would have thought it? Now your reputation will be thoroughly destroyed.”

Guy could hardly let that pass unremarked. “You do tempt me,” he finally said.

Lily sighed. “Enough to accept?”

Chapter Three

L ily wondered if he had been right about her clothing affecting her behavior. Whether it was freedom from the constraint of female apparel or pure desperation that prompted her aggression, Lily saw that she had shocked not only him, but also herself.

Here she had just proposed to the infamous Devil Duquesne, the man people whispered about, feared even, because he was reputed to be dangerous. He did private enquiries and settled disputes in ways that were often permanent, so they said. The government employed him to ferret out spies. Perhaps he was one himself.

Jonathan had loved gossip and had delighted her with all sorts of tidbits out of London whenever he had gone up on business. Well, she was testing this piece of his tittle-tattle, surely.

Duquesne’s eyes had narrowed, assessing her yet again, as if from a different angle. He smiled, a near smirk, but it did absolutely nothing to detract from his appeal. Slowly he nodded, his smile growing, as if he couldn’t contain it within that cloak of cynicism. Was he going to say yes? Would he really marry her?

Lily almost panicked, very nearly withdrew her bold idea for a solution. If she did marry Duquesne, she might create another whole set of problems.

“Doubts now, Lily?” he asked, crossing his arms and regarding her intently. He looked amused.

“No. None.” She would stand firm by her decision. If he would have her, if he would commit to the cause of her protection and that of her son, she’d be willing to wed the devil himself. If that was trading her body and her fortune, so be it.

“If I say yes, you should know that I would expect something from you other than money,” he told her.

She was well aware of what that would be, of course, but she had already offered that on a silver platter. “I know.”

“Besides that,” he said, his expression now rather serious. “If I should…in the future, fall victim to my father’s malady, I should expect you to keep me…at home. My home, of course, not yours. That is, if you could possibly arrange it.”

Lily softened inside, her heart going out to him on the instant. “Oh, most assuredly, Guy. I would never, never consign you to…” She cast about for a nice word for the terrifying place she had just escaped.

He shifted as if highly uncomfortable in speaking of this. His gaze rested on the floor between them. “I considered placing my father at Plympton. It is close to home, privately run and not as bad as one might expect, but I simply could not bring myself to do it, to uproot him from his familiar surroundings. You see, though he’s not the man he once was, he has moments, even days, when he functions quite normally.”

“Plympton? They mentioned that, Guy! Tonight I heard that name. They were planning to move me there. Where is it?”

He unfolded his arms and braced them on the edge of the desk as he looked up at her. “Roughly twenty miles or so from Edgefield to the north. The old mansion Lord Younger sold off some years ago.”

She knew of it, but had not known it was now used as an asylum. “I see. That puts proof to the fact that Clive must be behind this scheme against me, then. It is also near Sylvana Hall, as you know. Once I was certified insane, he could keep watch and perhaps continue drugging me if I were at Plympton.”

He nodded. “So, could you agree to this condition? You would, of course, hire a man who would see to my needs and ensure I would be no danger to anyone should the worst happen. You could live wherever you chose.”

Unable to help herself, Lily approached him and touched his face, much as she would Beau if he were this troubled. “Oh, Guy, you speak as if this is a definite thing for you to dread.”

He covered her hand with his, a light contact recognizing her gesture. “It is a possibility we must address, Lily. As yet, I’ve suffered no symptoms akin to my father’s and I hope I never shall, but I want you aware of what might happen in future. It is wise to plan for all contingencies, don’t you think?”

Lily closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, unable to imagine this man incapacitated in any way, especially with regard to his mind. She nodded. “I agree. If you will look after me and my son, I give you my word I shall move heaven and earth to follow your wishes in this.” She looked up at him so that he could see she was sincere. “Guy, I will do it anyway. Whether you want me as a wife or not. I shall do it as your friend.”

Never had she seen such an expression of relief. And something approaching awe. He cradled her face with both his hands and lowered his lips to her forehead. His mouth felt warm against her skin and very gentle.

Then he pulled back and searched her eyes with his. “This is a terrible risk you’re taking, Lily. You don’t really know me. You cannot know all I have done or am capable of doing.”

She sighed and rested her palms on his chest, feeling the warmth, the beat of his heart, through the rich, worn fabric. “I know that you are compassionate with regard to your father. I know that you listen to me and truly hear what I say. And while you do have a reputation for ruthlessness—” she smiled at his surprise “—a ruthless man is precisely what I need.”

His small laugh was self-deprecating as he shook his head. “What gods do you suppose have thrown us together tonight? Ours will likely be a match made in hell.”

She straightened, grasping the lapels of his robe. “Then you will do it?”

He dropped a kiss on her lips, just a brief, perfunctory touch borne of camaraderie, it seemed. His voice was light and full of mischief. “Of course I will do it. I’d be a complete fool to refuse such a deal.”

Lily felt unaccountably lighthearted, considering the weighty matter at hand. “Excellent!” She backed away from him, a bit self-consciously, breaking his contact with her face and hers with his chest. It was devilishly hard to think when they were touching.

He pushed forward from the desk where he’d been leaning and began to shuck off his robe. “Then we had best get to it. We’ll need a special license, back-dated, of course.” He spoke as if to himself now. “Justice Jelf will get that, for a hefty fee.” All the while, he was donning a jacket that had hung over the back of a straight chair by the door.

Lily watched as he bent behind the desk and then sat to pull on his stockings and boots. It seemed too intimate an act to watch, so she turned away, still listening to his running commentary to himself. “Horses. Hammersley’s, I think. We’ll ride to Sylvana Hall after, by way of Edgefield, to change your clothing.”

“I thought you were sending for Beau and Mrs. Prine,” she said, interrupting him.

He looked up from his task. “Not now. I think we should make our stand on home ground. I had thought at first to hide you and your son until I could straighten out this tangle of yours with the authorities. However, if we are married and appear to have been so before Bradshaw made his move, he’ll play hell explaining why he kidnapped my wife. We’ll level charges against him if necessary.”

“But…but we were not married then,” Lily argued.

He grinned and stood up, stamping to settle his feet into the scuffed Hessians. “Ah, but we will have been. Once Tommy Roundhead does his magic on the locks at the records office. Happy first month’s anniversary, darling. May we have many, many more.”

Lily shook her head in wonder. “I have a distinct feeling ours is going to prove a unique wedding.”

“My lady, you cannot even imagine how unusual it’s going to be.” He opened a drawer of his desk, retrieved a wicked-looking pistol, checked the cylinder of it and added the ammunition. Then he tucked it into the waistband of his trousers where it seemed right at home.

Lily swallowed hard and shivered, suddenly aware of just how dangerous this man might become if crossed.

She watched as he stretched out his hand, inviting her to take it. Or perhaps daring her to do so. “Are you up for a sprint across the back alleys of Mayfair and a night ride into Whitechapel?”

Lily locked her palm to his and intertwined their fingers. A promise. A binding betrothal, however brief. A daring leap into the unknown with a man who might be teetering on the edge of sanity even as they said their vows. Assuming they survived the trip into the bowels of London and lived to take any vows. “Sounds like a dashing evening, my lord. I’m game!”

His grin was pure deviltry and she returned it in kind.

Good as his word, Guy led her out the back of the house and through the tangle of vines at the back gate. The moon cast its weak glow on the path they took, one she knew was traversed by tradesmen and those who were obliged to enter the great homes from the rear entrance. And perhaps by thieves and denizens of the night with no business being here.

She was nearly breathless with exertion and apprehension when he came to a halt and looked up at the high stone wall they had been following and the imposing iron gate in front of them. “It’s locked at night. We’ll have to climb it.” He crouched down. “Put your foot in my hands and I’ll boost you. Grab the top and pull yourself up.”

Lily took a deep breath and did as he said. Images of their being hauled off by the local watch and trying to explain this distracted her, but she made it. Lying along the top of the foot-thick stone wall, she watched him shin up the bars of the iron gate and join her.

“Now take my hands and I’ll lower you down,” he said calmly, as if he did this sort of thing every night. Perhaps he did. She complied, coming to rest on solid ground with a thump of her overlarge boots. He followed, taking a moment to brush his ungloved palms on his trousers. “There!”

“Where are we?” she demanded. “And what are we doing here?”

“Earl Hammersley’s. He’s a friend of mine. We’re going to steal two of his horses.”

“No!” She grabbed his arm as he started for what looked to be the stables. “You cannot do this! If he’s a friend, why not simply ask to borrow them?”

“He’s out of town this week. They’re visiting Julia’s family. His man would never loan his mounts without his approval. Don’t worry. I will explain it to him later.”

Still, Lily dragged her feet, hoping to dissuade him. “Guy! This is a hanging offense!”

“Don’t be absurd, sweetheart. They don’t hang nobles.” She heard laughter in his voice. The man was crazy.

“Well, imprison us then! Guy, this is madness!” she rasped in a loud whisper, hating to use that word, but there was none other fitting this deed so well as that.

He kept walking, dragging her along with him. “Oh, stop quibbling, darling. This will be child’s play.”

Lily groaned.

They reached the stables and he walked right in as if he owned the place. “Jemmy? Are you asleep, man?” he called.

A moment later a young fellow appeared out of what looked to be the tack room, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. He did not seem alarmed. In fact, quite the opposite. “Lord Duquesne? What are you doing here this time of night?”

“Came to borrow two nags. Lady Julia’s Pepper and Lord Michael’s gelding. What’s his name?”

“Cinnamon, sir. But you know very well I can’t loan them without his lordship’s permission. He’s told me—”

“I know, I know,” Guy said with a sigh. “Turn around.”

“Beg pardon?” Jemmy asked.

“Turn around.”

The boy, obviously used to following the commands of his betters, did as he was told. Guy pushed him to his knees and slipped a small thin rope around his wrists, expertly tied it off and then secured his ankles, trussing the boy up like a Christmas goose.

“You can get loose with a little effort, but not before we’re long away. Tell Lord Michael I’ll return his horses in prime condition. He won’t be angry with you since you couldn’t prevent this.”

“But, my lord, you know how he treasures his horseflesh! And I am responsible!”

“Of course you are, lad, but this gets you off the hook. Tell his lordship I’ve done this to save my wife.”

“Your wife!” Jemmy exclaimed, his wide-eyed gaze flew to Lily.

“Lady Lillian,” Guy said by way of introduction. “Tell Hammersley.”

“Yessir,” Jemmy agreed, now resigned and not even struggling to free himself. “Congratulations, my lord.”

“Thank you, Jemmy.” With that, Guy proceeded to lead the horses from their stalls and assemble the tack. Lily lent a hand, saddling the beautiful black mare herself.

Within minutes they were leading the horses out the back gate, unlocked with the keys Guy seemed to know were ensconced within a hollow in the stone wall. Lily supposed he had been here many times before to know the place so well.

“The earl will understand, won’t he?”

“Certainly,” Guy assured her as he gave her a leg up into the saddle. “Michael might value his mounts above most of his possessions, but he treasures his wife more than life itself. He’ll figure I’d do the same.”

What would it be like to be loved that much? Lily wondered. She supposed she would never know, but even Guy’s pretense of it felt comforting. He had stolen horses for her. Wrong as that was, she experienced a thrill over it. She could never imagine the very proper Jonathan having done such a thing.

His courting of her had been romantic to a degree. They had met quite by accident when a wheel had broken on his trap along the road to Maidstone. Her father had stopped to offer assistance or a ride. She had felt that noble gaze assessing her as she sat beside the vicar, and knew she was the reason Jonathan had accepted the ride. After that, he became a constant visitor, soon a suitor, then her husband. Her father had heartily encouraged her early marriage. Even she admitted she could hardly have expected to do better than a baron, or the man himself. Theirs had been a quiet, steady bond that had strengthened with each passing year and the birth of their son. Perhaps Jonathan’s heart had not been strong enough, even then, for the intense sort of love Guy spoke of his friends having. Nevertheless, she felt blessed to have had a good and faithful husband.

She adjusted her reins and prepared to ride, settling comfortably into the man’s saddle. She had never ridden astride before and thought she might quite like it.

“On to Whitechapel,” Guy announced, obviously eager for the adventure.

Lily nudged the mare closer to the gelding, seeking reassurance in Guy’s nearness. She also hoped his sudden enthusiasm for the remainder of their escapade would somehow communicate itself to her. Her reservations were growing by the minute as the moon waned and the darkness of the alleyways swallowed them up.

Guy remained alert, his gaze continuously sweeping the narrowing streets leading them into the infamous hell that was Whitechapel.

Conditions deteriorated the farther they rode, bound for the heart of Rupert Street with its rickety tenaments and stench of poverty. Rats skittered off refuse left to rot. Gutters ran with offal and worse.

He glanced at Lily who was barely visible beneath the one flickering oil lamp that remained unbroken past the turn onto Rupert Street. Weapon at the ready, he swiveled quickly at the sound of scuffling feet.

“Stand away,” he ordered the figures who appeared out of the cavern between the buildings.

“Aha, ’tis himself!” one of the footpads said with a snarking laugh. “Who’d ye be after then, Duquesne?”

“Tommy Roundhead,” Guy growled.

“Cost ye, guv,” the fool declared, still sniggering.

“Cost you if you don’t fetch him,” Guy replied, cocking the pistol. It was the expected ritual.

Not two moments later Roundhead stepped out of the alley, immediately recognizable by his overlarge pate. “Duquesne? It’s only Thursday.”

“Not here for the scuttle tonight, Tom. I’ve need of you,” Guy told him. Without waiting for an answer, he shifted the pistol to his left hand and reached down with his right.

Tommy grasped it and swung up behind Guy on the gelding. “Watch Nell,” Tom snapped at the underlings who protected his lair. Nell Gentry, a former street girl, was Tommy’s common-law wife and was prone to wander unless he kept a constant eye on her.

“Turn slowly,” Guy muttered to Lily. “Ride ahead of me at a walk, the same way we came in.”

She nodded and did precisely that. Guy could see around her, but just barely since the streets were so narrow here. He held his breath, weapon cocked and ready lest they be attacked. Tommy would be a deterrent to that since this block was his territory, but he might not be recognized soon enough for his power to be that effective.

They rode out without incident, Lily keeping her mare to a walk when Guy knew she must itch to gallop hell-bent for safety. Tommy hung on to the back of the saddle, unused to riding, nervous as a cat without whiskers. Once on the ground, he would be fearless again. And invaluable.

Once they crossed the Thames, Guy took High Street, turned off on Pramble Close and drew up in front of the house of Justice Jelf.

“Gor, Duquesne!” Tommy exclaimed. “What truck have ye got wi’ Jelf? I’d as soon not come in wif ye, if it’s all th’ same.”

Guy agreed. “Stay with the mounts. Anything happens to these horses, Tommy, I’ll rip the ears right off your head. Understood?”

“Righto, guv. Lend me that gun then.”

“Not on a dare,” Guy replied, helping Lily dismount. “You’re well armed. Never known you not to be.”

Tommy laughed softly, took the reins of both mounts and wrapped them around his left hand. “You be long?”

“Long enough to wed. Ten minutes at most.”

“Ha! Ripe lie if I ever heered one.”

Guy ignored the aside, took Lily’s arm, ushered her to the door and rapped smartly on the panel.

It was midnight by now, but Jelf would be awake, most likely with a card game in progress. Still it took a good five minutes and sore knuckles to get him to the door.

“Eh?” the man snapped as he opened the door a crack. Sure enough, he was dressed, though his shirt hung open to mid-chest and his dark hair was rumpled as if he’d run his hands through it half the night.

Justice Lord Jelf looked much as he had on his worst of nights during their last year at Eton. How he’d managed to secure his current position, Guy could only guess, but it certainly came in handy at times.

“What do you want at this hour, Duquesne? A game?” He cast a lazy glance at Lily.

Guy pushed the door wider and moved past the justice. “I want to get married. You sober, Galen?”

“Sober as a judge,” Jelf cracked, laughing at his own poor joke. “Married, you say? When and to whom, if I might inquire?”

“This very minute, to her.” He inclined his head toward Lily. “Get your book and the paperwork. We’re in something of a rush.”

“Where’s your license?”

“In your desk, I expect. Go and get it.” If there was a form in London Galen Jelf didn’t have copies of, it had not yet been printed up in quantity. A profitable sideline, as it were.

Jelf raked Lily with a sly look of interest. “Sure you’ve got the bride here, Guy, and not the best man? Though it’s pretty enough, whatever you’ve chosen.”

“We can do without the comments, Jelf. We married last month, understand? I want no question of that should anyone inquire or check the records.”

Jelf smiled, a knowing expression. No doubt thinking Lily was in an interesting condition and Guy was doing the right thing.

“You owe me, Jelf,” Guy reminded him.

“And now you shall owe me, my friend. Fifty pounds is the price. Are you solvent?”

“As salt in water. I’m good for it. She’s rich,” Guy said.

Lily nodded and stuck out her hand to shake. “Lily Bradshaw. Nice to meet you, Justice Jelf.”

“Aha, it speaks! Felicitations then,” Jelf said smoothly. “Come with me, children. It’s a nasty deed you commit, but I’ll stand for it. Do we want fictional witnesses or do you have someone in mind? How about Kendale and Hammersley? Will they vouch?”

“Absolutely. Good thinking. I’ll post them my thanks tomorrow.”

They repaired to Jelf’s study where he lit a lamp and produced a handful of papers from a drawer. Pushing the pen and inkstand toward Guy, he watched as the blanks were filled in. He signed, too, with a flourish and then opened his book to commence the civil ceremony.

“You understand this will not be recognized by the Church? I’m not ordained and this is no House of God.”

Guy nodded. “So long as it’s legal.”

“It serves for Jews and Catholics,” Galen muttered, and turned the page to begin.

Guy regretted the need for this, knowing any woman on earth would prefer her wedding to be otherwise. Hell, any man would, too, come to think of it.

Jelf’s curt statements and questions bore none of the sentimentality or religious overtones of the Church of England service. Cut-and-dried, it was over in a trice. A done thing.

“By the power vested in me by the Crown, I pronounce you man and wife. She’s yours to kiss, Duquesne. Have at it.”

He immediately headed for the doorway. “Douse the lamp and close the doors behind you, if you won’t mind. I’m holding three eights and they’re just foxed enough to count me out if I’m away more than five minutes.” He threw up a hand in farewell. “Luck to you both. Barring that, may you have an interesting life.” His voice trailed off down the hallway toward the back of the house.

Reluctant to face her before, Guy now shot Lily a look of apology. Then he quickly bent and pressed his lips against hers, hardly taking time to feel the softness of her lips. Later, he promised himself.

“I’m…amazed,” she said.

“Then my kissing’s improved by leaps,” he replied.

She leaned over to extinguish the lamp. “Let’s ride,” she ordered.

Guy snatched up their copies of the marriage license and certificate on the way out. By first light, the duplicates of the papers would be snug in the files, awaiting anyone who might question the marriage of Viscount Duquesne and Lady Lillian Upchurch Bradshaw. Roundhead would see to that.

In the meantime, there were thirty miles of hard road between here and Sylvana Hall. Not much of a night, as wedding nights went. And God only knew what they would face in the morning.

Guy handed Roundhead the papers and told him specifically where to put them. “Tommy, it’s essential you get these in place before daybreak. Then go to Smarky. Tell him to go and have Bodkins pack for me. He’s then to deliver my things to Edgefield along with whatever information he can gather about a bloke called Brinks. Suggest that he begin that enquiry at St. Mary’s of Bethlem.”

“Bedlam?” Roundhead queried with a laugh. “Aye, guv. Whatever you say.” His grimy hand shot out and Guy filled it with a small wad of bills.

“Also, I’d like an accounting of a Mr. Clive Bradshaw. Have Smarky collect that or farm out the task as he sees fit, but I need it soon.”

“Aye, I’ll tell ’im. Safe journey, guv,” the man muttered, and vanished into the darkness between the justice’s home and the house adjacent to it.

Guy lifted Lily to the mare’s saddle and mounted the gelding to ride beside her. They crossed the Thames once again by way of Westminster Bridge, wound down York Row, silent in the early morning hours save for the clop of hooves.

The horses advanced at a brisk walk along Lower Minette Street, a narrow byway hardly worthy of a name, in order to reach the main road more quickly. They were still not in what Guy considered a safe area of the city, but at least he could breathe a bit more easily than he had done with Lily accompanying him through the crime-fouled streets of Hades.

From the corner of her eye Lily watched two shadows detach themselves from doorways she and Guy had just passed. They were being followed.

“Easy,” Guy whispered. “Ride just ahead of me. Don’t look back.” She had hardly heard his words. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her muscles had tensed, alerting the mare who began to dance sidewise, her head jerking the reins to the left.

Suddenly as that, two men dashed out of the darkness. One grabbed her mare’s bit with one hand, attempting to drag Lily from the saddle by her leg with the other. She screamed and the mare reared, breaking the brigand’s hold. Lily grasped the mare’s mane and held on.

The fellow struggled up from the cobblestones where he’d fallen, cursing foully as he flew at her. A huge shadow enveloped him from behind and Lily heard a distinct snap.

With a cry of terror, she dug her heels into the mare’s flanks, but with reins tangled, only succeeded in guiding her into a tight circle.

“Hold fast!” Guy ordered. “And ride!”

She loosened her grip and let the frightened mare have her way.

Lily glanced over her shoulder. Like a circus trick rider, Guy bounced once and swung onto the gelding that was already nearing a gallop. Behind them, two dark heaps lay unmoving on the cobbles, barely discernible in the blue-gray glow of the moon.

“Face ahead and turn right,” Guy shouted as he caught up to her.

They cut sharply down another side street that led into a small park with overhanging trees. There Guy drew up and she did the same.

“Are you hurt?” he asked politely.

“Who were those men?” she gasped, trying hard to steady her jerky breathing as she ran one hand through hair dampened with the sweat of fear.

“Old acquaintances out to settle a score, I expect. Not to worry.”

“Not to worry?” she snapped, piercing him with a look of anger. “They meant to…accost us!”

“And so they did,” he replied, reaching forward with one large hand to gentle the gelding with a pat, his voice as matter-of-fact as if he commented upon the fair weather. “But that’s the end of that.”

“You…you killed them?”

He sighed audibly and sat straighter, looking back the way they had come. “Yes, well, it’s time we rode on if you are not too shaken.”

Shaken? Two men lay dead in the street! She knew without asking he had broken her attacker’s neck with his bare hands. Had likely done that to the other man, as well. He had not even drawn that pistol he wore in his belt or warned them off.

Lily shivered, unable to speak of it. Instead she meekly followed as Guy took the lead and guided them to what appeared to be a main thoroughfare.

“This is Lambeth Street,” he informed her idly, as if they were merely out seeing the sights of London. He set a calm pace, seeming in no rush to get where they were going or to avoid anyone coming after them as a result of the dead robbers.

Whom had she married? Lily wondered.

She had to admit she might not have lived to wonder about it at all if he had not reacted to the attack so forcefully. Even now those two might be following, still bent upon mayhem if he had let them go with a warning. Another violent shiver racked her.

“Cold?” he asked, obviously having noticed.

Lily shook her head.

“Everything will sort itself out,” he told her gently. “You’ll see.”

Everything might have a bit too much help in the sorting, Lily thought with a mirthless laugh that sounded like a groan. For now, all she could do was hope she never need see this frightening side of the Devil Duquesne again.

Only now did she realize that his reputation was based in reality. The rumors were true.

For all his wit and good humor, the man apparently could kill without compunction, without any remorse whatsoever. Had he already gone as mad as his father, the earl?

And to think her marriage to Duquesne was a fact now, only to be undone by the death of one of the parties involved. Chills ran up her spine as she glanced at him.

The devil wore a smile.

Chapter Four

L ambeth Street forked onto St. George, which, in turn, connected to Kent Road. Once they reached it, Lily recognized landmarks. Meadowlands stretched to their left beyond the humble dwellings and mean business establishments strung along the roadway. They kept a steady pace.

“We’ll pause for a rest when we reach the crossing at the Darent and then again at Wrotham,” Guy told her.

He was dividing the journey into thirds, Lily noted. Ten miles at a stretch would not exhaust the horses if they paced them properly. Lily knew she would be more than ready to dismount for a while when the time came, unused as she was to riding astride and without the cushion of her petticoats.

Her worries about her new husband’s sanity had dimmed somewhat on further introspection. She supposed she should be glad he had the experience to deal with such threats instead of bemoaning the fact that he was capable.

Hadn’t she deliberately hit Brinks on his head more than once to save herself? Would she not have killed him—given the means and strength—if he had rallied too soon and threatened her? In the heat of the moment, in fear of her life, she might have done so, Lily admitted. Who was she to pass judgment on Duquesne?

If she were wise, Lily knew she should put all thought of the incident behind her and not dwell on it. There were too many problems ahead.

“You have a good seat,” he commented.

“So have you,” she replied, then broached a topic they had not yet discussed fully. “Should anyone ask, when did we meet? And where did we marry?”

“Tell the truth. We met on the green of Edgefield town when you were a lass in short skirts. And recently we became reacquainted.”

“I warn you, Beau tends to be rather outspoken, even with his elders. He could give everything away.”

“Ah, I cannot imagine a child of yours being forward, Lily. Who taught him such things? I wonder.”

She heard the laughter in his voice and it should have reassured her. He is not mad, she told herself firmly. Here he was, teasing her about her son, behaving in a perfectly normal way.

“I suspect it runs in Beau’s blood. You knew my father.”

“Not well, save for attending an occasional service of his when I was young, and of course that day when he pressed me to haul you both to Dr. Ephriam’s. But those references do make your point sufficiently. You must miss him terribly.”

She smiled to herself. “Oh, yes, I do. I only wish he could have known my son. Beau is very like him.”

“Ah, secure in his opinions and not averse to sharing them?” He chuckled. “Better a bit headstrong than a milksop who cowers in corners, eh? Will he resent your bringing home a husband?”

Lily sighed. “We shall see. There is no anticipating how Beau will react. You’ll have to win him over.” She realized how demanding that had sounded. “If you wish to bother with it.”

“Why wouldn’t I bother? He’s your son, Lily. It’s important that we get on well. I look forward to the challenge.”

If nothing else, he must realize that Beau was her heart, the one person left in this world she would die for if need be. The wise thing for her to do would be to foster Guy’s affection for herself and her son so that he would stand a bulwark between them and any threat to their well-being. God only knew she wanted them both on his good side.

They rode on, the moon casting shadows across the deserted roadway and finally illuminating the stone bridge that would allow them to cross the river near Derwent.

Lily reined to the right and trailed Guy to a small clearing beside the river. He slid from his saddle and held up his hands to her. “Come, I’ll help you dismount.”

When her feet touched the ground, Lily swayed, catching his forearms to remain upright.

“Steady there, my girl. Is something wrong?” He guided her over to a spot away from the mounts and helped her to sit on the soft grass. How gentle he was now. It was as if no one had ever disturbed his serenity.

She pressed her hands to her face and rubbed briskly. “I felt a bit faint for a moment.”

He released a sigh and shook his head. “When did you last eat?”

“Luncheon yesterday, I believe.”

He struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Damn me, how could I ignore something so basic as food? Rest here. Let me tether the mounts and I’ll find something for you immediately.”

Lily scoffed at the urgency in his voice. “Wherever would you find food this time of night? Every dwelling we have passed is dark as pitch. People are asleep.”

“Then I’ll wake someone. You cannot ride another twenty miles in this condition. I’d look over my shoulder and find you lying in the road.”

She tensed at the reminder of those men sprawled motionless in the street. “Please, no. Water the horses and forget foraging. I’ll survive.”

He ignored that. Lily lay back on the grass, supported by her elbows and watched him. Not more than five minutes later he had the saddles off, the horses bound to saplings that grew by the shallows and had returned to her.

“Here. Keep this at the ready. If you need it, pull back the hammer, point and pull the trigger.” He handed her his heavy pistol, then struck out for a cottage just visible in the distance.

His long strides ate up the ground, as if his mission were crucial.

Lily looked down at the weapon. She had never held one or even looked at one closely. Minding what Guy had told her, she pulled back the hammer until it clicked so that it would be ready should anyone approach. Not that she would shoot it at them if they did. But she could fire above their heads and frighten them off.

Satisfied she was prepared for anything, Lily sighed and lay down upon the sweet, scented grass. She was so tired, so sleepy. Why was Duquesne determined to go to so much trouble for her? She was mildly amused that he seemed so worried for so little reason. Her stomach rumbled beneath the gun that rested upon it and she wondered idly what he would find for them to eat.

Above her the moon beamed down and stars twinkled through the few sparse clouds passing overhead. Such welcome silence after leaving the sounds of the city. Such peace after their brush with danger. Her eyes closed as she drank in the stillness of the night.

Guy juggled the cloth-wrapped bundle of sausages and bread he had purchased from the disgruntled farmer he had awakened. Simple fare but hearty, the victuals should suffice until they reached her home.

He smiled to himself as he approached and saw that she had fallen asleep. But was she only sleeping? She looked so deathly still. Had she fainted? Damn, she was already weak from hunger. And she had imbibed the brandy at his house on an empty stomach. With all that in mind, he hurried his steps and crouched beside her, laid their meal on the ground and firmly shook her shoulder.

“Lily? Wake—”

The boom deafened him and a hot streak of fire grazed the side of his thigh. Before he could recover, her hands were at his face, pounding, clawing, pushing.

Guy grabbed her wrists, suffered a sharp knee thrust that barely missed his essentials before he pinned her to the ground. “Lily! It’s me! Leave off!”

Suddenly she went limp beneath him. He felt her chest heaving from her efforts and from fright.

“Easy now,” he huffed, his own breath uneven. She was a fighter, his Lily. Slowly he released her arms and moved off of her. “Are you all right?”

She pushed to a sitting position, shaking her head and placing her hands over her ears, rubbing them as if that would restore her hearing. His own were still ringing from the loud report of the gun.

Then he remembered the sting on his leg and ran his palm down the side of his breeches. A long tear in the fabric felt a bit wet and sticky. “My God, you’ve shot me,” he said with a short bark of a laugh.

She issued a sound somewhere between a scream and a groan as she scrambled to her knees and began running her hands over his shoulders. “Where?” she demanded. “Where are you hurt?”

“Settle down, Lily. It’s only a scratch and hardly even bleeding.” But he enjoyed her moans of sympathy and those agile hands exploring his body. If they had the time, he might play the invalid and enjoy it, but they would need to get back on the road if they were to make Sylvana Hall by daybreak.

He recovered the pistol and carefully tucked it away. Lesson learned.

“Sit back now and calm yourself,” he ordered, glancing around them in all directions. “We should leave here shortly. Someone might have heard the shot and come looking for poachers.”

“Not until I see the wound!” she argued.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Go and wet this at the bank while I saddle the horses.”

“You cannot ride!” she announced as she discovered the patch of blood on his trousers. “We must find a doctor!”

“Do as I say!” Guy thundered. It was time he took firm charge of her before she went into hysterics.

She jumped up immediately.

He stood, swept up the bundle of food and strode off to where he had left the saddles. His thigh stung like blazes, but he dismissed the discomfort. There would be time enough to see to it once they reached their destination.

Lily was scurrying to the riverbank, his handkerchief waving like a flag as she ran. “Lily, mind the slippery—”

Splash!

Guy closed his eyes and clicked his tongue. Now she would be soaked to the skin. Lily was just too…too active for a damsel in distress. He liked self-sufficiency in a woman, but this was ridiculous.

She sputtered an epithet and splashed, making her way back up the bank.

“Need help?” he called, choking back his laughter.

“No! I’m fine!” He could hear the shiver in her voice. Though the night was fairly warm, she must be chilled after the dunking.

“Come here and let’s see the damage,” he ordered, dropping his saddle on the ground.

“I’m only wet to the waist,” she muttered as he reached her and began running his hands over her shoulders.

She turned her face up to his and the moonlight illuminated her features a ghostly blue. Her gaze fastened on his. Her slightly parted lips beckoned. Without a thought to resist, Guy leaned toward her and brushed his mouth across hers. The sigh she issued drew him deeper into the kiss, tasting her fully for the first time ever.

Sweet urgency, an innocence hardly touched, honeyed depths waiting…just for him. Guy surrounded her with his arms and held her fast, melding her body to his, his palms cupping and caressing her hips…her curvaceous, very wet hips.

His good sense intruded and he released her. “Best save this for a more propitious time,” he whispered.

She gulped and nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Guy turned away abruptly, shook his head to clear it and picked up one of the small padded blankets used for cushioning the saddle. Then he returned and began to mop the excess water off of her.

She jumped back, her boots squishing. “Stop! I’ll smell like horse sweat,” she protested.

He laughed and tossed her the blanket. “Better that than to drip all the way home. I’d offer to exchange but I’m afraid Brinks’s breeches won’t fit me.” Especially now that he had nearly burst out of his own. Damn, he could use a quick dunk in the river himself. “Will you be all right?”

“Yes, will you?” she countered, handing him the wet handkerchief.

He pushed aside the thought brought on by the wet curves of her beneath his hands and the mind-rending effect of that kiss.

Later he would pursue it, he told himself again, just as he had after the strange ceremony that united them legally. Now was still not the time, unfortunately.

Stripping her of those wet garments and making love on the grassy bank of the Derwent was not an option he could consider. “Come, we need to ride out before the sound of that shot brings half the populace down on us. We haven’t the time for explanations.”

She hurried over to the mare and began the chore of saddling up while he finished his own task with the gelding.

In short order they crossed the Derwent and were once more on the road to Maidstone. Guy reached into his makeshift sack, withdrew a link of sausage and handed it to her. “Here, eat this before you starve to death. No use being wet and hungry.”

“What about your wound? We really should see to it. Is it bleeding still?”

“Not anymore. As I said, it barely broke the skin.” He sighed. “We make pair in our deshabille, eh? But you’re no complainer, are you, Lily?”

“Depends,” she said, the word barely discernable through a mouthful of sausage. “Any bread?”

Guy handed her a portion torn off the loaf and then joined her. How strange it was to feel so easy in the company of a woman, he thought as he chewed. Despite the way she had aroused him with her response and the fact that he had left both of them wanting, Guy somehow knew Lily expected no apology for it.

She was a strong lady, his wife, and canny, too. Guy still could hardly believe how well she had weathered that attack in the street and the way she’d calmly accepted his need to eliminate those two. Smarky had warned him last week that they were dogging his heels and determined to make an end to him. Lily had accepted what had to be done without question. A truly welcome measure of trust.

With her there seemed no need for entertaining banter or observing false niceties. He was good at both when he put his mind to it, but this camaraderie with her was infinitely more comfortable. “I think I’ll like being married,” he commented, apropos of nothing.

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