Praise for Lyn Stone

THE WILDER WEDDING ‘This romance hits all the right spots.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

THE WILDER WEDDING ‘Lyn Stone has a gift for finding unusual plotlines and spirited characters that take her stories out of the ordinary.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

THE SCOT ‘A delightful tale of a young woman determined to have freedom within her marriage, if not under the law.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

BRIDE OF TROUVILLE ‘I could not stop reading this one… Don’t miss this winner!’ —Affaire de Coeur

“I have come to make you a proposition, Mr Wilder.”

Laura Middlebrook’s gaze settled directly into his, stealing the breath he had been about to take. “As you may or may not know, I have an inheritance from my grandmother, a lump sum amount as well as a healthy trust.”

“How fortunate for you,” Sean said. “There is a point to you offering me this financial information, I presume?”

“Indeed,” she said. “Every farthing will be yours unconditionally if you agree to take on the task I’m about to propose.”

How serious she looked about it. She probably wanted him to investigate someone who had offered for her. Wanted to see whether the rascal had a mistress tucked away or if he might be prone to reckless gambling.

Sean only hoped the man in question deserved her. “Must be very important to you, this proposal.”

“Quite,” she answered. “I wish to be married.”

“I figured as much,” he said. “Very well, then. Who is this lucky fellow you have set your sights upon?”

“You, sir,” she replied with a dimpled smile.

“I want to marry you.”

A painter of historical events, Lyn Stone decided to write about them. A canvas, however detailed, limits characters to only one moment in time. ‘If a picture’s worth a thousand words, the other ninety thousand have to show up somewhere!’ An avid reader, she admits, ‘At thirteen, I fell in love with Emily Brontë’s Heathcliff and became Catherine. Next year I fell for Rhett and became Scarlett. Then I fell for the hero I’d known most of my life and finally became myself.’

After living for four years in Europe, Lyn and her husband, Allen, settled into a log house in north Alabama that is crammed to the rafters with antiques, artefacts and the stuff of future tales.

Recent novels by the same author:

MY LADY’S CHOICE

IAN’S GIFT (in One Christmas Night) THE WICKED TRUTH THE KNIGHT’S BRIDE BRIDE OF TROUVILLE MARRYING MISCHIEF THE SCOT WORD OF A GENTLEMAN (in The Wedding Chase) CHRISTMAS CHARADE (in A Regency Lords & Ladies Christmas) THE VISCOUNT THE ARRANGEMENT

THE WILDER WEDDING

Lyn Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my sisters Kaye and Rhonda and their heroes, Tom and Doug. Thanks for your love and support, for losing sleep to finish my books, for Sunday morning coffee in Atlanta, and most of all, just for being who you are.

Chapter One

Midbrook Manor, Bedfordshire, England October 1889—

“Will you tell Laura she’s going to die, Lamb?”

The words halted Laura Middlebrook just outside the study door. She automatically sought purchase against the wall to keep from crumpling to the floor. Breath stuck in her throat. Surely to God, she had misunderstood!

James Maclin’s words to her brother reverberated in her head almost blocking out her brother’s answer. “No, no, of course not. The poor girl would be terribly upset. Little point worrying her about something she can’t possibly help. Wish I didn’t know myself since there’s nothing to be done for it.”

“Doc Cadwallader assured you of that?” James asked.

“Yes. Damned shame, isn’t it? Doc says the end should come quickly without any prolonged suffering. There’ll be progressive weakness. Then she’ll simply lie down one day and that’s that. All I can do now is make her last days comfortable as I can.”

Maclin’s grievous sigh echoed Laura’s own. She leaned her forehead against the flocked wallpaper and squeezed her eyes shut. She had not misheard. They were definitely speaking of her.

Dr. Cadwallader had attended her not two hours ago to ascertain what had caused last night’s fainting spell. He’d advised her to leave off lacing her corset so tight. The wretch should have told her the truth. But maybe he was right not to, considering her present reaction. She wished to heaven she hadn’t heard anything at all.

Maclin’s words jerked Laura’s attention back to their conversation. “Granted, she’s not much to look at, but I swear I’ve never seen another with such heart, you know? A real goer, admired by everyone, too. Must be quite a blow to face losing her like this. Shall I pour us another brandy, Lamb? You look pretty fashed.”

Lambdin grunted his assent and Laura heard the clink of crystal. So, that was all? They were going to dismiss her impending death as a “damned shame” and have another drink? For a moment she feared she would cast up her accounts right there on the foyer floor. Was the sudden nausea she experienced now a symptom of whatever sickness she had? Laura swallowed hard and sniffed. Tears dripped onto her bodice and she hadn’t even realized she was weeping.

“Shouldn’t she be isolated to keep this from spreading?” Maclin asked. “I shudder to think of all you have at risk here.”

“Doc swore it isn’t contagious. Quite a rare condition,” Lambdin replied. “Caused by an insect bite, he believes. Said it’s not terribly uncommon in some parts of the world. Certainly is hereabouts, however. The disease lies dormant, he says, for years in some instances. And then—”

Laura heard the snap of his fingers, followed by a few seconds of silence before he continued. “She’ll weaken toward the last, as I said. I really hope Laura won’t guess how serious it is until it’s over and done. Easier on her that way. Perhaps not knowing will prevent her dashing about unnecessarily trying to find a cure. There simply isn’t one to be had. Poor Laura, I dread it for her. You won’t let on to her, either, will you, James?”

Laura covered her mouth with a fist to stifle a wail of despair. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head in denial.

“You know I won’t. How long does Doc think before this runs its course?” James asked.

“A few months at most, maybe less,” Lambdin said sadly. “Damn it, James, I shall miss her, y’know.”

Laura pushed away from the wall and staggered back toward the stairs. She couldn’t think what to do next. Her first inclination had been to rush in and demand that Lambdin tell her everything Dr. Cadwallader had said about her condition. But she figured she had already heard as much as she could deal with for the moment.

Maybe the doctor was wrong. He must be mistaken. She’d never been ill in her life. That attack of vapors last night resulted from wearing tight stays, as he had said, and she had imbibed more wine than usual at dinner. Surely, the combination had caused her faint. But the doctor would never lie to Lambdin about such a matter. Why on earth would he?

When the door knocker sounded, Laura looked down and saw that she was gripping the newel post as though it were a lifeline. Her fingers wouldn’t obey her command to turn loose. Dumbly she watched Lambdin exit the study and answer the front door.

“Ah, Mr. Wilder! Father wrote to us about you,” her brother said. “Isn’t every day one gets a visit from a Scotland Yarder out this way. I’m Lambdin Middlebrook.”

“I am no longer with the Yard,” the man corrected quietly.

“No, no, of course you aren’t. Should have paid more heed. I thought Father said…well, you were to uncover something havey-cavey about the shipping, weren’t you?” Lambdin probed.

Lord, Laura wished Lambdin would stop nattering, pay the man and send him away. She needed desperately to learn more about Dr. Cadwallader’s predictions for her.

The visitor shifted his leather case to his left hand. “Yes. My business, Wilder Investigations, is an individual concern. Your father’s aware of that, if you are not.”

“Ah, yes, that’s it!” Lambdin gushed. “A private enquiry agent! Of course, I remember now. Well, come in, come in!”

The guest entered and shook Lambdin’s outstretched hand. Even as he did so, the man’s piercing green gaze fell on her. Dimly Laura registered the impression of emeralds set in gold. Golden skin, sun kissed, as though he dwelt in warm, southern climes. Soft, dark and wind tossed waves framed his strong features.

The stranger projected a gilded warmth that drew her, as though somehow he might banish this frightful coldness if she let him. Then, suddenly, he deliberately did something to shutter all that, and the intensity of his regard made her uncomfortable.

Laura sucked in a deep breath and tried to muster what composure she could. He made her feel like a bug pinned to a collection board. Pinned by those eyes. Eyes that seemed to ferret out everything. Once again, something flickered briefly in their jeweled depths. Compassion?

Could he see at a glance that she was doomed? Dying, even as he watched? She couldn’t bear it.

With a sob she couldn’t contain, Laura took to her heels and clattered up the stairs.

The upper hallway had never seemed so long. When she finally reached her room, Laura slammed the door behind her, turned the key and threw herself across her bed.

She was not going to die. She wasn’t! There was some ghastly mistake here. The doctor was old, confused. Or Lamb and Charles were playing some horrible joke on her. They knew she was eavesdropping and were teaching her a lesson. Perhaps she had imagined it all. Or her ears had deceived her.

Oh God, she couldn’t be dying. She flatly refused to die!

Sean Wilder looked a question at his host, though he didn’t bother to ask who the scurrying little rabbit might be. He didn’t usually affect women quite that profoundly. And—modesty aside—when he did so they usually ran to him, not away. True, his size intimidated some. That must be the case. She was a wee mite of a thing.

Pretty, too, he had noticed. Petite and curved in all the right places. He would bet the hefty fee from his last case that her shape was natural, and not the result of fashionable underpinnings. That umber hair of hers gleamed like flawless satin against her well-shaped head. Made a man wonder what it would look like loosened from that untidy chignon and swinging free about her shoulders. He recalled then that those wide gray eyes had already been wet when he first saw her. She hadn’t run from him, then. Perhaps she had just received a dressing-down from Middlebrook for shirking her duties.

“My sister,” the fellow explained, summarily dashing Sean’s theory about a rebuked servant. “Been off her feed here lately. Sorry if she seemed rude.”

“She seemed upset,” Sean said bluntly.

Middlebrook shrugged. “Oh, you know, women suffer these megrims time to time. Had the doctor to her just this morning.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?” To his surprise, Sean found himself wishing very hard that the man’s answer would alleviate his worry. Why the hell should he care one way or the other? The girl meant nothing to him. God only knows he had seen scores of women in straits far more dire than this pampered pigeon’s worst nightmares. But for some reason, he needed to know what was wrong.

Middlebrook obviously took Sean’s question as a polite response and ignored it as he led the way into a well-appointed study. The young man introduced his friend who was busy pouring drinks. “This is Mr. Sean Wilder, James. Sir, my neighbor, James Maclin.”

Sean noted Maclin’s hands tremble on the decanter and glass and the fellow’s dawning expression of awe. So, this one was no stranger to London’s gossip mill. Affecting his most enigmatic smile, Sean slowly inclined his head in greeting. He rather enjoyed Maclin’s discomposure. Fostering his black reputation remained one of the small pleasures Sean allowed himself.

“Don’t mind James,” Middlebrook said. “He’s only hanging about to see my new foal when it arrives. Interested in breeding, sir?”

“Not at all,” Sean declared abruptly. He had little use for horses other than their getting him from one place to another. They were fractious beasts at best, and he had never had the slightest desire to own one. Besides, distractions from business at hand always bothered him and he did not intend to encourage this one. The lovely watering pot dashing up the stairs had proved distraction enough already. He could ignore fury, petulance, even outright seduction, but a woman’s tears stopped him in his tracks every time. What in the world could have set her off like that?

Middlebrook looked miffed at Sean’s disinterest in his stables. “Very well, then. Have a seat if you will. You have the information my father requested before he left? I recall I’m to forward it to him as soon as he sends word where to post it.”

Sean shook off thoughts of Middlebrook’s sister and drew the documents out of his case. He hadn’t the time or the inclination to get involved in anyone else’s problems.

Still the young woman had looked so confoundingly tragic, clutching that stair rail. He could still envision the white of her knuckles and the trembling of her full lower lip. Damn! He shook his head to clear it of the troubling image.

He knew better than this. Once a man let a woman get close enough to make him worry about her, he might as well go ahead and lift his chin for the throat-cutting.

No, a real attachment didn’t bear thinking about. He had already traveled that scenic route twice with young ladies of good name. The first time proved devastating. The second had only pinched his pride, of course. One learned.

If he had any driving ambition at all, it was to avoid any emotional entanglement with another female. Now, a physical entanglement would be welcome as hell, he thought, repressing a smile. But Miss Middlebrook was not that sort.

Best get his business completed and remove himself from the vicinity before the idea of seducing her took root.

“You should pass these reports along as soon as possible so your father can take action on them. He is losing a fortune even as we speak,” Sean advised the lad.

A pair of old Middlebrook’s shipping managers were skimming funds on both sides of the water. Middlebrook had specifically asked him not to kill anyone involved. Some wag or another must have added “paid assassin” to Sean’s list of dubious talents. The thought prompted a grin. Fear certainly had its uses.

“I assume he left instructions as to my remuneration?” Sean asked politely.

Sean had sensed the fear underlying the elder Middlebrook’s disdain the day he had hired him. But only once in this business had someone tried to cheat him. One of his clients—a banker, ironically—had refused to pay once Sean had completed a job for him. A neighbor discovered the man dead of knife wounds the very next day. Never mind that Sean had spent the entire evening with the chief inspector of Scotland Yard. Never mind that the real culprit had been caught and punished by hanging. The gossips would have it that Wilder “had his ways.” Sean didn’t mind. Reputation was everything in this business.

“Oh yes, of course. I’m to see to it.” Middlebrook stashed the folder of facts in the desk drawer and handed over an envelope containing a presigned cheque. Sean verified the amount and they shook hands. “Tea’s in one hour. You’ll stay, of course?”

The boy’s offer of refreshment was solely due to ingrained manners, Sean knew. He meant to refuse, but on second thought, accepted. He would see the girl one more time. Just once, to find out whether she was recovering from whatever had caused her tears.

Not that he cared all that much. It was that cursed curiosity of his. Besides, a four-hour trip loomed ahead and he felt sharp-set even now. He only hoped he wasn’t delaying his departure for a mere handful of cucumber sandwiches.

“James and I are just off to the stables. You’re welcome to join us,” the lad said.

Sean smiled at the halfhearted offer. He had put the lad off with his bluntness. Of course, that had been his intention, but it served no purpose now. He had the balance of his fee in his pocket and an hour to kill before a free meal. “Yes, I could use a brisk walk after that carriage ride. I’ll admit knowing nothing about the business, Middlebrook. What sort of horses do you breed?”

That did the trick. Middlebrook and Maclin carried the conversation, with Maclin darting anxious looks as though he expected Sean to make off with all the cattle. Suppressing satisfied laughter, Sean only needed to add polite grunts and hums of feigned interest.

Normally he would not have bothered with this little pup and his horse-mad prattle. He would have taken his leave the moment the boy forked over the blunt. Sean assured himself that only hunger had prompted his acceptance of the invitation. The young man’s weeping sister had little to do with his tarrying at Midbrook Manor.

Getting involved with a woman like this one, however intriguing she might be, would prove foolish at best. Camilla Norton had intrigued him recently, too, he reminded himself with a barely restrained grimace. And for all his experience with women, that relationship had proved fiasco enough for the year. Give him a good, honest whore any day of the week.

He had his life sorted out just the way he wanted it now and he wasn’t about to muck it up again. Control, that was the thing. He had worked damned hard to attain that and, by God, he meant to keep it, too. No more women messing about with his finer feelings, what little there was left of them.

This curiosity about Laura Middlebrook was only that, Sean decided firmly. Simple curiosity. The girl would be well over whatever was wrong with her by teatime. He would fortify himself with whatever culinary delights were offered at tea, see that she was fine, and then he would be on his way.

When the time came, tea proved interesting. Not the tea itself, Sean mused, but the serving of it. Miss Middlebrook poured. All over the table, as a matter of fact. He had to shove back sharply to keep from getting a lapful. She reacted strangely, as though the accident rated a distant second to whatever really concerned her. Even her brother’s sharp curse didn’t seem to register.

She summoned a maid and had the mess cleared away. Then she retired to her own chair with a cup and gave rein to her preoccupation. Sean wanted desperately to ask what that was.

Instead, he consumed every morsel set before him, absently answering Middlebrook’s questions between bites of delicious little spiced beef pies and cakes iced with lemon sugar. Very deliberately, he concentrated on the food, ignoring the girl.

“So, your mother lives in Cornwall? Lovely place, I’ve heard. Never been there myself. My betrothed has an aunt and uncle who reside in Trevlynton, though, on the coast,” Middlebrook chattered on. “Just got myself spoken for, y’see. Nineteen’s rather young to get myself yoked, but I was lucky to find a pearl like Jillian. Can’t let her get away. Are you wed, sir?”

“No,” Sean snapped. He had shot the boy a threatening look before he realized the question wasn’t meant as a taunt.

Suddenly Sean could not wait to get away. This empty-headed chatterbox and his gape-mouthed friend annoyed him. As did his own inclination to sort out the little Middlebrook beauty’s dilemma. “I am poor company this afternoon, and I do have things pending in town,” he said curtly. “I will excuse myself now and head back.”

“Of course,” Middlebrook agreed rather heartily. “Good of you to come all this way to deliver the results of your enquiries.”

Sean inclined his head. “Your father compensated me well for it. Part of the job.”

“Laura, fetch Mr. Wilder his hat and cane, would you? There’s a dear,” Middlebrook said. Maclin exhaled with what appeared to be profound relief.

The girl set down her cup with a clatter, rose hurriedly and immediately tripped on the edge of the rug. Sean caught her before she hit the floor. She shuddered in his arms like a wounded bird. He battled the urge to embrace her fully, to calm her trembling, to try to make her smile. A dangerous impulse, and a stronger one than he wanted to admit.

But what had her so flustered she couldn’t even take tea properly? Devil the little chit, she couldn’t even walk straight.

“There now,” he soothed. “Are you steady?” He lowered her to the settee, knelt and took her hands in his. “Did you injure yourself?”

Her head shook frantically. When she finally did speak, the words issued on a gasp. “Fine. I’m fine.” She snatched her hands away from his and buried them in her lap. “I’m all right.”

Middlebrook had gone around the back of the settee to rest his hands on her slender shoulders. There was nothing else Sean could think to do but rise and take his leave. Certainly the wisest course. “If you’re certain?” he said, still unwilling to leave her in such a state. He was definitely not behaving like himself at all. “I’ll see myself out.”

She nodded, seeming only a bit less muddled. Her shoulders squared like a little soldier’s, and a strained smile stretched her lovely bow-shaped lips. “Goodbye, Mr. Wilder.” She drew in an audibly shaky breath. “Do…do come again.”

Come again? Not bloody likely he’d do that. Sean located his hat beside an Oriental urn in the foyer. The cane was missing. His favorite sword cane, too. But after a few moments of looking about for it, he abandoned the search. The loss of it seemed a small price to pay for getting himself out of Midbrook Manor in a hurry. The need to hang about until he had satisfied his concern for Laura Middlebrook bothered him far more than the cost of a new cane.

He had concluded his business here and that was all there was to it. No need to think about Miss Middlebrook any longer. He would put her right out of his mind, where she belonged.

“Don’t you know who he is?” Maclin demanded of Lamb the moment they heard the front door close. “You haven’t any idea, have you?”

Laura leaned against the rolled arm of the settee, unable to shake the weakness in her limbs enough to rise. She only hoped Lambdin and James would leave her in peace and continue their visit elsewhere. With her eyes trained on the two, she tried to will them away. The effort to speak seemed too great.

“You heard him,” Lamb said idly as he nibbled on the last ladyfinger. “Enquiry agent. Dreadful old bore, wasn’t he?”

“Bore, my Aunt Fanny! That man is the talk of the town, he is! You wouldn’t know, stuck out here in the wilds as you are, but they say he’s directly out of the stews. Whitechapel, in fact!” He paused to shudder. “Born a bastard in a whor—uh…house of ill repute.”

Maclin narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to shake a finger under Lambdin’s nose. “And you’ll never in a thousand years guess who they say his father is!”

“Who?” Lamb asked, polishing off the last of the cakes. He licked a sticky finger and smiled at the prospect of James’s tattle.

“The prince. Yes, Old Bertie himself!”

Lamb laughed and waved off the idea as he stood up and stretched. “Nah, Bertie was straight as an arrow! A right prig of a fellow, else the queen would’ve sent him packing.”

“Little you know, you old rustic! They say Wilder’s mother suffered a comedown of one sort or another. Very wellborn, so I heard, but her family booted her right out, just disowned her, and then she…”

“Here now!” Lambdin interrupted, stepping around the end of the settee and laying a hand on James’s shoulder. “We’d best leave off with this. Laura’s not up to snuff at the moment and this is no topic to trouble her with. Not proper anyway.”

He leaned down and took her elbow. “Come on, old girl, why don’t you go upstairs and have a lie down, eh? Looks a bit peaked, don’t she, James?”

She allowed him to lead her to the stairway. With a murmur of thanks, she did as he suggested. Lord knows she felt good for little else at the moment. And James’s tale of Mr. Wilder’s ancestry made her slightly more ill than she already was.

Laura welcomed Lambdin’s belated concern. She knew he soft-peddled it so as not to alarm her further and she appreciated that. But she couldn’t stand that he had told James Maclin of her illness, even though his doing so did make perfect sense. He had wanted someone to talk to about it. She wished for the same, but Laura knew instinctively that anyone’s pity would undo her completely.

Had Lamb also told the man who stayed for tea? Did you know my poor old sister’s dying, sir? That’s why she tore off in such a snit. Can’t control herself. So sorry.

No, Lamb would never do such a thing. Even so, Mr. Wilder had seemed a trifle too curious with all that staring he had done. A handsome man of the world such as he shouldn’t have glanced twice at a clumsy country girl who was “not much to look at.” James Maclin had described her that way to Lambdin, and in exactly those words.

Wounded vanity ought not to mean much at this point, but it certainly did. Here she was, old, ugly, and…dying. She shrugged off her self-pity with no little effort, busied herself undressing, and then donned her best nightgown. No use to go on and on about it, she told herself sternly. She would just forget she had ever heard it. It wasn’t true in any case. She was fine. Just fine.

The bed felt too soft when she lay down. Would they cushion her coffin, she wondered? God, she had to stop these morbid thoughts. What use was it to dwell constantly on what would happen? She should concentrate on the time she had left, such as it was. If it was true. Could it be?

Laura yanked the covers over her head and curled into a ball. So many things she had yet to do. Her entire twenty-five years had been spent here in the country looking after Lamb and the estate while their parents either traveled or lived abroad.

She knew more about farm matters than most men. With her gone, the haughty Mr. Williams might have to live up to his post as manager, she thought with a smirk. Thus far, all the man had seemed capable of was warding off her suitors, few as they were, and bailing Lamb out of trouble now and again. He had certainly proved proficient at both. Perhaps with his task as watchdog cut in half by her demise, he would have time to see to the business of running Midbrook’s farms. God knows she was sick of paperwork. Perhaps He did know, and that was why…

She would be gone. No more. Dead.

For a long time—perhaps hours—Laura lay there contemplating. Slowly she came to terms with what she had heard. At least for the moment. Strange, how she could almost tolerate the horror of thinking about it.

Not that she looked forward to dying, but reluctant acceptance was better than outright hysteria. She could not allow herself to fall apart.

Her brother had borne the news with surprising strength. And she knew now that she would not ask him to discuss the matter with her. Somehow his determination to spare her the dread of death seemed conscientious, something Lambdin almost never was.

Dr. Cadwallader had obviously advised him, and both believed they were doing the right thing to pretend to her that nothing was wrong. The least she could do was humor them and appreciate their misguided thoughtfulness. She would not speak of it to them. Ever.

Laura decided the thing that bothered her most about dying was that she had never really lived. Life had slid right by her, day after boring day, year after boring year. She had not even had a happy family life to compensate.

Gifts had arrived, expensive things which hardly made up for the lack of parental involvement in her life or Lambdin’s. But some treats had been thoughtfully chosen—Lamb’s prized Arabian, Caesar, and her own beloved little mare, Cleopatra. Her parents had shipped them all the way from Egypt. Ostensibly, the horses were for breeding purposes, but Laura just knew her parents had their children’s pleasure in mind when selecting those two.

How had they known her one great joy was riding? And that she would adore the mare with all her heart? Perhaps Mother and Father did care in their own distracted way. Would they miss her when she was gone? Would they even know the difference?

Father was not really her father, of course. Not as he was Lambdin’s. Still, he had adopted her when he married her widowed mother, giving Laura his name. She had never dared ask for more than that for fear Father would change his mind and she would be an outsider. As it was, she received the same infrequent attention as he gave the son he had sired.

At times she believed Father originally purchased the remote manor and its accompanying acreage just to keep her and Lambdin isolated and out of trouble.

That had certainly been his motive for hiring Mr. Williams as manager. As for her situation, the number of available suitors had kept her opportunity for misdeeds to a minimum. Thanks to Mr. Williams’s vigilance regarding those few fellows, she had just celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday without any hope of a proposal, proper or otherwise.

Now she would die an old maid. Laura Ames Middlebrook, Proper Spinster. Unwed, untraveled, unremarkable. What a truly rotten epitaph.

Exhaustion finally took over and the next she knew, morning had dawned. The bright sunlight streaming through the tall casement windows seemed out of keeping. She wanted rain, lots of it. And cold, mourning winds soughing through the eaves.

Suddenly Laura leapt out of bed in an unexpected fit of rage. She threw open the windows and stalked out onto the balcony, beating her fists against the railing. Damn it all, this was unfair! When was she supposed to live? Really live, instead of existing in this bucolic little burg, counting sheep and cows, and worrying over crops that were not even hers? Why did she have to do all the work while her parents made merry abroad and her brother played with his horses?

Well, no more!

She slammed back into the bedroom. Lead crystal perfume bottles crashed against the wall leaving gouges in the plaster. No more! The piecrust table cracked beneath the weight of her heavy water pitcher, scattering knickknacks everywhere. No more! Her breath heaved out in furious pants. One swipe of her arm cleared the mantel.

She looked around desperately, hands fisted and lips tight. Panic overwhelmed her. She slid into a crouch by the bed, her nightgown bunched at her knees, glass from the photograph frames biting into her feet. And she wept.

Chapter Two

Ten days later, Laura had gotten herself in hand. She had taken control. Her course was set now. No more useless grieving, she had decided firmly. No more self-pity. Time was running out and she must make the most of what was left to her.

Lambdin had seemed agreeable when she announced her decision to go to London. He had said it was a famous idea to strike out on her own, and had even promised to create a diversion so that Mr. Williams would not notice her leaving until it was too late to stop her. Obviously, poor Lamb didn’t want to endure what was coming any more than she did. He never could face a crisis with any grace. Laura determined that she would.

Better to distance her mind from everything at home. She might long for Lambdin and her wonderful little mare, Cleopatra. Perhaps she would even miss silly old James and the villagers, but she would not return. Mere existence would no longer serve.

Once she had arrived in London, Laura had prepared herself immediately, with every intention of experiencing life to the fullest extent. Beginning without delay.

First she had confirmed Dr. Cadwallader’s diagnosis. The young doctor she had visited agreed with the findings the very moment after she had listed her symptoms. He specialized in treating young women and their ills, he had assured her. Though the man proposed a lengthy and rather expensive treatment, Laura had declined when he offered no promise of a cure. Obviously, there remained little anyone could do for her condition. That only strengthened her determination to carry out her plans. Voracious shopping had occupied the time she might have spent in further useless moaning about her fate. She found that if she stayed constantly on course, never stopping to think too deeply, she absorbed the pain of acceptance gradually.

Why, by this time she could even look forward to the bit of time she had coming to her. What adventures she intended. And not for tomorrow. Today was the thing. Right this very moment.

Laura straightened her skirts and strengthened her grip on her new parasol. Her hair lay expertly coifed under an elegantly feathered chapeau. An undetectable touch of cosmetics brightened her complexion and lips. Her frightfully expensive gown fitted superbly over delectable silk under-things. She wore the confident air of a woman who knew she appeared at the height of fashion.

The only accessory that did not coordinate perfectly was the expensive malacca cane, the one with the hidden catch, a sword cane. Just carrying the thing made her feel totally invincible for the moment.

Heads turned as she entered the Everton Building of Public Offices and crossed to the ironwork lift. They recognized a woman with a purpose when they saw one, Laura thought with a lift of her chin and a secret smile. Death be damned. Today she would begin living every single moment to the hilt. And given a bit of luck and a little more time, she would hire Mr. Sean Wilder to help her do it.

Once she reached the third floor, Wilder Investigations proved easy enough to find. The opaque, half-glass door stenciled gold and black with the company name stood open.

Laura allowed herself a moment to observe the man she had come to see. She watched the broad back and shoulders stretch against a dark brown gabardine coat. He was even larger than she remembered.

Conservative dresser, she mused. The earthen hues he seemed to prefer accentuated his coloring. Like the suit he had worn on his visit to the country, this one seemed designed to avoid ostentation. Not pricey, yet hardly cheap, and cut extremely well. No jaunty plaids or racy houndstooth for this fellow. His clothes were ordinary to a fault. Considering his extraordinary physique, however, Laura knew very well he could not have bought this suit ready-made.

She almost laughed at his studied attempt to avoid drawing attention to himself. Maybe he thought such was necessary in his line of work. He might as well wear glitter-paste stones and purple satin for all the good it did him. Sean Wilder couldn’t go unremarked in a crowd of thousands.

His size and good looks only accounted for a portion of that remarkability, however. Something within the man exuded absolute self-reliance, maybe even danger. Attractive trait, that. Adding intelligence, a sinfully handsome face, and compassion to his list of attributes, Laura knew she had selected the nearly perfect man.

There was his reputation, of course. There were truly wicked rumors about his sordid past, as well as his present endeavors. But those only added to his appeal as far as she was concerned.

When Laura saw him straighten and begin thumbing through the papers he had drawn out of his files, she took a deep breath and rapped on the door frame with the head of his cane. Time was wasting.

“Just leave the coffee on the desk,” Sean muttered. “There’s tuppence for you on the blotter there.” He flicked through the folders in the oak drawer and cursed when he found the one he wanted, misfiled. He pulled it out and riffled through it.

Good thing he had kept his own personal notes while he worked for the Yard. He needed access to the official records, but these jottings he had saved were better than nothing for the moment. Whoever had sent him the threatening letter this week must be one of the miscreants he had given evidence against at one time or another. There were certainly enough candidates for a lengthy list.

He favored George Luckhurst, a well-educated fellow he had nabbed for a murder down near Buck’s Row. The note’s penmanship indicated it had not been written by one of the usual inhabitants of his former beat. The folder in one hand, he reached atop the filing drawers and scanned the open missive again.

You bastard, I will destroy you.

Luckhurst had escaped later during a transfer from Fleet to another facility. Could be him, Sean mused as he laid the note aside. He would ask Inspector MacLinden about the fellow.

“Mr. Wilder?” a soft, musical voice enquired.

Sean turned swiftly. Papers from the folder in his left hand slid to the floor and scattered. He hardly noticed. The vision in lavender georgette smiled and inclined her head. “My apologies for interrupting your afternoon, sir, but I’ve come on a matter of business. Also to return your cane.” She glided forward and gently laid the object across his desk.

Recognition brought with it a fierce ripple of pleasure. He could hardly credit the change in her, but there was no mistaking who she was. Those huge, gray, dark-lashed eyes. That tender, expressive mouth, today unhampered by its former tremble. “Well now, if it isn’t Miss Middlebrook.”

“You remember me!” she exclaimed, dimpling. “I should have expected you would, given my behavior when you visited. I do apologize. You must have thought me the worst sort of ninny.”

“Not at all,” he replied to the flirtation. Then more to the point, he added, “Where is your brother?” Sean, more than most, understood the dangers of a woman going about without protection. “Surely you haven’t come here alone?”

She nodded slightly and sent the long, delicate feather in her hat swaying. “I’m afraid I have. Not at all the thing, is it? But my business has nothing to do with Lambdin, or my father’s dealings with you, for that matter. May I sit?”

“Yes, of course.” Sean pulled one of the captain’s chairs around to a more convenient position and held it for her to be seated. Then he took the other facing her and leaned forward. A subtle hint of jasmine surrounded her like an aura and drew him closer to the source. Warnings of danger clanged like bells on a fire wagon inside his head. He ignored the sound and smiled.

What an amazing metamorphosis. Gone were the out-of-date clothes and haphazard hairstyle. The gorgeous gray eyes looked clear and direct, so unlike the teary, heart-clutching sight they had appeared when he first saw her. That sunny smile of hers, which he hadn’t been subjected to until now, could melt stone. Sean felt entranced in spite of himself. His better judgment didn’t seem to count for a damned thing.

He deliberately shook off the abhorrent thought. Entranced, indeed. The girl had come to discuss business, not to be ogled. Sean straightened in his chair and forced himself to relax. “So then, what may I do for you, Miss Middlebrook?”

She wound her hands together around the silken cords of her reticule, betraying a subtle attack of nerves. “I have come to make you a proposition, Mr. Wilder.” Her gaze settled directly into his, stealing the breath he had been about to take. “As you may or may not know, I am moderately wealthy in my own right. I have an inheritance from my maternal grandmother, a lump sum amount and a healthy trust, plus stock in several companies. I reached my majority six months ago and control it, independent of my stepfather or brother.”

“How fortunate for you,” Sean said, amazed that her family let her wander out of the house alone. The woman needed a constant keeper if she bandied about facts such as this. “There is a point to your offering me this financial information, I presume?”

“Indeed,” she said. “Every farthing I own will be yours unconditionally if you agree to take on the task I’m about to propose.” Her perfect brows drew together. “And, sir, I do pray you will.”

How serious she looked about it. Sean smiled and nodded to himself. She probably wanted him to investigate someone who had offered for her. Wanted to see whether the rascal had a mistress tucked away or if he might be prone to reckless gambling. Simple matters, easily unearthed. One should also discover beforehand any dangerous or peculiar sexual habits, as well, for her safety’s sake, but she would never think to ask for that.

At any rate, Sean admitted she showed a modicum of good sense in checking a suitor’s background. He only wondered why the men of her family left it to her to determine the fellow’s worth.

Sean hoped the man in question deserved her. The gossamer cloak of innocence she wore could too easily be ripped away, leaving her victim to some scoundrel bent on ill use of that lovely body and the little legacy she mentioned.

As for the offer of her whole inheritance, he knew that a few hundred pounds would seem a fortune to this little country rustic. That hardheaded stepfather of hers would never allow her control over more than that, Sean felt certain.

She regarded him steadily, as though she were taking in every nuance of his expression. A bit unnerving, that regard of hers. And women never unnerved him. He knew them too well.

He shifted, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Must be very important to you, this proposal.”

“Quite,” she answered. “I wish to be married.”

“I figured as much,” he said, fully intending to send her down the hall to an acquaintance of his who handled such personal investigations. He usually limited his own tasks to matters of commerce. Nevertheless, he was curious enough to wonder whether his own intervention might not be more helpful if warding off a rake became necessary. Why not give the lady a hand with this? He had only one small case pending, and that figured more in the nature of a short holiday.

“Very well, then. Who is this lucky fellow you have set your sights upon?” he asked politely.

“You, sir,” she replied with a dimpled smile. “I want to marry you.”

Him? She wanted to marry him? Sean choked back a laugh. He sucked in a deep breath and bit his lips together. He must try not to sound condescending or he would hurt her feelings. She obviously considered this a legitimate proposal. Damned serious business, too, judging by the look of her.

“Well now, I am truly flattered, but I’m afraid I must decline, Miss Middlebrook. I have no desire to enter into the wedded state. I’ve been there, you see, and I can’t say that I liked it in the least. Nothing personal, you understand.”

For the first time, she appeared somewhat flustered. Sean watched as she recovered her decorum and lifted that sweetly rounded chin. Her words held a slight ring of desperation. “You are a man of much experience, are you not, Mr. Wilder?”

“Yes, you could say that, however—”

“You have traveled? Faced dangerous situations? Known a great number of…of women?”

Sean felt uncomfortable with her frankness, but only because of her obvious innocence. He couldn’t think of a soul he knew well who possessed that quality. His wife surely hadn’t, and Camilla wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.

How much did this Laura Middlebrook really know about him? he wondered. Rumors abounded, of course. He had even created some of them himself. But the truth about him was even worse. He might have to give her that truth to dissuade her from this madness.

For now, he simply answered, “Yes.”

“I have been in town for a week, sir. I have made it a point to ask about you.” She looked neither apologetic nor embarrassed by the admission, he noted. “Please don’t be upset about it. I’m certain you make enquiries about people every day as a matter of course, given your line of work.”

Sean straightened and leaned forward again, his face not an arm’s length from hers. “Does your brother know you have come to me with this ridiculous proposition?”

She shook her head and brushed her feather aside with one gloved hand. “Of course not. He would never have allowed it.” Annoying how quickly she had recovered that composure of hers, he thought.

“I shall be direct with you, sir,” she said, lowering her head and peering up at him through those long, dark lashes. “I need a husband immediately, one who knows the ways of the world and how to take me about in it. I mean to travel as far and as fast as I can, see everything possible, do everything possible.”

“Indeed.” He cocked one brow, encouraging her to continue.

“Yes. And that doing everything must include marriage. Therefore, I want someone appealing, someone with exper tise in that area. So I chose you.”

“May I ask why? We are practically strangers.”

She answered immediately, as though she had her answers catalogued. “As I said before, you are a man who knows his way about, Mr. Wilder. Also, I sensed your sincere concern for me when I was so distraught. That speaks well for your character, I believe, since you didn’t even know me at the time.” Her head ducked shyly again and he lost sight of those luminous gray eyes as she added, “And I do find you enormously attractive.”

Sean crossed his legs to hide his sudden reaction to that bold statement. He swept away images of long, liquid satin hair drifting across his bare chest, of sweet young breasts pressing against him, of smooth, slender limbs entwined with his. His avid response, along with her presumption that he was for sale angered him. She must know of his childhood—a time when he had been bought and paid for—to suggest such a thing. “A stud for your stable, eh?” he asked with a harsh, forced laugh.

She raised her head and arched one beautifully shaped brow. “Certainly not! I wish to hire you. To exchange six hundred thousand pounds for a few months—perhaps only weeks—of your time.”

“Six hundred thou…?” Sean swallowed hard to prevent choking visibly. “I do believe you are mad.”

“No,” she declared reasonably, “I am merely trying to arrange all that has been left to me, and help someone in the process.” The gray eyes increased their earnest regard. “I would like for that someone to be you.”

Sean had a sudden desire to shock her out of her pantalets. “Just how much do you know about me, Miss Middlebrook? Let us set your facts straight, shall we?” he dared.

She nodded amicably. “My solicitor has it that you were indigent as a lad.”

“A real beggar from birth. Brought up in a whorehouse,” Sean affirmed. “That is no secret. All of London knows it.”

Her lips pursed and the eyebrows raised a fraction as she continued, “He says that a wealthy benefactor rescued you and saw you properly educated.”

“Ah, the royal benefactor story again,” Sean said, pulling a wry face. “Triggered by my uncanny resemblance to the old Prince Consort.”

She inclined her head smiled doubtfully. “True?”

“Would you like it to be?” he countered. The last woman he asked that certainly had.

“No, of course not. Yet I can see how the idea might be helpful to you. Gain you entrance into certain circles for investigative purposes and all that.” Her small gloved hand executed a wave of dismissal. “Judging by his pictures, you look nothing like Prince Albert did, by the way. And he probably died before you were ever born!”

“Just after,” Sean supplied. “I am twenty-eight.”

“Well, much as she adored the prince, Her Majesty would hardly dote on you if it were true. Ridiculous notion. I cannot imagine how the gossip started unless you initiated it yourself for the very reason I mentioned.” She ran her pink tongue over her bottom lip. He followed the motion of it with salacious interest. “Well, did you?” she asked.

Sean laughed sincerely this time, in spite of himself. The little minx was as charmingly direct as she was beautiful. All of a sudden, this interview was highly entertaining. “As a matter of fact, I did. You’ve caught me out,” he admitted. “Although the command for a private audience with the queen to ascertain the truth of the rumor certainly did nothing to quell it. Quite the opposite. And she quite liked me afterward, by the way. I confess, it was my saintly grandmother who finally rescued us for my mother’s sake, not Her Majesty for the prince’s.”

Miss Middlebrook nodded, a smile tugging at her beautifully shaped lips.

“Surely you shan’t stop here? Please, do go on!” Sean invited.

“Very well. You have a manor in Cornwall,” she stated.

“Compliments of my unsaintly grandfather,” he supplied, amused by her aplomb and surprised by his own willingness to abet her rather thorough background enquiry.

“Once you finished at Oxford, you enlisted in the army, spent two years in Africa, then resigned and took a position with Scotland Yard.”

He smirked, narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “And soon took my leave of that. Tedious livelihood.”

“Since you have entered into your private enquiry business, you accept dangerous assignments for exorbitant fees. Therefore, I conclude that you have constant need of large sums. I can make those risks unnecessary, sir. All you have to do is marry me.”

“So you want me to squire you about and take you to bed?” he added with blunt sarcasm. “In exchange for your money.”

“Exactly.” Her nod was succinct.

He held on to his fury with both hands. It was that or wring her presumptuous little neck. “As I divine it, you aren’t looking for a permanent attachment. So what, may I ask, do you intend to do after you have experienced these ‘months—perhaps only weeks’ of nomadic, marital bliss and unloaded your considerable fortune?”

She lowered those gorgeous eyes again for a mere second and then refastened that determined gaze on his. “I am going to die.”

Sean felt his lungs collapse and his stomach lurch. For a long moment he couldn’t speak. Then, as dispassionately as he could manage, he looked directly into her eyes. “There are far worse things than death, Miss Middlebrook.”

She didn’t even blink at his insensitivity. “Yes, I expect so,” she said in a small voice, “however, I haven’t needed to face any of those as yet.”

Intently Sean searched her face, took in the slight movements of her hands, her body, for signs of a lie. “Illness?”

“Yes,” she affirmed, and hurried on, saying things that barely registered through his hidden shock, “but my malady will be nothing dangerous to you. It is noncommunicable and hardly even noticeable. Just a jot of dizziness here and there, leading to a quick and painless end, so I understand.” She smiled. She actually smiled. “I’ve already seen to the…final arrangements. So you needn’t have that bother.”

Appalled by her words, Sean struggled to utter some denial, anything to refute them. But the certainty in the depth of her eyes, augmented by her courage, convinced him she spoke the truth as she knew it. He reached out and grasped her hands in his before he thought what he was doing. Her steady grip affected him more than a copious flood of tears would have done.

“You should see another doctor. Get another opinion,” he suggested evenly, burying his pity. She would not want that. “I will find a good one for you. Go with you, if you won’t go alone.”

She squeezed his hands again as though to comfort him. “Dr. Cadwallader has served as the county’s only medical resource for man and beast since long before I was born, Mr. Wilder. I have implicit faith in the man. However, I will confess this last diagnosis of his did shake it a bit. I saw one of his younger colleagues the day before yesterday. I explained Dr. Cadwallader’s findings and my symptoms. He concurred immediately.”

“Perhaps there is some treatment—”

She rolled her eyes and smirked. “Oh, Dr. Smithers had some idea of confining me to bed, dosing me daily with a concoction he admittedly brewed up on his own. But he flatly refused to state just what that medication would alleviate. Certainly not my demise. And thus far, anticipation of that is all that really troubles me. His vague answers and nervous disposition told me all I needed to know. Other than making himself rich at my expense, there is nothing he could do. And I don’t plan to waste my last days lolling about in a sickbed, ingesting heaven knows what, when I feel just fine as I am. For now, anyway.”

Sean sighed, feeling a regret such as he had never known. His own problems seemed trifling in view of Laura Middlebrook’s dilemma. Then it occurred to him. “You had only just found out about this that day I came to your home, hadn’t you?”

“Yes, and you were very kind to me then. As I said before, that is one reason I chose you to help me.”

“I cannot do this, Miss Middlebrook, even if I wanted to. There are obligations, you see. I’m preparing to travel to Paris before the end of the week. Tomorrow, in fact. I am already committed to a case.”

“How marvelous!” she said, grinning. “I’ve always wanted to go there!”

Sean quickly shook his head. “This jaunt will be no pleasure trip,” he lied. “It could very well prove dangerous. So you see—”

“I promise not to distract you from your work. And, as for the danger, I have very little to fear, now have I? Perhaps I could even assist you.”

“Don’t be absurd! That’s impossible.”

“Come now, you won’t be discommoded by this. I promise. All you need do is tolerate my presence for a bit. You needn’t nurse me if I sicken, or feel you have to mourn when…well, when everything’s over and done. Please marry me, won’t you? Just for a little while?”

Her desperate look of entreaty made him blink against a burning in his eyes. He never wept. Never let himself care enough to weep. Tears never solved a damned thing, he knew that. But his inability to reassure her, this damned helplessness to alter what she faced, wreaked havoc with his senses. He swallowed hard and shook his head, struggling one last time to deny her. But the wall Sean had hastily constructed eighteen years before to encase his innermost self simply collapsed. He felt it crumble to dust.

“I intend to go with no regrets, Mr. Wilder. And I promise to leave you with none,” she declared softly. “Please, sir, do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely. He heard the word come out of his mouth and scrambled to form another that would retract it. Hell, he hadn’t meant to agree. “Look, I don’t…oh hell, I wish…”

She released his hands and stood abruptly. “Wishing is for fools and dreamers, Mr. Wilder. Now, step lively! We can make the magistrate’s office before closing if we hurry.”

What was he doing? Sean wondered frantically as he pulled his office door shut and rushed to catch up to her. What in the holy name of God was he doing?

“’Under the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Great Britain, I pronounce that you are husband and wife,” ’ Sir Buford Mallory intoned as though he did it every day. Sean couldn’t imagine weddings all that commonplace around here, Mallory being a senior justice and all. She had said the old curmudgeon was a friend of her grandmother’s solicitor. Sean had met him officially while employed by the Yard. The blighter had more than a few screws loose. That condition must be highly contagious. At the moment, everyone in the room seemed afflicted, himself most especially. The Book of Offices snapped shut.

Sean blinked sharply at the sound and looked down at the girl whose fingernails were cutting into his palm. She immediately rose on tiptoe and planted a quick, noisy kiss on his open lips. Good God, he was married. Again. An involuntary shudder of foreboding racked his spine.

“There now!” she said brightly, turning to the magistrate. “Where do we sign, sir?”

She had handled everything, Sean thought with disbelief—the special license, the official to do the deed, the rings, even the kiss. He was amazed there was no choir and banks of flowers crowding the chamber.

The old judge shoved two papers across his desk and pointed to a blank spot on the first. Sean watched her write her name on both in bold, flowing script. She did it without a tremble, without a speck of hesitation. Laura Malinda Ames Middlebrook. His own fingers felt numb as he took the pen she offered and scratched his own signature.

“Cavendish?” she asked with a grin. Her shoulders shook with what he supposed to be a quiver of mirth. “How terribly awesome!”

“My mother’s maiden name,” he justified his middle one defensively. He was damned if he would explain the other two, both products of a whore’s whimsy. His glare fastened on her wide gold ring as it disappeared beneath the lavender glove. The band she had slipped on his finger felt abominably tight at the moment.

She pulled a face as he looked up again. The corners of her mouth turned down even as her eyes sparkled with merriment. “I’m only teasing. Cavendish a wonderful name. Sounds as if it needs a Lord in front of it, at the very least.”

He quirked a brow at her impertinence. “Don’t you wish.”

She ought to have looked properly chastened, but Sean heard the barely squelched giggle.

Her persistent good humor made him want to shake her till her teeth clicked. Was she bordering on hysteria? How could she smile? How could she jest?

All the way over to the law courts here in the Strand she had chattered incessantly, interrupting herself to clasp his arm excitedly as they walked. Sean had no idea what she’d talked about. He had been too preoccupied thinking of the horrendous step he was taking. Correction: they were taking. And never, not once during that whole time, had he uttered a single word to halt this travesty. Where the devil was his mind? What had happened to all that control he’d thought he had?

Why hadn’t he sent her and her nonsense packing, he asked himself with a sharp shake of his head. He was afraid he knew. He was terrified that he couldn’t deny this woman anything she asked of him. Because she was going to die, he told himself, forcing the dreaded thought to the forefront of his mind. Compassion was the only reason he had agreed to this. He thought surely he had killed that feeling along with the others, but what else could it be?

He could not bear for her to face what was left of her short life alone. Yes, that must be it. Compassion. Well, surely he could afford to exercise that full measure in this instance. Where was the harm? It was not as though he must devote the rest of his life to it. Only the remainder of hers.

The brother, that young scamp who was about as deep as a dish of tea, would be no consolation whatsoever in her final days. He would likely spend most of them mucking around the damned stables with his bloody stupid horses. Those parents of hers were still racketing around the globe just as they had been doing most of her life, from what he knew of them. Sean hated the thought of Laura left in the care of a hired servant or some such.

“Tell me truly,” she said, as they made their way out of the building and into the approaching twilight, “doesn’t it feel wonderful to be wealthy, Mr. Wilder? Aren’t you glad I had this idea? Think of the freedom this will offer you!”

Freedom? Sean glanced down at her, hoping the horror in his eyes was concealed, for he knew it was there right enough. He had totally forgotten the original transaction, the money. Had not really thought of it once she had told him she would soon die. Bought.

He changed the subject abruptly, unwilling to dwell on that one, lest he resort to cruelty. No point to it now. He might not relish the idea of being purchased again, but Laura certainly had no evil intent. The other had happened so long ago he seldom thought of it anymore. He wouldn’t now.

“Shouldn’t we dispense with formality?” he asked, striving for civility. “Shall I call you Laura?”

She beamed. “Of course you may! And I shall call you Sean. Unless you prefer Cavendish, of course. How should you like that?”

“I should hate that,” he remarked as he turned her in the direction of his rooming house.

“Are you hungry?” He didn’t think he could force down a bite if his life depended on it. His stomach felt like a melt pot full of lead. Perhaps some kind of illness had struck him, as well. Would that explain a total change in character?

She shook her head, setting the jaunty ostrich feather waving. “Not hungry really, but coffee would be nice. Yes, we shall have that and a sweet in lieu of a wedding feast. Perhaps then we should go home.” She clutched his arm with both hands. “You are taking me home with you, aren’t you? We can discuss our trip to Paris. Have you wine? We could buy some champagne along the way if we pass a wineshop. Oh, I do love walking this time of day, don’t you? The sunset would probably be glorious if we could just see past the fog.”

Before he could tell her it wasn’t fog at all, just the usual dirty air of London, she had skipped to the topic of their crossing the channel.

When she pulled him into a tea shop, where she ordered coffee and lemon cakes to celebrate, Sean allowed her to chatter on, changing subjects by the sentence. He supposed that might be how she coped, never dwelling on any one thing long enough to form a profound thought. Thinking, living, only for the instant.

If only he could make her forget completely, make her smiles real and heartfelt. Did he even remember how to do that for a woman? Had he ever done it at all?

Chapter Three

Laura swept into his apartment and did a quick pirouette around his drawing room. She sailed her wide-brimmed hat at the window and began tugging off her gloves. “Oh, Sean, this is wonderful! All browns, greens and brass. So masculine, just perfect for you.

“Oh look!” She scooped up the open sketch pad he had left on the divan. “You draw, too! I love to draw. I knew we had things in common. You’re very good,” she said, examining the picture he had done of an old man who ran a paper stall down the street.

He took the book from her and snapped it shut. “Sometimes I use it for work. Sketches help to locate people on occasion. Things such as that. Just picked it up, no formal training or anything. It’s nothing much.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “False modesty doesn’t become you at all. Tell the truth, you enjoy it. It shows in the work, Sean.”

He nodded and smiled shyly at her praise. “I suppose I do. Do you always say exactly what you feel, Laura?”

She considered that for a moment. “Yes, why shouldn’t I? Honesty’s very important to me.”

“The most important thing,” he agreed. “Though I encouraged those ridiculous rumors about my parentage, doing so was more of a private joke than any deliberate falsehood. Tweaking London’s nose, so to speak.” He framed her face with his hands. “I vow never to lie to you, Laura. About anything. I value truth above everything. It is so very hard to come by.”

His seriousness was not lost on her. “Then you shall always have it from me, Sean. Always.”

He suddenly looked so sad she couldn’t bear it. Laura wondered whose dishonesty had affected him so profoundly. And how quickly could she erase the memory? With one hand, she brushed a windblown lock off his brow and smiled up at him.

“Have you a kitchen? I can cook!”

“No.” He took her by the shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes as though looking for something hidden. “No kitchen.”

Laura sighed, totally entranced by the power of his gaze. “You have eyes like spring leaves, Sean. I do love the spring.”

He laughed softly, his head moving back and forth. “Laura, Laura, I don’t quite know what to make of you.”

“Make me a wife, then. No point in delaying. Show me what to do.” The thought of lying in his arms sent heat streaking through her body. She felt slightly dizzy from it and prayed she wouldn’t swoon. That would frighten him off for certain.

With a soft curse, he firmly set her away from him and covered his face with one hand. “Damn! Give me a moment here, will you?”

She gave him a moment. The silence grew so loud she couldn’t bear it. “Does it put you off, then? My illness, I mean. You really don’t have to do anything if you don’t want. Just being married is quite—”

He whirled abruptly and kissed her. Laura felt her thoughts dissolve and sizzle like butter in a saucepan. She opened her mouth when he urged it, and took him in with a greediness that shocked her. He tasted faintly of sweet coffee and something uniquely male. Overwhelmingly male. God, how delicious! His tongue demanded a response and she gave it, meeting his determined forays with eager inexperience and delight. Her breasts swelled against their binding silks, begging more pressure from the stiff brocade of his waistcoat.

When he finally released her mouth, Laura realized her knees had given way completely. She hung in his embrace like a puppet cut loose of its strings.

His harsh breath rushed out against her ear. One large hand gripped the base of her neck and the other cupped her just below her ruched-up bustle.

She could feel a taut ridge of muscle pressed firmly to her front. Well, at least he wasn’t too put off, she thought with purely female satisfaction.

“What comes next?” she gasped.

With a groan of exasperation, he swept her up in his arms and sat down on the divan. “We have to talk,” he said, settling her on his lap.

Those wonderful hands of his stroked up and down her arms. She supposed that was meant to calm her. Ha! “No, we don’t need talking,” she argued, seeking his mouth again. She felt starved for him, and so very much alive it hurt.

He turned his head to avoid the kiss. “Yes, we do! Wait a moment!” His breathing slowed to nearly normal as she waited. “Now then,” he said, and cleared his throat. “About your luggage—”

“Bother the luggage. It’s not going anywhere.” She tugged on his tie, watching the bow unravel.

“Laura, I’m warning you. Behave yourself!” Sean admonished sharply, and pushed her far enough away to see her face. “Look, everything’s happening too damned fast. I need time to think. There are things we need to consider…to plan.”

Laura reached up, cradling his face with both hands. “No,” she said gruffly. “Plans require a future, Sean. Do you understand that? There is only here and now. This moment. If you can’t bring yourself to do this, just say so and I shall get up. If you can, then for heaven’s sake, please do it!”

Sean leaned his forehead to hers and sighed. “This seems wrong, Laura. We’ve only known each other less than a day.”

“A lifetime,” she whispered as she turned her head to meet his lips. He surrendered with a tortured groan.

She tried to record his every touch, every nuance of his heated kisses, every word fragment that passed his busy lips. No use, she decided, and abandoned herself to the sweeping fire he ignited.

How had they gotten from the divan to his bed? She gasped at the feel of silk sliding off her hips. The rustle of his clothing sounded like the sweetest music in the world.

Suddenly the muscled, hair-roughened texture of his bare chest brushed over her own soft curves. Lips blazed a path down her neck, across her chest, and settled on a tightened peak of need. Her breath hissed in through her teeth. His palm glided over her knee and trailed up her inner thigh. Anticipation immediately lost its appeal. She wanted him now.

“Open, sweetheart,” he whispered, tasting her ear. “There now,” he crooned as his fingers worked magic. “Hot, you are so incredibly hot! Feel that. Do you like?”

“Mmm. I like,” she agreed, arching into his hand. “Yes!” When she thought she could stand no more, he stopped. Laura would have pleaded if she’d had a voice left.

“I know, I know,” he soothed as he rose above her. “You might not like this part,” he warned softly. “Try to relax. Let go.”

She felt his male part nudge her gently and automatically lifted herself toward it.

“Steady now,” he said, thrusting gently, seating himself more firmly against her tight resistance. Then he plunged.

Laura struggled to get even closer, but he held her immobile with the weight of his body and his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t rush me. You’ll regret it,” he murmured, and claimed her mouth again.

Tenderly at first, then growing insistent, his tongue invaded, moving in and out rhythmically, until her entire being focused solely on that act. Before she knew it, his lower body echoed the motion. How wonderfully pleasant, she thought, feeling herself join the intimate dance he created.

Pleasant quickly escalated to sublime with the marvelous friction inside her. Laura groaned into his mouth, wishing he would hurry. She didn’t understand her urgency, didn’t care at this point, but he seemed to sense her need and increased the pace to a fever pitch.

“Ah, now!” he rasped as the first shudder of ecstasy shook her. The rippling force of pure pleasure sent her flying into a void of star-studded nothingness. Everythingness, she corrected with a shaky last thought.

When feeling returned, she opened one eye. Sean lay plastered to her side, muscles glistening with sweat, his chest heaving with exertion. Spent. Laura smiled. “Better than talking, hmm?”

He grunted a soft laugh and nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck. “Better than anything.”

She couldn’t say when she drifted off to sleep, but when she woke it was to the smell of food. He had anticipated her hunger. Known what she needed before she even realized it, just as he had last evening. And he didn’t waste a moment. The idea that Sean would go to such lengths to please her warmed her heart. What a husband! No one could ever say Laura Middlebrook Wilder hadn’t made at least one truly excellent decision in her lifetime.

“Thank you, God.” She closed her eyes and whispered with a grin. “I don’t think I’m quite so angry with You anymore.”

Sean hefted the tray onto his left palm and entered the bedroom. The newly arrived letter in his pocket rustled as he turned to close the door. This one, delivered right to his rooming house, bothered him more than the one sent to his office. Prepare to die, it said. Someone—very probably Luckhurst—was toying with him. But he couldn’t concern himself with that right now. The writer of the dratted things would surely give up the game by the time Sean had finished his business in Paris.

If the fool meant to frighten him, Sean could almost laugh at the pitiful effort. For the past ten years, he had lived daily with danger that bore no forewarning at all. His first ten years of life had been much the same. Worse, really, due to lack of training to deal with the perils he encountered. Watching his back became second nature, a way of life. These little scare tactics didn’t unnerve him in the least. But they did present a bothersome puzzle, and puzzles distracted him from more important matters.

He would have to dismiss the letters. Just forget them. Today he had a greater puzzle, a distraction and an important matter all rolled into one. A wife.

Sean smiled at the sight greeting him as he entered the bedroom. Laura nestled amid the pillows with the sheet tucked just beneath her arms. Her smile shamed sunshine and was, thank God, not so rare.

“Food!” he announced as he carefully set the tray on the bed beside her. “Don’t fidget, sweetheart. You’ll spill the tea.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, snatching up a fat sugared biscuit. Her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as she chewed. The blue gray eyes rolled with pleasure.

He had to laugh. “Such a greedy child!” Had he ever seen anyone so gluttonous for every moment’s worth of joy?

Recalling the reason for her hedonism sobered him immediately. She never knew just how many moments she had left. Laura could only be certain of this particular one.

“Such a gloomy face!” she admonished, drawing her brows together. “Don’t frown so. It puts lines between your eyes.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he said, tapping her nose with his finger.

She choked down the food and took a swallow of her tea. “When do we leave?”

“Two hours,” he told her. “We must be at Dover by this evening. I sent to the hotel for your things. They should arrive directly. Will you need a maid?”

“Never had one. Will you need a valet?” she teased.

Sean grinned at the thought of having someone dress him. Now someone—this particular someone—undressing him was a different matter altogether. No time for that now, unfortunately. He handed her a sausage. “Silly widgeon. Finish your breakfast while I draw your bath.”

He left her tucking into the substantial plate of bangers and eggs he had requested from the kitchen downstairs. The announcement of his sudden marriage had prompted instant motherly attention from his landlady and her staff. Until this morning, he had only been the object of curiosity and gossip who hardly rated a wary word of greeting now and then. Now he was “the young bridegroom.”

Falling fully into the role certainly tempted him. There was nothing he’d have liked better than to crawl back into that bed and spend the day with “the young bride.” He couldn’t recall ever having held a more responsive woman in his arms. She made love the way she did everything else, full steam ahead and damn the consequences. The mere thought of her enthusiasm had his body thrumming even now.

He turned on the tap in the huge, claw-foot tub and tested the temperature of the water with the back of his hand.

The timing of this unexpected honeymoon could be worse, he supposed. What if he were embarking on a case involving a life-threatening situation? There had certainly been a wealth of those, not that he minded. Danger proved addictive. He thrived on that sort of job and it was what he did best. For the past few years, Sean admitted, the adventures held far more appeal than the rewards. This coming endeavor, however, only relied on his keen eye for deception and his solid reputation as a reliable courier.

Working for Burton was child’s play, a holiday in fact. This time he only had to verify the authenticity of a painting. If genuine, he would complete the deal for Mr. Burton, director of the National Gallery, bring the picture home, and that would be that. No rush, no danger, large fee. Not that he needed the money particularly, but one never had too much of that commodity.

Laura would be disappointed when he told her about the tame task, he thought with a smile. After his warning of possible danger, she would be geared up for murder and mayhem. Her thirst for adventure would be amusing under different circumstances.

His heart contracted painfully every time he thought of Laura dying. How could he bear to watch that bright little light blink out? The world would seem a dismal place without it now that he knew her. She touched him, threw his senses awry in some way he couldn’t quite fathom; had done so from the moment he had first seen her. Innocence, he supposed. Something he’d had so little experience with in his twenty-eight years. Surprising he even recognized it at all.

This whole affair seemed unreal. The hasty wedding, the lovemaking, and letting her accompany him to Paris were all so uncharacteristically impulsive of him. He could scarcely believe he had allowed any of it. For a man who planned every move he made with the precision of a well-oiled machine, Sean knew he had slipped an important gear somewhere along the line.

In his early life, quick decisions had equaled survival. But later, he had learned to consider the long-term effect—weigh all his options, however briefly—before he acted. For the first time since the wedding, he forced himself to stop and think exactly where all this might lead.

Laura had given him no time to plan or consider or project. Because she had so little time to give. So little time.

Steam from the bath made him sniff. Surely that was what caused his eyes to water this way. He shut off the faucet and brushed a hand over his face. Laura Middlebrook had blown into his life like a whirlwind. She stirred up feelings he thought he had eliminated, and some he hadn’t known existed at all. How did he think he could direct events toward a satisfactory future? Laura would not have one. God, how that thought hurt. It shouldn’t bother him this much. He, of all people, knew there were things worse than death. He’d even told Laura as much. Cruel truth.

But he had never met anyone as alive as Laura. He must be out of his mind to admit such a thing, even to himself, but he could love this woman, was probably half in love with her already. After letting down his guard and risking it that once with Ondine, love only equaled disaster as far as Sean was concerned. It ripped away all the hard-earned control over his life as though it were wet tissue paper. He needed control the way he needed air to breathe. How could he possibly surrender that again?

Despite their recent betrothal, Camilla Norton’s subsequent desertion had not affected him much. Not in the least, except for the small dent to his pride. He would suffer a great deal more than that with Laura’s leaving, unless he took immediate charge of things.

If he continued down this road with her, the outcome could only be total devastation. After Ondine’s untimely death, he’d had fury at her betrayal to sustain him. Even then, the pain of loving her and losing her had almost destroyed him. He had rebuilt the wall inside himself once. He didn’t think he could do it again. This time he would be left with nothing but soul-deep grief. There would be no saving anger to draw on. Nothing.

The only prudent course was evident. He had to back away from her now, to distance himself from what would continue to grow between them if he allowed it. Given his upbringing, Sean knew he was as well versed in sex as any male on the planet. But with Laura, sex was not just sex. It was a mutual giving, a bonding of spirits he had never encountered before in his life, even with Ondine. And Sean realized that the physical union would only strengthen his love for Laura into a veritable necessity he could not live without.

He could never abandon Laura, however. She was his wife now and needed protection and support, certainly more than most wives did. But he must discontinue their intimacy before his need for her grew to unmanageable proportions.

How to do that would take some planning in itself. Denying her anything would be damned difficult, next to impossible, but he knew the alternative would prove worse. Loving her fully, without reservation, and then watching her die would tear the heart right out of his chest. A living death.

“I’m ready,” she said from the doorway.

Sean pushed up from the edge of the tub, hardly daring to look at her, unable not to. She stood gloriously naked but for the sheet loosely draped over one shoulder, the dark satin of her hair wound in a precarious loop on top of her head. The invitation in her smoky eyes set him afire. Acceptance almost fought its way out of him despite his recent and very firm resolution. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he skirted around her, muttering something inane about seeing to his packing.

It was a narrow escape. The first of many, he predicted.

“No one in the world needs this many clothes,” Sean growled as he hefted a leather-bound trunk off the dock. A huffing porter struggled with the other.

Laura laughed and stepped aside and out of his way. “Of course they don’t. Where’s the fun in buying only what one needs? I’m afraid I did reduce your future inheritance considerably this past week, however.”

Sean shot her a dark look.

She wondered why he resented it so whenever she mentioned her legacy. Pride, perhaps. His mood would lighten once he had loaded the baggage and they settled in for the crossing.

Laura left him to it and went to grasp the forward rail. France was out there. She even imagined she could see it, a faint gray line, probably the point near Calais. Perhaps what she saw were only swells of waves. Excitement skipped through her veins like little fairies. By late tomorrow they would be in Paris, City of Light. How she had dreamed of such places.

“Should be a fair enough crossing,” Sean remarked as he joined her, that hoped-for smile in place. “Are you a good sailor, Laura?”

“Yes!” she answered immediately, thinking of the little sail boat she and Lambdin kept on the pond. “Oh, I can’t wait, Sean! My insides are fluttering like the seabirds.” She pointed up at the dizzying flock of gulls that circled the wharf.

He chuckled. “Be still, widgeon. You’re rocking the boat.”

“Don’t be silly. This thing’s a ship. ‘Twould take a gale to rock it.” She drew in a huge draft of the damp, salty sea breeze and sighed it out. Huge arms surrounded her and she leaned back against his solid chest, covering his hands with hers. “I feel so happy, Sean. So very happy, just at this moment.”

Again he laughed, the rumble vibrating through her back and settling around her heart. “We haven’t even done anything yet,” he reminded her.

She tugged loose and turned to face him. “But we have, Sean. Think of it! In the space of twenty-four hours, I’ve become your wife,” she said, feeling the blush color her cheeks, “and embarked on yet another exciting adventure! Will you show me Paris? Will we have the time?”

“I will make the time,” he declared, brushing his hand down her face to cup her chin. “You shall see everything there is to see. The Tuileries, Bonaparte’s Tomb, the Arch, the Louvre. All of it.”

“What else? What else? Tell me more!” she demanded with an impatient bounce.

He shook his head. “Isn’t that enough? Oh, all right, then, how’s this? The tallest structure in the known world, three hundred meters. Will that do? There is this tower in the middle of the city, built for the Exposition.”

“Oh, I read of that,” she said excitedly. “It’s costing them millions!”

“In francs, yes,” he agreed. “But I’m afraid it’s too ugly to thrill you much.”

“No, no, I shall love it,” she said, shaking her head. The mist-dampened feather on her hat drooped across one eye.

“Let’s get you inside before you’re completely soaked. I think the wind is picking up.”

In her excitement, Laura hadn’t even noticed they had gotten under way. Obediently she accompanied him to the cabin where they could pass the short trip in comfort.

Half an hour later, she dashed out and back to the rail. Sean held her fast as she leaned over and lost her breakfast and luncheon. When her stomach had collapsed in on itself, she drooped in his arms and rested against him.

“It’s too soon,” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut against her disappointment. “I thought it would be all right…but I don’t want to…go yet.”

His arms tightened around her, one hand pressing her now-hatless head against his chest and the other holding her whole body snug against his. “You’re not going anywhere!” he snapped furiously. “You hear me? Not anywhere but to France. To see Paris. To dance away the night. To laugh and eat beignets, drink café au lait, the best champagne….”

“Oh, God, don’t speak of food!” She pushed him away and retched again.

He enfolded her more softly this time. “This is only seasickness, Laura. You won’t die of it, I promise, no matter how you feel at the moment.”

Somehow she didn’t quite believe him. From the desperate way he held her and the tone of his voice, he must not quite believe it, either.

For the remainder of the crossing, Laura lay cocooned in a blanket Sean had secured from one of the stewards, expecting to breathe her last at any moment. By the time they reached Calais, she found herself embracing the thought. Anything would be better than the misery she endured.

“I’ll send for a doctor, darling,” Sean whispered against her ear as they disembarked. He carried her in his arms toward one of the waiting carriages for hire.

“First we’ll go to a hotel and get you to bed.”

Laura allowed herself to doze in the carriage. She felt the sick dizziness subside a bit when he deposited her on a cushioned armchair near the innkeeper’s desk. “Sean?” she called when he started to step away from her to register.

“Yes?” he answered immediately, hurrying back to kneel beside her and take her hands in his. “What is it?” The sharp concern on his face made her smile.

“I feel much better. The sickness seems to be fading.” In fact, she felt a bit hungry. “Do you think we could order up some tea? Maybe a few salted biscuits?” Laura watched his wide shoulders droop with what she suspected was relief.

“Anything,” he answered on a protracted sigh. “Whatever you want. Will you be all right here for a moment?”

She nodded and smiled again, putting more energy into it than she really felt. Perhaps she would have a reprieve after all, another day to enjoy. During the few moments it took Sean to arrange for a room, she recovered completely. Nothing of her illness remained save a bit of weakness in her knees when she first stood alone. She insisted, over Sean’s objection, that she could manage the stairs to their rooms on her own two feet.

When the doctor arrived, he caught Laura with her mouth full of savory chicken stew. “Good day to you, Madame Wilder,” he greeted her. The newness of the address thrilled her into a happy grin.

“The mal de mer abates, oui?” He continued, “I am Dr. Louis Grillet, at your service.”

Laura swallowed again and held out her hand. The handsome rascal kissed it! Lingeringly. She shot a glance at Sean. He was frowning ominously at the physician’s gesture. Lord, he looked jealous.

“Enchanté,” she announced sweetly just to further gauge her husband’s reaction. He stepped nearer. If the doctor had not been leaning against her bedside already, Laura thought Sean might have pushed between them.

Something inside her did cartwheels, and it had nothing to do with her formerly unsettled stomach. “You were kind to come so quickly,” she said to Dr. Grillet, “but it looks as though I don’t need you after all. As you can see, I am fine. Appetite restored,” she said pointing toward her half-empty tray of food, “and no lingering effects. I suspect my husband and I may have overreacted.”

“Perhaps a more thorough examination is in order, nonetheless,” Grillet suggested with a sly smile. “If you would wait outside, Monsieur Wilder?”

“I think not,” Sean growled menacingly. “If she says she is fine, then she is fine.” He handed the doctor several bills, neatly folded. “For your trouble. Good night.”

The curt dismissal prompted a Gallic shrug from Grillet and an inner squeal of delight from Laura. She hugged her arms over her chest to calm her heart. Her husband acted like a smitten lover. She didn’t even mind if he was pretending. The very fact that he troubled himself to assume such a role told her that he cared.

“You were wonderful!” she said once the doctor had gone.

“More like ridiculous,” he declared, sinking onto the bed and pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

Laura started to reassure him, but when she leaned forward away from the pillows, her head spun dangerously. He noticed when she swayed to one side and righted her with his hands on her shoulders. “Lie back. And don’t worry, it’s just the effect of the laudanum. I promise that’s all it is.”

“Laudanum!” She bolted upright and nearly screeched the word.

“I had the cook add a bit to your tea. It will calm your stomach and allow you to rest well tonight.”

“I will not be drugged! Not ever!” Laura fumed. “How dare you lace my tea without so much as a by-your-leave? Don’t you understand? I want awareness, Sean. Every single moment, I want to know exactly—”

“Oh, Laura,” he said, shifting nearer and sliding his arms around her loosely. “Never again, I promise you. Damn it all, I should have known better. I didn’t think.”

“Will you hold me?” she asked, burying her nose in the soft wool of his jacket and pulling him closer. “I was afraid today,” she whispered the words, barely hearing them herself. “I hate being afraid!”

“I know,” he answered. She thought she heard a slight catch in his voice. “Everything will be all right,” he added. “You’ll see.”

“You won’t leave when I sleep, will you?” Laura hated herself for clinging, but the night ahead frightened her witless. What if she simply drifted off into nothingness and stayed there forever?

“I won’t leave you,” he promised fervently. His lips pressed against her temple and hovered there as he spoke. “I vow I won’t leave you, Laura. Not even for a minute.”

With a sigh of relief, she let the reality of his strong embrace bear her into a world of dreams where nothing else dared touch her.

Chapter Four

Sean knew he could have left Laura last night and she would never have known the difference. He could have seen to their bags, which were no doubt stacked in some corner belowstairs awaiting his instructions. He could have ordered a late meal for himself so that his stomach wouldn’t be growling now like a bear just out of hibernation. But a promise was a promise.

“Where is it?” she mumbled, squinting up at him.

“What?”

“The cat.”

“What cat?”

“The one that slept in my mouth,” she muttered. “I know I have fur on my tongue.”

Sean laughed softly and pulled his arm from beneath her neck. He propped on his elbow and raked the length of her body with his gaze. “If there is a cat, it’s probably lost in the wrinkles of your skirts. We’re both a mess. I should have undressed us.”

He wouldn’t discuss with her why he hadn’t done that. He could not have borne holding her with nothing between them. The pain of their closeness, even fully dressed as they were, had nearly killed him. The powerful urge to give comfort with, as well as to, his body would have wrecked his resolve if he hadn’t left the fabric barriers exactly as they were.

Laura shifted and rubbed her eyes with her fists as a child might do on waking. He brushed the loosened strands of her hair back from her forehead and kissed her brow. “How do you feel?”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “Fuzzy. Could we have some breakfast?”

“Certainly!” he said, rolling off the bed and trying to straighten his clothes. “Right away.” Then he stopped what he was doing and braced one hand on her shoulder. “Will you be all right while I go and order?”

“Of course. Go ahead. I’m quite recovered.” She marched to the washstand and began splashing her face in the water. He watched her for a time to see how steady she was. Then, satisfied she told the truth, Sean left her to her ablutions while he arranged their passage on the train bound for Paris.

A little while later, they sat in the dining room of the hotel drinking the café au lait he had promised her.

Sean thought she looked a bit washed-out. He hoped that was only the result of the medicine he had ordered last night and her earlier bout with the nausea on the ship.

“So, tell me about our business in Paris,” she demanded with a bright smile.

“Our business?” he asked with a quirk of his brow.

“You don’t think for a moment I’m going to let you prevent me playing investigator! Now, tell.” She threw him a saucy wink over the edge of her cup.

Sean fought the urge to embellish his current case, to offer her some trumped-up derring-do to take her mind off her other problem. No, he wouldn’t lie. After all his insistence on honesty, she deserved better than that. Still he found himself tempted.

“My—our—employer is Mr. Frederick Burton, director of the National Gallery. He has set me the task of examining a painting offered for sale by a Monsieur Charles Beaumont. If the provenance proves legitimate and it is what he says it is, I—we—are to purchase it with the funds provided and take it safely home.”

“And?”

“That’s it,” he declared, noting her frown of disappointment.

“I thought it would be something more—”

“Dangerous? Yes, I knew you expected that. But it needn’t be so dull. If you like drawing, then you must be interested in art. This Monsieur Beaumont may have a fine collection as yet unseen by the public. He’s claiming a Rembrandt, at any rate. Won’t you find that interesting?”

She looked distracted. “How will you know if this picture is the real thing and not fake?”

Sean allowed his pride to show. He didn’t often do that, but he wanted her approval. Enough to boast a bit. “I know Rembrandt. I’ll wager I could tell you how many hairs in each brush he used in every known painting he produced. No one knows him as I do. I’ve already discovered two forgeries formerly attributed to him. That’s how I landed this case.” He grinned at her astonishment.

“You said you never studied painting.”

“Art history,” he admitted wryly. “Rembrandt was always my favorite. I’ve read everything ever written about him and his work. Later, as I traveled, examining his paintings and his technique in museums became something of a hobby. More like an obsession, really. I’ve seen them all. At least those not in private, inaccessible collections such as Beaumont’s.”

“So you will simply look at this painting, decide if it’s real, and buy accordingly?” she asked.

“Of course not. I’ll check the provenance and establish how it changed hands through the years, as well as examining the brush strokes, colors, composition and so forth. Burton and I did that together with a fourteenth-century Duccio a few years past in Florence, though I’m not really well versed on Italian painters. I’ve acquired lesser pieces for him since then. This is the most important thing he has trusted me with alone.”

Her eyes looked a trifle glazed as she said, “I’m fascinated!”

Sean laughed aloud and shook his head. “You are not, you little liar! You’re bored to tears. Come on, you wanted sordid disguises, flying bullets, mad dashes through the back streets. Admit it.”

“Childish, aren’t I?” She laughed, too, and blushed. Sean was delighted to see color in her cheeks, whatever the cause.

“Wonderfully so,” he said, standing and offering his arm. “Now let’s go to Paris, shall we, Mrs. Wilder? On my word, I promise you won’t be bored there.”

They arrived at the Hotel Lenoir very late that evening. Both were travel weary, but Sean noticed nothing faint about Laura. She seemed to have bounced back readily enough from her ills of the day before. While that relieved his mind somewhat, he couldn’t feel completely at ease.

There would come a time—probably quite soon—when she would not rally. Something vital shrank inside him every time he let himself think of that.

He tried to picture it, though, so that he could accept it when the worst happened. Laura still and white, beautiful in her final repose. Himself, stoic without and crushed within. It was no use. He could not make himself imagine. There was no preparing for such a thing anyway. Almost as heartbreaking as facing the actuality would be the pretending beforehand, the smiling and making of ordinary conversation, living as though there would always be a tomorrow for Laura. That much he must do for her, no matter how difficult or painful.

Facing the most deadly, knife-wielding bully in Whitechapel had not prompted such dread as he felt now.

Sean knew now that he hadn’t fully understood what he faced until Laura had fallen sick on the ferry. Death was no stranger to him, of all people. Sean could not begin to count the bodies he had viewed over the years, in the bowels of London, on battlefields, during days with the Yard and afterward. But thinking of Laura lifeless? His mind rebelled.

How could he go on this way, wondering if every breath Laura drew might be her last? And if it was this miserable for him, what the devil must it be like for Laura? Surely she marked the apprehension in his eyes every time he looked at her.

If only they could forget she was to die. Like being ordered not to think of elephants, he thought with an inner scoff. He could at least make her forget for a time. That would be something, anyway.

Sean glanced around the modest bedroom of Hotel Lenoir and thought perhaps he should have taken Laura somewhere fancier. Somewhere grand with a suite of rooms. Instead, he had selfishly chosen this place with its antique patina and its shared necessaries down the hall because the memories of his times here gave his soul comfort.

Right now he could use all the comfort to be had. For three school vacations during his adolescence, he had come here with his new friend, Eugene Campion. He and Camp had been the odd men out at Eton their first years there. Camp was the bastard of Baron Nesbitt Lorne, who had the good grace to see his natural son educated. And Sean, a product of the London stews, had a noble grandmother who had finally seen fit to rescue him.

Both benefactors believed they were doing the right thing by their respective charges. But neither Camp nor himself had had the background or a good enough grip on the king’s proper English to make themselves accepted. In the interest of self-defense, they had befriended and protected each other.

Accompanying Camp to his mother’s family in France for a few weeks of summer holiday had given Sean the only semblance of normal family life he had ever experienced. If life in a Parisian hotel could be considered anywhere near the norm, he thought with a wry smile. It ranked far above a brothel or the halls of Eton, Sean knew for certain.

When the boys had gone on to university, Annette Lenoir Campion had married and moved to Florence. Later, he and Camp had enlisted together and served two years in Africa. On returning, Sean had sought employment with Scotland Yard and Camp had gone on to medical school in Italy. Madame and Monsieur Campion, Camp’s aging grandparents, had sold the hotel to a cousin whom Sean had never met.

Now, whenever he or Camp traveled to Paris, whether their visits coincided or not, they always came here. With its fond memories, the old Lenoir had become a sanctuary of sorts. He had never even noticed its genteel shabbiness before today.

Laura returned from the bathing room down the hall looking refreshed and rosy in her prim white robe. He noticed bare, pink toes peeking from beneath the hem.

“Into bed with you,” he ordered with a forced smile. When he had tucked her in like the child she looked, he kissed her brow and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked before he could escape.

“To scrape off some travel dirt,” he replied, knocking dust off his trousers. “Go to sleep, Laura. We have a big day tomorrow.”

She squirmed impatiently and smoothed the covers over her knees. “I thought you might want to…well, you know.”

“No!” he said, rather too quickly. In view of her confused look, he felt compelled to offer some sort of explanation. “It’s too soon, you see.”

Her eyes widened as though to take in this new bit of information. “Too soon? You mean you can’t…manage?” The gears of her mind were nearly visible as she considered that. “How often can you, then?”

Oh Lord, he had spun a web now. And tangled himself up in it. He thought she would assume he meant it was too soon for her. He could not make love with her again. He would be totally, completely lost in her if he did. She already had half his heart. How was he supposed to guard the rest? He’d have nothing left to go on with.

“Well,” he said, looking everywhere but at her, raking his mind for something, anything, to extricate himself. “Once a month,” he declared, warming to the prevarication. “You understand your woman’s cycle, don’t you? Men have cycles of a sort, as well, you see. It’s not exactly the same for a man, but there must be a bodily change for the…uh…emissions and such to…to work. Yes. One has to wait.” He sucked in a deep breath and bit his lips together over the outrageous lie. “For the next cycle, you see.” He lowered his head and shook it in frustration. “It’s very complicated.”

“You lucky fellow!”

“Lucky?” he asked. His head came up smartly. He caught her slumberous gaze and watched it travel down to the buttons below his belt.

“Mmm-hmm,” she cooed with a knowing smile. “Your cycle seems to have…extended itself.”

Laura bit back a laugh at Sean’s distressed expression. His mind and body were at such odds, he had lost his usual equanimity. He obviously wanted her, but had decided she was not up to lovemaking because of her recent spell of sickness. If he only knew how gloriously energetic she felt right now. Excited.

She watched him with one brow cocked, her eyes traveling from his face to his groin and back again, curious as to how nimbly he would account for that blatant erection of his.

He didn’t disappoint. “Swelling,” he explained. “Too much recent activity, I suspect,” he explained somewhat breathlessly, still frowning down at his errant member.

“Sean?”

His head came up with a guilty jerk. “Yes?”

She gave him a pointed look. “I’m not sixteen anymore. My women friends who are long married have been rather vocal about what’s involved. And, believe it or not, I can read, as well. Now tell me what has prompted this absurd fabrication of yours? Are you teasing me?”

The pained look on his face wiped away all the humor in the situation. He wasn’t making sport of her inexperience at all. “Or is it my illness?”

Laura watched him carefully as he exhaled a protracted sigh. “In a way, it is,” he admitted softly as he trudged to the bed, turned around and sat down heavily beside her.

“You’re disgusted by it? Afraid of it? What?”

“No, no, nothing as simple as that,” he said as he caught up one of her hands and kissed it. He clutched it against his chest where she could feel his heart thumping hard against her wrist. “I’m falling in love with you, Laura.” A long pause ensued while she digested that before he added, “And I don’t want to.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said with a wry laugh. Laura plucked at the edge of the sheet with the fingers of her free hand. “Surely you realize what’s making you think this could be love. We’ve only known each other for three days. All this seems romantic to you, and tragic. You are a very compassionate person, Sean.”

“No, that’s not it. Something sparked the moment I first saw you. Before I knew about—” He stopped a moment, obviously unwilling to put her problem into words. “And then, of course, I do know what it’s like. Love, that is. It can be hell.”

Laura felt a sharp pang of jealousy barely tempered by compassion. She made her voice soft when she asked, “Your wife?”

He nodded.

“How did she die?” Laura had been told by her solicitor of the rumors surrounding the first Mrs. Wilder’s death. She hoped for Sean’s sake they weren’t true, but she thought she should know.

“She fell from a cliff,” he said, staring at the wall as though he could see into the past. “Ondine and I left London and went home to the house in Cornwall, where I attempted to clear the air between us. She wept that night.” He glanced at Laura and then away. “You see, she confessed to an affair with Wade Halloran before we married,” he stated in a flat tone. “Wade and I knew each other from Eton, and his family members were also Mother’s neighbors after she moved to Cornwall. Ondine swore things were over between them. So I forgave her.” Sean sighed and covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head sadly. “Then she told me…other things even more heartbreaking. Still I forgave her, though it wasn’t as easily done that time. She seemed all right when we said good-night.”

“When did she die?” Laura whispered.

“That next morning. Mother’s steward and I searched for her when we realized she was missing. We found Wade staring down at her body as it lay on the rocks just above the surf. He suddenly ran raving mad with grief. Only by using considerable force did I prevent his leaping after her. The authorities were forced to lock him away immediately for his own safety. Poor old Wade. I suppose he still languishes there in that locked room with his lost wits and his secrets.”

“Secrets? Was it…? Do you think she fell on purpose?”

Sean shook his head. “I don’t know. I truly don’t. Wade’s wild accusation, that I’d driven her to do such a thing, certainly made me wonder. But he obviously met Ondine there that morning for a reason. It occurred to me that maybe he pushed her, but I hate to believe that. Perhaps she jumped, as Wade declared, or fell accidentally. I suppose I’ll never know the truth. At any rate, she is dead and Wade ended as much a victim as she.”

“Oh, Sean,” Laura whispered, her heart aching for the pain he had obviously endured. “That must have been dreadful for you. Your wife and your friend. Such betrayal. I wonder how you stood it.”

“Not very well, I admit. I only brought it up to assure you that I do recognize what’s developing here between us. I did love Ondine at one time. I loved her very much.”

“And you lost her,” Laura added. “I can well understand why you wouldn’t want a repeat of that situation.”

He raked a hand through his hair and released a harsh breath. “God, it sounds so damned selfish of me when you put it that way! I do care so much for you already, Laura, but—”

“You don’t want to love me and suffer a grief you’ve already suffered once.” She patted his hand and squeezed it with reassurance. “That’s just good sense, Sean. Self-preservation. You mustn’t think for a moment that I fault you for it. I would feel exactly the same way in your place. You’re right, of course. The closer we become, the worse it will be for you. I really don’t want you to love me,” she lied, keeping her eyes averted so he wouldn’t guess what she really felt.

He remained silent, staring down at her hands clasping his.

“This simply won’t do. I should go home,” she decided with a succinct nod. “That’s the prudent thing, for both our sakes.”

“No!” His vehemence surprised her. “You can’t do that. I won’t let you.”

Laura frowned with frustration. “Well, we have to do something! Imagine how guilty I’ll feel at the end. Being left behind by someone you love has to be the worst feeling in the world.” She thought of her parents’ constant desertion and how it had affected her. Affected her still. “I refuse to hurt you that way,” she said. “I shall leave tomorrow.”

“I can’t let you go,” he whispered. “No matter what, I just can’t.”

Her hand wriggled out of his and she clamped it to the other so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Well, you’ll have to eventually, won’t you? For your sake we shall have to alter our relationship somehow. Or at least prevent its progressing into something more profound.” She considered for a moment. “Of course, you know that. That’s exactly what you have been trying to tell me, isn’t it? We can simply be friends,” she suggested. “Can’t we?”

“That did occur to me,” he said, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Yes, I think we must try.”

“Fine! It’s all settled then. No more of this playing at seduction, I promise. I was terribly clumsy at it anyway.” Her self-deprecating laughter sounded forced, even to her, but Sean joined her anyway. His sounded worse.

“You’re damned good at it, and you know it, you little minx.”

“Why, thank you! How nice of you to say so,” she said, preening theatrically. “I did have you going for a while there, didn’t I?”

Sean simply nodded, his eyes sad, his wide smile locked in place. He didn’t speak or move again for the longest time.

“I’m sorry, Laura,” he said finally. “I didn’t foresee this happening.”

She sighed and shrugged, fighting her disappointment. Time grew too short to waste any on regrets. “Oh, that’s all right, Sean. I wish you wouldn’t talk on so about it.”

He rose then and headed for the door. Grasping the handle, he turned and smiled. “Do me a favor, old chum?”

“Anything for a friend,” she said, relieved that he had regained his composure, and determined to hang on to hers.

“Lose the perfume and try to look ugly. Maybe develop a taste for garlic? I absolutely loathe the stuff.”

Laura laughed again, a real laugh this time. The rascal still had his sense of humor. And he really did want her. Maybe he wouldn’t mind a little flirtation later if she kept it light and funny. Perhaps, if they had enough time to become truly good friends, he wouldn’t resist a bit of superficial lovemaking.

Surely such a thing existed. Men fed these hungers all the time without getting their hearts involved. Sean, of all people, should be aware of that. Sympathy was getting in his way right now. He would get past that notion of love growing between them in a few days.

Even if she wouldn’t.

During the next week, Laura wondered why Sean still insisted on sharing a room. His presence gave her comfort but made sleep an elusive thing for both of them.

Occasionally she would surprise a tortured expression on his face that mirrored what she was feeling herself. One such fleeting look could start her body pulsing in places she had hardly noticed before he came along. Each night her desire seemed to double.

He would leave the room while she readied for bed and she politely turned her back to him when he returned to undress. That chaise longue by the window barely supported his tall frame, but he wouldn’t hear of her giving up the bed. Such a gentleman.

Laura ached to probe beneath Sean’s studied gentleness, but for his sake she carefully restrained the urge. Living together in such close quarters seemed akin to playing with fire in a room full of explosives. And neither of them knew just when an errant spark might set things off. Every time their eyes met, Laura expected the volatile entity that was their passion to ignite.

Friendship definitely was not working. By day, it appeared to flourish, but the nights—ah, those nights—when she lay so still, pretending sleep and watching the outline of his long body silvered by the moonlight from the window. Forbidden fruit.

At times, she would wake and feel his gaze on her, as well. Perhaps he only checked to see whether she still breathed, but Laura knew that was not his only interest. The desire emanating from his makeshift bed grew almost palpable.

Those torturous six nights aside, they had truly done Paris during the daylight hours. She certainly couldn’t fault Sean as a tour guide. He had pointed out all the sights promised and more. This morning they had walked for miles along the Seine, had luncheon at a café along the Champs Elysées, and then climbed the steps to the top of Notre Dame. The magnificent view of the city almost banished her exhaustion.

“I’ve saved the Louvre for tomorrow and the day after,” he said when they descended to street level again and exited the cathedral.

“Thank goodness, I’ll have tonight to soak some feeling back into my feet.” She would never admit it to Sean, but the attractions of Paris dimmed in light of his own.

The grandeur of Napoleon’s Arc de Triomphe, the magnificent stained glass of La Sainte-Chappelle, and the strange tower that Eiffel designed were only feasts for the eyes. Sean fed every single sense she had and a sixth one she only just discovered, an inner sense fully attuned to his hidden needs. It made her want to give him everything she was, to fill with light that dark void Ondine had left. But could he withstand another such loss when she had to leave him?

What she needed was a real distraction, something to engage her mind fully, something to displace the mind-drugging memories of their one intimate encounter the day they married.

“I wonder when we’ll meet this Charles Beaumont?” Sean had sent round a message to the man. They had expected an invitation from him every evening when they returned to the hotel. “He doesn’t seem to be in any rush to sell the picture, does he? Do you think he has decided not to part with it?” Laura asked as they approached rue St. Jacques where their hotel was located.

Sean shrugged. “Who can say? But I’m not in any great hurry. We’ve been here for a week now and he has my direction. It’s his move. Would you like an ice before we go back?”

She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Good Lord, Sean, you’ve already had two since breakfast! I’m beginning to think that’s the only reason you accepted this assignment.”

“It’s very warm today,” he said, looking a little petulant, “and you nag like an old nanny.”

“I’d hate to have been your old nanny. You were a right little monster, I’ll wager. A nasty little scupper.”

His eyes narrowed and he looked away. “Just so.”

With his taciturn reply, Laura recalled that Sean had never had a nanny at all. His childhood must have been frightening and shameful, lacking any of the amenities she had enjoyed. Unlike her, he’d had his mother with him. But could even a mother’s love compensate for passing one’s tender years in a place rife with sin and degradation? She thought not.

He had seemed cynical about it the one time they had discussed it, the day she had proposed to him. Small wonder. Laura felt guilty now that she had reminded him even though it had been inadvertent.

Though it was certainly not of the prurient sort, she admitted to a curiosity about what his life had been like there. Perhaps if he recounted some of his early experiences, they would not appear so ghastly to him after all this time. She could point out how such adversity had fostered a strength and self-reliance in him that most men envied and women found infinitely attractive, as well as comforting. Especially this woman who had married him.

“Shall we visit your mother in Cornwall when we return from Paris?” she asked, hoping to turn the conversation happier.

“No, I never visit unless it’s absolutely necessary. The memories I bring are distressing to her. And to me,” he added.

“Would you like to tell me about it?” she asked gently.

The look he gave her was angry and defensive. “Not for a sure place in heaven would I relive it, even with words. And certainly not with you.” With that, he strode right past the ice vendor and on toward the hotel, leaving her to follow.

Laura knew she had overstepped the bounds of their relationship. She cursed her quick tongue and wondered if she had destroyed what little progress they had gained in becoming true friends.

Hurrying her steps, she caught up to him and reached out for one of his fisted hands. “Sean? I do apologize. Please don’t be angry with me.”

He altered his stride so that she didn’t have to run to keep up. “I’m not angry, Laura,” he said without looking at her. “Not with you anyway. It is just that some subjects are not for the ears of a gently bred woman. Trust me that my existence on Gumthorne Street definitely qualifies.”

Laura sighed and remained quiet for the rest of their walk back to the hotel. Sean’s silent preoccupation led her to believe he must be dwelling on his past in spite of what he’d said about not reliving it in any way. How often did he do that? she wondered.

She must be very careful not to refer to it again. Somehow, she believed that his recounting it aloud might help him bring it into proper perspective, but the risk of alienating him altogether seemed too great. Perhaps, someday, he would trust her enough to bare that darkness in his soul.

If there was time. She accepted the fact that she would die soon. The certainty troubled her still, but strangely enough, the occurrence of death itself bothered her much less than the things she would be forced to leave undone. Important things like loving Sean as completely as he deserved.

Laura squeezed the large hand that encompassed hers and placed her other over the top of it. Sean turned his head, looked down into her eyes and smiled. “Tell me I haven’t spoiled the whole afternoon.”

“What’s past is past,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “Right now is all that counts.”

Chapter Five

“Monsieur…Monsieur Wilder!” A thin voice greeted them from behind the desk as they entered the lobby of the Lenoir. “A letter for you. And a parcel.”

Sean excused himself and accepted the envelope and small package from the clerk. He tucked the letter into his pocket and the book-size package under his arm for their trip up the narrow staircase.

Laura preceded him, wondering how she could make up for the gaff she had made in bringing up the awful memories of his youth. She decided the less said about the previous topic, the better. To apologize again would only make things worse. Better to go on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and hope that he would simply dismiss it from his mind.

Immediately she unbuttoned her shoes and stretched out on the settee. “Ah, home at last. The cathedral was grand, wasn’t it? Makes one feel small in the scheme of things. Insignificant, really. I read somewhere that’s what the architects had in mind. Think so?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Sean settled into the chair by the window, pushing back the curtain to catch the faint breeze. He retrieved and immediately ripped open the envelope the clerk had given him. After glancing over it, he quickly jammed it back into his pocket.

“What’s wrong?” Laura asked. She couldn’t decide whether their former conversation accounted for his troubled look or if the contents of the letter had caused it.

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