Praise for The Handmaiden’s Necklace

“Fast-paced…sizzling love scenes…[Martin has] a well-honed ability to deliver spicy romance.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Kat Martin captivates readers within the first three pages of the story. This book was pure sensational joy…with all the right elements that make this book a non-stop read full of passionate love.”

—Coffee Time Romance

“The sexual tension between Rafael and Danielle was so thick you could cut it with a knife.”

—Romance Reader at Heart

“A dazzling conclusion to The Bride’s Necklace trilogy. I could not put this book down. If you haven’t experienced this trilogy yet, I urge you to run to your nearest bookstore and get it. You won’t regret a minute of it.”

—Fresh Fiction

“A heartwrenching and beautiful love story. You’ll be utterly captivated at Martin’s talent for creating a masterful, emotional and unforgettable experience.”

—RT Book Reviews

KAT MARTIN
THE HANDMAIDEN’S NECKLACE

To my husband, Larry.

My true life hero.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Epilogue

Author’s Note

One

London, England

June 1806

“’Tis a shame, is what it is.” Cornelia Thorne, Lady Brookfield, stood near the center of the ballroom. “Just look at him out there dancing…so completely bored. Him a duke and her such a mousy little thing, completely terrified of the man, I’ll wager.”

The Duchess of Sheffield, Miriam Saunders, raised her quizzing glass to peer at her son, Rafael, Duke of Sheffield. Miriam and her sister, Cornelia, were attending a charity ball along with Rafael and his betrothed, Lady Mary Rose Montague. The evening, a benefit for the London Widows and Orphans Society, was being held in the magnificent ballroom of the Chesterfield Hotel.

“The girl is actually quite lovely,” the duchess defended, “so blond and petite, just a bit shy, is all.” Unlike her son, the duke, who was tall and dark, with eyes even bluer than her own. And there was Rafe, himself, a strong, incredibly handsome man whose powerful presence seemed to overshadow the young woman he had chosen to be his future bride.

“I’ll grant, she is pretty,” Cornelia said, “in a rather white-washed sort of way. Still, it seems a shame.”

“Rafael is finally doing his duty. It is past time he took a wife. Perhaps they don’t suit as well as I would have liked, but the girl is young and strong, and she will bear him healthy sons.” And yet, as her sister had said, Miriam couldn’t miss the bland, bored expression on her son’s very handsome face.

“Rafael was always so dashing,” Cornelia said a bit wistfully. “Do you not remember the way he was before? So full of fire, so passionate about life in those days. Now…well, he is always so restrained. I do miss the vibrant young man he used to be.”

“People change, Cornelia. Rafe learned the hard way where those sorts of emotions can lead.”

Cornelia grunted. “You’re talking about The Scandal.” Thin and gray-haired, she was older than the duchess by nearly six years. “How could anyone forget Danielle…? Now, there was a woman Rafael’s equal. ’Tis a shame she turned out to be such a disappointment.”

The duchess cast her sister a glance, not wanting a reminder of the terrible scandal they had suffered because of Rafe’s former betrothed, Danielle Duval.

The dance ended and the couples began dispersing from the dance floor. “Hush,” Miriam warned. “Rafe and Mary Rose are coming this way.” The girl was nearly a foot shorter than the duke, blond, blue-eyed and fair, the perfect picture of English femininity. She was also the daughter of an earl, with a very sizable dowry. Miriam prayed her son would find at least some measure of happiness with the girl.

Rafe made a polite, formal bow. “Good evening, Mother. Aunt Cornelia.”

Miriam smiled. “You’re both looking quite splendid tonight.” And they did. Rafe in dove-gray breeches and a navy-blue tailcoat that set off the blue of his eyes, and Mary Rose in a gown of white silk trimmed with delicate pink roses.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” said the girl, with a very proper curtsy.

Miriam frowned. Was her hand trembling where it rested on the sleeve of Rafe’s coat? Dear God, the child would soon be a duchess. Miriam fervently prayed she would manage to infuse a bit of backbone into her spine as the months went along.

“Would you care to dance, Mother?” Rafe asked politely.

“Later, perhaps.”

“Aunt Cornelia?”

But Cornelia was staring at the doorway, her mind a thousand miles away. Miriam followed her gaze, as did Rafael and his betrothed.

“Speak of the devil…” Cornelia whispered beneath her breath.

Miriam’s eyes widened and her heartbeat quickened, turned wildly erratic. She recognized the short, plump little woman entering the ballroom, Flora Chamberlain, Dowager Countess Wycombe. And she also knew the tall, slender, red-haired woman who was the countess’s niece.

Miriam’s mouth thinned into a hostile line. A few feet away, her son’s expression shifted from incredulity to anger, deepening the slight cleft in his chin.

Cornelia continued to stare. “Of all the nerve!”

A muscle tightened along Rafe’s jaw, but he didn’t say a word.

“Who is that?” asked Mary Rose.

Rafe ignored her. His gaze remained locked on the elegant creature entering the ballroom behind her aunt. Danielle Duval had been living in the country for the past five years. After The Scandal, she had been banished, shamed into leaving the city. Since her father was dead and her mother had disowned her for what she had done, she had moved in with her aunt, Flora Duval Chamberlain. Until tonight, she had remained in the country.

The duchess couldn’t imagine what Danielle was doing back in London, or what had possessed her to come to a place where she was so obviously not welcome.

“Rafael…?” Lady Mary Rose looked up at him with a worried expression. “What is it?”

Rafe’s gaze never wavered. Something flashed in his intense blue eyes, something hot and wild Miriam hadn’t seen there in nearly five years. Anger tightened the skin across his cheekbones. He took a steadying breath and fought to bring himself under control.

Looking down at Mary Rose, he managed a smile. “Nothing to be concerned about, sweeting. Nothing at all.” He took her gloved hand and rested it once more on the sleeve of his coat. “I believe they are playing a rondele. Shall we dance?”

He led her away without waiting for an answer. Miriam imagined it would always be that way—Rafe commanding, Mary Rose obeying like a good little girl.

The duchess turned back to Danielle Duval, watched her moving along behind her rotund, silver-haired aunt, head held high, ignoring the whispers, the stares, walking with the grace of the duchess she should have been.

Thank heaven the girl’s true nature had come out before Rafael had married her.

Before he fell even more in love with her.

The duchess looked again at petite Mary Rose, thought of the biddable sort of wife she would make, nothing at all like Danielle Duval, and suddenly she felt grateful.

Crystal chandeliers gleamed down from the lavish, inlaid ceilings of the magnificent ballroom, casting a soft glow over the polished parquet floors. Huge vases of yellow roses and white chrysanthemums sat on pedestals along the wall. The elite of London’s elite filled the room, dancing to the music of a ten-piece orchestra in pale blue livery, members of the ton attending the gala in support of the London Widows and Orphans Society.

At the edge of the dance floor, Cord Easton, Earl of Brant, and Ethan Sharpe, Marquess of Belford, stood next to their wives, Victoria and Grace, watching the couples moving around the floor.

“Do you see what I see?” Cord drawled, his gaze turning away from the dancers to the pair of women walking along the far wall of the room. “I swear my eyes must be deceiving me.” Cord was a big man, powerfully built, with dark brown hair and golden brown eyes. He and Ethan were the duke’s best friends.

“What are you looking at so intently?” His wife, Victoria, followed the line of his vision.

“Danielle Duval,” Ethan answered, surprised. “I can’t believe she has the nerve to come here.” Ethan was as tall as the duke, lean and broad-shouldered, with black hair and very light blue eyes.

“Why, she’s beautiful….” Grace Sharpe stared in awe at the tall, slender redhead. “No wonder Rafe fell in love with her.”

“Mary Rose is beautiful, too,” Victoria defended.

“Yes, of course she is. But there is something about Miss Duval…can you not see?”

“There is something about her, all right,” Cord growled. “She’s a treacherous little baggage with the heart of a snake and not the least bit of conscience. Half of London knows what she did to Rafe. She isn’t welcome here, I can tell you.”

Cord’s gaze found the duke, who was concentrating on his petite blond dancing partner with an interest he had never shown in her before. “Rafe must have seen her. Damnation—why did Danielle have to come back to London?”

“What do you think Rafe will do?” Victoria asked.

“Ignore her. Rafe won’t stoop to her level. He has too much self-control for that.”

Danielle Duval fixed her gaze straight ahead and continued walking behind her aunt. They were headed for a spot at the back of the room, a place where Dani could remain for the most part out of sight.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman turn abruptly away from her, giving Danielle her back. She could hear people whispering, talking about The Scandal. Dear God, how could she have let her aunt convince her to come?

But Flora Duval Chamberlain had a way of convincing people to her will.

“This charity means everything to me, dearest,” she had said. “You have been instrumental in all the good work we have accomplished and received not a single word of thanks. I refuse to go without you. Please say you will agree to your aunt’s one small request.”

“You know what it will be like for me, Aunt Flora. No one will speak to me. They will talk about me behind my back. I don’t think I can bear to go through that again.”

“You have to come out of hiding sooner or later. It has already been five years! You never did anything to deserve being treated the way you have been. It is high time you reclaimed your place in the world.”

Knowing how much the ball meant to her aunt, Danielle had reluctantly agreed. Besides, Aunt Flora was right. It was time she came out of hiding and reclaimed her life. And she would only be in London for the next two weeks. After that, she was sailing for America, embarking on the new life she intended to make for herself there.

Dani had accepted a proposal of marriage from a man named Richard Clemens, whom she had met in the country, a wealthy American businessman, a widower with two young children. As Richard’s wife, Danielle would have the husband and family she had long ago given up hope of ever having. With her new life on the horizon, coming to the ball at her aunt’s request seemed a small-enough price to pay.

Now that she was there, however, Dani wished with all her heart that she were somewhere—anywhere—besides where she was.

They reached the back of the elegant ballroom and she settled herself on a small gold velvet chair against the wall behind one of the urns overflowing with flowers. A few feet away Aunt Flora, undeterred by the hostile glares being cast in their direction, made her way over to the punch bowl and returned a few minutes later with crystal cups filled to the brim with fruit punch.

“Here, dearest, drink this.” She winked. “I put a splash of something in there to help you relax.”

Danielle opened her mouth to say she didn’t need alcoholic spirits to get through the evening, caught another hostile glare and took a big drink of the punch.

“As co-chairman of the event,” her aunt explained, “I shall be expected to give a brief speech a bit later on. I shall ask for a generous donation from those in attendance, express my gratitude to all for their past support, and then we shall leave.”

It couldn’t happen soon enough for Dani. Though she had known what to expect—the scorn she read in people’s faces; the acquaintances, once her friends, who would not even look her way—hurt even worse than she had imagined.

And then there was Rafael.

Dear God, she had prayed he wouldn’t be here. Aunt Flora had assured her he would simply send a hefty donation as he had done every other year. Instead, here he was, taller, even more handsome than she remembered, exuding every ounce of his powerful presence and aristocratic bearing.

The man who had ruined her.

The man she hated more than anyone on earth.

“Oh, dear.” Aunt Flora waved her painted fan in front of her round, powdered face. “Apparently I was wrong. It appears His Grace, the Duke of Sheffield, is here.”

For an instant, Dani’s back teeth ground together. “Yes…so it would seem.” And Rafe had seen her walk in, Danielle knew. For an instant their eyes had met and held, hers as green as his were blue. She had seen the flash of anger before his gaze became shuttered, then the bland expression he had been wearing before he saw her fell back into place.

Her own temper climbed. She had never seen that look on his face before, so calm, so completely unruffled, almost serene. It made her want to hit him. To slap the smug, condescending look off his too-handsome face.

Instead, she sat in her chair against the wall, ignored by old friends, whispered about by people she didn’t even know, wishing her aunt would finish her speech and they could go home.

Rafael handed his betrothed, Lady Mary Rose Montague, back into the care of her mother and father, the Earl and Countess of Throckmorton.

“Perhaps you will save another dance for me later,” Rafe said to the little blonde, bowing over her hand.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

He nodded, turned away.

“They will be playing a waltz a bit later,” said Mary Rose. “Perhaps you would…”

But Rafe was already walking away, his mind on another woman far different from the one he intended to wed. Danielle Duval. Just the sound of her name, whispering through the back of his mind, was enough to make his temper shoot to dangerous levels. It had taken him years to learn to control his volatile nature, to bring his emotions under control. These days, he rarely shouted, rarely lost his temper. Rarely allowed his passionate nature to get out of hand.

Not since Danielle.

Loving Danielle Duval had taught him a valuable lesson—the terrible cost of letting one’s emotions rule one’s head and heart. Love was a disease that could unman a man. It had nearly destroyed Rafael.

He glanced toward the rear of the ballroom, catching a flash of Danielle’s bright hair. She was here. He could scarcely believe it. How dare she show her face after what she had done!

Determined to ignore her, Rafe went to join his friends at the edge of the dance floor. The instant he walked up, he knew the group had spotted Danielle.

He took a glass of champagne off the silver tray of a passing waiter. “So…from the astonished looks on your faces, I gather you have seen her.”

Cord shook his head. “I can’t believe she had the nerve to come here.”

“The woman has unmitigated gall,” Ethan added darkly.

Rafe flicked a glance at Grace, who studied him over the rim of her glass of champagne.

“She is quite beautiful,” Grace said. “I can see why you fell in love with her.”

His jaw tightened. “I fell in love with the woman because I was an idiot. Believe me, I paid the price for my folly, and I assure you it won’t happen again.”

Victoria’s head came up. She was the shorter of the women, with heavy brown hair as opposed to Grace’s rich auburn curls. “Surely you don’t mean you will never again fall in love,” she said.

“That is precisely what I mean.”

“But what about Mary Rose? Surely you love her at least a little.”

“I care for the girl. I wouldn’t marry her if I didn’t. She’s a lovely young woman with a pleasant, biddable nature, and a very fine pedigree.”

Ethan rolled his pale blue eyes. “Need I remind you, my friend, we’re discussing a woman here, not a horse?”

Cord stared off toward the redhead at the far end of the ballroom. “You’re doing a splendid job of ignoring her. I don’t know if I could be quite so magnanimous.”

Rafe scoffed. “It isn’t all that hard. The woman means nothing to me—not anymore.”

But his gaze strayed again across the dance floor. He caught a glimpse of the deep red curls on top of Danielle’s head and felt a rush of angry heat to the back of his neck. He itched to stride across the floor and wrap his hands around her throat, to squeeze the very life from her. It was a feeling he hadn’t known since the day he’d last seen her—five years ago.

The memory returned with shocking force…the weeklong house party at the country estate of his friend Oliver Randall. The excitement he felt, knowing Danielle, her mother and aunt would be among the guests. Ollie Randall was the third son of the Marquess of Caverly, and the family estate, Woodhaven, was palatial.

The weeklong visit was magical, at least for Rafe. Long, lazy afternoons spent with Danielle, evenings of dancing and the chance for them to steal a few moments alone. Then, two nights before week’s end, Rafe had stumbled upon a note, a brief message signed by Danielle. It was addressed to Oliver, had obviously been read and tossed away, and in it Dani invited Ollie to her room that night.

I must see you, Oliver. Only you can save me from making a terrible mistake. Please, I beg you, come to my room at midnight. I will be waiting.

Yours, Danielle

Rafe felt torn between anger and disbelief. He was in love with Danielle and he had believed she loved him.

It was only a few minutes after midnight that Rafe knocked, then turned the knob on Danielle’s door. When the door swung open, he saw his friend lying in bed with his betrothed.

Lying naked beside the woman he loved.

He could still remember the wave of nausea that had rolled through his stomach, the awful, terrible feeling of betrayal.

It rose again now as the music in the ballroom reached a crescendo. Rafe fixed his gaze on the orchestra, determined to dispel the unwanted memories, to bury them as he had done five years ago.

He spent the next hour dancing with the wives of his friends, then danced again with Mary Rose. A brief speech was made by one of the co-chairwomen of the fund-raising event, and recognizing Flora Duval Chamberlain, he understood why Danielle had come.

Or at least part of the reason.

If there were others, he would never know. After the brief speeches ended and the dancing resumed, Rafe looked again across the ballroom.

Danielle Duval was no longer there.

Two

“Did you see the way he looked at her?” Smoothing back a curl of her heavy chestnut hair, Victoria Easton, Countess of Brant, sat on the brocade sofa in the Blue Drawing Room of the town house she shared with her husband and ten-month-old son. Her blond, elegantly lovely sister, Claire, Lady Percival Chezwick, and her best friend, Grace Sharpe, Marchioness of Belford, sat just a few feet away.

“It was really quite something,” Grace said. “There was fire in that man’s eyes. I have never seen quite that expression on his face.”

“He was probably just angry she had come,” Claire reasoned. “I wish I had been there to see it.”

Tory had ordered tea but the butler had not yet arrived with the cart, though she could hear the wheels rattling down the marble-floored corridor on the other side of the door. “You weren’t there because you were home with Percy doing something far more fun than attending a benefit ball.”

Claire giggled. She was the youngest of the women and, even after her marriage, still the most naive. “We had a wonderful night. Percy is so romantic. Still, I should have enjoyed seeing a truly scarlet woman.”

“I felt sorry for Rafael,” Grace said. “Rafe must have truly loved her. He tried to hide it, but he was furious, even after all these years.”

“Yes, and Rafe rarely loses his temper,” Tory said. She sighed. “It’s terrible what she did to him. I’m surprised she fooled him so completely. Rafe is usually a very good judge of character.”

“So exactly what did she do?” Claire asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“According to Cord, Danielle invited a friend of Rafe’s into her bed—with Rafe and a number of guests just down the hall. He caught them and that was the end of their betrothal. It was all very public. The scandal followed him for years.”

Grace smoothed a faint wrinkle in the skirt of her high-waisted apricot muslin skirt. “Danielle Duval is the reason Rafe is determined to marry without love.” A week ago, her little boy, Andrew Ethan, had just turned six months old, but Grace’s lithe figure had already returned.

Timmons knocked just then and Tory beckoned the short, stout butler into the room. The tea cart rattled over to the Oriental carpet and stopped in front of the sofa, then the small man silently left the drawing room.

“All is not yet lost,” Tory said to Grace, leaning forward to pour the steaming brew into three gold-rimmed porcelain cups. “You gave Rafael the necklace, so there is still a ray of hope.”

Rafe had been instrumental in saving Grace’s life and that of her newborn baby. She had wanted her friend to find the happiness she had found with Ethan, so she had given the duke a very special gift. The Bride’s Necklace, an ancient piece of jewelry made in the thirteenth century for the bride of the Lord of Fallon. The necklace, it was said, carried a curse—it could bring great joy or terrible tragedy, depending on whether or not its owner’s heart was pure.

“I suppose you’re right,” Grace agreed. “Rafe has the necklace, so there is yet a chance for him to find happiness.”

Claire toyed with the handle on her teacup. “What if all the things that happened to you and Tory were just strange coincidences and nothing at all to do with the necklace? It could be, you know.”

Tory sighed, knowing her sister might be right. “It’s possible, I guess, but…” But Tory couldn’t help thinking of the time the necklace had belonged to her, of the wonderful man she had married and their beautiful infant son, Jeremy Cordell, who was asleep in the nursery upstairs.

She couldn’t help remembering that she had given the necklace to Grace, who had met Ethan and saved him from the darkness that surrounded him. Grace, who now also had a wonderful husband and son.

And there was her stepfather, Miles Whiting, Baron Harwood, an evil man who had owned the necklace and now lay moldering in his grave.

Tory shivered, shoving away the unwanted thought. “We know Rafe has a good heart. We can only hope the necklace will work.”

Claire looked up from studying the leaves in the bottom of her teacup. “Maybe the duke will fall in love with Mary Rose. That would be the perfect solution.”

Tory cast Grace a look and tried not to grin when Grace rolled her eyes. “That is a very good notion, Claire. Perhaps he will.”

But when she thought of the searing glance Rafe had tossed at Danielle Duval, she couldn’t make herself believe it.

“Please, Aunt Flora. I simply cannot do it. How can you even think of asking me to go through that again?”

They were standing in Danielle’s bedchamber, in their elegant suite at the Chesterfield Hotel, a lovely room done in shades of gold and dark green. Aunt Flora had let the rooms for the next two weeks, until their ship set sail for America.

“Come, now, dearest. This is an entirely different sort of affair. To begin with, this is an afternoon tea, not a ball, and a number of the children will be there. You know how you love children, and you are always so good with them.”

Dani toyed with the sash on her blue quilted wrapper. It was not yet noon. The benefit tea would begin in a little over an hour. “The affair may be different, but I will be shunned, just as I was before. You saw how people treated me.”

“Yes, I did, and I was proud of the way you conducted yourself. You made it clear you had every right to be there. I thought you handled the situation beautifully.”

“I was miserable, every single moment.”

Aunt Flora sighed dramatically. “Yes, well, I am truly sorry about the duke.” She looked up at Dani from beneath a set of finely plucked, silver-gray eyebrows. “At least the man didn’t cause you any trouble.”

Dani didn’t mention the angry look he had tossed her, or the furious expression he couldn’t quite hide. “He would have been sorry if he had said even one word.”

“Well, he won’t be there this time, I promise you.”

She glanced down at her aunt, who was a good eight inches shorter and quite a few stone heavier. “How can you be so certain?”

“It was merely a fluke the last time. An afternoon tea is hardly the sort of affair that would interest a duke. Besides, I wouldn’t ask you to go if I were feeling up to snuff. Lately I’ve been a bit under the weather.” She coughed lightly for effect, hoping to make Dani feel guilty.

Instead, Danielle saw it as a last thin ray of hope. “Perhaps, since you are ill, it would be best if you stayed home, as well. We can have some nice hot tea and fresh scones sent up and—”

Aunt Flora stopped her words. “As co-chairwoman of the society, I have duties, responsibilities. As long as you are with me, I shall be fine.”

Dani’s shoulders sagged. How did her aunt always manage to get her way? Then again, Aunt Flora had agreed to accompany her on the difficult journey to America. She would be there for Dani’s wedding and remain until she was settled with her husband in her new home. Surely she could buck up enough to make it through this last fund-raising event before they departed.

And, as Aunt Flora had said, the children would be there. There would be at least a few friendly faces to get her through the afternoon affair.

A knock at the door drew her attention. An instant later, the door swung open and her lady’s maid, Caroline Loon, walked in.

Caro smiled widely. “Lady Wycombe sent for me. Shall I help you pick out something to wear?”

Dani rolled her eyes, thinking that she hadn’t had a chance from the start.

“Well, then I shall leave you to dress,” Aunt Flora said, making her way out the door. “You may join me as soon as you are ready.”

Giving in to her fate, Dani made a resigned nod of her head, and as soon as the door was closed, Caro hurried over to the armoire against the wall. At six-and-twenty, a year older than Dani, Caroline Loon was taller and more slenderly built, a blond woman, attractive in a different sort of way, with an incredibly sweet disposition.

Caro was a gently reared young lady whose parents had died unexpectedly of a fever. Penniless and orphaned, she had arrived at Wycombe Park nearly five years ago, desperate for any sort of employment.

Aunt Flora had immediately hired her as Danielle’s lady’s maid, but over the years, the two of them had become far more than mistress and maid. Caroline Loon, a vicar’s daughter likely destined for spinsterhood, had become her best friend.

Caro opened the door of the armoire. Though most of Dani’s clothes were packed away in heavy leather trunks in preparation for her journey, a modest assortment of gowns hung inside.

“What about the saffron muslin embroidered with roses?” Caro asked, dragging out one of Dani’s favorite gowns.

“I suppose the saffron gown will do well enough.” If she had to go to the blasted tea, she intended to look as good as she possibly could, and wearing the bright yellow muslin always made her feel pretty.

“Sit down and I’ll do up your hair,” Caro instructed. “Lady Wycombe will have my head if you make her late for her tea.”

Danielle sighed. “I swear, between the two of you, I am surprised I ever get to make a decision.”

Caro just laughed. “She loves you. She is determined you return to society. She wants you to be happy.”

“I’ll be happy—once I’m on my way to America.” Dani reached over and took hold of Caro’s slim, long-boned hand. “I am only grateful that you have agreed to go with us.”

“I am glad to be going along.” Caro managed a smile. “Perhaps we will both find a new life in the Colonies.”

Dani smiled, as well. “Yes, perhaps we will.” Danielle certainly hoped so. She was tired of her nonexistent life, tired of being hidden away in the country with few friends and only an occasional visit from the children in the orphanage to look forward to. She was eager for the chance to make a new life in America, where no one had ever heard of The Scandal.

In the meantime, she had to find the courage to get through her aunt’s miserable tea.

Rafael slipped a forest-green tailcoat on over his beige piqué waistcoat. His valet, a short, slight, balding man who had been in his service for years, reached up to straighten the knot on his stock.

“There you are, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Petersen.”

“Will there be anything more, sir?”

“Not until my return, which should be sometime late this afternoon.” He didn’t intend to stay at the affair very long, just drop by and pay his respects, and of course leave a sizable bank draft for the orphans. After all, it was his civic duty.

He told himself it had nothing to do with the notion Danielle Duval might also be in attendance, convinced himself that if she were, he would ignore her as he had done before.

He wouldn’t say any of the things he had longed to say five years ago, wouldn’t let her know how badly her betrayal had hurt him. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how devastated he had been, that for weeks after it had happened he had barely been able to function. Instead, he would make clear his disdain for her without a single word.

His coach-and-four waited in front of the house, a lavish three-story structure in Hanover Square that his father had built for his mother, who now lived in a separate, smaller, but no-less-elegant apartment on the east side of the mansion.

A footman pulled open the carriage door. Rafe mounted the steps and settled himself against the red velvet squabs, and the coach rumbled off down the cobbled street. The afternoon tea was being held in the gardens of the Mayfair residence of the Marquess of Denby, whose wife was deeply involved in the charity for London’s widows and orphans.

The mansion, in Breton Street, wasn’t that far away. The carriage rolled up in front and a footman opened the door. Rafe departed the coach and made his way up the front porch steps past two liveried footmen, who ushered him through the entry out to the garden at the rear of the house.

Most of the guests had already arrived, just as he had hoped, and they clustered here and there on the terrace, or walked the gravel paths through the leafy foliage of the garden. A group of children, plainly dressed but clean, their hair neatly combed, played at the base of a stone fountain on the right side of the garden.

The charity organized by Lady Denby was a good one. There weren’t enough orphanages in the city to care for the needy and many homeless children who wound up in infant poorhouses, workhouses, apprenticed as chimney sweeps, or grew up as vagrants and beggars, living hand-to-mouth on the streets.

Most orphans were taken care of by local parishes, often abominable excuses for homes. Foundlings brought into their care rarely lived to reach their first year. Rafe had heard of a parish in Westminster that had received five hundred bastards in a single year—and raised only one of them past five years of age.

But the London Society funded several large orphan homes of a very high caliber.

“Your Grace!” Lady Denby hurried toward him, a big-bosomed woman with glossy black hair cut short and curling around her face. “How good of you to come.”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay long. I just stopped by to present you with a bank draft for the orphanage.” He dragged the folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over, all the while scanning the guests to see who might also be there.

“Why, this is quite wonderful, Your Grace—especially since you made such a generous donation at the ball.”

He shrugged his shoulders. He could certainly afford it and he had always liked children. Having a family of his own was the main reason he had recently decided to take a wife. That and the fact his mother and aunt hounded him incessantly about living up to his responsibilities as duke.

He needed an heir, they said. And a spare. He needed a son to carry on the Sheffield title and manage the vast fortune entailed to it so that his family would always be taken care of.

“Tea is being served on the terrace.” Lady Denby took his arm and began to guide him in that direction. “Of course, we have something a bit stronger for the men.”

Smiling, she moved him off toward a table covered with silver trays laden with cakes and cookies of every sort, and tiny finger sandwiches so small it would take a dozen to fill him up. A silver tea service sat in the middle of the linen-draped table, along with a crystal punch bowl.

“Shall I have one of the servants bring you a brandy, Your Grace?”

“Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.” It might help him make it through the next half hour, which was all he intended to stay.

The brandy arrived and he sipped it slowly, searching for a friendly face, seeing his mother and Aunt Cornelia in conversation with a group of other women, glancing past them to the round, powdered face of Flora Duval Chamberlain. His gaze lit on the woman to her left, a woman with flame-red hair and the face of a goddess. Rafe’s stomach contracted as if he had suffered a powerful blow.

His expression instantly hardened. He told himself he hadn’t come because of her, but seeing her now, he recognized the lie for what it was. For an instant, Danielle’s eyes met his and widened in shock. Rafe felt a shot of satisfaction as the color drained from her lovely, treacherous face.

He didn’t glance away, certain that she would.

Instead her chin shot up and she gave him a look meant to burn right through him. He clenched his jaw. Long seconds passed and neither of them looked away. Then Danielle rose slowly from her chair, flicked him a last seething glance and walked off toward the rear of the garden.

Fury engulfed him. Where was the humility he had expected? Where was the embarrassment he had been certain he would see in her face?

Instead, she walked the gravel path with her head held high, ignoring him as if he weren’t there, making her way over to where a group of the children played at the back of the garden.

Inwardly shaking, Dani fixed her gaze on the children playing tag near the gazebo, determined not to let her unnerving encounter with Rafael Saunders show in any way. She had taught herself that after The Scandal, how to take rigid control of her emotions. Never let them know the power they held, how badly they could hurt you.

“Miss Dani!” Maida Ann, a little blond girl with pigtails, rushed toward her. “Tag! You’re it!”

Danielle laughed and felt a breath of relief. She had played the game with the children whenever they came for a visit to Wycombe Park. They expected her to play with them now. At the moment, she was glad for the distraction.

“All right. It looks as if you have tagged me. Now…let me see…which of you is going to be next? Robbie? Or maybe you, Peter?” She knew some of the children’s names, not all. None of them had living parents, or if they did, the parents refused to claim them. Dani’s heart went out to them. She was happy that her aunt was a patroness of the charity, which gave her a chance to spend time with the children.

Giggling, Maida Ann darted past her, just out of reach. Dani adored the feisty little five-year-old with the big blue eyes. She loved children, had hoped one day to have a family of her own.

A family with Rafe.

The thought made her angry all over again.

And sad.

It wasn’t going to happen. Not with Rafe or any other man. Not after the accident, the terrible fall she had suffered five years ago. Dani shook her head, pushing the bitter memory away.

She fixed her gaze on a boy named Terrance, a red-haired child about eight years old. Terry ran past her, just out of reach, each child rushing forward then darting away, secretly hoping she would direct her attention to him, even if she tagged him and he or she would be it.

She played the game for a while, dancing away, bolting forward and finally tagging young Terry. Waving at the children, she gave them a last warm smile and made her way deeper into the garden.

She didn’t hear the footfalls approaching behind her until it was too late. She knew who it was before she turned. Still, she couldn’t help the gasp of surprise as she stared up into Rafe’s handsome face.

“Good afternoon, Danielle.”

Her heartbeat thundered. Anger made rosy circles appear in her cheeks. She turned away, rudely ignored him, caught the look of shock that appeared on his face, and simply started walking.

But the Duke of Sheffield wasn’t used to being ignored, and she felt the pressure of his fingers as they wrapped around her arm. His grip was firm enough to stop her forward motion and turn her around to face him.

“I said good afternoon. I expect at least a civil reply.”

She clamped down on her temper, told herself not to let him bait her. “Excuse me. I believe my aunt is calling.”

But he didn’t let go of her arm. “I think your aunt is otherwise engaged at the moment. Which means you have time to greet an old friend.”

Her fine thread of control stretched to the breaking point and then completely snapped. “You are no friend of mine, Rafe Saunders. You are, in fact, the last man on earth I would think to call a friend.”

Rafe’s jaw hardened. “Is that so? If not a friend, then how, may I ask, should I think of you?”

She lifted her chin, the knot of anger in her stomach almost painful. “You may think of me as the biggest fool you have ever met. A woman foolish enough to trust a man like you. Stupid enough to fall in love with you, Rafael.”

She started walking, but Rafe’s tall figure stepped into the path of her escape. His jaw was set, his intense blue eyes diamond hard.

“I believe it was you, my dear, I found with one of my closest friends. You who invited Oliver Randall into your bed, under my very nose.”

“And it was you who was eager to believe your friend’s lies instead of the truth!”

“You betrayed me, Danielle. Or perhaps you have forgot.”

Dani looked up at him, her eyes snapping with fire. “No, Rafael. It was you who betrayed me. If you had loved me, trusted me, you would have known I was telling you the truth.” She gave him a thin, bitter smile. “On second thought, as I think of it, certainly it is you who are the fool.”

Rafe’s whole body vibrated with anger.

Good, she thought. She hated the bland, uninteresting man he had become, so cool and unaffected. The sort of man she wouldn’t have found the least bit attractive.

“You have the nerve to stand there and claim you are innocent of the affair?”

“I told you that the moment you stepped into my bedchamber. The events of that night have not changed.”

“You were in bed with the man!”

“I didn’t even know he was there—as I told you that night! Now, get out of my way, Rafael.”

Fury burned in his cold blue eyes but she didn’t care. She started walking again and this time Rafe made no move to stop her.

She was surprised he had approached her in the first place. They hadn’t spoken since the night he had walked into her bedchamber five years ago and found Oliver Randall lying naked in her bed.

She had tried then to tell him that Oliver was playing some kind of cruel, terrible joke, that nothing had happened between them, that she had been sleeping until Rafe had walked into the room and startled her awake.

But for reasons she still didn’t understand, Oliver had set out to destroy the love Rafael had felt for her—or at least said he felt—and the man had brutally succeeded.

Rafe hadn’t listened to her that night, nor responded to any of the dozen letters she sent him, begging him to hear her side of the story, pleading with him to believe she was telling him the truth.

As word of the scandal began to leak out, he never once defended her, never once paid the slightest attention to her version of events. Instead, he had abruptly ended their betrothal, confirming what the gossipmongers said.

Telling the world that Danielle Duval was not the innocent she pretended, but a scarlet woman who had conducted herself shamelessly, and with blatant disregard for her intended. She’d been shunned in society, banished to the country. Even her own mother had believed the tale.

Dani’s vision blurred as she made her way through the garden. She rarely thought of Rafael and those awful days back then. But now she was here in London and Rafe was tossing the entire affair back in her face.

She sniffed and fought back the tears she refused to let fall. She wouldn’t cry for Rafe, not again. She had wept more than enough for the man she had loved five years ago and she would never weep for him again.

Three

Rafe stood in the garden, angry and oddly disturbed as he watched Danielle’s elegant figure moving along the gravel path until she disappeared inside the house.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to seek her out. Perhaps it was keeping his silence for all of these years. Whatever it was, instead of the satisfaction he was certain he would feel once he had confronted her, he was more troubled than ever.

As she had done that night, Danielle had professed her innocence. He hadn’t believed her then and he didn’t believe her now. He’d read the note, after all, and he had two eyes in his head. Oliver had accepted Danielle’s invitation and he was there in her room, lying naked beside her in bed.

Rafe had called the bastard out, of course. Ollie was supposed to be his friend.

“I won’t meet you, Rafe,” Oliver had said. “I won’t fight you no matter what you do to me. We’ve been friends since we were boys, and there is no denying the fault is mine entirely.”

“Why, Ollie? How could you do it?”

“I love her, Rafael. I’ve always loved her. You know that better than anyone. When she asked me to come to her room, I found it impossible to refuse her invitation.”

Rafael had known for years that his friend was in love with Danielle, had been in love with her since he was a youth in his teens. But Dani had never loved Ollie.

Or so Rafe had thought. He had stupidly believed that Danielle loved him and not Oliver Randall, though Ollie had for years pursued her. After that night, he had come to believe she had accepted Rafe’s offer of marriage simply to become a duchess. It was wealth and power she wanted, not him.

As he walked out of the garden, he reminded himself of all those things, told himself that just as before, nothing Danielle said was the truth.

But he was older now, not insane with jealousy, not blinded by love as he had been in those days, not furious and aching with pain.

And because he was a different man than he had been back then, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. He couldn’t forget the way Danielle had looked at him there in the garden.

Without a shred of remorse, without the slightest hint of embarrassment. She had looked at him with all of the hatred that Rafe had felt for her.

No, Rafael. It was you who betrayed me. If you had loved me…you would have known I was telling you the truth.

The words nagged at him, gnawed at his insides all the way back to Sheffield House. Was it possible? Was there the slightest chance?

First thing the following morning, he sent a note to Jonas McPhee, the Bow Street runner he and his friends had used over the years whenever they needed information. McPhee was discreet and extremely good at his job, and he promptly arrived at Sheffield House at two o’clock that afternoon.

“Good day, Jonas. Thank you for coming.”

“I am happy to assist you, Your Grace, in any way I can.” The runner was short and balding, and wore small, wire-rimmed spectacles. He was an unimpressive man whose muscular shoulders and knotted hands were the only indication of the sort of work he did.

Rafe stepped back from the doorway, allowing McPhee into his study, then turned and led the man over to his desk and indicated that he should take a seat in one of the dark green leather chairs in front.

“I’d like to hire you, Jonas.” Rafe sat down behind his massive rosewood desk. The room was two stories high, with book-lined walls and an elegant molded ceiling. A long mahogany table sat in the middle of the room, lit by green glass lamps that hung down from above, and surrounded by a dozen carved, high-backed chairs. “I’d like you to investigate an incident that happened five years ago.”

“Five years is quite a while, Your Grace.”

“Yes, it is, and I realize it won’t be easy.” He settled back in his chair. “The incident involved a woman named Danielle Duval and a man named Oliver Randall. Miss Duval is the daughter of the late Viscount Drummond, who passed away some years back. Lady Drummond died just last year. Oliver Randall is the third son of the Marquess of Caverly.”

“I’ll need to make some notes, Your Grace.”

Rafe held up a sheet of foolscap. “I have all the information written down for you right here.”

“Excellent.”

Rafe set the paper down on his desk. “At one time, Miss Duval and I were betrothed. That ended five years ago.”

Rafe went on to tell the ugly story of what had happened the evening he found the note Danielle had sent to Oliver. He explained how at midnight he had gone into Danielle’s room and found the two of them together. As the tale unfolded, Rafe did his best to relay the information without revealing any of the emotions he had felt back then.

“Is there any chance you kept the note?” Jonas asked.

Rafe had anticipated the question. “Oddly enough, I did, though I can’t begin to tell you why.” Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, he moved the pistol he kept there aside and pulled out a small metal box, then fished out a key he kept on a ring in another drawer to open it. The note inside was yellowed and faded, the creases where it had been folded wearing thin. Still, it had the power to make a knot form in his stomach.

He handed the note to McPhee. “As I said, I have no idea why I kept it. Perhaps as a reminder never to be so ridiculously trusting again.”

McPhee took the note from his hand and Rafe handed him the list he had made of places and names, people somehow involved in The Scandal, however remotely.

“This may take some time,” McPhee said.

Rafe stood up from his chair. “I’ve waited five years. I don’t suppose a few more weeks will matter.” And yet he was strangely anxious to know what McPhee would find. Perhaps he merely wanted the affair resolved, as it never really had been.

Perhaps he was thinking of the future, of his upcoming marriage. Perhaps he merely wanted the past dead and buried—once and for all.

With Caro’s help, Danielle packed the last of her belongings into her traveling bags, taking special care with the garments she would need on board the ship during the two-month voyage to America.

Dani couldn’t wait to leave.

“It looks as if we are done,” Caro said, always cheerful. “Are you ready to go?”

“More than ready. How about you?”

Caro laughed, a joyous sound. “I have been packed and ready for days.”

“What about Aunt Flora? Is she completely packed?”

Dani’s robust aunt bustled into the room just then, strands of silver hair, loose from its pins, floating around her pudgy face. “I am ready to leave whenever you are, my dears.”

Like Dani, Aunt Flora considered Caroline Loon almost a member of the family. At one time, Danielle had suggested Caro no longer needed to work as her lady’s maid, but could continue instead as Dani’s companion.

Caro had been mortified. “I don’t want your charity, Danielle. I never have. I am happy to work for whatever I receive. Besides, you and Lady Wycombe have always been extremely kind and generous to me.”

Dani had never brought up the subject again. Caro was happy to earn her way and Dani was happy for their friendship.

“Well, then, if all of us are ready,” Aunt Flora said, “I will send down for the carriage.” Which would take them to the dock, then head back to Wycombe Park. Lady Wycombe would eventually be returning to England, but Dani and Caro would be staying in America, making their home with Dani’s future husband, Richard Clemens.

“Oh, this is all so exciting!” Flora bustled off to make the final arrangements and Dani looked over at Caro, who also looked excited.

“Well, I guess we’re on our way,” Dani said.

Caro grinned. “Just think—soon you will be a married woman.”

Danielle just nodded. She couldn’t help thinking of the last man she was supposed to wed and his terrible betrayal.

Richard is different, she told herself.

And Dani prayed that she was right.

The ship prepared to set sail with the tide the following morning, a big, square-rigged passenger ship, the Wyndham, with the most modern accommodations available. The captain had personally greeted the women and promised he would look out for their well-being during the journey, since they were traveling without the protection of a man.

Dani tried to imagine a man who had ever protected her from anything. Certainly not her father, who had died when she was so young. Not her cousin, Nathaniel, who had made lecherous advances when she was only twelve years old.

Definitely not Rafael, the man who was to be her husband, the man she had loved with all her heart.

She wondered about Richard Clemens, but thought that it really didn’t matter. She had learned to take care of herself and she would continue to do so, even after they were wed.

Danielle stood between Aunt Flora and Caro at the rail, looking out over the water as the ship prepared to sail. A late May wind chilled the air and whipped Dani’s pelisse around her shoulders.

“I can scarcely believe it,” Caro said as they watched the London dock disappear in the distance. “We are truly on our way to America!”

“What an adventure we are going to have!” Aunt Flora said brightly.

Though Dani was nearly as excited as they, she wished she could be more certain she was doing the right thing. She barely knew Richard Clemens. And after Rafael, she was far more wary of men. Still, Richard was giving her the chance at happiness she had given up ever having.

She leaned over and hugged each of the women, her dearest friends in all the world. “I am just so glad the two of you are coming with me.”

But she knew the women wouldn’t have it any other way. They were family. The only real family she’d ever had.

Now a new family awaited her in America. Richard and his son and daughter, children she wouldn’t have if she had never met him. She tried to remember his face, got an image of a man with thick blond hair and brown eyes. An attractive man, intelligent and generous.

They had met at Wycombe Park. Richard was in the textile manufacturing business and had come to England hoping to increase his accounts. He was a guest of Squire Donner, one of Aunt Flora’s friends who lived nearby. The squire and his wife, Prudence, along with their houseguest, Mr. Clemens, had been invited to dinner at Wycombe Park.

That night, after an evening of cards and pleasant conversation, along with an hour of Dani and Prudence entertaining on the pianoforte, Richard had asked if he might call on her again. Dani had surprised herself by saying yes.

In the days that followed, they hadn’t spent a great deal of time together, yet they seemed to get on very well. And even after she had told him about The Scandal, Richard had wanted to marry her.

Unlike Rafael, he had actually believed her when she told him she was innocent of any wrongdoing in the affair.

Standing on the deck of the Wyndham, Dani felt the wind in her face as her gaze moved farther out to sea. She was lucky. So very lucky. God had given her a second chance at happiness and she intended to grab hold of it and hang on with both hands.

Four

Ten days passed with only a few brief communications with Jonas McPhee. As Rafe waited for answers, he conducted his life as he had before, attending the usual soirées and house parties, spending most of his evenings at White’s, his gentlemen’s club, making an occasional stop of a more private nature, at Madame Fontaneau’s House of Pleasure.

In the old days, his best friends, Ethan Sharpe and Cord Easton, would have accompanied him, drinking and gaming, paying a visit to the ladies, though Cord had usually preferred the company of his mistress.

But Ethan and Cord were married now, happily so, each of them devoted husbands, and each with a son. Rafe intended his future would be the same. Though his marriage to Mary Rose wouldn’t be a love match, it was imperative that Rafe produce an heir. The Sheffield fortune was large, its land and holdings vast and complex.

Since he had no brothers, if he died without a son to carry on the name, the fortune and title would pass to his cousin, Arthur Bartholomew. Artie was a wastrel of the very worst sort, a dedicated rake whose main objective in life was to spend every guinea that passed into his hands. He whored, drank and gambled in excess, and seemed determined to debauch his way into an early grave.

Arthur was the reason Rafe’s mother had been so persistent in her efforts to see her son wed, and in truth, he couldn’t blame her. Like his aunts and cousins, his mother was dependent on an income from the vast Sheffield fortune to take care of her and the rest of the family. It was Rafe’s responsibility to see that the fortune passed into hands that would insure its existence for present and future generations.

To make sure that happened, Rafe was determined to marry and set up his nursery. He needed sons—more than one—to fulfill his duty. Beyond that, he looked forward to having a family of his own. He was ready for that to happen. Had been ready, he supposed, since his betrothal to Danielle, though after her betrayal, for a number of years the notion had been nearly abhorrent.

The memory sent his mind in that direction. He was still thinking of Danielle an hour later when he received a message from Jonas McPhee requesting a meeting that evening. From the tone of the note, Rafe believed he had uncovered important information.

It was almost nine o’clock when the butler showed McPhee into the study, where Rafe prowled impatiently in front of his big rosewood desk.

“Good evening, Your Grace. I had hoped to come earlier, but there were some last-minute details I needed to verify before I presented my information.”

“That’s quite all right, Jonas. I appreciate your being so thorough. I presume, then, that you have brought news.”

“I’m afraid so, Your Grace.”

At the words, Rafe’s stomach constricted. From the look on the runner’s face, he wasn’t going to like what Jonas had to say. He motioned for McPhee to sit down in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, then took his usual place across from him.

“All right, let’s have it.”

“To put it simply, sir, on the evening in question five years ago, it appears you were duped.”

The words drew the knot in his stomach even tighter. “In what way?”

“This acquaintance of yours, Oliver Randall, who was involved in the events that transpired, had apparently been harboring a secret animosity against you for years.”

“Animosity is a very strong word. We were friends. Never all that close, but I never sensed any blatant dislike on his part.”

“Were you aware of his feelings for your betrothed?”

“Yes. I knew he was in love with Danielle, that he had been for years. Mostly I felt sorry for him.”

“Until you saw them together that night.”

“That is correct. I found them in Danielle’s bedchamber. I found him naked in her bed.”

“There is no question he was there. A number of the guests who were attending the weeklong house party verified the events of the evening…as far as they knew. A number of them heard the commotion and ran down the hall to Miss Duval’s bedchamber. They saw you there, saw Oliver Randall in Miss Duval’s bed. All of them, including you yourself, came to the same conclusion.”

“You seem to be suggesting that all of us were wrong.”

“Tell me again how it was you found the note.”

Rafe allowed his memory to return to the painful events of that night. “One of the footmen brought it to me after supper. He said he had found it on the floor of Lord Oliver’s study. He said that he knew Miss Duval and I were betrothed and he didn’t believe what was going on between Miss Duval and Lord Oliver was right.”

“Do you recall the name of the footman?”

“No, only that I rewarded him handsomely for his honesty and vowed to keep his involvement in the affair a secret.”

“The footman’s name was Willard Coote. He was also paid quite handsomely by Lord Oliver, who instructed him to bring you the note.”

Rafe frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would Oliver wish to be caught with Danielle?”

“It makes sense if you understand how determined Lord Oliver was to insure you and Danielle Duval never wed. I believe he hoped that eventually he might win her for himself but, of course, that never happened. Mostly, I think he wanted to hurt you as badly as he possibly could.”

Rafe mulled that over, his mind spinning, trying to fit the pieces together. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. Why would Oliver wish to hurt me?”

“There is no doubt he was jealous. But that appears to be only one of the reasons for his animosity toward you. In time, I should be able to discover the balance of his motivations.”

Rafe straightened in his chair, his mind swarming with images of Oliver and Danielle together that night. “That won’t be necessary, at least not at present. For the moment, what I need to know is if you are certain—without the slightest doubt—that Danielle Duval was innocent of the accusations made against her that night.”

In answer, McPhee dug into the pocket of his rumpled, slightly frayed tailcoat. “There is a final bit of evidence I can give you.” He laid the note Rafe had given him out on the desk. “This is the message the footman gave you that evening.”

“Yes.”

McPhee unfolded a piece of foolscap and set it down next to the note. “And here is a letter written by Miss Duval. I believe it provides the final proof.” Jonas leaned over the papers. “As you can see, Your Grace, the handwriting is similar, but if you look closely, you will notice it is not exactly the same.”

Rafe followed each line, assessing the similarities and differences between the letter and the note. There was no denying the handwriting, though close, was not quite the same.

“Note the signature.”

Again Rafe compared the two. The signature was definitely a better forgery, the letters practiced more often, perhaps, but again, there were slight differences in the script.

“I don’t believe Miss Duval wrote the note to Oliver Randall,” Jonas said. “I believe Lord Oliver wrote it himself, wadded it up to look as if it had been read and discarded, then ordered his footman to bring the note to you later that evening.”

Rafe’s hand shook as he picked up the letter McPhee had brought. It was from Dani, addressed to her aunt. In it, she described the awful events of that night and begged her aunt to believe she was innocent of the accusations made against her.

“Where did you get this?”

“I paid a visit to Miss Duval’s aunt, Lady Wycombe. The countess wished to cooperate fully in the matter of proving her niece’s innocence. She arranged for several samples of her niece’s handwriting to be brought to me from Wycombe Park.”

Rafe set the letter down next to the note. “Danielle wrote to me again and again, but I never…I never opened any of her letters. I was so sure, so certain of what I had seen.”

“Considering how well the events of that night had been planned, that is understandable, Your Grace.”

Rafe clamped down on his jaw so hard an ache throbbed in the back of his neck. He shoved back his chair and stood up. “Where is he?”

McPhee stood up, as well. “Lord Oliver is currently in residence at the town house of his father, Lord Caverly. He is in London for the season.”

Rafe rounded the desk, his pulse racing, his anger building moment by moment. He bit down hard on his temper.

“Thank you, Jonas. You’ve done your usual fine job of uncovering the facts. I’m only sorry I didn’t know you five years ago. Perhaps if I had hired you back then, my life would have turned out far differently.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace.”

“No one could be sorrier than I.” Rafe walked McPhee to the door of his study. “Have your bill sent to my accountant.”

McPhee simply nodded. “Perhaps it is not too late to mend the damage, Your Grace.”

A fresh jolt of anger tore through him, his rage becoming so strong he feared it would spin out of control. “Five years is a very long time,” he said with deadly menace. “But of one thing you may be certain—it will soon be too late for Oliver Randall.”

The knock came early on Oliver’s door. At the firm, insistent pounding, he dragged himself from sleep, silently cursing whoever roused him at such an ungodly hour. He was surprised when his valet walked in, a terrified look on his face.

“What is it, Burgess? And whatever it is, it had better be important. I was sleeping like a babe until you started banging on the door.”

“There are three men downstairs, my lord. They insist on seeing you. Jennings told them it was too early for callers. He tried to turn them away, but they refused to leave. They said the matter could not wait. Jennings came to me and asked that I awaken you.” The small, black-haired valet held up a green silk dressing gown for Oliver to put on.

“Don’t be an idiot. I can hardly speak to them in that. I’ll have to dress. Whoever it is will simply have to wait.”

“The men said if you don’t come down in the next five minutes, they are going to come up and get you.”

“What? They dare to threaten me? What matter could be of such import these men have arrived at my home at such an indecent hour demanding to see me? Did Jennings give you their names?”

“Yes, my lord. The Duke of Sheffield, the Marquess of Belford, and the Earl of Brant.”

A shiver of alarm went through him. Sheffield was here. And with him two of London’s most powerful men. The reason for their visit didn’t bear thinking about. Better to wait and see.

Burgess held out the robe again and this time Oliver stuck his arm through the sleeve. “Well, get down there and tell them I am on my way. Show them into the drawing room.”

“Yes, my lord.”

They were there waiting when the butler pulled open the tall double doors and Oliver walked in, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity while wearing his dressing gown and slippers. It unnerved him a good bit more to see that the three men were standing, not sitting, as he walked into the drawing room.

“Good morning, Your Grace, my lords.”

“Ollie,” the duke said, an unmistakable edge to his voice.

“I assume your business is a matter of some urgency, since you have appeared on my doorstep at such a disreputable hour.”

Sheffield stepped forward. Oliver hadn’t seen Rafael Saunders in years, had made it a point, in fact, to keep his distance. Now he was here in his house, a man several inches taller and more powerfully built. A handsome man of wealth and power beyond anything Oliver would ever know.

“I’ve come in regard to a personal matter,” the duke said. “A matter that should have been resolved five years ago. I believe you know to which matter I refer.”

Oliver frowned. None of this was making any sense. “I thought what happened was all in the past. Surely you are not here to resurrect old infamies, not after all of these years.”

“Actually, I am here to defend Danielle Duval’s honor, as I should have done five years ago. You see, I made the mistake of believing you and not her. It is a mistake I mean to rectify—once and for all.”

“W-what are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, Rafe pulled a white cotton glove out of the inside pocket of his morning coat. He slapped the glove hard across Oliver’s cheeks, first one and then the other. “Danielle Duval was innocent of any wrongdoing the night I found the two of you together, but you, sir, were not. Now you will pay for the damage you’ve done and the lives you have ruined. You have the choice of weapons.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Actually, you do. As you are the one who forged the note I received and paid the footman, Willard Coote, to see it delivered, you know exactly what I mean. I’ll expect you to meet me tomorrow at dawn on the knoll at Green Park. These men will act as my seconds. If you refuse, as you did before, I will find you and shoot you where you stand. Now choose your weapon.”

So…the truth had finally come out. Oliver had begun to believe it never would, begun to think he had won the game completely. Now, five years later, he wondered if the price he would pay for the revenge he had attained would be worth it.

“Pistols,” he said finally. “You may count on my arrival at Green Park at dawn.”

“One last question…Ollie. Why did you do it? What did I do to you to deserve such a cruel form of punishment?”

A corner of Oliver’s mouth twisted up. “You were simply you, Rafael. From the time we were children, you were taller and smarter and better looking. You were heir to a dukedom that included a fabulous fortune. You were a better athlete, a more charming guest, a better lover. Every woman wanted to marry you. When Danielle fell under your spell, I was determined you would never have her.” His smile turned harsh. “And so I destroyed any chance for you to have the one thing you truly wanted.”

The duke exploded, grabbing the lapels of Oliver’s robe and hauling him up on his toes. “I’m going to kill you, Oliver. You may have accomplished what you set out to, but you are going to pay for what you have done.”

Both the earl and marquess rushed forward.

“Let him go, Rafael,” Brant said, his golden eyes burning into the cold blue eyes that belonged to his friend. “You’ll have your vengeance in the morning.”

“Give him time to ponder his fate,” said the black-haired Marquess of Belford, as if he knew the sort of fear time could breed.

The strong fingers squeezing his robe together beneath his chin slowly loosened.

“Time to go,” Belford said to the duke. “By now the servants have probably called a watchman. As Cord says, tomorrow is another day.”

Sheffield released him, shoving him away so hard he crashed into the mantel on the fireplace, sending a jolt of pain up his arm. But Oliver’s fear was slowly fading, replaced by an iron resolve. He had prepared himself for this day. Perhaps fate had given him a final chance to win the game.

“We’ll see who winds up dead,” Oliver taunted as the three men started for the door. “I’m not the same weak man I was five years ago.”

The men ignored him, just continued out of the drawing room, Belford limping slightly, an old wound perhaps. Oliver wasn’t acquainted with him well enough to know.

The door closed in the entry as the men left the house, and Oliver sank down on the brocade sofa. So he would face the Duke of Sheffield at last. There was a time he’d been sure this day would come. He had bought a set of dueling pistols and practiced with them daily, until he had become a very skillful marksman.

For the past few years, he had begun to think he wouldn’t need the weapons. Now it appeared that he would.

Oliver almost smiled. Rafael wanted vengeance. Oliver knew the feeling well. In a way, he was glad Rafe knew what had happened that night. It would make his victory all the sweeter. Tomorrow, if he got lucky, he would see his nemesis dead.

A thin fog hung over the knoll. The grass was deep and wet, forming beads of dew on the men’s leather boots. The first thin rays of dawn spread over the horizon, enough to outline the two black carriages parked at the edge of the grassy field below.

Ethan stood next to Cord beneath a tall sycamore tree, next to the two men who had accompanied Lord Oliver Randall. In the open space at the top of the knoll, his best friend, Rafael Saunders, Duke of Sheffield, stood back to back with the man who had ruined his life, Oliver Randall, third son of the Marquess of Caverly.

Randall was perhaps two inches shorter than Rafe, with a slightly leaner build, auburn hair and brown eyes. He had nothing of the power and command that Rafe always seemed to have, and yet Ethan hoped his friend hadn’t underestimated his enemy.

Word was, Oliver Randall was a very skillful marksman, one of the best in London.

Then again, so was Rafe.

The countdown began, Cord calling out the numbers, the men taking long strides away from each other as the steps were counted off. “Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

Both men turned at exactly the same instant, casting their bodies into profile. They lifted their long-barreled, silver-etched dueling pistols and fired.

Two distinct shots rang out, echoing over the knoll. For several seconds neither man moved, then Oliver Randall swayed on his feet and went down, crumpling into the wet grass on the knoll.

His seconds ran forward, two faint shadows in the purple rays of dawn, along with the surgeon, Neil McCauley, a friend who had agreed to come along. Both Cord and Ethan started toward the men, Ethan’s blood still pumping, though some of his worry began to fade as he saw Rafe standing there, apparently unharmed.

Then he spotted the bright patch of blood that appeared on Rafael’s sleeve, though Rafe didn’t seem to notice. Instead he strode toward Oliver Randall.

Bent over the injured man, Dr. McCauley looked up at the duke. “It’s bad. I’m not sure he’ll make it.”

“Do the best you can,” Rafe said. Turning, he strode toward Ethan, who caught up with him at the edge of the knoll.

“How badly are you injured?” Ethan asked, shoving back a strand of wavy black hair that fell across his forehead.

For the first time, Rafe seemed to realize he had been shot. “Nothing too serious, I don’t think. Hurts a bit, not too badly.”

Cord walked up just then. “My house is closest, and the women are there. Let’s get you home and get that arm taken care of.” Cord glanced toward the knoll. “Looks like McCauley has his hands full with Randall, but my wife is a fairly good nurse.”

Rafe just nodded. His jaw clenched with pain several times as they moved over the grass toward the carriage, but his mind seemed miles away.

Oliver Randall had been dealt with. Still, there were other matters of honor that would need to be mended. Danielle’s name would have to be cleared, Ethan knew, her innocence made known to society.

Ethan wondered what steps Rafe next intended to take.

Five

Rafe leaned back in the chair behind his desk. A mild June sun streamed through the mullioned windows, warming the room, but it didn’t improve his mood. His arm was throbbing, yet the wound, thankfully, had proved to be minor. The lead ball had gone through the fleshy part of his arm without hitting bone and passed out the opposite side.

Oliver Randall had not been so lucky. The ball had hit a rib beneath his heart, glanced off and lodged in an area near his spine. Neil McCauley had successfully removed the ball but the damage had already been done. Assuming the wound escaped putrefaction, Oliver Randall would live, but the man would never walk again.

Rafe felt no remorse. Oliver Randall had cruelly and deliberately destroyed two people’s lives for no other reason than jealousy. He had plotted and planned, lied and duped the entire town of London and especially Rafael. Now, in return, Oliver’s own life had been destroyed.

“You reap what you sow,” Rafe’s father had said when Rafe was a boy. The late duke had been fair and just. He would have seen justice in the outcome of the duel.

Still, Oliver wasn’t the only man at fault. In the days since the duel, Rafe had set out to mend some of the damage he, himself, had caused. He meant to clear Danielle’s name of any wrongdoing in the scandal that had ended their betrothal, but he wanted to speak to Dani first.

In that regard, his efforts had failed.

Rafe swore softly. Frustrated and out of sorts, he was thinking of Danielle when a knock at the door drew his attention. His butler, Jonathan Wooster, silver-haired with a narrow face and watery blue eyes, stood in the doorway.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Your Grace, but Lord and Lady Belford are here to see you.”

He had wondered when his friends would arrive. “Show them in.” They were worried about him, he knew. He’d been holed up since the duel and hadn’t left the house. Though justice had been served, he felt defeated. He hadn’t left the house because he couldn’t find the will.

Ethan ushered Grace into the room, a lovely young woman with heavy auburn hair and jewel-green eyes and dressed in a fashionable, high-waisted gown a paler shade of green. Grace and Rafe had long been friends, but never anything more. Rafe believed that Grace had been destined from the start to become Ethan’s bride, the one person who could dispel the darkness his friend had carried inside him.

“How are you feeling?” Ethan asked, a worried look on his face. He was as tall as Rafe, leaner, darker, his features more sculpted, the sort of man women were drawn to. Even more so now that his demons were gone.

“The wound was never that serious.” Rafe strode toward them across the room. “And the arm seems to be healing very well.”

“That’s very good news.” Grace’s pretty face lit with a smile. “Perhaps you feel well enough to accompany us to luncheon. It’s such a lovely day.”

Rafe glanced away. His body was mending, but his mind lingered in the past. The day after the duel, he had summoned Jonas McPhee to discover the whereabouts of Lady Wycombe and her niece, Danielle Duval. Since Rafe hadn’t seen her since the afternoon tea and neither had his mother, he thought that perhaps she and her aunt had returned to Wycombe Park.

Instead, according to McPhee, Danielle and her aunt had left the country.

“I can tell by the grim look on your face that you have discovered Danielle is gone,” Ethan said.

Rafe frowned. “How did you know?”

“Victoria told us,” Grace said. “She seems to have an invisible connection to every servant in the city. She was looking for information about Danielle. I suppose she thought you would probably wish to see her.”

Rafe bit back a sigh of frustration. “Unfortunately, Jonas McPhee informed me three days ago that Danielle and her aunt have sailed for America, gone off to the city of Philadelphia. I had hoped to speak to her, to apologize and somehow try to make amends. I don’t suppose that is going to happen now.”

“Certainly not right away,” Ethan agreed.

Rafe looked at his friend. “Did Victoria also tell you that Danielle has accepted a proposal of marriage from an American name Richard Clemens?”

“No. I don’t think she knew.”

Rafe stared past the couple, out the window into the garden. The sun was shining as it hadn’t in days, and a pair of sparrows sat on the branch of a sycamore tree beside the house.

He turned back to his friends. “Danielle has given up her home, been forced to leave her own country to try to find some kind of happiness for herself. She has sailed thousands of miles to escape the terrible things that were said about her—none of which were true—and the fault is entirely mine.”

Grace reached over and touched his arm. “That is not so. Your actions undoubtedly played a part, but Oliver Randall is the man responsible. He planned to end your betrothal to Danielle and destroy your feelings for each other—and he succeeded.”

Rafe’s hand unconsciously fisted. “Randall accomplished exactly what he set out to do. He destroyed any chance for happiness Danielle and I might have had. Unless, of course, she finds some measure of contentment with the man she intends to marry.”

Grace’s fingers pulled on the sleeve of his coat. “Are you willing to take that chance, Rafael?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Danielle’s marriage might make her life even more unhappy than it’s been for the past five years. Are you willing to take that risk?”

His chest tightened. The thought had occurred to him more than once in the past few days. He remembered the Dani he had fallen in love with, so sweet and innocent yet filled with such passionate fire.

Who was this man she intended to marry? Did she love him? Would he take care of her, treat her the way she deserved?

Ethan’s voice filled the silence that had fallen in the study. “Grace believes there is yet a chance for you and Danielle—if you are brave enough to take it. My wife believes that you are still in love with the woman. She is convinced that you’ve never stopped loving her. She believes you should go after her and bring her home.”

Rafe cast a hard look at Grace. “I realize you have always been an incurable romantic, sweeting, but this time I think you may have gone completely over the mark. Dani is marrying another man. She is probably in love with him. And I… I am betrothed to Mary Rose.”

“Are you still in love with Danielle?” Grace pressed.

Rafe took a steadying breath. Was he still in love with Dani? It was a question he had never allowed himself to ask. “It’s been five years, Grace. I don’t even know the lady anymore.”

“You have to find out, Rafael. You have to go after her. You have to discover if you still love her—and if she still loves you.”

Rafe snorted. “The woman loathes the very sight of me.”

“Perhaps she does. Perhaps she only thinks she does. Once I convinced myself that I hated Ethan. I blamed him for everything that had happened to me. But the day he showed up on my doorstep, I realized that the feelings I once held for him were still there, hovering just below the surface. At the time, I wished it weren’t so. Now…”

She turned, slid her arms around her husband’s waist and leaned into his embrace. “Now I am only grateful that he came for me, grateful that he has come to love me the way I love him, grateful for the son he has given me.”

Ethan bent his dark head and pressed his lips against his wife’s auburn curls.

“What about Mary Rose?” Rafe asked. “We are betrothed, in case you have forgot.”

“You don’t love her,” Ethan answered, surprising him. “And I don’t believe she loves you. I don’t think you want her to.”

No, he didn’t want Mary Rose to love him. Because he knew he could never return that love.

“Ask her to wait,” Grace urged. “Surely a little more time before the wedding wouldn’t be too much to ask.”

Rafe made no reply. His chest was squeezing. The questions Grace posed had been hovering at the edge of his mind since McPhee had discovered the truth about that night. The list had only grown since the duel. They were questions that needed to be answered.

There were words that needed to be spoken, a past that needed to be resolved.

“I’ll think about what you’ve both said. I want you and Ethan to know that no matter what happens, I appreciate your friendship. You will never know how much.”

Grace’s pretty eyes filled with tears. “We just want you to be happy.”

Rafe only nodded. He had given up that hope five years ago. Now, hearing his best friend’s words, the thought burned inside him again. Was it possible? He didn’t know, but he knew he had to find out.

Tomorrow morning, he would book passage for himself on a ship bound for America.

“If you decide to go,” Ethan said as if he had read Rafe’s mind, “Belford Shipping has a vessel sailing for America three days hence. The owner’s cabin is yours. The Triumph can sail you straight up the Delaware River to Philadelphia, and she’s a fast ship, Rafael. With good weather, she’ll cut at least a week off the time Danielle has ahead of you.”

Rafe looked up at him. Inside his chest, his heart was squeezing as if it were locked in a fist.

“Make the arrangements” was all he said.

Six

Needing a moment alone, Danielle stood at the window, staring into the darkness of the city they had reached just two weeks ago. Tonight she and her aunt were attending a small house party being given by close friends of Richard’s in honor of their engagement. It seemed there were always more people to meet, and though they were friendly, sometimes it was a bit overwhelming.

Dani gazed into the quiet outside the house. With its narrow cobbled streets and redbrick buildings, tall white church steeples and large, open green parks, Philadelphia was charming, if nothing at all like London.

Though America and England had once been connected, it was as if the American colonists had done everything in their power to carve out a new identity all their own. Their speech was less clipped, less formal. Their clothes followed English fashion, yet, with the distance between the two countries, even the most lavish costumes seemed slightly out of vogue.

Still, the people here had a strong, rugged independence that Danielle admired and respected. They were their own people, these Americans. She had never met anyone quite like them.

Danielle turned away from the window and walked over to join her aunt, who stood next to the cut-crystal punch bowl. During the two weeks since her arrival, Dani had settled comfortably into the narrow brick row house Aunt Flora had let for her stay in America. At present, Dani and Caro resided there with her in the charming, colonial-style home.

After Dani’s wedding, three weeks hence, she and Caro would move into Richard’s home on Society Hill, and once they were settled, Aunt Flora would return to England, accompanied by a companion she hired for the journey.

Dani would remain with her husband in Philadelphia, a completely new and different world. She was grateful Caro would be staying, as well.

She took a sip from the cup of punch Aunt Flora slid into her hand.

“Here comes Richard,” her aunt whispered, smiling at the blond man who approached from across the parlor, what the Americans called a drawing room. “He is certainly a handsome man.”

She cast Danielle a sideways glance, trying to read her emotions where Richard was concerned, but Dani kept her features carefully blank.

She liked Richard Clemens enough to accept his proposal, but she wasn’t in love with him. And she didn’t think Richard was more than moderately enamored of her. He was a successful, practical man who needed a wife to replace the one who had died in childbirth and a mother for his two children. Over time, Dani hoped, their affection would grow deeper.

“Ah, Danielle—there you are.” He smiled and she returned it.

“I saw you talking to Mr. Wentz,” she said. “Since you and he both own textile manufacturing companies, I imagined the two of you were talking business.”

He reached down and caught her hand, gave it a squeeze. “Very astute. I sensed that from our first meeting. A man with a wife who understands her role can be a tremendous asset to her husband’s business.”

Dani continued to smile. She wasn’t exactly certain what role Richard expected her to play, but in time she supposed she would figure it out.

“Actually Jacob Wentz is in the dye manufacturing business. His plant is in Easton, not far from Clemens’s Textiles.” Richard turned for a moment to speak to Aunt Flora, and as the pair made polite conversation, Dani studied the man she was to wed.

Richard stood slightly above average in height, and he was attractive, his hair a deep golden blond and his eyes a mixture of brown and green, turning more one color than the other, depending upon his mood.

She had only begun to know him during his time in England. He’d been attentive and interesting, an intelligent man, successful in his business endeavors, a widower who seemed to find her attractive. Here he was different, more driven. Here, business always came first. At times it seemed to consume him.

“If you will excuse us for a moment, Lady Wycombe,” Richard said, “there is a gentleman I would like Danielle to meet.”

“Of course.” Aunt Flora gave him a last warm smile, turned her attention to the matron standing next to her and they began to pleasantly chatter.

Dani let Richard guide her across the parlor, a well-designed room with molded ceilings, Aubusson carpets and Chippendale furniture. Even the furniture in the houses she had visited seemed decidedly American, mostly mahogany, with smooth lines and graceful curves, pretty lace doilies and high-backed Windsor chairs.

Richard covered her hand where it rested on the sleeve of his tailcoat as they wove their way among the guests, stopping for a greeting here and there. It was obvious by the way people deferred to him that her fiancé held a high place in Philadelphia society. In fact, there were times he seemed overly concerned with it, but perhaps she was mistaken.

He stopped in front of a tall, burly, gray-haired man with mutton-chop sideburns. “Senator Gaines, it’s good to see you.”

“You, as well, Richard.”

“Senator, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Danielle Duval.”

Gaines made a very polite bow over her hand. “Miss Duval, you are every bit as lovely as Richard has said.”

“Thank you, Senator.”

“Senator Gaines was once ambassador to England,” Richard told Dani. To the senator he said, “Danielle’s father was the Viscount Drummond. Perhaps you met him while you were abroad.”

One of the senator’s thick gray eyebrows went up. “I’m afraid I never had the privilege.” He tossed Richard a look. “So you’ve caught yourself the daughter of a viscount. Quite a feather in your cap, old boy, if I do say so myself. Congratulations.”

Richard beamed. “Thank you, Senator.”

“When’s the wedding? I presume I’ll be invited.”

“Of course. We’d be very disappointed if you couldn’t attend.”

They spoke a moment more, then Richard said a polite farewell and so did Dani. She tried to ignore the uneasy feeling the conversation had stirred. Richard seemed so concerned with her background, so impressed that she was a member of the English aristocracy. It seemed to come up at every party they had attended since her arrival.

“Richard! Do bring your lovely bride-to-be over here for a moment. We’ve a guest tonight I would like the two of you to meet.”

Dani recognized their rotund little host for the evening, Marcus Whitman, a wealthy farmer Richard had introduced her to at a musical affair they had attended last week. Since her arrival, her fiancé had insisted on attending one affair after another.

“I want you to have a chance to get acquainted with my friends,” Richard had explained.

Dani had hoped they would have more time to themselves, a chance to get to know each other better before the wedding. So far, she had only met his children once and then only briefly.

“Good evening, Marcus.” Richard smiled. “It’s been a lovely party. Thank you so much for hosting the affair.”

“My wife and I were pleased to do it. Before he died, your father and I were friends for nearly twenty years.”

Richard politely nodded. His father was often mentioned at these events. Apparently he had been quite a respected man in the community. “You said there was someone you wanted us to meet?”

“Yes, yes…indeed.” He turned and touched the coat sleeve of a tall man standing behind him, drawing the man’s attention.

“Richard, I would like to introduce you to an acquaintance from London, a friend of a friend, if you know what I mean. Rafael Saunders is the Duke of Sheffield. He’s here in Philadelphia on business.”

Shock ricocheted through Dani. She felt as if the floor had just tipped sideways. She could feel the blood slowly draining from her face.

Whitman continued the introduction. “Duke, meet Richard Clemens and his fiancée, Miss Duval. She’s a countryman of yours. Perhaps the two of you are acquainted.”

Dani stared into the bluest eyes she had ever seen, eyes she would never forget. Her chest tightened almost painfully.

“Mr. Clemens,” Rafael said, making Richard a very formal bow. “Miss Duval.” His eyes fixed on hers and for an instant she couldn’t look away.

Dani couldn’t talk, couldn’t form a single word. She just kept staring, her hand trembling on Richard’s sleeve. When he turned to look at her, he must have seen the pallor of her face.

“Darling, are you all right?”

Dani wet her lips, her mouth gone completely dry. “I am…I am happy to make your acquaintance,” she said to Rafael, silently thanking God she had never told Richard the name of the man who had once been her betrothed. The man who had ruined her.

Rafe’s eyes remained on hers. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you, Miss Duval.”

She dragged her gaze away, ignored the wild beating of her heart, and glanced frantically around the room in search of an avenue of escape. “I—I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I am feeling overly warm. I think I could use a breath of fresh air.”

Richard slid an arm around her waist. “Here, let me escort you. A moment on the terrace and I’m sure you’ll be right as rain.” Guiding her toward the French doors leading out into the garden, Richard led her across the room. Several people glanced their way, but Dani barely saw them. Her mind was spinning, her stomach tied into a knot.

Rafael had followed her. She couldn’t think of any other explanation. Why had he come? What did he want?

Did he hate her so much that he had come to ruin her chance for a new life with Richard?

Dani clamped down on a moment of fear and prayed there was some other reason Rafael had traveled all the way to America.

Rafe watched Danielle leave the parlor and wished he had handled things differently. She looked so pale, so shaken. Then again, what had he expected?

Not that he’d had any choice.

Before he’d set sail, he had done his best to discover any information that might help him find her, but there simply wasn’t enough time. He knew the name of her ship, the Wyndham, and that she had sailed to Philadelphia, where her fiancé, a wealthy manufacturer, apparently had a home.

Beyond that, he didn’t know exactly where to look for her. Instead, he had arrived in the city with letters of introduction engineered by Howard Pendleton, a close family friend. Letters from men of influence in London with friends in Philadelphia who might be able to help him find Danielle.

Howard Pendleton, an army colonel who worked in the British War Office, had helped Cord and Rafe bring Ethan home from France, where he had been imprisoned. Through Ethan, Pendleton had heard of Rafe’s intended journey and come to him with an offer of assistance—but there was a favor he wanted in return.

“Rumors have been surfacing,” the colonel had said, “whispers that a venture may be in the making between the Americans and the French. A deal that would be of great benefit to Napoléon. We need your help, Your Grace. If you agree, you won’t be on your own. You’ll have Max Bradley to assist you.”

Rafe knew Bradley well, knew how good he was, and that he was a man to count on. England had been fighting the French for years. Thousands of British lives had been lost.

Rafe agreed to help in any way he could and received the colonel’s assistance in return, which included the letters of introduction. When Rafe set sail aboard the Triumph, one of the newest ships in the Belford shipping fleet, Max Bradley sailed with him, a man who worked undercover for the War Office—a polite way of saying that Max was a British spy.

In the days since their arrival, Bradley had gone underground in search of information, and Rafe had used the letters to find someone who could lead him to Dani. He had been introduced to Marcus Whitman, a close friend of Richard Clemens, and secured an invitation to the house party Whitman was holding in honor of the bride and groom.

Rafe stared off toward the terrace, his chest feeling heavy. In her gold brocade gown, with her glorious red hair swept up, Danielle looked even more beautiful tonight than she had the last time he had seen her.

Still, as he had watched her moving around the room on the arm of the man she was to marry, there wasn’t a spark of joy in her lovely green eyes, not the least hint of passion. Perhaps, like himself, she had merely learned a greater degree of self-control.

As he watched her disappear out of sight into the garden, he wished he could have found a better way to proceed. But he had wanted to meet Richard Clemens, to discover as much about the man as he could, and with the wedding just three weeks away, there wasn’t much time.

Rafe made conversation with Whitman and his dark-haired, likable little wife, all the while watching the terrace door, hoping for another glimpse of Dani.

“If it isn’t His Grace, the duke.” Flora Chamberlain appeared beside him, a round-faced little woman with keen blue eyes. “One never knows whom one might encounter, even all these miles from home.” She studied him from beneath thick gray lashes, her gaze coolly assessing. “It never occurred to me that you might actually come.”

Rafe’s gaze met hers. “Did it not? You knew I would discover the truth when you gave Jonas McPhee that letter. Did you really believe I would let the matter rest without speaking to Danielle?”

“You could have discovered the truth five years ago if you had made the effort.”

“I was younger then, and extremely hotheaded. I was insanely jealous of Dani. And I was a fool.”

“I see… You’re older now, not so wildly passionate.”

“Exactly. When I last saw Danielle and she continued to profess her innocence after all of these years, I decided to investigate the matter and discovered, to my everlasting regret, that I had wronged your niece.”

“Quite a surprise, I’m sure. Still, it was a goodly distance to travel.”

“I would have gone to any lengths to find her.”

“I’ll admit I hoped you might come. I believe Danielle deserves an apology from you—even if you had to sail nearly four thousand miles to make it.”

“Is that the only reason?”

She glanced away, out toward the terrace. “For the present…yes.”

“I need to speak to her, Lady Wycombe. When can that be arranged?”

The countess continued to stare off toward the garden, then she turned back to Rafe. “Come to my house tomorrow morning—221 Arch Street. Ten o’clock. Richard isn’t due to arrive until noon.”

Rafe reached down and captured the lady’s white-gloved hand. He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Thank you, Lady Wycombe. You have ever been a good friend to Dani.”

“Whatever you do, do not make me regret my involvement in this affair. Promise me you will do nothing more to hurt her.”

Rafe looked down at the stout little gray-haired woman who had been far more loyal to Danielle than he ever had been. “I give you my solemn word.”

Wearing only her chemise and a light silk wrapper, since the night was warm even at this late hour, Danielle sat on a petit-point stool in front of the dressing table in her room. Caroline Loon sat on the edge of the four-poster canopied bed across from her.

“He was there at the party, Caro. I still can’t believe it. He came all the way from England. What could he possibly want?”

“Perhaps it isn’t what you think. Perhaps the man who introduced you is right and the duke is simply here on business. You told me the duke is quite wealthy. Perhaps he has financial concerns in America as well as England.”

Dani felt a glimmer of hope. “Do you really think it’s possible?”

“I think it’s entirely possible.”

“Perhaps he has come to see Richard, to warn him against the sort of woman he believes me to be.”

“Your fiancé knows the truth. There is nothing the duke can tell him that you haven’t already told him yourself. What Sheffield might say won’t make any difference.”

“I’m not so sure. Richard is extremely concerned with appearances. He might believe in my innocence, but he would be highly concerned should others hear the story.”

Caro tapped the silver-backed hairbrush she held in one hand. “You said the duke pretended not to know you last night. Perhaps he will keep his silence.”

Dani shook her head. “Rafael hates me. He ruined my life once before. How can I believe he will not try to do it again?”

“Maybe you should talk to him, find out what he is thinking.”

An odd feeling stirred to life in Dani’s chest. She couldn’t imagine what it was. “Yes, perhaps I should. At least I will know where I stand.”

Caro got up from the bed, taller and thinner than Dani, wearing a mobcap over a thatch of pale blond curls. “It’s getting late. Turn round and let me brush out your hair, then you should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow we can make some sort of plan.”

Dani nodded. She turned on the stool and Caro deftly pulled the pins from her hair, letting the heavy strands fall loose down her back. The bristle brush followed, stroking through the thick mass of curls. Caro was right. Tomorrow she would make plans to confront Rafael.

Her stomach tightened.

In the meantime, it was highly unlikely that she would be able to sleep.

Danielle was up early…at least by London standards. Americans didn’t seem to enjoy the same ungodly hours as the ton, whose members stayed out half the night, then wasted most of the next day in bed preparing to repeat their indulgence again the next evening. The people in this country might enjoy a late night on occasion, but it didn’t seem to be the norm. The Americans she had met were hard workers and extremely ambitious.

Richard was certainly one of them.

Still, today he had promised they would spend the afternoon with his children and share an intimate supper with his mother and a couple of family friends before he left for his factory in Easton, a small town fifty miles away where he would be working for the next few days.

“Dani! Dani!” Caro burst through the doorway, her blue eyes wide as saucers. “He’s here! He’s downstairs in the parlor!”

“Slow down, Caro. Who is downstairs in the parlor?”

“The duke! He says he wishes to speak to you. He says it is a matter of extreme importance.”

A wave of nausea hit her and her hands started to tremble. Dani took a calming breath and tried to slow her wildly beating heart.

This was what she wanted—wasn’t it?

She needed to talk to him, discover his intentions.

Dani made a quick survey of her reflection in the tall, cheval glass mirror, turning to assess the back of her pale blue muslin day dress, straightening the slim skirt, adjusting the high-waisted bodice.

The gown looked presentable and Caro had pulled back her hair on the sides and fastened it with tortoiseshell combs, but a heavy mass of curls fell down her back.

“You look fine,” Caro said, tugging her toward the door. “You wanted to talk to him. Now go find out why he is here.”

Dani took another deep breath and raised her chin. She squeezed her hands together until they stopped shaking, then headed for the stairs. As she entered the parlor, a comfortable room done in shades of white and soft rose, she spotted Rafael’s tall figure seated on the sofa. He came to his feet the instant she walked through the door.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he said very gallantly.

“Did I really have a choice?” She knew Rafael. If he wanted to speak to her, aside from shooting him, there was no way to keep him away.

“No, I don’t suppose you did.” He motioned toward the sofa. “Join me?”

“I would prefer to stand, thank you.”

Rafael released a breath. He was six years older than she, which meant he would be thirty-one by now. Fine lines crinkled beside those blue, blue eyes, and there was a weariness in his features that hadn’t been there when he was younger. Still, he was handsome. One of the handsomest men she had ever seen.

She felt those intense blue eyes on her face. “I have traveled thousands of miles to see you, Danielle. I understand your animosity toward me—no one could understand it more—but I would appreciate it if you would sit down so that we might have this chance to speak.”

Dani blew out a breath. Knowing it was useless to argue, she went over and sat down on the rose velvet sofa and Rafe walked over and closed the parlor doors. She was surprised when he settled himself beside her a barely respectable distance away.

“Shall I call for tea?” she asked. “Since we are suddenly being so civilized.”

“Tea isn’t necessary, only your attention. I came here to apologize, Danielle.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me correctly. I am here because everything you said was true. That night five years ago, I am the one who betrayed you, not the other way around.”

She swallowed, suddenly feeling light-headed. She was glad she had agreed to sit down. “I’m afraid I don’t…don’t understand.”

Rafe turned more fully toward her. “Oliver Randall lied about what happened that night—just as you always claimed. He engineered everything, right down to the note I received, which was the reason I went to your room that night.”

Rafe explained the events of the evening and the reason he had been so convinced she was having an affair with Oliver Randall. The story was so incredible that the words began swimming round in her head.

“Why…?” she asked softly. “Why would Oliver do such a thing? I tried to figure it out, but it never made any sense.”

“He did it because he wanted you for himself. He was in love with you, Danielle, but he couldn’t have you. And he was insanely jealous of me.”

Dani leaned back on the sofa, her heart beating oddly, a tight feeling inside her chest. Rafe got up and walked over to the sideboard. Pouring a dollop of brandy into a crystal snifter, he returned to where she sat and pressed the brandy glass into her hand.

“Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

When she made no effort to raise the glass, he wrapped his fingers around hers and lifted the snifter to her lips. Dani took a tentative swallow, felt the warm burn, and took another. In truth, she did feel somewhat better.

She looked up at Rafael, still unable to believe he stood there in the parlor. “How did you find all of this out?”

“I hired an investigator, a Bow Street runner, a man I had used on a number of occasions before.”

Danielle shook her head. “I still can’t believe it.”

“What is it you don’t believe?”

“That you would travel thousands of miles simply to tell me you were wrong.”

“And also to tell you that Oliver Randall paid the highest price for his treachery.”

Dani came up off the sofa so swiftly brandy sloshed against the sides of her crystal glass. “You killed him?”

Rafe took the snifter from her unsteady hands and set it down on the table. “I challenged him to a duel, as I did before, only this time I forced him to accept. My shot bounced off a rib and lodged in an area around his spine. Oliver Randall will never walk again.”

She tried to feel something, tried to make herself abhor what Rafael had done. But she knew the code of honor a highborn Englishman lived by. Knew that if Rafe ever discovered the truth, he would make Oliver pay.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally.

“For Randall? Don’t be.”

“For all of us. For the years we lost. For the damage that was done.”

“Randall destroyed our lives, Danielle. Mine as well as yours. You might not believe it, but it’s true.”

“Well, now he has paid, so it’s over. Thank you for telling me. I was afraid…”

“You were afraid of what, Danielle?”

Her chin went up. “I was afraid you had come to destroy my plans for the future. My chance of finding happiness with Richard.”

“You believed I would go that far, that I hated you that much?”

“Didn’t you?”

“I never spoke a word to anyone about that night. Not once in all of these years.”

“But you never denied the rumors. You cried off two days after it happened. By breaking our betrothal that way, you made it clear that I was guilty.”

Something moved across his features. She thought it might be regret. “There is no denying my role in what happened. If I could change things…if I could do it over, I would.”

“But we can’t do that, can we, Rafael?”

“No. We can’t undo the past.”

Danielle rose from the sofa. “Goodbye, Rafael.” She started walking toward the door, her heart still beating fiercely, fighting an urge to weep.

“Do you love him?” Rafe called suddenly.

Danielle just kept walking, out through the parlor doors into the entry. Lifting her skirt up out of the way, she concentrated on climbing the stairs, one by one, up to her room.

Seven

Rafe sat on the horsehair sofa in the parlor of his suite at the William Penn Hotel. Thinking of his meeting with Danielle, he propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands.

“That bad, was it?” Emerging from the bedroom, Max Bradley strolled up beside him as silent as a wraith. He always seemed to appear without warning. Rafe still wasn’t used to it.

“Worse,” he said, leaning back against the sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I’ll never forget the look on her face when I told her I had finally discovered her innocence in the affair. My God, if she hated me before, she loathes me completely now.”

“Are you certain? Or do you just hate yourself?”

Rafe sighed, knowing it was true. “There’s no denying the guilt I feel for not believing her that night. I wish there were something I could do to make it up to her.”

Max walked over and poured himself a brandy. He was nearly as tall as Rafe, several years older, and thin to the point of gaunt. His face was weathered and hard, the deep lines hinting at the sort of life he led. Thick black hair, always a little too long, curled over the back of his plain brown tailcoat.

Max poured a glass of brandy for Rafe, walked over and handed him the drink. “You look like you could use this.”

For the first time Rafe realized that Max was speaking with an American accent. In France, he’d spoken French like a countryman. He was a man who stayed mostly in shadow and he never slipped out of whatever role he played. In Max’s line of work, such talents were invaluable.

Rafe took a swallow of brandy, grateful for its inner warmth. “Thank you.”

“You said Danielle came here to be married.”

“That’s right.”

“Have you met the man?”

“Briefly. From what I’ve been able to find out, he’s a very successful businessman, a widower with a daughter and a son.”

“Is your lady in love with him?”

One of Rafe’s dark eyebrows went up. “Danielle is no longer my lady, and I have no idea. She wouldn’t tell me.”

“Interesting…” Max took a long draw on his brandy. “In that case, I suppose it’s something you need to find out.”

He scoffed. “Why? Lots of people marry for reasons other than love.”

“You said you wished there was something you could do to make up for what happened in the past.”

“I said that. As far as I can see there isn’t a damn thing I can do.”

“If the lady doesn’t love the man she is going to wed, then you might consider wedding her yourself. She could return to England, to her aunt and her family. More important, marrying her would end the gossip, set the wagging tongues to rest and make your lady’s innocence clear once and for all.”

Rafe’s chest squeezed. There was a time he had wanted to marry Danielle above all things. That time was long past—wasn’t it?

Or had the thought been brewing in his head ever since he had found out the truth of her innocence? Was that the true reason he had gone to see the Earl of Throckmorton in regard to his betrothal to Mary Rose?

He had asked the earl that the wedding be postponed and was surprised—and secretly relieved—when the earl suggested the betrothal be ended completely.

“I believe I have made a mistake where my daughter is concerned,” the earl had said. “Mary Rose is so young, so innocent. A worldly man like you…a man so much older. It’s obvious you’re a virile man of very strong appetites…to put it bluntly, Your Grace, my daughter is completely intimidated by you, and particularly frightened of sharing a bed with you. I don’t believe, even over time, that is going to change.”

Rafe could hardly believe his ears. The man was giving up the chance to wed his daughter to a duke. It simply did not happen in the world of the ton.

“Are you certain ending the betrothal is what Mary Rose wants? I would be patient with her…give her a chance to get used to me.”

“I’m certain you would, Rafael. I hope you understand I am doing what I believe is best for my daughter.”

It was surprising, and Rafe gave high marks to the earl. “I understand completely. And I respect you greatly for putting your daughter’s best interests first. I’m grateful for your honesty and I wish Mary Rose every happiness.”

Though he should have been depressed, should have been angry that his plans for the future had been ruined for the second time in his life, Rafe had left the house feeling as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He didn’t understand it. He had imagined a future, a family, with Mary Rose.

He looked up at Max Bradley, sipping brandy in the parlor of his suite. “Though I admit the notion of marrying Danielle has merit, there is the small matter of her dislike of me. If I asked for her hand, she would most certainly refuse.”

“I suppose that’s for you to find out. And of course, there is the not so small matter of whether or not you still care for the girl.”

Did he care? Today he had looked at Dani and seen her as he had five years ago, seen her without the taint of his hatred, a beautiful young woman, intelligent and caring. A woman innocent of the betrayal he had so ruthlessly accused her of committing.

“I want Danielle to be happy. I owe her that much and I am determined to see that it happens—one way or another.”

Max clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, then, good luck, my friend. It sounds like you’re going to need it.” Max took a final sip of his brandy and set the glass down on the mahogany table in front of the sofa. “In the meantime, I’ve got a number of things to do. If my information proves correct, I may need your help.”

Rafe had told Colonel Pendleton he would help in any way he could. “Just let me know what you need me to do.”

Max simply nodded. Seconds later he was gone from the room, disappearing as quietly as he had arrived, and Rafe’s thoughts returned to Danielle.

He owed her the chance at happiness that he had stolen from her. To do that, he needed to know more about the man she was to wed.

Rafe smiled grimly.

Rising from the sofa, he walked over to the silver salver sitting on the Sheraton table in the entry. He picked up the folded piece of paper he had received that morning, an invitation from Mrs. William Clemens to a small dinner party at her home that evening.

Sometimes it paid to be a duke.

Rafe had already sent word that he would be delighted to attend.

The intimate supper with Richard’s family, Danielle discovered, would be dinner with twenty people, all formally dressed, arriving in expensive carriages at Richard’s mother’s elegant brick residence in Society Hill.

Richard had his own, slightly smaller but no less elegant home just a few blocks away, as well as a cottage in Easton that he used whenever he was there working, which apparently happened quite often.

Dani had spent the afternoon with Richard’s mother; Richard’s son, William Jr.; and his daughter, Sophie—their first real time together. Richard had been with them for a while, but the children seemed to prey on his nerves and he made an excuse to leave.

Dani almost didn’t blame him. William and Sophie had argued and fought and thrown tantrums through most of the day. They were still arguing when Dani prepared to return to Aunt Flora’s house on Arch Street so that she could change out of her day dress and into a more elaborate gown for the evening.

They were still at it when she and Aunt Flora returned at seven o’clock to join the first of the supper guests.

“Give me back my horse!” William Jr. was seven years old, Sophie only six. Both were blond, William with brown eyes and Sophie with green. Both looked a good deal like their father.

“It’s my horse,” Sophie argued. “You gave it to me.”

“I didn’t give it to you—I only let you play with it!”

“Children, please…” Dani hurried toward them, hoping she could stop this latest row before more of the guests arrived. Earlier in the day, their grandmother had tried to placate them with gifts, a toy horse for William, a new doll for Sophie, though the bedchamber they used when they came for a visit overflowed with toys she had given them before.

“Your grandmother’s guests have begun to arrive. You don’t want them thinking you are ill-mannered.”

William whirled on her viciously. “We don’t have to do anything you say! We don’t like you!”

They didn’t seem to like anyone, at least not anyone who tried to control them. Of course, neither Richard’s mother nor Richard himself bothered to try.

Dani sighed. She couldn’t help thinking of the little girl, Maida Ann, and the little boy, Terrance, from the orphanage. They were happy with the tiniest trinket, the least bit of affection. Terrance would have treasured the carved wooden horse Mrs. Clemens had given to William. Maida Ann would have loved the doll Sophie had tossed into a corner.

Dani looked down at the two blond heads in front of her. Getting the children to accept her as their mother was going to be a Herculean task. She would do it—even though she suspected that neither Richard nor his mother, or even the children themselves really cared if she succeeded.

Mrs. Clemens bustled toward her, a large woman as tall as Dani with blond hair going gray. “Richard’s driver is here to pick up William and Sophie and take them home. Their nurse will be waiting when they get there.”

Dani turned to the children, still bickering over the little carved horse. William tugged the toy from Sophie’s small hands and she started to cry.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Dani said. She hurried over and retrieved Sophie’s toy from where she had tossed it, then returned and knelt in front of the little girl. “Here’s your new doll. You can take her home with you if you like.”

Sophie took the doll and slammed the porcelain head against the wall, smashing it into a dozen pieces that rained down on the carpet. “I don’t want a silly old doll. I want a horse!”

Mrs. Clemens took hold of Sophie’s hand. “You mustn’t fret, dear. Grandma will get you a horse the next time you come over.” The look she cast Dani told her not to argue. Both mother and son seemed to believe that the way to make William and Sophie behave was to give them anything they wanted.

Dani hoped that in time she would be able to convince Richard that what he and his mother were doing was not in the children’s best interest.

She turned at the sound of her fiancé’s voice as he walked up behind her. “I’m sorry I had to leave, darling. In my business, sometimes these things happen.”

He had said he had forgotten an important business meeting and had no choice but to leave, but Dani smelled the faint aroma of liquor on his breath. He had stopped by his house and changed into his evening clothes, dark blue breeches and a light gray tailcoat over a silver waistcoat, and as always, looked extremely handsome.

And the way he was looking at her, his hazel eyes moving over her high-waisted green silk gown, said he was pleased with her appearance, too.

He tipped his head toward William and Sophie, who were ignoring him as if he weren’t there. “The trials of being a parent. It’ll be such a comfort to know you’ll be there to take care of the children.”

“Will I, Richard? Will I actually be taking care of them, or will I simply be their nursemaid?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just not sure we are going to agree on how much William and Sophie ought to be indulged.”

Though the smile remained on his face, Richard’s features subtly tightened. “I’m sure we can work something out—as long as you keep in mind that these are my children. Where they are concerned, I am the one who will make the decisions.”

Angry heat rushed into her cheeks. She’d been afraid that was the position Richard would take. She opened her mouth to argue, but guests had started pouring into the house and this was obviously not the time or place.

Richard’s smile softened. “Let’s not fight tonight, darling. We’ll discuss all of this tomorrow, work everything out. In the meantime, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

He turned a little, revealing the presence of a tall man watching them from a few feet away. “When I told Mother you had a fellow countryman—a duke, no less—visiting here in the city, she invited him to join us.” Richard stepped back, allowing her to see the man behind him, but Dani had already spotted Rafael.

Her chest constricted and her heart began a too-rapid beat. Dear God, why was Rafe torturing her this way? Surely he knew how uncomfortable his presence made her. She had loved him once. Didn’t he know that looking at him now reminded her of times long past? Reminded her of what might have been?

“Miss Duval,” Rafe said, capturing her gloved hand, making a formal bow as he brought her fingers to his lips. “A pleasure to see you again.”

Dani ignored the little tremor that ran up her arm. She didn’t know why he had come. She only wished he would leave.

It wasn’t going to happen, she realized as he conversed with Richard, made polite conversation with Aunt Flora and Mrs. Clemens, then accompanied the group in to supper.

Rafael was seated at the head of the table, as he would have been back home, but Mrs. Clemens sat to his right and Jacob Wentz to his left. The remainder of the guests took their places.

Dani sat next to Richard, farther down the table, Aunt Flora across from them. Rafael made polite conversation with his hostess and spoke often to Richard and several of the other men, but even as Dani stumbled through the lavish meal, she could feel his eyes on her.

She did everything in her power not to look at him, but dear God, time and again her gaze searched for his and she seemed unable to look away. There was something in those intense blue eyes, something hot and fierce that shouldn’t have been there. Something that stirred old memories of the way the two of them once had been.

She remembered the day nearly five years ago that they had walked together in the apple orchard behind Rafe’s country estate, Sheffield Hall.

Laughing at something she said, he had lifted her into the swing that hung down from the branches, then bent his dark head and kissed her, softly at first, but with such barely leashed passion she could still recall the feel of his lips moving over hers, remember the masculine taste of him.

The kiss had grown hot and wild, and Dani hadn’t stopped him when his hand found her breast. She remembered his soft caresses and the sensual tug of heat that flowed through her body, the way her nipples hardened beneath the bodice of her blue muslin gown.

The way they were hard even now.

Dani flushed.

“Darling, you weren’t paying attention,” Richard scolded. “Did you hear what I just said?”

Her face was burning. She prayed that in the flickering light of the candles in the silver candelabra on the table, Richard wouldn’t be able to see the color creeping into her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. My mind must have wandered. What were you saying?”

“I said that the duke has agreed to join our bird hunting party next week.”

She managed to smile, but it wasn’t easy. “That is…that is wonderful. I’m sure he’ll enjoy himself.”

“I was thinking that we would make a weekend of it. Jacob’s country house is quite large and he has invited all of the ladies to join the men.”

Her stomach squeezed into a knot. More time with Rafael. What in God’s name did he want? “That sounds…very…pleasant.”

Obviously pleased with himself, Richard turned back to the conversation he was having with the duke and the other men, and Dani concentrated on her food. Why was Rafael intruding in their lives this way?

Danielle didn’t know, but she intended to find out.

Rafael endured the seemingly endless evening, determined to discover as much as he could about the man Danielle intended to marry. It was midnight by the time he returned to his suite at the William Penn Hotel. When he got there, he found Max Bradley waiting.

Sitting in the darkness, Max rose as Rafe reached over to light one of the whale-oil lamps, and Rafe swore a soft curse.

“I wish you would stop doing that. It’s extremely disconcerting.”

Max chuckled. “Sorry. How was your evening?”

“Tedious.”

“You spoke to Clemens?”

He nodded. “I’m doing my best to like the man, but so far I’m having a devil of a time. There is something about him…. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I’ve managed an invitation to join Richard’s hunting party.” Rafe smiled faintly. “Danielle will be traveling to the country, as well.”

“When is it?”

“The end of the week.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What do mean?”

“I may be on to something. If I’m right, I may need your help.”

Rafe moved across the room toward Max. “You’ve confirmed the Americans are making a deal with France?”

“It looks that way. So far I’ve only heard rumors…something to do with a schooner called a Baltimore Clipper.”

“Indeed?”

“I’ve got a lead I need to follow up on. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

“You’ll let me know if there is anything I can do.” According to Max, a man of Rafe’s social standing would be better able to move in upper-class circles, thereby gaining access to the men who were privy to the needed information.

“I’ll let you know if I need you. In the meantime, you look like you could use some sleep.”

Rafe nodded, more weary than he should have been. “Good luck, Max.” Rafe headed for his bedroom, leaving Max to disappear as he usually did.

As Rafe undressed, his mind returned to the earlier hours of the evening and the unsettling events he had seen.

His arrival at Mrs. Clemens’s home had been early enough to see Danielle with Richard’s children. They were spoiled little wretches, raised without manners, and mostly left to run out of control. Worse yet, from what Richard had said to Dani, he didn’t intend to allow her the slightest say in their upbringing.

Rafe believed the children would be far better off if Danielle took a hand. She had always been good with youngsters. They had planned to have a large family of their own. At the afternoon tea he had attended, he had watched her with several of the orphans, who seemed to adore her, as he could have guessed they would.

But Richard seemed too dictatorial to see the good she could do his offspring. It made Rafe wonder…what else would he be unbending about?

Rafe slid beneath the sheets trying to imagine what sort of future Dani would have with Richard Clemens.

Rafe wanted her to be happy.

He had to be certain marrying Richard Clemens would bring her the happiness she deserved.

Eight

Dani heard nothing from Rafael. Determined to discover the reason he continued to interfere in her life and hoping she could dissuade him from accompanying them to the country, she had sent a note to where he was staying at the William Penn Hotel. She had requested a meeting, but received no reply and wondered if perhaps he had gone out of town.

Dani hoped so.

As she awaited the arrival of Richard’s carriage that Friday morning, she prayed Rafe had changed his mind and would not be joining them, now or any time in the future.

Aunt Flora had declined to make the trip, but a number of married women would be in attendance so there was no need for a chaperone, and Caro was accompanying her, acting as her lady’s maid but actually there for support. Since Dani had only just met the other women and she barely knew Richard, it was good to have a friend along.

Richard’s carriage finally arrived for the journey to Jacob Wentz’s country house, nearly twenty miles away. The three-hour ride, Danielle hoped, would give her the chance for a bit of conversation with her fiancé.

Unfortunately, once they were on the road, Richard slept most of the way.

They reached the house in the early afternoon, a large stone residence surrounded by acres of rolling green fields and patches of dense green forest.

“It’s lovely,” she said, staring through the carriage window at the countryside that reminded her a little of home.

Richard smiled from the seat beside her. “We’ll have to consider buying a place like this for ourselves. Would you like that, darling?”

She turned to look at him. “I’ve always loved the country.”

“And it would be good for the children, as well.”

“Yes, I think it might be.” Anything to get them away from their overindulgent grandmother. Perhaps they would have the chance to be a family after all. The family she never thought to have.

Her spirits lifted. They went into the residence, a large house with low, beamed ceilings in the main rooms and plaster fireplaces tall enough for her to walk into. There were hooked rugs on the wood-planked floors, and each of the guest rooms had a lovely four-poster bed. When she went upstairs, she found Caro pulling a trundle out from beneath the bed in the room the two of them would share.

“It’s very nice.” Caro smiled as she glanced round the bedchamber. As she walked over to the open window, a breeze blew fine blond curls loose from their pins and fluffed them around her narrow face. “There’s a lovely view of the garden and the hills at the edge of the valley.”

Dani walked over to see them. Instead, as she peered out the window, her gaze snagged on the tall man riding up the lane, mounted on a lean gray horse. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew who it was, recognized the confident way he sat his mount, the width and straightness of his shoulders.

“Rafael is here,” she said softly, drawing Caro’s attention.

“The man on the dappled gray horse?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

Though Dani had told her friend a good deal about him, Caro had never seen Rafael. He drew closer, his face coming partially into view.

“Oh, my…”

“Exactly,” Dani said. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be impressed by Rafael. Aside from his dark good looks and impressive, broad-shouldered physique, there was simply something about him, the way he carried himself, the way he looked at a woman, giving her his complete attention as if she were the only female in the room. Dani watched him continue down the lane until he disappeared behind the high hedge surrounding the garden, riding toward the front of the house.

“Well, he is here,” Caro said practically. “You will simply have to accept the fact.” She turned away from the window and a bright smile bloomed on her face. “On the good side, you wished to speak to him, discover his intentions, whatever they may be. Perhaps you will now have the chance.”

Dani dragged her gaze away from the window. “I suppose you are right. He has played the gentleman so far. Since my presence seems to have no effect on him, I shall simply behave the same way.” Still, she wished he hadn’t come, wished that he would turn round and go back to England where he belonged.

It was late in the afternoon. Danielle was wandering the pathways through the garden, meandering along, in no real hurry to get back to the house when she spotted the duke striding toward her, a determined look on his face. It deepened the faint cleft in his chin, made his eyes look a deeper shade of blue. Her heart stuttered, set up an erratic clatter.

“I apologize,” he said, stopping on the path directly in front of her. “I’m afraid I didn’t get your note until late last night. Apparently, the desk clerk put it into the wrong box.”

“I thought that perhaps you were out of town on business.”

Rafe’s smile softened, lifting the edges of his full, sensuous mouth. It was the sort of smile she hadn’t seen since before that awful night five years ago and it made her heart kick into a higher gear.

“I may have a matter to deal with while I am here, but that isn’t the reason I came. The business I came for, Dani, is you.”

The use of her nickname, said in that deep, resonant voice roughened with a hint of affection, made her tremble.

“If I am the reason you are here, you needn’t remain. You’ve done what you came for. You’ve set matters straight, which is more than most men would have done. Go home, Rafael. I don’t want you here. Surely you can understand why.”

The smile slid from his face. “I want you to be happy, Danielle. I owe you that. Once I’m certain you will be, I promise to be on my way. Until then, I am staying.”

Her temper inched up. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m marrying Richard Clemens. I don’t need your approval—I don’t care what you think. Leave me in peace, Rafael. Let me get on with my life.”

She started to turn away, but Rafe caught her arm.

“I asked you before—do you love him?”

Her chin shot up. “That is none of your concern.”

“I’m making it my concern. Do you love him?”

Jerking free of his hold, she ignored the fierce scowl on his face, turned and started walking, her temper still high.

She was marrying Richard Clemens. Her decision had been made. Whatever Rafael thought was unimportant. Her own thoughts needed to focus on Richard, not Rafael.

But as she made her way out of the garden she could still see his tall image in the back of her mind, feel his intense blue eyes burning into her. She remembered the smoky look she had glimpsed in those eyes the instant before she had turned away, and keeping her thoughts on Richard wasn’t all that easy to do.

Rafael joined the men for the hunt the following morning, riding out on horseback, Rafe on the saddle horse he had hired in town, an exceptionally fine gray mount that belonged to the man who owned the stable. The well-trained gelding was well worth the extra money he had paid for its use, he thought as they rode across the open fields.

The countryside was beautiful, rolling hills crisscrossed with low rock walls, interspersed with forested knolls, bisected with occasional rippling streams. Meadows sprinkled with white-and-yellow daisies stretched across the landscape in front of them.

They reached their destination and dismounted, leaving the horses to graze on the lush grass sprouting up between their legs. There were five men in the hunting party: Richard Clemens, Jacob Wentz, a wealthy merchant named Edmund Steigler, Judge Otto Bookman and Rafael, along with a pack of blue-speckled and rusty-red hunting hounds, brought to search out woodcock and quail.

As the dogs fanned out with the young man who was their handler, Richard Clemens walked next to Rafe across the field, a smoothbore long gun with a silver-engraved flintlock gripped in one hand.

“Nice-looking piece,” Rafe said, the long gun Richard had loaned him resting comfortably in the crook of his arm.

“My father’s,” Richard said proudly. “It’s English, extremely well crafted.” Richard held the gun out for Rafe to examine more closely.

Pausing for a moment, he leaned his own weapon against the trunk of a tree and took the gun from Richard’s hand. He snapped the piece up against his shoulder, lowered it and turned it over to look at the maker’s initials.

“I know the gunsmith, Peter Wells. Wells is still making very fine weapons.”

Clemens beamed. “My father was always proud of this gun.”

“He had reason to be.”

They talked a little longer, building a sort of camaraderie, though Rafe yet remained wary. He wasn’t quite sure why.

“So how are you enjoying our country so far?” Richard asked. “Had the chance to meet anyone interesting?”

“I’ve enjoyed meeting you and your friends, of course.” Rafe looked up at him. “Are you talking about a woman?”

Richard shrugged. “You’ve been here for several weeks. A man has needs. I thought perhaps I might be of help, if you’re interested.”

“Then you’re suggesting an evening of pleasure.”

“There’s a place in the city I enjoy on occasion. I think you might find it entertaining.”

“And you would accompany me?”

He smiled. “I have a lady friend there…a very talented lady friend. We’re quite well acquainted.”

“You’re getting married in less than two weeks.”

Richard just smiled. “Getting married hardly precludes a man from taking his pleasure. I don’t imagine it is any different in your country.”

Rafe couldn’t argue with that. In fact, had he wed Mary Rose, he would surely have turned to the company of other women. “A number of married men keep mistresses or pay an occasional visit to a brothel such as the one you mentioned.”

But it wouldn’t have been so with Dani, and the thought of her new husband intending to live such a life made his stomach start to churn.

“Your fiancée,” he said, “seems to be a very lovely young woman. Perhaps her attentions will be enough.”

Richard just laughed. “I’m definitely looking forward to the marriage bed, but with my factory in Easton, I’m gone from the city quite often. I keep a mistress in the country. I don’t intend for that to change.”

Rafe said nothing more. He had vowed to see Danielle happy. She would never be happy with a man who planned from the start to be unfaithful.

“Look there!” Richard pointed toward a ditch running along the side of the field. “The dogs have flushed up a covey of quail!”

Richard and the other men swung their guns into position. Rafe slammed the stock of his flintlock against his shoulder and pulled the trigger. A pair of birds went down. If the rest of the day went as well, they would be having quail for supper.

Unfortunately, Rafe’s mind was no longer on the hunt. He was thinking of Danielle. He had the answers he had been seeking, but he couldn’t break a confidence and tell her.

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