Emma turned to see the dark half of the pair she’d spied on earlier.

A hint of mischief lurked behind Lord Basingstoke’s smile as he stepped aside to allow another man to enter the box.
Viscount Sherbourne. As though Emma’s interest had summoned him, he stood before her in all his golden glory, a sinfully beautiful man with the face of an angel.
Jane recovered quickly from her surprise and graced both men with a gentle smile. “Lord Basingstoke. Lord Sherbourne. May I present Miss Emma Marks of New

York City?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lords.” Emma rose and extended her hand. She tried to exude as much grace and dignity as possible. Her father had spent a fortune

to insure her manners and bearing were fit for a queen, but she always worried that those who’d come from generations of wealth and privilege would see through her
façade.

Sherbourne stepped forward. He cut an elegant figure in his finely tailored black evening wear. “The pleasure is mine,” he murmured, his voice clipped and deep and

oh-so-British. Taking her gloved hand, he brought it briefly to the lush heat of his finely drawn lips.

Such an extravagant mouth, on such a harsh and chiseled face.
As he lifted his head, their gazes caught and held. For a moment, she lost track of time and place. Intelligence and loneliness radiated from the rain-washed depths of

his deep blue eyes and convinced her there was far more to this man than even Jane knew.

Contest Win!

THE AMERICAN HEIRESS won 1st place in the 2003 Golden Opportunity Contest and was named Best of the Best!

The

American

Heiress

by

Diana Bold

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to

actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The American Heiress – Lords Of Scandal Book 2

COPYRIGHT © 2007 by Tracy Seybold

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History
First English Tea Rose Edition, April 2007
Print ISBN 1-60154-063-9

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To my parents, Kenneth and Lillian Mooring, for always being there and believing in me.

Prologue

London - June, 1867

“Lord Sherbourne? The Duke of Clayton has arrived. He wishes a moment of your time.”
Michael Blake, Viscount Sherbourne, glanced up from the thick stack of ledgers piled atop the polished surface of his desk. “It’s all right, Wadsworth.” He met his

butler’s impassive gaze and struggled to hide his inner turmoil. “Show him to the drawing room. I’ll be with him shortly.”

“Very good, sir.”
After Wadsworth exited the room, Michael sagged in his chair. Bloody hell.
He wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. Not today, when so many columns of negative numbers swam through his brain. Not now, while he struggled to recover from

the shock of betrayal.

Last night, Clayton’s only daughter—the lovely Lady Natalia—had been caught in a compromising position with Michael’s younger brother, Dylan. Michael had seen

the passionate embrace with his own eyes.

His brother...and his future bride.
Though it was barely daybreak, Michael had been expecting the duke’s call. In fact, he’d just concluded a very uncomfortable interview with his own father, the Earl

of Warren, about the matter.

With a weary sigh, Michael closed the ledger and pressed his fingertips to his throbbing temple. He’d wrestled with his family’s dire financial situation all night, but if

there was a way to save himself without the influx of Natalia’s dowry, he couldn’t find it.

If he didn’t marry Lady Natalia, he’d be bankrupt before the end of the year.
Pushing away from his desk, Michael strode from his office and up the stairs, which led to the drawing room. His footsteps echoed loudly on the marble stairs,

shattering the stillness of the great, slumbering house on St. James Square. Portraits of his illustrious ancestors lined the stairwell, glaring their disapproval at the unseemly
racket.

Fear of these portraits had ruled his childhood. His father had dragged him bodily into this hall almost every day of his youth to remind him of his place in the world

and his responsibility to his family.

Unfortunately, the portraits retained some of their power. He still felt as though he were on trial, as though he could never be good enough to earn his place among

them.

This latest fiasco seemed to prove them right.
Michael paused outside the drawing room and tried to marshal his famed icy demeanor. He would listen to what the duke had to say and bear in mind his father’s

earlier threats and recriminations. But in the end, the decision must be his. Taking a deep breath, he opened the massive oak doors.

The Gold Drawing Room, with its white satin, gold leaf, marble floors, and sparkling floor to ceiling windows, was meant to impress. The Duke of Clayton, however,

did not impress easily. He waited in a gilt chair near the ornate fireplace, impatience resonating from him in waves.

“Your Grace. What a pleasant surprise.” Somehow, Michael kept the irony out of his voice as he shut the double doors behind him.
“Sherbourne.” Clayton rose and nodded as Michael crossed the room. “Forgive me for dropping by so unexpectedly, but I have a pressing matter to discuss with you.”
Tall and broad shouldered, the duke wore the weight and dignity of his position like a shield. Though his dark hair had grayed at the temples, he still looked far younger

than his years. Michael didn’t know the man well, but they moved in the same circles. He’d always admired the duke’s conservative politics, which mirrored his own.

“Think nothing of it.” Michael motioned toward the chair the duke had vacated. “Please, sit down. Can I get you anything? A drink, perhaps?”
He wasn’t sure whether it was too late for alcohol, or too early, but given the circumstances, liquid fortification seemed to be in order.
Clayton resumed his seat with regal dignity. “I’ll have a brandy, if you don’t mind.”
Michael moved to the sideboard, which was lined with crystal goblets and expensive liquor. As he poured them both a drink, the duke shifted restlessly and drummed

his fingers against the side of the chair.

Michael understood the older man’s need to settle things quickly and avert any hint of a scandal. They were a lot alike, he and the duke.
Handing Clayton his brandy, Michael took the chair across from him. “What can I do for you, Your Grace?”
Clayton met his gaze with startling directness. “It’s about my daughter, Sherbourne. I’ve come to urge you to announce your engagement as soon as possible.”
The duke’s sheer bravado took Michael aback. Apparently, the duke believed he was above apologies or explanations. How dare the man sit there as though nothing

had happened, as though his daughter’s disastrous indiscretion held no bearing?

Michael took a bracing sip of brandy and reminded himself of all the reasons why he must do exactly as the duke and his father wanted. He needed to marry for

money, and he needed to do it quickly.

It wasn’t—as his brother Dylan had so angrily accused during one of their many arguments—to score points with their father. The earl’s expensive tastes, excessive

gambling and blatant mismanagement had gotten them into this mess.

Far more lay at stake than his family’s fortunes. If Michael couldn’t find a way to stem these losses, his failure would hurt countless others who lived on his father’s

land.

“Does Lady Natalia still wish to marry me?” Michael ran his fingertip around the rim of his goblet and tried to sound disinterested. If he’d tried a little harder, courted

the girl in earnest instead of merely going through the motions, perhaps he might not find himself in his current dilemma.

“Of course Natalia wishes to marry you.” The duke didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “She’s made a terrible mistake, but she realizes that now. She’s more than

willing to do her duty.”

Duty. He wondered if Lady Natalia hated the word as much as he did. What an unhappy pair they would make, trapped together by duty.

With crystal clarity, he imagined living with this woman until the day he died, while she dreamed of his brother and he grew more bitter

and lonely with each passing year.

Michael cleared his throat. The consequences of refusing the duke were clear. He’d be forced to wed the only other great heiress on the

market—Miss Emma Marks, an American adventuress who’d come to London shopping for a title. Hardly the sort of woman he imagined for his bride,
but at the moment even a low-born wife seemed preferable to the hell he was sure to find with Lady Natalia.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I can’t marry your daughter.” The words were remarkably freeing. Just saying them loosened something deep inside him, the part that had

followed society’s rules and his father’s unceasing demands for far too long.

The duke leaned forward, bristling with the haughtiness of his position. “I’ve already spoken with your father, you insolent whelp. He agrees that this marriage would

be in the best interest of everyone involved.”

Yes, everyone would be happy except Natalia, Dylan and Michael. What a pair of self-serving old bastards Clayton and Warren had become. How easily they were

willing to surrender their children’s futures for the sake of their own fortunes and reputations.

“I’m well aware of my father’s feelings,” Michael assured his guest. “But he isn’t the one who has to live with my decision.”
“Don’t be a fool.” The duke got to his feet, his fury evident. “Natalia is a lovely girl and she’s certainly learned her lesson. She won’t do anything else to embarrass

you.”

Michael stood as well, refusing to let the duke gain an advantage. Clayton’s size probably intimidated most men, but Michael easily matched him in height, if not in

girth.

“Your daughter loves my brother. Do you think I could ever trust her, having seen the way she looks at him?” Michael gave the duke a hard look. “You might want to

think about that. Ask her what she truly wants. At this point, I think the best solution would be an alliance between the guilty parties.”

Dylan might as well have Lady Natalia’s heart and her fortune. Of course, Dylan would never contribute a farthing to their family’s cause, but who could blame him,

given the abuse he’d suffered at their father’s hand?

Clayton shook his head wordlessly and downed the last of his brandy, placing the empty glass on a nearby table. “If you choose to refuse me, that’s your business,

Sherbourne. But how dare you presume to give me advice!” Turning, the duke stalked from the room and slammed the door behind him with all his strength.

As the echo faded away, Michael allowed himself a brief smile. Very few men had ever crossed Clayton and lived to tell the tale. Unfortunately, his fleeting victory

had sealed his fate.

Returning to the sideboard, he refilled his empty glass and lifted it in an imaginary salute.
To Emma Marks, he thought bitterly. My future bride.

Chapter One

Three weeks later...

Emma Marks peered intently over the rail of her luxurious, private theatre box, scanning the crowd far below with a deep sense of satisfaction. After three months in

London, she still found it hard to believe she actually belonged here, among the glittering ton. No one would have disputed it, not when the Prince of Wales himself had
declared her the most beautiful, witty woman to grace the city in a decade.

No small accomplishment for a girl who’d been repeatedly cut and shunned back in New York.
Her father’s money was far too new for American Society. Nothing she’d done had ever been good enough to gain entry to Mrs. Astor’s charmed circle.
But the English were different. They seemed more than willing to accept her, as long as her father’s pockets remained deep and she had a trunk full of beautiful

Worth gowns for every occasion.

Emma’s aristocratic companion, Lady Jane Bennett, leaned forward as well, her lovely face alight with sudden intensity. “He’s here, Emma. Viscount Sherbourne.

Look straight ahead, in the box directly across from ours.”

Viscount Sherbourne.
Instantly intrigued, Emma lifted her jeweled opera glasses for a better look. Jane had been singing the elusive viscount’s praises for quite some time, but Emma had

never had the opportunity to evaluate him for herself.

“Straight across,” Jane whispered impatiently. “You’re looking too far to the right.”
Emma redirected her glasses, but in truth, she wasn’t expecting much. She and Jane had very different ideas about what sort of man would make a good husband. A

title was extremely important—she wasn’t hypocrite enough to pretend otherwise—but she also longed for a man to fall in love with. One who appealed to her on a wildly
romantic level.

For instance, she’d much prefer a handsome young baron to an elderly, potbellied duke.
Jane, however, thought elderly dukes the better choice. After all, she was bound to outlive them.
Smiling to herself at this rather pessimistic attitude, Emma finally found the box Jane indicated. To her surprise, neither of the two occupants appeared ready to drop

dead of old age.

Both men were uncommonly attractive. The first reminded her of a warrior angel, stern and golden, while the second was as wickedly dark and handsome as Lucifer.
Captivated, Emma’s gaze settled on the dazzling blond man. Awareness swept over her, startling her with its intensity. Something about this aloof, brooding stranger

touched a chord deep inside her and resonated through her very soul.

“Which one is Lord Sherbourne?” Emma asked, trying to contain her escalating excitement. At last, she thought, at last I’ve found someone worth pursuing.
“That handsome blond gentleman.” A strange, wistful note crept into Jane’s voice as she, too, stared across the theatre through her opera glasses. “The dark one is

the Earl of Basingstoke.”

“An earl?” Emma reluctantly dragged her gaze away from Sherbourne and gave the dark-haired man another look. She could certainly do worse than return to New

York a countess. “Perhaps I should set my cap for him, then.”

“No,” Jane said sharply. “Basingstoke is a terrible rogue. No one will ever tame him.”
Emma gave Jane a long, considering look. To her amusement, Jane blushed and looked away.
Very interesting.
“I don’t know,” Emma teased. “Sherbourne is a mere viscount.”
Jane frowned, oblivious to Emma’s gentle taunt. “Sherbourne will be the Earl of Warren eventually. Believe me, you couldn’t possibly do any better.”
Emma fought a smile as she met Jane’s annoyed blue gaze. Despite their burgeoning friendship, Jane must rue the circumstances that forced her to sponsor an

American upstart like Emma.

Jane’s father had been a marquis, but he’d gambled away the family fortune and died without a male heir. He’d left Jane nothing but an elegant London townhouse

and a mountain of debts. Considered firmly on the shelf at the grand old age of twenty-five, Jane had agreed to sponsor Emma this Season. The hefty fee she’d charged
would help save her home.

“I’m certain Sherbourne is every bit as wonderful as you say.” Emma wondered at her willingness to drop all thoughts of pursuing the earl. Usually she liked her men

dark and dangerous, but something about Sherbourne repeatedly drew her gaze. “But I don’t know, Jane. Look at him. Perhaps he’s too perfect.”

“Too perfect?” Jane laughed softly and shook her coiffed blond head. “I fail to see why you consider that a bad thing.”
As Emma continued to contemplate the beautiful viscount, Jane leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I have it on good authority that Sherbourne

has no choice but to make a financially advantageous marriage. With Lady Natalia off the market, you’re the only one with a dowry large enough to suit his needs. He
must offer for you. It’s merely a matter of time.”

Emma winced at Jane’s matter-of-fact pronouncement, but couldn’t fault her since Emma’s father had hired Jane specifically for this sort of knowledge. Emma’s

family had an immense fortune, but no title. It was expected that the man she married would have a title but no fortune.

Lifting her opera glasses once more, Emma risked another quick glance in Sherbourne’s direction. This time, to her utter chagrin, she found him staring back at her.
Her first impulse was to keep scanning the crowd as though she had no idea who he was, but something in his expression gave her pause. His finely chiseled features

were set in grim resignation, as though the mere sight of her had sent him into a deep, dark depression.

While hardly flattering, his strange reaction intrigued her even more. Perhaps Jane was right. Perhaps this paragon of English decency really was desperate enough to

ask for her hand.

She set aside her glasses and gave Jane an expectant look. “Tell me everything you know.”
Jane smiled, completely in her element. “His father is the tenth Earl of Warren. The family holdings are extensive. The earl gives an absolutely smashing ball every

year at the beginning of the Season. Very exclusive guest list.”

Emma shook her head in frustration. “I don’t care about any of that. I want to know about Sherbourne. Has he ever been involved in a scandal? Does he have a

mistress? Has he ever gambled too much on horses or made a fool of himself with brandy?”

Jane looked affronted at the very idea. “Of course not. He’s a very fine young man. He’s—”
“I know. I know. He’s a paragon.” Emma held up one hand in protest. “Please, Jane. Think. There must be something.”
The music swelled to a final crescendo, signaling intermission. They’d whispered and plotted through the entire first act of the mediocre play. Not that it mattered.

Socializing seemed to be the main entertainment on Drury Lane.

Jane looked around, as though to double check that no one was close enough to hear. “Did you know Sherbourne offered for Lady Natalia? It’s not common

knowledge, and I’m certain he doesn’t want anyone to know. Especially given the fact that his brother stole her away.”

“Viscount Sherbourne and Captain Dylan Blake are brothers?” Now that was an interesting little tidbit of information. Emma knew Captain Blake, though not as well

as she would have liked.

“Captain Blake escorted me to dinner,” she reminded Jane. “At the Duke of Clayton’s party.”
There had been quite a scandal when Lady Natalia had been caught in a compromising situation with Captain Blake in her father’s garden. Emma hadn’t seen what

happened, but she’d heard all the gossip.

Jane raised a knowing brow. “Ah, yes. I remember. You were quite put out when you couldn’t capture the captain’s attention.”
“He only had eyes for Lady Natalia.” Emma shrugged, as though Dylan Blake’s inattention had meant nothing to her. In truth, she’d been extremely jealous, because

Dylan Blake—while hardly the sort of man she’d consider marrying—was exactly the sort of man she could imagine herself falling in love with. Witty and darkly
handsome, he was a decorated war hero and had traveled extensively.

“The whole thing was terribly romantic.” Jane sighed with pleasure. “I’m so glad the duke allowed Natalia to marry her dashing captain.”
“Very romantic,” Emma agreed. The star-crossed lovers had married just last week—a hasty, private ceremony, followed by a lengthy honeymoon in Scotland—

where they, apparently, hoped to wait out the scandal.

Emma wondered if Sherbourne had loved Lady Natalia. Had his intended bride’s betrayal hurt him?
Low male voices interrupted Emma’s thoughts. Someone conferred with their footman on the other side of the brocade curtain that gave their box the illusion of

privacy.

“Who could that be?” Jane rose gracefully, pleased as always by the prospect of visitors. The fact that suitors had actually begun to seek Emma out, despite her lack

of pedigree, was a testament to Jane’s social clout.

Jane swept back the curtain and her face went comically blank when she saw who stood on the other side. “Lord Basingstoke.”
“Good evening, Lady Jane. I’ve come to arrange an introduction between my friend and your lovely companion, Miss Marks.”
Emma turned to see the dark half of the pair she’d spied on earlier. A hint of mischief lurked behind Lord Basingstoke’s smile as he stepped aside to allow another

man to enter the box.

Viscount Sherbourne. As though Emma’s interest had summoned him, he stood before her in all his golden glory, a sinfully beautiful man with the face of an angel.
Jane recovered quickly from her surprise and graced both men with a gentle smile. “Lord Basingstoke. Lord Sherbourne. May I present Miss Emma Marks of New

York City?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lords.” Emma rose and extended her hand. She tried to exude as much grace and dignity as possible. Her father had spent a fortune

to insure her manners and bearing were fit for a queen, but she always worried that those who’d come from generations of wealth and privilege would see through her
façade.

Sherbourne stepped forward. He cut an elegant figure in his finely tailored black evening wear. “The pleasure is mine,” he murmured, his voice clipped and deep and

oh-so British. Taking her gloved hand, he brought it briefly to the lush heat of his finely drawn lips.

Such an extravagant mouth, on such a harsh and chiseled face.

As he lifted his head, their gazes caught and held. For a moment, she lost track of time and place. Intelligence and loneliness radiated

from the rain-washed depths of his deep blue eyes and convinced her there was far more to this man than even Jane knew.

As she reluctantly withdrew her hand from Sherbourne’s light grasp, Basingstoke offered her a charming smile. “Are you enjoying your visit, Miss Marks?”
“I’m enjoying London very much,” she responded truthfully. Unlike New York Society, English aristocrats had the ability to appreciate eccentricity, even celebrate it

on occasion. Hence their easy acceptance of an American heiress who dressed outrageously and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

“I hear you’re quite the traveler,” Basingstoke continued. “Tell us about your journeys. Have you been anywhere fascinating and exotic?”
“I’ve traveled extensively on the Continent during the past few years.” Emma warmed immediately to the subject and wondered if Basingstoke might be the more

interesting of the two after all. “I must admit, however, to being a bit of a history enthusiast, the older and dustier the better. I’d love to visit Egypt, but I haven’t yet had the
chance.”

“What a coincidence.” Again, Basingstoke seemed secretly amused. “Sherbourne is an amateur archeologist. He’s fascinated by all things Egyptian. In fact he’s

sponsored several expeditions and has an amazing collection of artifacts.”

She let her gaze drift back to Basingstoke’s friend, unable to contain her sudden excitement. “Have you been to Egypt, Lord Sherbourne? Have you seen the

pyramids and the Sphinx?”

Something hot and bright flickered in the depths of Sherbourne’s cool eyes, but it disappeared so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it. “I’ve never left England,”

Sherbourne admitted remotely. “My responsibilities don’t allow for frivolities such as travel.”

Frivolities? She would have been incensed at Sherbourne’s judgmental tone, if not for the fact that Basingstoke had mentioned the viscount’s interest in history and

artifacts.

For some reason, Sherbourne seemed embarrassed by what his friend had revealed. As though his pursuit of such things undermined the bland, boring demeanor he

obviously worked so hard to cultivate.

What other interesting things lurked beneath that cool, perfect exterior?
As though she hadn’t understood he’d meant to rebuke her, Emma smiled. “Well, no wonder you collect Egyptian artifacts. Everyone needs a little something exotic in

their lives. I’d love to see your collection.”

Jane gasped audibly at Emma’s forward behavior, but Lord Basingstoke merely chuckled and gave her a covert wink. As for Sherbourne, he looked slightly stunned.

He obviously had no idea what to make of her.

“I keep my artifacts in the country, at Sherbourne Hall, but perhaps something can be arranged.” Sherbourne took a deep breath, as though girding himself for

something unpleasant. “In the meantime, would you allow me to call on you? At your earliest convenience?”

Emma shared a quick, surprised look with Jane. Oh, the poor man, she thought, honestly sympathetic. He must need her dowry even more desperately than Jane had

implied.

“Of course you may call on me,” Emma replied graciously. “I’d be delighted.”

“Excellent. You may expect me tomorrow morning.” Bowing stiffly, Sherbourne turned and left the box.Basingstoke smiled and shrugged. “What

can I say, Miss Marks. He’s an acquired taste.” He started to take his own leave, then seemed to think better of it. Turning, he extended his
hand toward Jane. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Lady Jane. You’ve been absent from Society for far too long.”

Jane stared at his hand, flustered for no apparent reason. Basingstoke laughed and produced a single red rose with a quick flick of his wrist.
Emma had been watching him, but she had no idea how he’d accomplished the magical illusion.
“Oh, Lucien.” Jane accepted the rose with her heart in her eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

Lucien? Emma couldn’t contain an amused smile when her very proper companion used Lord Basingstoke’s given name. Apparently, the earl’s bad behavior was

only one reason Jane wanted her to stay away from him.

As for herself, Emma couldn’t wait for the chance to speak privately with Lord Sherbourne. She knew just the thing to rattle his icy reserve and reveal what lay

beneath.

****

Michael strode briskly toward the theatre exit, leaving Basingstoke to follow, or not, as he chose. He’d come here tonight for the express purpose of initiating his

courtship with Miss Marks and had no intention of staying for the second act.

Unfortunately, now that he’d met her, he felt more dismayed than ever at the thought of marrying the American chit. She wasn’t what he’d expected.
“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Basingstoke commented, out of breath, when he finally caught up to Michael on the bustling street outside the theatre.

Apparently, he hadn’t yet tired of having fun at Michael’s expense. “I find Miss Marks quite refreshing.”

Michael threw his friend an exasperated glance. “If you like her so much, why don’t you marry her?”
Basingstoke chuckled openly. “Because I don’t need her dowry, my friend. And I haven’t any relatives breathing down my neck, insisting I breed an heir. Besides, if I

married her, what would you do? There aren’t any other heiresses of her ilk this Season.”

“I’m aware of that,” Michael snapped. “Otherwise, I certainly wouldn’t be considering an American.”
“American or not, she’s the most exotically beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.” Basingstoke raised one dark brow, obviously determined to annoy Michael in every

possible way. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”

“I prefer my women blonde and biddable,” Michael lied. In truth, Emma Marks had taken his breath away. Her wild, dark, gypsy beauty made him think of forbidden

dreams and far-off places.

But marriage? How could he even consider marrying a woman who incited such passion? He’d always imagined himself with an English Rose. A quiet, unassuming

girl who would bear his children and make his life easier.

Life with a woman like Emma Marks would be anything but easy.
“Blonde and biddable?” Basingstoke scoffed. “You’d be bored to death in a month.” He shook his head. “If you ask me, I think your brother has the right idea. I don’t

intend to wed unless I find someone who makes me feel the way Dylan feels about Lady Natalia.”

Michael gave his friend a disbelieving glance as the earl motioned for his driver to bring up the coach. Lady Natalia. Her loss was still a sore subject. He couldn’t

believe Basingstoke had mentioned her.

Forcing all thoughts of Natalia away, he refocused on what Basingstoke had said. Strange, he’d never thought of Basingstoke as a romantic. “You can’t mean never

to marry. What about your title? Surely you don’t want your wastrel of a brother to inherit it?”

“I don’t give a damn about my title,” Basingstoke replied with uncharacteristic bitterness. “It’s brought me nothing but misfortune. Ethan is welcome to it, though I

doubt he’d want it either.”

Michael held his tongue, although he found such talk nearly blasphemous. If a man didn’t live for his title—for the honor of his family and his name—then what was

there to live for?

Basingstoke’s luxurious coach arrived, a welcome distraction. They climbed in and Basingstoke gave a sharp rap on the roof to signal they were ready to leave.
As the lumbering vehicle bearing Basingstoke’s crest moved through the crowded streets toward Mayfair, Michael settled against the blue velvet squabs and let his

thoughts circle back to the beautiful American.

He’d expected her to be brash and loud, not well spoken and elegant. Even her American accent was charming, a soft drawl very different from the nasal tones he’d

found so annoying the few times he’d been forced to deal with American businessmen. And her penchant for history and travel intrigued him more than he was willing to
admit. He’d never imagined marrying a woman who shared his interests.

In fact, Miss Marks was exactly the sort of woman he’d hoped to someday find for his mistress—bold, witty and devastatingly lovely.
All in all, this meeting had done nothing but add to the sense of impending doom that had been building within him since he’d found Lady Natalia in his brother’s arms.
“I hadn’t realized Lady Jane was Miss Marks chaperone,” Basingstoke said unexpectedly, breaking the awkward silence. “I’ve known Jane since we were children.

Although never official, there was always an understanding we would wed. I’ve always been ashamed of myself for not proposing after her father died.”

“I’d forgotten all about that.” Michael offered his friend a sympathetic glance, glad for the distraction. “It’s not your fault the marquis had a gambling problem. No one

expected you to marry the girl without a dowry.”

“You don’t understand. I treated her quite badly, simply walked away and never looked back.” Basingstoke shook his head. “Perhaps I should arrange an anonymous

bequest. I don’t want her to have to spend the rest of her life pandering to rich Americans.”

Michael braced himself as the coach bounced over a deep rut. “Ah, Basingstoke. You’re not the heartless rake you pretend to be.”
“And you’re not the staid, joyless paragon you pretend, either,” Basingstoke retorted. “Come on, old man, admit it. Miss Marks is exactly what you need to make life

interesting.”

“I admit no such thing,” Michael countered, aghast. An interesting wife was the last thing in the world he needed.

Chapter Two

Michael strode impatiently up the wide marble steps of Miss Marks’ fashionable rented home in Belgrave Square. The imposing Georgian mansion had belonged to

Lady Jane’s father, the Marquess of Langton.

No wonder Basingstoke felt guilty.
What was the world coming to, when the daughter of a marquis was forced to rent out her home and relegate herself to the position of companion? Grimly, Michael

reminded himself he was likely to end up in a similar position if he didn’t manage to wed Miss Marks.

At his knock, a suitably haughty butler opened the front door. The butler took Michael’s card, then escorted him upstairs to cool his heels in the drawing room. “Miss

Marks will be with you shortly, my Lord,” the old man announced, with just the barest hint of reproof. “She wasn’t expecting callers this early.”

Frowning, Michael withdrew a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket. Barely half past nine. Truly an unheard of time to pay a call during the Season, when

entertainments could easily last until three or four in the morning.

“I didn’t realize...” His words fell unheeded into the silence of the room. The butler had already slipped away.
In truth, he’d been in such a hurry to settle things with Miss Marks he’d rushed over without a thought for the time. Troubled by this uncharacteristic lapse of

manners, he distracted himself by idly inspecting his surroundings.

The room had recently been redecorated in the Oriental style that was all the rage. It was a perfect nightmare of red velvet and gold leaf, though some of the pieces,

such as an exquisite vase from the Ming dynasty and the glorious hand painted screen in the corner, were authentic.

This evidence of Miss Marks’ apparently endless wealth brought Michael sharply back to the reason for his visit. The earl still hadn’t forgiven him for losing Lady

Natalia and her fortune to Dylan, and the creditors were circling like buzzards scenting a kill.

Miss Marks and her obscenely large dowry were his only hope.
A soft rustling sound broke into his despairing thoughts. He composed himself and turned, only to freeze at the sight of his hostess.
Emma Marks stood in the open doorway, outrageously attired in a deep purple dressing gown. The flowing satin molded indecently to her tall, willowy frame, hugging

the gentle swells of her breasts and hips. Michael stared, both appalled and aroused by her brazen appearance.

“Miss Marks,” he murmured with reproach. “You’re not dressed.”
She pushed an errant strand of dark hair from her eyes and glanced down at her shocking ensemble with a small shrug. “When my maid awakened me so early, I

thought there must be an emergency. I came as soon as I could.”

Michael clasped his hands behind his back and fought the overwhelming impulse to cross the room and touch her luminous skin, still warm and flushed from sleep.

“There’s no emergency. I can come back later, if you prefer.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. “I don’t mind if you stay, as long as you don’t insist that I change.”
Michael frowned, shocked by the irregularity of her request. “You needn’t change on my account.”
Her lips twitched. His annoyance grew as he realized she was struggling not to laugh. “Why, thank you, Lord Sherbourne. How unexpectedly open-minded of you.”
She brushed past him and gestured toward a cozy seating arrangement near the fireplace. A delicate blend of vanilla and roses filled his senses. Light and seductive,

yet surprisingly subtle, given her somewhat flamboyant personality. A tantalizing riot of mahogany curls tumbled down her slim back in a soft cloud. The sleek curves of
her bottom were breathtakingly lovely without the disfiguring contours of a bustle.

“Shall I ring for refreshments?” Miss Marks raised an inquiring brow as she settled prettily on a baroque sofa of crushed red velvet.
Michael met her intelligent dark gaze, stunned once again by the depth behind her beauty. She wasn’t a fool, no silly, simpering miss. Suddenly, he wondered what

he’d do if she refused him. He hadn’t even considered the possibility until now.

From all accounts, she liked her unorthodox lifestyle.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” he answered, distracted. “I won’t be staying long.”
She shifted, and the dark purple fabric revealed every curve of her long, elegant legs before it settled in rippling folds that merely hinted at the treasures beneath. His

shock over the impropriety of the situation grew when he noticed her small, bare feet.

Suddenly, the erotic picture she presented was too much. He felt as though he were facing an expensive, seductive courtesan, not the supposedly chaste young

woman he planned to marry.

Frustrated, Michael asked what he really wanted to know, as heedless as she of the constraints of polite society. “Do you always greet your

gentlemen callers in such a charming state of dishabille? Forgive me, but I find this highly irregular.”

Amusement flickered across her expressively beautiful face. “No, I don’t greet all my gentleman callers this way. But in any event, I

hardly see where that’s any of your concern.”

With a sigh, he pressed one hand to his pounding temple.

Bloody brilliant.

He should have guessed the chit would be as immoral as she was

beautiful.

“Quite frankly, the way you’re dressed alarms me. After all, my purpose in coming here today was to propose marriage.”
Emma stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. Then she made a rueful, disappointed sound and shook her head. “This is your idea of a proposal?”
Embarrassed heat rose in Michael’s cheeks. He’d made a terrible botch of things. His usual eloquence had deserted him in the face of Miss Marks’ unconventional

behavior.

“It’s actually more of a business proposition,” he clarified lamely.
“Oh, my.” Her voice was rife with sarcasm. “That’s just what every woman dreams of hearing.”
Since the damage had already been done, he decided to brazen it out, hoping she would appreciate his honesty. “Would you prefer I got down on my knees? Pledged

an undying love I do not feel?”

“Of course not.” She shifted again, a sinuous slide of satin and legs. He wondered if she knew how the mere thought of those long, slender limbs affected him. “But

since we’re being so candid, I think it’s only fair that you answer a few of my questions as well.”

Michael nodded, immediately on the defensive. He supposed turnabout was fair play, but he’d never known a woman with the audacity to actually demand such a

right.

“Did you care deeply for Lady Natalia?” She watched him with the intensity of a cat guarding a mouse hole. “Are you angry with your brother

for stealing her away?”

For a long moment, he didn’t reply. How did she know about

that

? A flicker of respect sparked inside him. She’d obviously been well

prepared for his visit, despite this elaborate show to the contrary.

“I hardly knew Lady Natalia,” he answered carefully. “And I’m not angry with my brother.”
That much was true. His relationship with his brother was complicated. After his initial surge of fury, he’d been pleased to see Dylan happy, even though his brother’s

marriage had narrowed his own choices dramatically.

“That’s very noble of you.” She brushed another errant strand of dark hair from her eyes and gave him a cynical smile. “Do you have a gambling problem?”
“Certainly not!” He’d spent his entire life avoiding the pitfalls and temptations of his position.
“You needn’t get all prickly, Lord Sherbourne. I only ask because I can’t understand how a man of your status and intelligence could have found himself so

desperately in debt.” She raised an inquiring brow. “You are in debt, aren’t you? Quite deeply, I’d hazard to guess, since you’re willing to marry a woman you obviously
find abhorrent in every conceivable way.”

Touché.
His grudging admiration for the chit grew. Though he wanted to argue the point—defend himself in some way—he knew he must regain control of the situation. As

she’d pointed out, this was hardly the way to conduct a courtship. “I don’t find you abhorrent. Merely...different.”

“Don’t you think I realize that in your mind different and abhorrent are one and the same?” She shook her head, her dark eyes sparkling. “I must admit I’d hoped for

something more than a mere viscount. For half a million pounds, I’d hoped to buy a marquis, at the very least.”

Half a million pounds?
He’d heard rumors about the size of her dowry—had known it was quite large—but the actual amount staggered him. Lord, he could put a new roof on Sherbourne

Hall without even making a dent in such an enormous sum.

“I’m the Earl of Warren’s heir,” he reminded her. How dare she infer he wasn’t good enough?
She pursed her lips, but her eyes continued to dance. He sensed she was having quite a good time at his expense.
“Yes, but we don’t know how long it will take you to inherit the title, do we? I’ve seen your father. He seems pretty hale. Besides, even if you were a duke, I doubt

I’d consider marrying someone so lacking in the ability to have fun.”

Lacking in the ability to have fun? Michael surged to his feet, outraged. Of all the ridiculous...
He couldn’t afford to have fun. Too much depended on him.
“Obviously, I’ve made a grave error in judgment. We don’t suit at all.” He bowed stiffly. “Good day, Miss Marks. I’ll see myself out.”
She laughed and rose to meet him. “I don’t know, Lord Sherbourne. You’re very easy to annoy and I find that rather fun in and of itself.” To his utter shock, she

brushed his cheek lightly with her fingertips. “And there is this...attraction between us. Surely you’ve felt it.”

Up close, she was more beautiful than any woman had a right to be. Her features were sheer perfection, her skin unblemished, creamy and silky smooth. The urge to

lean forward and kiss her sweet mouth wiped away his earlier irritation.

“Viscountess Sherbourne,” she mused. “Perhaps that would do.” With a small sigh, she stepped away. “I’ll think about your proposal and give you my answer in a

few days.”

And so it was that Michael Blake, Viscount Sherbourne—the Earl of Warren’s heir—found himself summarily dismissed by an American adventuress.

****

Emma was still mulling over Lord Sherbourne’s strange visit when Jane breezed into the room. Always an early riser, Jane was impeccably dressed in a steel gray

morning gown better suited to someone twice her age. Her blond hair was pulled into a tight chignon, a style that sharpened her features in a most unflattering manner.

Amused, Emma decided Basingstoke’s sweet gesture had unbalanced Jane so deeply she’d felt the need to reassure herself of her spinsterhood.
Jane came to an abrupt halt when she caught sight of Emma. “Good God, Emma. Please tell me you didn’t receive Viscount Sherbourne in your dressing gown.

Whatever must he think of you?”

Emma grinned. “He thinks I’m little better than a whore. But he wants to marry me anyway.”
Emma knew her behavior had been unacceptable, but she’d wanted to see how Sherbourne would react. To her immense surprise, she’d managed to disconcert him.

She’d forced him to play his hand far earlier than he intended, and she’d proven his icy reserve was indeed a façade.

Beneath lay an intriguing mass of seething emotions she’d desperately like to explore.
“Sherbourne proposed?” Jane abruptly switched hats from companion to friend. She gave Emma an exuberant hug, so excited she forgot to chide Emma for either her

language or her brazen behavior. “Oh, Emma. How wonderful. He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for.”

“Yes. He’s absolutely perfect.” Emma accepted Jane’s congratulations a little warily, still stunned by the ease of her conquest.
The search for a titled husband had proven far more difficult than she’d originally anticipated. Her enormous dowry and unusual beauty were most definitely strengths,

but her age and lack of breeding had hindered her from making a truly spectacular match.

These English aristocrats wanted dewy young flowers who hadn’t a clue how to speak their minds. The more blue-blooded her quarry, the more extreme this

tendency became. The dissolute rakes who made up the Prince’s chosen set found her irresistible as a potential mistress, but had no intention of taking a wife who might
dare contradict them.

“Sherbourne needs my dowry desperately.” Emma ducked out of Jane’s embrace. “He didn’t even try to deny it.”
Jane frowned. “Well, we knew that, of course. But I expected him to propose more gracefully. He should have made an effort to court you.”
“He considers his proposal a business arrangement.” Emma was beset by sudden doubt. She’d finally accomplished her life’s goal, only to wonder if this was what

she truly wanted.

If she accepted Lord Sherbourne’s proposal, her marriage would be the envy of all those hateful cats back in New York. But what did it matter, if the man she

married remained a cool, remote stranger?

“Surely romance will come in time,” Jane assured her. “I sensed a strong attraction between the two of you.”
“He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.” Emma shrugged away her misgivings, her natural exuberance returning full force.
What would it take to make him smile, to see those incredible blue eyes flood with laughter? The challenge he presented might be reason enough to say yes.
“Perhaps I will marry your haughty young viscount,” she told Jane conspiratorially. “But I’m not going to give him an answer right away. In fact, I have every

intention of making him wonder.”

****

“I forbid you to marry that blasted American chit.” The Earl of Warren frowned at his heir with thunderous disapproval, his large frame resonating with suppressed

violence. “How can you even consider making such a stupid mistake?”

Michael fought to keep from flinching beneath his father’s steely regard. The older man’s censure still had the ability to wound him, though he’d long since learned to

hide such weakness.

He’d been summoned to his father’s country estate like some recalcitrant schoolboy, then forced to wait in the earl’s library for nearly an hour before his father had

put in an appearance.

“What do you suggest?” Michael asked stiffly. “If I don’t marry Miss Marks, we face complete financial ruin.”
“Ungrateful bastard!” Warren slammed his fists on the surface of his desk, half-rising out of his chair in his fury. “Are you insinuating that this fiasco is my fault?

How dare you! After you refused Clayton and handed Lady Natalia to your worthless brother like a bloody birthday gift?”

Michael didn’t bother to point out that he wouldn’t have had to marry an heiress in the first place, if not for the earl’s blatant mismanagement of the family funds and

refusal to curb his extravagant spending habits.

It would have been pointless, in any event. The earl was blind to his own faults.
“I refuse to discuss Lady Natalia or my brother any further,” Michael answered. God knew they’d argued the point to death over the last few weeks. “I merely

wished to point out that Miss Marks is our only option.”

The earl’s icy blue eyes flared with wrath. For an endless moment Michael thought his father might strike him.

Christ, he wished the old son of a bitch would. He’d dearly like the chance to make his father pay for all those beatings he’d given Dylan, when his sons were both

small, defenseless children.

Warren had always confined his violence to his younger son, a fact that had tormented Michael all his life. He’d been forced to watch helplessly while Dylan had been

punished for wrongs both real and imagined, many times for Michael’s own youthful transgressions.

Perhaps that explained why he’d been unable to bring himself to marry Lady Natalia. Dylan deserved whatever happiness he could find.
Seeming to realize his son’s anger finally matched his own, the earl sank back in his chair. “You’ll become a laughingstock, marrying a girl like that. Think of the

scandal.”

Michael waved a dismissive hand. “The scandal will be minimal. Miss Marks is a great favorite of the Prince. In fact, I have every reason to believe he’ll attend the

wedding.”

If there is a wedding. Michael refused to give his father the satisfaction of knowing Miss Marks had not yet accepted his proposal. He preferred simply to move

forward and continue making plans as though she had.

Warren raised a steely gray brow. “You’ll regret this.”
Having had quite enough of his father for one day, Michael got to his feet. “Don’t pretend I have a choice.” His voice rang with bitterness as he stalked from the

room.

Chapter Three

For five endless days, Michael waited for Miss Marks’ answer. When she failed to send so much as a note, her game became clear. He would have to abandon his

pride and search her out.

He dressed for the evening in the austere black he preferred, then grimly hunted through the unopened invitations in the front hall. Which of the myriad entertainments

would appeal to a woman like Emma?

At last, he decided she couldn’t possibly resist the lure of the Earl of Chesterfield’s annual ball. Always a terrible crush, it was considered one of the high points of the

season.

An hour later, Michael arrived at the earl’s palatial riverside mansion. As he suspected, the place was fairly bursting at the seams with aristocratic guests. A black

mood settled over him as he stepped out of his coach. He’d always hated crowds. The press of overheated bodies, shrill laughter, and an overwhelming stench of sweat
and perfume never failed to bring on one of his headaches.

After waiting fifteen interminable minutes in the receiving line, he finally found himself at the edge of the ballroom. Nodding briefly to a handful of acquaintances, he

skirted the dance floor, intent upon locating his quarry.

She wasn’t difficult to find. Emma was a vision in emerald satin, with diamonds sparkling in her dark, upswept hair. His breath caught in unwilling appreciation when

he spied her waltzing across the floor in none other than the Prince of Wales’ capable arms.

He surveyed her moodily for what seemed an eternity as she partnered a dizzying number of England’s most influential men. Every tinkling laugh and bright smile

grated upon his nerves like sandpaper.

With each passing moment, it seemed less likely that she’d accept his proposal. After all, why should she settle for a mere viscount when she’d just charmed the

future king?

He should have arrived sooner, made certain he reserved a space on her dance card. Now there seemed to be no alternative but to try and catch her alone for a

moment during the midnight supper.

As though she sensed his patience had reached an end, she suddenly glanced in his direction. Holding his gaze, she headed toward him after her latest partner

escorted her from the dance floor.

A mischievous smile curved her lips. He wasn’t certain whether she’d sought him out to accept his proposal, or if she just found it amusing to humiliate him further.
“Good evening, Lord Sherbourne,” she murmured, reaching his side. “I’d hoped to see you here tonight.”
“Good evening, Miss Marks.” Relief washed through him and he stared at her gravely. “I’d have asked you to dance, but it seems your dance card is full.”
“It is.” Emma’s smile widened and her eyes sparkled with the heady knowledge that she was the belle of the ball. “But I saved the next one for you. After all, we

have weighty matters to discuss.”

Unaccountably pleased to be in her company again, Michael offered his arm. As luck would have it, the orchestra launched into the strains of the evening’s second

slow waltz.

As he took her in his arms, the pale upper swells of her breasts drew his gaze. His blood heated at the lush sight. Erotic thoughts and images tumbled through his mind,

stunning him with their intensity. He couldn’t recall ever having wanted a woman quite so desperately.

She remained uncharacteristically silent for several long minutes. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one unsettled by the strange chemistry that flared between them.
“You dance very well,” she told him at last. “I hadn’t expected it of you.”
He frowned. “What did you expect?”
“I thought you’d be as rigid and unyielding on the dance floor as you are the rest of the time.”
Her rudeness surprised a chuckle from him. “Why, Miss Marks. Was there a compliment hidden in there somewhere?”
An arrested, speculative look flickered across her lovely features. “You also have a very nice laugh. However, it sounds a bit rusty. Has it been a very long time since

you used it?”

He stared down at her, his smile fading. “Yes. It’s been awhile.”
“Well, Lord Sherbourne. I may be lacking in many of the qualities you think you want in a wife, but I consider the ability to make you laugh a great accomplishment.

I’m sure you’ll come to cherish it in time.”

He raised a brow, trying to ignore the sudden racing of his heart. “Does this mean you’ve decided to accept my proposal?”
“Perhaps.” She cast a quick glance at the long row of double doors, which led outside to the terrace. “Would you walk outside with me for a few moments? I have

some more questions to ask you, and there’s also a small test I’d like to perform.”

“A test?” Michael bristled at the mere thought. His cautious optimism vanished like smoke in the wind. “I refuse to play games with you, Miss Marks. Either you

agree to marry me or you don’t. Which is it?”

She shook her head disparagingly. “I’ve been wondering why a man of your looks and years hasn’t already found himself a wife. But it’s obvious. You have no idea

how to court a woman.”

“I may know more than you realize,” he fired back, actually enjoying the verbal exchange. No one had ever dared to tease him before. “For one thing, it’s the man

who’s supposed to initiate the courtship.”

“If I waited for you to initiate anything, I’d die of old age before we made it to the altar.” Breaking free of his hold, she marched toward the open doors, obviously

expecting him to follow.

Suppressing an exasperated groan, he did.
She crossed the terrace and plunged into the formal gardens, past the intricate sculptured hedges. When he caught up to her at last, he found her perched upon the

edge of a marble fountain. Water and moonlight framed her dark, fey beauty. He paused a few feet away, mesmerized.

“Do sit down,” Emma urged him. “Quit looming over me like some disapproving gargoyle.”
Reluctantly, he did as she asked. The sudden silence fell like a cloak, thick and smothering, and wrapped them in intimacy.
She slipped her gloved hand in his and stared up at him expectantly. “We hardly know each other, Lord Sherbourne. Don’t you think we should talk a little bit about

what each of us expects from marriage before we make any rash decisions?”

“What would you like to know?” His voice held a sharp, defensive quality he couldn’t control.
“Well, you do have a first name, don’t you? I certainly don’t intend to call you Lord Sherbourne in the bedroom.” Her smile mocked him as she again shifted those

long, long legs. Although this gown did a much better job of concealing her attributes than her purple dressing gown, the memory of those slender limbs remained branded
in his mind.

In the bedroom. If he married her, would this searing attraction be a blessing or a curse?

“My name is Michael. Michael Richard Blake.”
“Michael.” She repeated the name, slow and sensual, as though she tasted the syllables. “It suits you. The first time I saw you, I thought you looked like an angel. A

warrior angel.”

Ridiculously pleased by her silly little compliment, he fought a smile. “Anything else?”
“Why do you need my dowry so badly?” She leaned toward him, suddenly serious. “I really don’t believe you have a gambling problem. You’ve far too much self-

control. But I think I deserve to know how my father’s money will be spent.”

Heated embarrassment flooded Michael’s whole body. “Of course. You’re absolutely right.” Still, he hated to tell her, hated that she wanted to know. No other

woman of his acquaintance would have demanded such knowledge.

“I’m waiting,” she urged. She squeezed his hand a little tighter.
“You probably wouldn’t understand,” he reasoned, hoping to dissuade her. “It has to do with economics and politics...”
“Try me.” Steel laced her soft words and he reminded himself that she was no fool. Crafty intelligence shone in her dark eyes. With a father like Black Jack Marks,

the infamous gold and railroad tycoon, she probably knew more about economics than he did.

“The Blake holdings are extensive,” he began. “My father owns a dozen estates, which require tremendous upkeep. Our agricultural profits and shipping ventures

should cover those costs, but prices have fallen, thanks to you Americans. Each year, we go further into debt. Without a large influx of capitol, it’s inevitable that our
creditors will start calling in their markers. When they do, this fragile house of cards I’ve built will come tumbling down.”

“Can’t you sell a few of the smaller estates to raise the funds you need?”
He shook his head. “They’re entailed. But even if they weren’t, my father would never hear of it.” A note of bitterness crept into his voice. He was tempted to tell

her the truth about his father’s refusal to curtail his spending habits and his excessive gambling.

“Thank you for telling me. I know how difficult it must have been.” She hugged him then, a swift, soft embrace that was over before he could truly enjoy it. He’d

never known anyone so physically demonstrative.

“Don’t worry, Michael. If we marry, I’m confident in your ability to put my dowry to good use. I’m sure our children will never have to face such uncertainty.”
To his surprise, the thought of Emma bearing his children no longer bothered him. Before he met her, he’d worried she’d impose her flighty, outrageous behavior upon

his heirs. Now he wondered if that would be such a bad thing.

His own mother had been a bit like Emma. Wild, free, flamboyant. He’d always longed for just a little of the love and laughter the countess had showered upon Dylan,

but his father hated his artistic Scottish wife, and had done his best to keep Michael away from her.

After all, Michael was the future Earl of Warren. Such plebeian emotions as love and tenderness were supposed to be beneath him.
Troubled, he looked away and gazed into the sparkly, leaping water.
“Why so sad?” Emma asked softly. “You look a million miles away.”
He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “You remind me of my mother. She died when I was very young.”
She’d killed herself, actually. Unable to cope with her husband’s cruelty, Fiona Blake had flung herself from a cliff in Scotland, crashing upon the rocks several

hundred feet below.

“I’m so sorry.” Emma’s dark eyes welled with sudden, sympathetic tears. “I recently lost my own mother.”
Michael cleared his throat, uncomfortable, and awkwardly patted her shoulder.
“Do you have any other questions?” he asked, in a blatant attempt to change the subject. He had no experience with crying females.
She laughed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Not at the moment. Do you?”
There was, in fact, one other thing he wanted to know. He needed an answer to the question that had haunted him since their last meeting.
Given his pressing need to secure her dowry, her answer shouldn’t matter. But it did. It mattered more than he cared to admit.
He cleared his throat and looked away. “I’d very much like to know if you’re still innocent.” He cast her a quick glance, then cursed himself for the hurt that flooded

her expressive eyes. “Mind you, my proposal still stands, whatever your answer.”

For a long moment, he feared he’d gone too far, until she squeezed his hand. “I suppose I deserve that. I’ve behaved quite badly since we met.”
Lifting her head, she met his chagrined gaze with unwavering honesty. “I’ve never taken a lover, Michael. You’ll be the first.”
“Thank you.” Relief washed over him and he glanced away for a moment, lest she see how much her answer meant to him. In truth, he didn’t think he could have

borne it if she’d told him differently—dowry be damned. “I think we’ve covered the most important things. The rest will come in time.”

“Good.” Releasing his hand, Emma slowly removed her glove, then touched his cheek with her bare fingertips. His breath caught as she traced his features, her dark

eyes alight with tender amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the test.”

“Oh, yes. The test.” If it involved more touching, he couldn’t find it within himself to protest.
Her thumb brushed his lips and learned their shape and texture. She held his gaze as though daring him to look away. “Kiss me, Michael. I need to assure myself that

there’s some warmth in that cold heart of yours.”

For a long moment he didn’t move, didn’t do anything but stare at this beautiful, infuriating woman. How had this happened? He wasn’t supposed to want her this

much.

Already, he sensed that this thing between them would cross all his boundaries, make him doubt himself, and her, time and again. Above all, it would never be easy

and he’d had enough difficult relationships to last a lifetime.

“Warmth?” He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips against hers with lingering promise. “I burn for you, Emma. God help us both.”
Emma. Her name rolled easily off his tongue. All his life he’d been so careful not to speak his mind, but Emma’s frank manner seemed to be contagious. With her, he

felt the strange, narcotic freedom to be more himself.

Her mouth opened eagerly beneath his, and all reason and sanity fled. She tasted of summer, of sensual indulgence amid silken sheets, of everything he’d ever

secretly wanted and been denied.

Such pleasure was surely sinful. He didn’t trust himself not to become lost in the pursuit of it.
He’d seen the devastating results of such passion in his parent’s marriage, and he feared being caught in the same trap. Was this what had driven Dylan to break his

promises, to risk everything for a few breathless moments in Natalia’s arms?

For the first time, Michael understood his brother’s actions all too well. The realization that he was just as susceptible, just as weak, terrified him.
He pulled away and stared at Emma with deep foreboding. Because despite his fears, despite everything, he desperately wanted to kiss her again.
She smiled and brought her fingertips to her lips, as though to capture the imprint of his kiss for all time. “You’ll do, Michael,” she whispered softly. “You’ll do.”

****

Later that night, Emma lay wide awake, staring up at the coffered ceiling of her elegant bedroom suite as she tried to assimilate the sudden change in her

circumstances.

She was engaged to a peer of the realm. Though she’d worked for this most of her life, it still seemed too impossible to believe.
Oh, how she wished her mother was here to share this with her! This amazing victory seemed hollow somehow without the woman who had envisioned it. After all,

Alice Marks had been the driving force behind Emma’s bid to make a spectacular marriage.

Alice had reluctantly accepted the fact that all her husband’s wealth could never buy her the social cachet she desired for herself, but she’d refused to allow her

daughter to face the same fate. Both Emma’s parents had been born into poverty and clawed themselves out with grit and determination, but their daughter had been born
a princess. Nothing in the world could convince them she didn’t deserve a prince.

All during Emma’s childhood, Alice had bemoaned the possibility that her daughter’s beauty and talent would never be enough to charm one of New York’s self-

proclaimed aristocrats. Then the War Between the States had started.

Concerned for their safety, Jack sent his wife and daughter to Paris to wait out the hostilities. Alice quickly realized it was easier to finesse a marriage proposal from

European nobility than to gain a dinner invitation from New York’s Old Guard.

Rolling onto her stomach, she buried her face in her pillow and remembered how hard her mother had pushed her during the last six years. She’d taken dance lessons,

voice lessons, and advanced academics at the most exclusive finishing school in Europe. All an effort to make sure she was so accomplished and graceful the impoverished
nobles of England would find it impossible to resist her. Unfortunately, Alice had come down with pneumonia last winter and died without ever knowing Emma had
succeeded.

Now it was up to Emma to ensure her marriage to Lord Sherbourne was everything her mother had hoped. Luckily, she had Jane to aid her in her task.
Emma smiled at the thought of her secret weapon and rearranged her pillow in a more comfortable position. So far, Jane had earned every penny of the exorbitant

sum Jack Marks had paid her for the use of her social connections and her London home.

Jane had known the best way to guarantee Emma’s social success was to introduce her to the Prince, who had a fondness for beautiful, well-dressed women. And as

Jane had predicted, Bertie had been enchanted by the young American. After he’d given Emma his approval, the invitations had poured in. Tonight he’d even danced with
her, an amazing social feat, which would have made her night even if she hadn’t secured Michael’s proposal.

But Michael was not part of the Prince’s fast set, a fact Emma had noted with considerable relief. Though the London social scene left her breathless with

excitement, she’d been aghast at the loose morals and overindulgence with which the jaded, titled crowd pursued their pleasures. At heart, she supposed she was still
enough of a commoner to expect her husband to remain faithful.

Thankfully, Michael seemed honorable and steady, yet marvelously complicated and intelligent. When he gave his heart, he would give it completely. He would never

take a mistress, nor gamble with their fortunes.

Although she’d immediately sensed there was more to Michael than met the eye, he’d stunned her when he let down his guard this evening and gave her those few

small glimpses into his soul. And his scorching kiss had assured her, she’d made the right choice.

The thought comforted her and banished any lingering doubts. She snuggled deeper into the blankets, finally beset with drowsiness. Michael would suit her very well.

Perhaps they’d even grow to love each other in time. All in all, things were working out far better than expected.

As she drifted off to sleep, she finally felt like the princess her parents had raised her to be.

Chapter Four

Early the next morning, Emma enlisted Jane’s help in penning a missive to her father. In it, she extolled Michael’s virtues and lineage, then pleaded with Black Jack

Marks to travel to London as quickly as possible.

Emma couldn’t wait for her father to meet her handsome young viscount and give his blessing to the match. Once she and Jane agreed on the precise wording, they

summoned a footman and entrusted him with making sure the letter went out with the next boat.

Emma, in a pensive mood, stood at the window and watched the footman stroll leisurely down the street.
“Don’t look so worried,” Jane said. “Sherbourne is one of the best catches in England. Your father will be thrilled.”
“It’s not my father I’m worried about.” Emma shrugged. “What if I’m making a terrible mistake? Michael can be such a terrible snob.”
“You didn’t seem to mind when the two of you disappeared from the ball last night. You were practically glowing when you returned.”
“Honestly, Jane. Sometimes you take your role as chaperone just a little too far.” Emma’s words held no heat, because in truth she enjoyed Jane’s company very

much.

For the first time ever, she had a female friend to confide in. Jane accepted Emma’s unconventional behavior and made only tacit attempts to change her.
“You don’t need a chaperone, Emma,” Jane teased. “You need a keeper.”
Emma laughed and slanted an arch look at Jane. “Lord Basingstoke will be at dinner tonight. Perhaps I’ll be the one who’ll need to chaperone you.”
Earlier, a beautifully handwritten invitation had arrived, asking Emma and Jane to a celebratory dinner at Michael’s father’s house. Emma’s blood thrummed with

anticipation. Would she find another opportunity to kiss her new fiancé?

Jane’s fair skin flushed with embarrassment. “Lord Basingstoke meant nothing by his little display at the theatre. He’s always been a bit of a show-off.”
“Lord Basingstoke?” Emma raised a brow. “Just a few nights ago he was ‘Lucien’.”
If possible, Jane grew even redder. “A mere slip of the tongue. We knew each other as children and his immature antics made me regress.”
“Oh. I see.” Emma fought a smile.
Jane sank into the chair across from Emma and poured the tea from their breakfast tray, her practiced movements far less graceful than usual. “Are you nervous

about dining with Lord Warren?”

“I am a little nervous,” Emma admitted, amused by Jane’s obvious attempt to change the subject. “He’s quite intimidating. I’m not sure how he’ll react to the thought

of an American daughter-in-law.”

“He won’t like it,” Jane replied. “But don’t take it personally, he’d have managed to find fault with anybody Sherbourne chose.”
A flurry of butterflies took wing in Emma’s stomach.
She could handle Michael’s snobbishness just fine. In fact, his icy reserve was one of the most intriguing things about him, given the heat and passion that lay beneath.
Lord Warren was another matter altogether. She could easily imagine his aristocratic contempt. His condescension was sure to rouse all the ugly insecurities she tried

so hard to hide.

“Well, I’ll just have to do my best to charm him, won’t I?” Emma gave Jane a brave smile. “Help me find something to wear, Jane. Something very conservative.”
Jane shook her head. “I don’t think you own anything conservative enough for dinner with the Earl of Warren. You’ll have to borrow something of mine.”

****

Emma had long since thought herself immune to the lavish opulence true wealth could buy. Nevertheless, the Earl of Warren’s London residence impressed her.
The huge Palladian manor stood in prestigious St. James Square. A tall, wrought-iron gate surrounded the entire compound to keep the commoners at bay.
As the forbidding butler led Emma and Jane upstairs to the dining room, Emma perused portraits of Michael’s illustrious ancestors with a sinking heart. Michael could

probably trace his lineage to William the Conqueror, while Emma’s father was the bastard son of a prostitute, and her mother had been both Catholic and Irish.

Her nervousness increased with each step. She imagined the portraits frowned at her in disapproval. What a fool she’d been to believe any amount of money could

buy the acceptance she craved.

She didn’t belong here.
Perhaps the women of New York were right. Her fancy clothes and manners couldn’t conceal her lack of breeding.
At the threshold of the elegant white and gold drawing room, the butler paused and cleared his throat. “Lady Jane Bennett. Miss Emma Marks.”
Seeming to sense Emma’s unease, Jane reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “It will be fine. Just smile and be yourself.”
Emma managed a small grin. The conservative, pale pink gown she wore gave her a little more confidence. Thank goodness for Jane. Emma would have hated to go

through this alone.

Michael had been deep in conversation with his friend Lord Basingstoke, but he looked up at the butler’s introduction, and met Emma’s gaze. Her worries fell away as

he strode toward her and lifted her gloved hand to his beautiful lips.

“Miss Marks.” His rain-washed eyes brimmed with secrets and the promise of new discoveries. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
She smiled like an idiot, words escaping her. Dressed in austere black with a flawless white cravat, Michael appeared the very picture of masculine elegance. His

golden hair gleamed in the candlelight as he lowered her hand and turned toward his handsome, dark-haired friend. “You remember Lord Basingstoke, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Emma replied. She graced Lord Basingstoke with a smile. He was a rogue, but his charm and humor made him impossible to resist.
Basingstoke winked at her, then turned his attention to Jane. “Good evening, Lady Jane. You’re looking lovely tonight.”

In truth, Emma had never seen her friend look better. Jane’s gorgeous honey blond hair was arranged in a much looser style than usual.

Several tendrils framed her face and made her appear far younger than her years. Her teal gown was cut lower than Emma’s—a definite reversal of
their roles—but one Lord Basingstoke seemed to appreciate very much.

Jane blushed. “Thank you, Lord Basingstoke. You’re looking very well yourself.”
The obvious tension and history between Lucien and Jane fascinated Emma. She intended to make Jane tell her the entire story the moment they were alone.
Michael distracted her from the quiet drama taking place between their friends when he took out his fine gold pocket watch, consulted it, then snapped it shut with an

irritated click.

“I don’t know what’s keeping my father.” Grim lines etched his handsome face. “He should have been here by now.”
Emma’s foreboding grew, but she squeezed Michael’s hand. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
“Undoubtedly.” Irony and a touch of well-concealed anger tinged Michael’s voice. A sense of overwhelming loss stole over Emma when he pulled away, distancing

himself both physically and emotionally.

Emma tried to regain her usual confidence and optimism. This was not New York. She’d had incredible social success in London, and there was no reason why Lord

Warren shouldn’t like her.

But as more time passed and Lord Warren remained absent, even Jane and Lucien fell silent.
Michael checked the time once more, then cleared his throat. “Well, perhaps I’ll just go and see what’s keeping him.”

****

Michael strode toward his father’s suite of rooms. His righteous anger and indignation grew with each measured step. The bastard.
The earl’s childish tantrum had obviously hurt Emma’s feelings He’d be lucky if she didn’t decide to call the engagement off.
Who could blame her? She’d agreed to this marriage in good faith, only to be humiliated by her future father-in-law.
Michael was all too aware of the ease with which an engagement that hadn’t been formally announced could be broken. He refused to allow that to happen to him

again.

Without bothering to knock, he flung open his father’s sitting room door. Inside, the earl lounged in front of the fireplace, sipping a brandy while he read The Times.
Although he’d expected as much, Michael’s stomach clenched in betrayal. “Have you forgotten we have guests for dinner, father?”
The earl glanced up. “Do we? It must have slipped my mind.”
Michael clenched his hands into fists behind his back and fought to maintain control. “I am well aware of your feelings regarding Miss Marks. But I expect you to do

me the courtesy of treating my fiancée with the respect she deserves.”

The earl glared at him, then returned his attention to the paper.
“Must I remind you once again of the precariousness of our situation?” Michael ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Must we lose everything before you’ll

admit I have no choice but to marry Miss Marks?”

The earl tossed aside his paper in sudden fury. “You had another choice. You could have wed Lady Natalia.”
Michael shook his head, amazed at his father’s persistence. “What angers you more? That I didn’t wed Natalia, or that Dylan did? Why can’t you let go of your

hatred and wish him well?”

The earl’s blue eyes flashed dangerously as he stood and advanced toward Michael. “You’re the one who told him your grandfather left him Aldabaran, aren’t you?

You had no right.”

Michael had only recently discovered Dylan had been unaware of his inheritance. He’d done what he could to rectify the situation.
“Why did you try to keep him from knowing?” he countered. “Wouldn’t it have been far easier to simply tell him? Surely you knew how much he wanted land of his

own.”

“You don’t understand anything,” the earl snarled. “The two of you sicken me.”
Michael sighed, weary and disgusted with himself for letting the earl draw him into this old, familiar fight. “Are you going to come down and meet Miss Marks, or will

you force me to apologize for your deplorable behavior?”

The earl smiled suddenly, the transformation from fury to pleasure almost frightening to behold. “I’ll come down and meet the chit. But in the end, you may have

cause to wish I hadn’t.”

****

“Father, may I present my fiancée, Miss Emma Marks. Miss Marks, my father, William Blake, Lord Warren.”
When Michael returned to the drawing room with his father in tow, he performed the introductions as though nothing was amiss, but Emma was all too aware of the

tension between the two men.

She steeled herself when the earl—a white-haired, older version of Michael—stepped forward. The earl was handsome despite his years, but the coldness in his blue

eyes marred his resemblance to his son.

“Miss Marks,” he murmured, bowing stiffly.
For one chilling moment, Emma saw far too much of her fiancé in Lord Warren’s unwelcoming gaze. Was Michael predestined to be this harsh and unfeeling?
Not if she could help it.
Remembering her manners, Emma dropped an awkward curtsy, her grace impaired by the knowledge that Michael had obviously dragged the earl to dinner against

his will. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Warren.”

The earl frowned and turned toward Jane and Lord Basingstoke. “Shall we go down to dinner?”
Stunned by the earl’s obvious contempt, Emma took Michael’s proffered arm and allowed him to escort her down to the first floor dining room.
The room was large, opulent and very masculine. Lavish silver and crystal place settings graced the huge table, and the paintings on the oak-paneled walls depicted

various hunting scenes.

Once they were seated, a servant appeared and poured the wine. Emma took a few bracing sips, hoping the earl would warm to her once dinner progressed. She was

glad to have Michael at her side and longed to reach for the comforting clasp of his hand beneath the cover of the fine linen tablecloth.

Lord Warren lifted his wine glass and peered at her over the rim. “I suppose congratulations are in order, though I must admit I’m still somewhat...startled by my

son’s choice. I didn’t raise Sherbourne to marry beneath him.”

Heat rose in Emma’s cheeks at the earl’s disparaging remark. She’d hoped her future father-in-law would at least make a show of civility. For his son’s sake, if

nothing else.

She risked a quick glance in Michael’s direction. Except for a small knot riding the ridge of his jaw, her fiancé appeared completely composed.
Betrayal knifed Emma’s heart. She expected Michael to rush to her defense. She wanted him to inform his father that he held her in high regard, that he did not

consider her beneath him in any way.

“I daresay, concerns about title and lineage are rather moot at this point.” Though Michael spoke with his usual calm, a steely hard edge had entered his voice. “You

and I both know why it was necessary for Miss Marks and I to enter into this arrangement...don’t we, father.”

Something of her dismay must have shown in her face, because she saw sympathy in both Jane and Lucien’s eyes as they awkwardly busied themselves with their

wine.

Humiliated, she struggled to emulate Michael’s calm demeanor. “Of course. This is merely a business arrangement and should be treated as such.”
“I’m relieved to see you’re willing to be sensible, Miss Marks.” For the first time, there was a note of approval in Warren’s voice. “Surely you agree that a brief

engagement would be best. My son tells me your father will be departing from New York shortly. Shall we set the wedding date soon after his arrival?”

Jane cleared her throat, clearly unable to hold her tongue any longer. “Wouldn’t such a short engagement lead to speculation, Lord Warren? Perhaps it would be

advisable to adhere to a more traditional engagement. Three months, at the very least.”

Warren gave Jane a withering glare. “I don’t believe I asked for your opinion, Lady Jane.”
Lucien bristled. “Lady Jane is Miss Marks most trusted friend. She merely wishes to advise Miss Marks such a short engagement would look suspect.”
“Thank you, Jane. Lord Basingstoke.” Emma turned a grateful look on both of her defenders. “But I’m well aware our engagement must be of a proper duration.”

She marshaled her courage and returned Lord Warren’s intimidating stare. “Apparently Lord Warren is unaware of my wish to have the wedding in New York.”

“Preposterous.” The earl slammed his fist on the table with unnecessary force. Wine sloshed from his glass and spilled like blood upon the white linen tablecloth.

“You’ll marry here, in London, or there will be no wedding.”

Michael leaned forward, his continued calm a striking contrast to his father’s fury. “I wasn’t aware you wished to marry in New York, Miss Marks. That’s something

we’ll need to discuss further.”

Michael’s patronizing tone caused Emma to stare at him in stunned dismay. She couldn’t believe how imprudent she’d been. She’d allowed that kiss in the moonlight

to fuel her overactive imagination.

This was no love match. It was a business negotiation, just as Michael had originally implied.
Luckily, she was Black Jack Marks’ daughter. And, thanks to her father, she’d learned a thing or two about what could be negotiated and what could not.
“There will be no discussion,” she stated. “I want to be married in New York.”
What good would it do to marry a viscount if she couldn’t rub it in the faces of all those who’d slighted her? She wanted New York Society to come to her wedding in

full force, wanted to see the jealousy on their faces when they saw her elegant, aristocratic groom.

She wanted the chance to show them all that her mother had been more than qualified to join their ranks.
Beside her, Michael shifted, apparently uncomfortable and at a loss. “Well, this certainly creates a problem. I can’t possibly leave my interests long enough to travel all

the way to New York.”

“Does this mean you hadn’t intended to take Emma on a wedding trip?” Jane asked. “She simply must have a wedding trip.”
Michael looked surprised. “I thought Miss Marks was well aware I wouldn’t have time for such a thing.”
The earl made a sound of disgust, then pushed back his chair and stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I just remembered I have another engagement this evening. I don’t

want to be late.” Giving Michael one last disapproving look, he turned and left the room with regal dignity.

Silence reigned in the dining room for several moments after the Earl of Warren took his leave. Despite his father’s warning, Michael couldn’t believe the earl had

been so rude to a guest, especially the woman who was going to save them both from financial ruin.

How could he ever apologize sufficiently to Emma for his father’s behavior? He didn’t even know where to start.
Apparently recovered from her shock, Emma drained her glass of wine and got to her feet. “I just remembered that I also have another pressing engagement.” Her

words were carefully precise. “Shall we go, Jane?”

Jane gave an uncertain nod. Michael realized in a few moments, all would be lost.
He cast a pleading glance in Basingstoke’s direction and hoped his friend would take pity on him. “Lucien, why don’t you escort Lady Jane down to the conservatory

and show her the orchids? I’d like a few moments alone with Miss Marks.”

Basingstoke had the gall to look to Emma for permission. “Is that all right with you, Miss Marks? I can call for your coachman, if you’d prefer.”
Michael got to his feet, forcing Emma to meet his gaze. “Please.” The plea sounded stiff and forced even to his own ears. Dear Lord, how had it come to this, that he

should be reduced to begging for a moment of his pretty little American’s time? “I need to talk to you.”

For a moment, he feared she’d refuse him, but then she nodded. “As a matter of fact, I have a few things I want to say to you, too.”
“We’ll be back shortly,” Lady Jane promised. A worried look crossed her face as Basingstoke steered her toward the door.
As soon as their friends left, Emma turned away. She stopped before the fireplace, and stared down at the dying embers. “I fear I’ve made a grave mistake.”
Slowly, Michael approached her. The rigid set of her shoulders warned him to proceed with caution. “I’m sorry. The things my father said to you were inexcusable.”
She shook her head, and hugged herself as though to ward off a chill.
Michael fisted his hands. The force of his desire to touch her, to offer comfort for the hurt he’d caused, stunned him. “Don’t judge me by my father, Emma. I don’t

think as he does.”

She shuddered and spun to face him, fire in her eyes. “Then why didn’t you say something to stop him? Do you think me so desperate for a husband I’ll accept

someone who won’t even defend me against attack?”

“Of course not,” Michael answered, feeling like an ass.
Her laugh sounded bitter. “I should have known, after the way you proposed, that this marriage wouldn’t work. But then you kissed me and I let myself believe you

might want me for something other than my dowry.” Her dark eyes welled with sadness. “I don’t want a business arrangement. I want something more.”

He sighed and pressed his fingertips to his temple. The throbbing pressure had begun anew. “Just give me a little time. You’ve turned my every expectation of this

marriage upside down. I didn’t expect to like you so much.”

She tilted her head, and stared up at him with solemn, slightly unfocused eyes. “You like me?”
He laughed unsteadily, surprised by the truth of his own words. “I like you very much.”
“Well, you certainly did a good job of hiding it tonight.”
“I hate that you had to endure my father’s sharp tongue.” He held her gaze and tried to convince her of his sincerity. “But all my life, the surest way to deprive myself

of something was to let my father know I wanted it.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then stepped into his arms and settled her cheek against his chest as though drained by the night’s events. “I don’t like your

father, Michael.”

He sighed and pulled her firmly against him, reveling in the perfection of the way they fit together. Tentatively, he pressed his cheek into the softness of her gleaming

dark hair. “I don’t blame you. I don’t like him much either.”

For a long moment, he just held her. Some of his tension eased. Perhaps everything would work out after all.
As if she sensed him getting too comfortable, she looked up with dark, troubled eyes. “There’s still the matter of the wedding. It would mean a great deal to me if we

were to have it in New York.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”
She dropped her gaze. “My mother was never able to gain admittance to New York’s top society, no matter how much money my father made. With you at my side,

I’ll be able to prove that they were wrong about us, about her.”

Michael shook his head. The evening had left him emotionally barren and he didn’t have the energy to argue the point with her. Besides, if he’d learned anything about

her during their brief acquaintance, it was that she appreciated honesty. “There isn’t time to go to New York, Emma. If we don’t marry quickly—within the next month or
so—I’ll be bankrupt.”

She blinked. Obviously, she hadn’t fully comprehended the extent of his debt, or the pressure he was under to settle it. “I need some time to think about all this.”

Disappointment filled her voice. She stepped away, breaking the physical contact. “Suddenly, nothing is going the way I’d planned.”

Michael nodded wearily, and resisted the urge to point out that life seldom went as one planned. Emma was living in a fairy tale and he wasn’t sure he wanted to play

the role of Prince Charming.

“I understand your concern, but I simply must have a definite answer from you within the next day or two.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, knowing

he’d just run out of options. “Either we marry quickly, here in London, or we admit a mistake was made and you’ll be free to look elsewhere.”

Chapter Five

Jane endured the slight pressure of Lucien’s hand at her waist until they were safely away from the dining room. Then she stepped away, desperate to hide the fact

that his slightest touch still had the power to turn her into a lovesick fool.

She hated herself for her weakness. This man had destroyed her. How was it possible to still want him so badly?
Lucien paused, staring down at her with those moody dark eyes that always saw too much. “Do you still hate me, Janie?”
She stepped back, inadvertently trapping herself between the wall and Lucien’s big, lean body. “You give yourself far too much credit, Lucien. I haven’t even thought

about you in years.”

He moved in and braced his hands on either side of her head, a faint smile curving his lips. “Liar.”
His scent overwhelmed her, the intoxicating mix of leather and man that dredged up memories best left forgotten. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hands on the

muscular wall of his chest and tried to shove him away. “Surely you have better things to do than toy with the emotions of a spinster.”

He refused to budge and she knew she’d made a terrible tactical error. The warm, tantalizing swell of his chest teased her fingers. The desire to touch him

overwhelmed her.

“Ah, Jane,” he murmured. “You’re far too lovely to be a spinster. Ever since I saw you the other night at the theatre, I’ve been remembering how it used to be

between us...when you’d meet me in your father’s stables and kiss me so sweetly...”

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her forehead, a tender caress that made her ache for what could have been.
She closed her eyes against him and prayed for strength. “I was a fool, Lucien. I believed you when you said you loved me.”
“Maybe I did love you.” His voice was low and rough, his mouth mere inches from her ear. “God knows I’ve never felt that way about anyone since.”
“You didn’t love me.” At last, her disappointment managed to eclipse the need to be in his arms again. She ducked beneath his arm and glared at him from a few feet

away. “You ran away from me when I needed you most.”

Lucien remained where he was, one hand braced against the wall, the other clenched at his side. “I’m sorry. I was criminally stupid. Can you ever forgive me?”
“No.” Jane resisted the need to smooth the dark, silky hair from his forehead. “It’s too late for that, Lucien. Years too late.”
But as she squared her shoulders and turned away from him, she knew she’d do practically anything for the chance to cheat time. If only she could go back to that

summer when she’d been sixteen and Lucien Tremaine had been the center of her world.

She’d do everything so differently.

****

Emma and Jane didn’t speak much during the short ride home from the disastrous dinner party. Emma gave little thought to Jane’s uncharacteristic silence, lost as she

was in her own hurt and disappointment.

Eager to retire for the night so she could contemplate her bleak future, Emma let the butler help her out of her heavy evening cloak. However, before she could head

upstairs, Jane took her by the arm and led her toward the nearest room, a pleasant sitting alcove where a fire burned in the hearth.

“I need to talk to you,” Jane explained, perching on the edge of a small sofa. “It’s about Lucien.”
Emma own problems receded as she sank into the chair across from Jane. Perhaps a little bit of juicy gossip was exactly what she needed to help her recover from

the pain of knowing all of her mother’s dreams were doomed to failure. “Tell me everything. I’m absolutely dying to know.”

“I love him,” Jane admitted. “I’ve loved him ever since I was a child.”
“Oh, Jane,” Emma whispered, stunned by the pain in her friend’s voice.
Jane shook her head and buried her face in her hands. “His country estate bordered my father’s. He was eighteen the first time I met him. I’m sure you can imagine

how he dazzled my sixteen-year-old country heart. There was such an air of tragedy about him. He’d lost nearly all his family in a series of unfortunate accidents, and I
wanted to comfort him.”

Emma moved to sit beside her friend and placed a consoling arm around her shoulders. “Well, you must have succeeded. I certainly wouldn’t describe him as tragic

now.”

Jane lifted her head and Emma frowned at the tears that clung to the other girl’s lashes. “Oh, but he is tragic. He’s just grown so much better at hiding it.” She

dropped her gaze and twisted her hands in her lap. “I’m afraid I let him take dreadful liberties, Emma. My only defense is that I loved him so much, I couldn’t imagine his
feelings were not as strong as mine.”

“What happened?” Emma’s heart ached for the pain Jane had suffered. She wished there was something she could do to help.
Jane drew a deep, shuddering breath. “My father died and Lucien didn’t seem to know how to be there for me the way I’d always been there for him. He distanced

himself, went to London, and before long, I started hearing rumors that he’d been courting other women.”

“Oh, Jane. I’m so sorry.”
Jane shrugged. “I’m embarrassed to admit how long I waited for him to come back. Months. Years, perhaps. And now, a decade later, after I was so certain I’d

finally gotten over him, here he is, once again in my life. I don’t know what he’s playing at or why he’s pretending a renewed interest in me. Perhaps he just finds it
amusing to tie my heart in knots.”

“What happened tonight?” Emma asked. “Did he kiss you?”
“I think he would have,” Jane admitted. “I think he wanted to.”
“But you ran away,” Emma guessed, remembering that Jane had returned to the dining room alone.
“Of course I ran away. If I’d stayed, I might have forgiven him.”
“Would that really be such a bad thing? It’s been a long time. Perhaps he’s changed.”
“Nothing’s changed,” Jane insisted. “He’s incapable of loving anyone.”
Emma sighed. “I fear the same is true of Michael. No wonder the two of them are such good friends.”
Jane wiped away her tears. “Michael is nothing like Lucien. And he’s nothing like his father, either. Surely you can’t mean to let the earl’s behavior tonight influence

your decision to marry Michael.”

Emma shook her head. “It’s not just the fact that the earl so obviously hates me and finds me unsuitable. Even though Lord Warren’s comments hurt, they were no

more than I expected.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Jane eyed Emma levelly. “Why are you having doubts, Em?”
“Michael says we must marry immediately. Within the month. Here. In England.”
There. She’d admitted what was bothering her the most, even though she was well aware how petty it must sound. But marrying a titled English gentleman at St.

Thomas Church in New York City had been her entire focus for so long, she couldn’t imagine getting married any other way. This was what she’d been born and bred for.

It was what her mother had wanted.
Jane stared at her for a long moment, then frowned. “I’m disappointed in you, Emma. You genuinely care for Michael, but you’re willing to throw it all away because

he wants to marry you in London instead of New York?”

“You don’t understand,” Emma cried, desperate to justify her mother’s wishes, terrified to admit how little she cared about a New York wedding. “I’ve been waiting

for this day my entire life.”

“Listen to yourself,” Jane insisted. “Your wedding will be a single day. Just one day. Whether it’s wonderful or terrible, it has no bearing on your future happiness.

Michael is a good man. If you’re determined to marry someone with a title, you couldn’t possibly find anyone who’ll treat you better. Who cares whether there are five
people at your wedding or five thousand?”

“You’re right,” Emma murmured. Jane had made everything her mother had wanted for her seem shallow and stupid. It would be foolish to sacrifice all her future

happiness for one shining, glorious day.

In truth, she’d never really cared much about showing up her former rivals. She’d only wanted to outdo them for her mother’s sake. All Emma had ever truly wanted

was to find somewhere to belong, someone to love. “But what if I give in to him on this and then Michael and I still can’t make each other happy?”

Jane smiled wanly. “Well, if you decide to call off the engagement, let it be because of that. Not because you can’t have the wedding ceremony in New York.” She

yawned and kissed Emma lightly on the cheek. “I’m going to bed.”

“Goodnight.” Emma let her head fall back against the sofa as she stared sightlessly at the ceiling. It was hard to admit, even to herself, that her mother’s reasons for

insisting she marry a titled gentleman had been more about proving New York Society wrong than actual concern for her happiness.

The mere thought seemed treasonous—disrespectful of her mother’s memory—but there it was, and it didn’t want to go away.
Jane was absolutely right. No matter how much it hurt, it was time for Emma to step out of her mother’s shadow and come to some serious decisions about her own

future.

****

Lucien staggered beneath the force of Michael’s blow. He stumbled backward a few steps and shook his head, struggling to catch his breath. “Christ, Sherbourne.

Are you trying to kill me?”

Michael lowered his gloved fists and glared at his friend in frustration. “You’re not paying attention. That’s twice I’ve caught you off guard. What the hell are you

thinking about?”

The two men stood in a roped off corner of a large room on the top floor of their club. They shared a love of pugilism and had been sparring thrice weekly for years.
Usually they were very well matched, but tonight Lucien couldn’t seem to concentrate. As a result, the escape Michael had sought in harsh physical exercise eluded

him.

Lucien sighed and leaned against the ropes. “My heart may not be in it tonight, but you truly are out for blood.” He touched his split lip. “Is it my imagination, or are

you pretending I’m your father?”

Michael stripped off his heavily padded gloves. Apparently, the match was over. “If I was pretending you were my father, you’d have more damage than a split lip.”
Lucien laughed and tore off his own gloves. “I take it your conversation with Miss Marks didn’t go well.”
“I think she plans to call the whole thing off.” Michael wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “If she does I’ll be ruined. Utterly ruined.”
Lucien shook his head. “Doesn’t Warren realize that by treating Miss Marks so badly he’s only hurting himself?”
Michael shrugged, slipped through the ropes, and headed for the small dressing room where he’d left his street clothes. “He doesn’t think about anything beyond the

next wager. He’s been wealthy all his life and can’t comprehend that the money is gone.”

Lucien dodged between the ropes and followed. “How long have I known you?” he asked rhetorically. “Twenty years, at least. And the entire time you’ve been

struggling to keep that old bastard from losing everything.” He shook his head. “You can’t protect him forever.”

“I know that,” Michael answered. He ducked behind the screen and shed his sweaty boxing clothes. “But my fortunes are tied to his.”
“They don’t have to be,” Lucien reminded him. “Surely you can still win Miss Marks if you try. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. And once you’ve secured her

dowry, you can simply cut the earl off. Force him to pay the consequences of his actions for once in his life.”

“I think you’re overestimating Miss Marks’ affection. All she seems to care about is hauling me to New York City like a trophy to wave in front of all the old cats

who wouldn’t invite her to their parties.” Michael wiped the sweat from his body with a wet cloth and tried to concentrate on this petty, manipulative side of Emma instead
of remembering her sweet acceptance in the garden. “Besides, even if I do manage to woo her back, I can’t cut off my own father.”

“Warren is a self-serving bastard,” Lucien muttered. He pulled off his shirt. “He’ll never appreciate anything you do for him. And, need I remind you, he certainly

didn’t have any qualms about cutting Dylan off without a shilling.”

Lucien had been friends with Michael’s younger brother since childhood, having spent several hellish years at boarding school with Dylan. Lucien had been banished

there because he was an orphan and his guardian didn’t want to be bothered with him until he reached maturity. Dylan had gone because Warren couldn’t bear to have his
younger son underfoot.

Although Michael considered Lucien a great friend—the best he’d ever had—he was well aware that if Lucien had to choose, he’d choose Dylan in a heartbeat. The

two of them had shared hardships and deprivations they thought Michael couldn’t possibly understand.

Neither man would ever realize how much Michael had wished he could trade places with his brother. He’d have rather had the earl’s scorn and inattention than his

utter concentration and complete disapproval.

“You have a point,” Michael agreed. “I could at least put him on a strict allowance.”
Lucien’s suggestion had merit. Michael couldn’t even imagine the freedom of living the rest of his life without having to clean up his father’s mistakes.
Lucien raised a brow. “Speaking of Dylan, have you told him of your upcoming nuptials?”
Michael shook his head. “I’ll send a messenger to Scotland as soon as I know for certain there’s going to be a wedding. But I’m sure he’ll want to come. He

promised to bring Natalia back to London occasionally and this will give them an opportunity to be out in Society again, without anyone daring to snub them.”

“Your father will dare,” Lucien predicted. “You’d best find a way to separate Dylan and the earl, or they’re likely to get into a brawl during the middle of the

ceremony.”

Michael sighed as he imagined the scene Lucien had described. “That’s just what I need. Something else to worry about.”
Lucien consulted his pocket watch, then gave Michael a rueful smile. “I should get going.”
“A woman?” Michael asked.
Lucien nodded, but his eyes were troubled. “Not the one I want, but she’ll do for the moment.”
Michael wondered if Lady Jane Bennett was the woman Lucien wanted. Sexual tension coursed between the two and it probably drove Lucien crazy to lust after a

virgin. Lucien was renowned for his prowess with women, but as far as Michael knew, he’d never yet stooped to seducing an innocent.

“I’m on my way to speak to Emma. She’s had an entire day to think things through. All I can do is hope she’s changed her mind.” Michael gave Lucien a pained

smile as he finished tying his cravat. “Wish me luck.”

Lucien grinned. “Good luck. God knows you’ll need it.”

****

When Emma’s butler alerted her of Michael’s arrival, she wasn’t surprised. A full day had passed since Michael had given her his ultimatum. No doubt he’d come for

her answer.

Luckily, in the end, the decision hadn’t been all that difficult to make.

She checked her appearance in her bedroom mirror, then hurried downstairs. Michael waited for her in the same room where he’d proposed. She paused outside the

door and tried to compose herself before entering.

Tonight she was dressed demurely, in a dark blue day dress. She no longer wanted to shock Michael, or test him in any way.
When she opened the door, Michael rose from his chair and turned to greet her. His handsome face showed definite signs of strain. Dark smudges shadowed his

expressive blue eyes and lines of tension were etched in his forehead.

“Emma.” He took her hands and held them tightly. “It’s good of you to receive me without an invitation.”
“I was hoping you’d come,” she answered. “I’ve made my decision.”
He went incredibly still for a moment, his tension evident in his grip on her hands. “That’s good,” he murmured as he led her to a cozy loveseat. “I’m anxious to know

what you’ve decided.”

She settled beside him, very aware of his heat and lean strength. He kept a tight grip on her hands, and she took comfort from the intimacy of his touch.
“I still want to marry you, Michael,” she told him, all in a rush. “We can be married whenever and wherever you want.”
Michael stared at her, apparently stunned into speechlessness. Then he gave her a tentative smile and she caught her breath at his sheer male beauty.
“I don’t know what to say.” He lifted her left hand and pressed a searing kiss to her bare palm. “I was certain you were going to refuse me.”
She cupped his cheek with her fingertips, intrigued by the faint hint of beard on his smooth skin. “You must think me so shallow and spoiled, to worry about a wedding

when an entire marriage is at stake.”

Emma couldn’t believe she’d come so close to walking away from this wonderful man. Bless Jane, for making her see what was really important.
“You had every right to expect the wedding of your dreams.” Michael covered her hand with his own and closed his eyes at the contact, as though he enjoyed her

touch as much as she enjoyed his. “You’re bringing me so much. I feel guilty I have only a title to offer you in return.”

“You’re far more than a title,” she assured him. “You’re a good man. Probably far better than I deserve.”
“I’m not that good.” He smiled again, the barest curve of his lips. Her need to kiss him grew to overwhelming proportions. But then he sighed and leaned back,

pressing one hand to his temple in a familiar gesture.

“What’s wrong? Have you got a headache?” She feared he suffered from them quite often and no wonder. She’d never known anyone who took his responsibilities

so seriously.

His hand slid from his temple and he straightened, as though ashamed to have been caught in a moment of weakness. “Just a touch,” he admitted stiffly. “I should go.

I’m afraid I won’t be very good company.”

“Nonsense.” Emma slid off the sofa and stood behind him, placing a hand on each of his broad shoulders. As she’d expected, his muscles were knotted with tension.

“Close your eyes, Michael. Relax. Let me help you.” As she spoke, she tucked a small embroidered pillow beneath his head, trying to make him more comfortable.

“Really. This isn’t necessary.” Michael made a half-hearted attempt to get up, but when she began to massage his shoulders, he subsided back against the pillow with

a weary sigh.

For several long minutes, she continued to rub his shoulders, intrigued by every hard contour. He was far too muscular to be a gentleman, a fact that added yet

another layer of mystery to this complicated man she’d agreed to marry.

After a long while, he relaxed and she moved her attentions to his temples. His thick blond hair felt silky and cool against her fingertips as she explored his scalp and

tried to soothe his pain.

“Ah, Emma.” His voice was low and rough. “You’re a miracle worker.”
She laughed. “Hasn’t anyone ever done this for you before?”
He gave a languid shake of his head. “Never.”
She stared down at him, lost in the chiseled perfection of his features. Tentatively, she ran her fingertips over the contours of his cheekbones and jaw, the sharp blade

of his nose and the lushly drawn curve of his lips.

Through it all he remained still, eyes closed, his dark gold lashes a gentle sweep against his cheek. Only the increased cadence of his breathing alerted her to how

deeply her touch affected him.

Emboldened, she leaned forward until her lips were a mere breath away from his ear. “I love touching you, Michael. I can’t wait until our wedding night.”
He lifted his head and turned to meet her gaze, passion blazing in the depths of his eyes. “Come here, you little hoyden. You’re tempting me beyond reason.”
Laughing softly, she let him pull her into his lap. Her laughter faded as he cupped her face in his big, elegant hands and tilted her head for his burning kiss.
She melted against him and surrendered to the bold invasion of his tongue. His heat and strength overwhelmed her with pleasure. He kissed her as though he was

dying of thirst and she was a cool mountain stream, as though he’d been waiting all his life for a taste of her.

Reckless excitement streaked through her. Her breasts felt tight and heavy and her gown seemed far too constraining. Heat pooled low in her stomach. She wished

she had the courage to touch Michael’s arousal, which pressed against her hip. She wanted to hold the greatest mystery of all in the palm of her hand.

Before she could act on the impulse, Michael slid his hand inside the bodice of her gown. A soft moan of delight escaped her lips as he cupped her breast and rubbed

his thumb over her aching nipple.

“Oh, Michael,” she whispered, breaking the kiss. “That feels so wonderful.”
He lifted his head and stared down at her, his features sharpened with passion. Holding her gaze, he slid the bodice of her gown off her shoulder and bared her other

breast completely.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, torn between the heady knowledge that he wanted her and the virginal urge to shield herself. A lady surely wouldn’t

behave this way, even with the man who would soon be her husband.

His broad chest rose as he drew in a long, shuddering breath. “You’re so lovely, Emma. I’m undone.”
Then he lowered his head and took her nipple gently between his teeth, lashing the tender tip with the wet heat of his tongue. She closed her eyes and arched against

him, burying her hands in his hair as he suckled her with wild abandon.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, giving up all thoughts of ladylike behavior. She hated her ignorance and wanted to please him in return. “Please. Show me

how to touch you.”

“Oh, God.” He stilled against her, his earlier tension returning full force. “No. We have to stop this. We can’t let it go any further.”
“Why not?” She cupped his face and forced him to look at her. “We’re to be married soon, and I want you.”
“I want you, too.” He sighed, then carefully rearranged the bodice of her gown. His hands trembled as he restored her modesty. “But I won’t take you like this, in a

chair in the parlor where the servants might walk in at any moment.”

She stared at the rigid, unyielding line of his jaw and was beset by a wave of incredible tenderness. “Don’t worry so much, Michael. For once in your life, why don’t

you just relax and do what you want to do?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head, then abruptly deposited her on the other side of the sofa. When he stood, her gaze was drawn to the thick bulge that marred

the fit of his trousers.

Goodness. She’d had no idea...
“I’m leaving,” he told her, smoothing his tousled blond hair. “And I don’t think it’s wise for us to be alone like this again. Our entire courtship has been highly

irregular.”

She laughed at his oh-so-proper tone, more confident than ever that she’d made the right decision. She’d much rather make love to Michael than get married in New

York. It was sure to be the adventure of a lifetime. “Very well. Goodnight. Sleep well.”

He gave her one last smoldering look. “Walking away from you is killing me. I doubt I’ll sleep at all.”

****

“I love touching you, Michael. I can’t wait until our wedding night.”
Emma’s words haunted Michael during the lonely coach ride home. All he had to do was close his eyes and he was overwhelmed by memories of the way she’d

tasted, the sweetness of her soft sighs and the beauty of her creamy skin.

“Dear God,” he whispered, running a trembling hand through his hair. His headache was gone, replaced by an ache of a different kind. His blood still pulsed with hot,

heavy arousal and he shifted restlessly in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

Emma’s passionate exuberance shocked him, but he recognized the amazing gift she seemed so determined to give him. Though still innocent in many ways, she

wasn’t ashamed or frightened by her sexuality. Heady stuff indeed, to realize he would be the one to introduce her to lovemaking.

He knew, of course, that she’d never have given him a second glance, if not for his title. To her, he must seem desperately boring and bland. Terribly rigid and proper.
She made him yearn to be more. He wanted to break free, make love with her in a chair weeks before their wedding, take her on a dazzling adventure down the Nile

for their wedding trip...

Sighing, he let his head drop back against the velvet squabs and stared sightlessly at the deserted street outside the coach window. Unfortunately, he could never allow

himself to give in to his own secret desires.

The truth was, she frightened the hell out of him. He didn’t want to want her. He was terrified of letting her see how much she was starting to mean to him.
What would happen once the passion between them was spent? When she woke up one morning and realized there were far more interesting men in the world?
He knew the answer all too well. She’d pack her bags, give him a fond kiss on the cheek and strike out for bigger and better things.
As his mother had done, many years ago.
If she did, jealousy would eat at him and he’d become the mirror image of his father, a man consumed with bitterness and rage.
Perhaps that was the greatest fear of all.

Chapter Six

The next week passed in a blur of activity. The wedding arrangements proceeded with blinding speed. Once Emma came to terms with the fact that she wasn’t

getting married in New York, she readily agreed to all Michael’s plans.

He’d suggested they have the wedding ceremony at his country estate, Sherbourne Hall. Only a few close friends and family would attend.
There would be tremendous gossip over the speed and secrecy of their nuptials, but Michael had done what he could to spread the idea their marriage was a love

match. In Emma’s case, the rumors weren’t far from the truth, but she knew Michael hated for people to know how desperate he’d been for her dowry.

Since a wedding dress by Worth had been a prerequisite of Emma’s trip to London, there wasn’t a whole lot for her to do. Michael had things well in hand. He’d

already arranged for flowers, sent out invitations and hired a special chef to cook the wedding breakfast.

As she’d expected, there hadn’t been a single opportunity for the two of them to be alone together. Michael had retreated behind a shield of maddening politeness.
More than a week passed and, by the night of their formal engagement ball, she was desperate to crack his icy composure. As she donned her gown for the evening,

she knew she’d once again found a way.

“Emma, are you ready...?” Jane’s voice trailed off in alarm when she caught sight of what Emma was wearing. “Dear God. Not again.”
“Don’t even try to change my mind,” Emma warned her friend. “I want to wear this.” The gown she’d chosen was quite shocking. The flame red silk hugged her

body in all the right places and plunged so low across her bosom, nearly nothing was left to the imagination.

“Well,” Jane muttered, shaking her head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’m duly warned.” Emma gave her friend a flippant smile, then gazed once more at her mirrored reflection, well pleased. Michael would have a hard time maintaining

his icy reserve tonight.

****

“Lady Jane Bennett. Miss Emma Marks.”
Michael had been deep in conversation with Lucien, his back toward the door, when Wadsworth announced his fiancée and her friend. The growing storm of gasps

and whispers made him reluctant to turn around. He shared a quick, resigned look with his friend. “Do I even want to know?”

Lucien shook his head. For once in his life, the reckless earl seemed beyond words.
Michael turned anyway, knowing there was no point in prolonging the inevitable. He caught his breath at the sight that awaited him, catapulted back to the day Emma

had received him in her dressing gown.

The color Emma wore held everyone speechless. Apparently, she had chosen to ignore the societal rule dictating unwed girls wear either white or a demure pastel.
Instead, Emma had chosen a gown of flame red silk, which showed off her fey, gypsy beauty to perfection. Her pale skin glowed in the candlelight and her dark hair

tumbled about her face in a riot of dusky curls.

Michael had a sudden, overwhelming urge to be alone with the vixen he’d agreed to marry. He wanted to slowly strip that outrageous dress from her exquisite young

body and make love to her until she was too exhausted to vex him any further.

“She truly is an amazing woman,” Lucien said at last, for Michael’s ears only. “In fact, I’m starting to regret not pursuing her myself.”
Michael sent his friend a scalding glare, stunned by an unaccustomed surge of jealousy. Mine, he thought possessively, chagrined to realize that he meant it.
No matter how frustrating, Emma was his.
Meanwhile, Emma’s steps faltered. Her courage had obviously deserted her in the face of such ponderous disapproval. The Earl of Warren looked ready to expire of

apoplexy. The rest of the crowd waited with baited breath to see how Michael would react to his fiancée’s shocking attire.

Realizing his continued silence fueled the fire, Michael strode forward, his gaze locked with Emma’s. Her dark eyes brimmed with challenge, and he was determined

not to disappoint her again.

“Miss Marks. You take my breath away.” He pitched his voice so everyone in the room would be certain to hear him. “Shall we dance?”
Emma gave him a brilliant smile. “I’d be honored, Lord Sherbourne.”
Michael signaled the small orchestra, which had fallen silent after Emma’s entrance. The initial clash of discordant notes made him wince. He avoided his father’s

furious gaze, took his future bride’s gloved hand and led her onto the polished dance floor.

As he pulled her into his arms, the whispers and gossip started up again. Michael knew his behavior shocked the ton even more than Emma’s. He had a well-

deserved reputation for being a stickler for the rules, a cold fish, and a dreadful snob.

“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” he told her as they began to dance.
“You’re not angry?” She seemed surprised, unsure of herself in a way he knew she seldom was.
“Was that your intent? To make me angry?” He kept his voice low, unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing him question her.
“No, that wasn’t my intent.” She sighed and stared at a point behind his head, refusing to meet his gaze. “I suppose I wanted to shock you. To entice you, perhaps.”
“Well, you succeeded magnificently.” His gaze dropped to the plunging neckline of her gown, where the creamy fullness of her breasts strained against the red silk. “I

am enticed beyond words.”

She finally met his gaze and for a long moment, the entire world fell away. Nothing mattered except Emma, the music, and the way she felt in his arms.
“Does this mean I might be able to coax you out to the terrace again tonight?” Her hand tightened around his. “I need to spend some time alone with you, Michael.

You’ve been so distant this past week...I fear I’m having doubts again.”

He glanced surreptitiously around, wrenched back to the present. His upbringing had made it impossible to live in the moment or to flaunt Society’s expectations.
Everyone would be watching them. They couldn’t sneak away from a party in their honor without creating another firestorm of gossip.
But he wanted to take her out on the terrace. He wanted it with an intensity that took his breath away.
“I’d like to be alone with you, but I’m afraid it simply isn’t possible.” He shook his head, wishing he was someone else, wishing he was the kind of man she wanted

him to be. “Perhaps you’re right. I’m really not very good at courting, am I? I’m good at arranging things, and making lists, but I seem to be very bad at whispering sweet
words.”

She laughed. “You’re very good at kissing me, Michael. And that’s really all that matters.”
Unbelievable, that she was willing to dismiss all his other faults, simply because of the passion they’d shared. He’d never known such a contrary, exasperating female.
He’d never been so enchanted.
“Tonight we must make at least a show of propriety,” he told her with regret. “But soon there won’t be anything standing between us.” His blood pulsed deep and

heavy at the very thought.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in a gesture he found unbearably erotic. “All right,” she told him, her voice heavy with resignation. “But I expect you to

make the wait worth my while.”

Once again, Emma found herself revising everything she thought she’d known about her future husband.
His reaction to her gown had been exactly what she’d hoped for, but the very last thing she’d expected. There had been true admiration in his eyes when he’d seen

her, even a bit of amusement at her attempts to flaunt convention.

By stating his approval for everyone to hear, he’d made it impossible for anyone to snub her. Then, when they’d danced, he’d let down his guard and showed her that

sweet, tender side she so desperately wanted to get to know.

The rest of the evening passed in a wonderful blur. Michael remained at her side, deftly keeping her separated from the earl, whose expression grew more thunderous

with each passing moment. She ignored her future father-in-law, too pleased with Michael’s abrupt change in behavior to let Warren’s annoyance touch her.

The last of her doubt vanished like smoke in the wind. Just two more weeks, she reminded herself. Two more weeks of distance and loneliness and then Michael

would be hers.

****

Emma chafed with impatience as her father’s scheduled arrival from New York grew near. They hadn’t seen each other since her mother had passed away last

winter, and she ached to see him.

So it was to her very great surprise and delight when her butler interrupted her during breakfast to tell her Black Jack Marks had arrived a full day ahead of schedule.

She raced down the hall with unladylike haste and found her father in the foyer, directing his entourage of servants as they carried in his luggage.

“Papa!” she cried, launching herself into his arms. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
Jack laughed and hugged her so tightly she could barely breathe. “Ah, sweetheart. I came over on one of my newest acquisitions—bought the whole damned shipping

yard, don’t you know—and I couldn’t resist seeing what the old girl could do.”

Emma took a deep breath of her father’s distinctive scent—tobacco, leather and bay rum. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you terribly.”
Jack held her a moment longer, then let her go. “Let me have a look at you.” He twirled her around in a dizzying rush. “Lovelier than ever,” he pronounced. “No

wonder these English chaps couldn’t resist you.”

Emma beamed at her father’s assessment, but she’d been surveying him as well and was dismayed to see how much he’d aged since they last parted. He was still big

and hearty, his dark hair and beard untouched by gray and as unruly as ever. But lines of sadness etched his face and his dark eyes no longer twinkled.

“I only wish mother could be here with us.” Emma forced herself to mention the ghost that stood between them, because she knew her father would never do so.

“She would have liked Lord Sherbourne.”

Her father nodded and looked away. “Yes, I’m sure she would have. She would be very proud of you, honey.”
She blinked away threatening tears. “I wish you could have made it in time for the engagement party. It went brilliantly.”
Jack frowned and leaned against the carved banister at the foot of the grand staircase. “You should have waited until I arrived. I’m not at all comfortable with the

speed at which things are progressing. Surely your young man can wait long enough to get his hands on your dowry to give you the kind of wedding you deserve.”

She bit her lip, hating this reminder of Michael’s true motives. “I’ve come to understand the wedding itself doesn’t matter, as long as I’m happy about who I’m

marrying.”

“But what about all your plans?” Jack questioned. “I know how much it meant to you to marry at St. James church.”
“I only wanted everyone who’d shunned me to see what a glorious match I’d made,” she admitted. “But I’ve come to realize a front page announcement in the New

York Times would suit me just as well.”

Jack gave a hearty laugh. “Consider it done.” Then he sobered and cleared his throat. “I’ve drawn up a marriage contract, honey. You’re getting a lump sum, plus a

generous yearly income, but the terms of the contract will insure that you retain some control over how it’s spent.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard stories of heiresses
whose husbands ran through their dowries in a matter of months, then shipped them off to rot at some remote country estate while they returned to their mistresses.”

A chill traveled down Emma’s spine at the picture her father portrayed. “Michael would never do such a terrible thing.”
“I certainly hope not. But it doesn’t matter. We’re not going to give him the opportunity, honey. By the time my lawyers are through with him, he’ll have to ask your

permission to piss.”

She shook her head, filled with foreboding. “He’s very proud, father. I fear he’ll call the entire wedding off, rather than sign such a thing.”
“He needs your dowry too badly.” That stubborn, bullheaded look she knew all too well settled over Jack’s features. “He’ll sign, Emma. I’d bet my life on it.”
It was futile to argue with her father once he’d set his mind to something. But if Jack had his way, the troubles between her and Michael would be far from over.
“Meet him first,” she coaxed. “See for yourself what sort of a man he is. Then, if you still have misgivings, we’ll talk about a marriage contract.”
Jack gave her a long, measuring look, then nodded. “All right. Summon your young man. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

****

Dearest Michael,
Come quickly! My father has finally arrived and I can’t wait for you to meet him.
Love, Emma

Love.
Michael knew his exuberant, affectionate fiancée probably ended all her letters with such overblown sentiment. Still, he ran his fingertip over the word, unaccountably

pleased.

He cast an impatient glance out his coach window, relieved to see Emma’s house just ahead. He’d received her quick note less than half an hour ago and had rushed

over as soon as possible, determined to make a good impression on his future father-in-law.

Although he tried to tell himself he merely wanted to ensure the largest possible marriage settlement, deep down he knew it was far more than that. Emma obviously

loved her father and Michael wanted Mr. Marks to approve of his daughter’s choice.

Finally, he arrived. This time the dour butler graced him with a small smile. “Right this way, milord. They’re waiting for you in the sitting room.”
Michael followed the old man to a room near the back of the house, which was much cozier than the other room where Emma had received him. Decorated in

soothing shades of blue with white molding, this was obviously the heart of the house.

Emma sat in an overstuffed, blue and white striped chair, laughing at something her father had just said. For a moment, Michael stood in the doorway and stared at his

beautiful fiancée. He wished she was already his wife. He was tired of waiting, tired of hiding everything he felt for her.

Laughter suited her very well. He hoped he’d somehow find it in himself to keep her laughing through all the long years that lay ahead of them.
Sensing his gaze, Emma turned. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Michael,” she exclaimed. She bounded gracefully to her feet and crossed the room to his side.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Jack Marks stood as well, turning to look at Michael with frank speculation. The American was huge. He topped Michael’s considerable height by several inches and

his chest and arms bulged with muscle. His black hair and beard were long and rather unkempt, as though he couldn’t be bothered with such trivial matters as a haircut and
a shave, but his dark eyes burned with raw ambition and sharp intelligence.

Around the eyes at least, the resemblance between father and daughter was quite astonishing.
“Sherbourne,” Marks boomed, his voice as big as the rest of him. He gave Michael a broad smile and extended his large paw of a hand. “Good to meet you, son.”
Son? Michael almost laughed. Despite the lengths to which his daughter had gone to get it, Marks didn’t appear at all impressed with Michael’s title.
“The pleasure is mine,” Michael assured the older man. He returned the American’s strong handshake with an extra measure of pressure. Jack Marks was obviously

the sort of man who would be far more impressed with Michael’s pugilistic skills than his old, distinguished family name.

Emma watched the exchange very carefully and Michael realized how nervous she’d been about this meeting. “Sit down,” she instructed, her relief evident. “We

were just about to have tea.”

Michael sat beside Marks, while Emma poured the tea and passed them dainty little biscuits on fine porcelain plates. Marks settled his plate awkwardly on one knee,

gazing upon his daughter with obvious delight. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

Michael cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. She certainly is.”
“If you hurt her, I’ll destroy you,” Marks continued, still in a pleasant undertone.
“Of course.” Michael tried to duplicate the other man’s casual tone. “I understand completely.”
“Do you?” Marks turned his burning gaze on Michael. “She seems quite taken with you, but you may as well know I have grave doubts about this entire

arrangement.”

“What are you two talking about?” Emma interrupted, new alarm entering her voice. “Speak up. I can’t hear you.”
Marks gave an easy laugh. “I’m merely getting to know your young man, Emma.”
Michael also managed a reassuring smile. “I was just telling your father how much I admire his accomplishments. His financial genius is legendary.”
In truth, Michael did admire Marks. There were many things England could learn from America. He liked the thought of a society where a man’s worth wasn’t

judged by the order and prominence of his birth.

England’s class system had produced far too many men like the Earl of Warren.
Marks chuckled. “I like your style, Sherbourne. But Emma obviously isn’t going to leave us alone long enough for us to discuss this matter thoroughly. Care to go for a

ride?”

Michael shared a quick glance with Emma, who shrugged her shoulders. Knowing there was no help for it, he turned his gaze back to his future father-in-law and

nodded. “I’d be delighted, sir.”

Resigned, Michael followed Jack Marks through the house and around the back to the stables. The impeccably clean stalls were graced with half a dozen blooded

horses, each one more magnificent than the last.

“Choose one,” Marks commanded, watching Michael with a speculative gleam in his dark eyes.
Michael considered his choices, sensing he was being tested in some way. Hell, this entire afternoon was undoubtedly a test.
God help him if he failed.
Calling upon what he knew of Marks so far, he chose the most mean-tempered animal of the bunch, a pale gray stallion that stood seventeen hands high. “I’ll take this

lovely fellow,” he said decisively, hoping Marks would appreciate his confidence, if nothing else.

“Ah, Mercury.” Marks grinned and led a spirited chestnut mare out of her stall. “Then I’ll take Daisy here. She’s the only one the beast will tolerate anywhere near

him.”

“Splendid,” Michael muttered. He mounted, then spent the next few moments using every equestrian skill in his arsenal to show the stallion who was in charge. When

the animal settled down, he risked a quick glance at Marks, who watched him with a raised brow.

“Very good,” the older man commented, as he led the way out of the yard and down the street toward the park. “But I expected no less. After all, what is there for a

young aristocrat to do in this country, other than hunt and gamble away his father’s money?”

Michael bristled at Marks’ disparaging remark. “What is the point of pretending to get to know one another, sir? You’ve obviously already decided who I am.”
Marks laughed and glanced at Michael over his shoulder. “You may as well know I have little respect for any man who hasn’t earned his own way.”
“I’m no worthless rake,” Michael insisted, stung. “I’ve been managing my family’s estates since I left the schoolroom.”
Marks gave him a long, measuring look, then nodded. “You aren’t at all what I expected. Even so, you must admit the speed at which you’ve conducted this courtship

is very suspect. Imagine my dismay when I learned you’d held my daughter’s engagement party without me.”

“I’m sorry for the haste.” Michael drew his mount up next to Emma’s father’s, wishing with all his heart he didn’t have to go through this again. “But surely Emma

explained my financial situation.”

Marks ducked for a low hanging tree branch, then straightened with a sigh. “She did. And that only fueled my reluctance. I don’t want to give my daughter to a man

who only wants her for the wealth she’ll bring.”

Michael ran his hand up Mercury’s neck and wondered how on earth he was supposed to answer that. If he admitted how much he’d come to care for Emma, he

was afraid the old man would devise some test to make him prove it—such as asking him if he was willing to marry her without her dowry.

Unwilling to chance such a disastrous repercussion, Michael decided to remain on the offensive. “And what exactly did you expect, when you sent your daughter to

London with the express purpose of buying a title?”

Marks looked somewhat startled by Michael’s attack, but he quickly recovered. “That was none of my doing,” he insisted, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “It

was my late wife who wanted Emma to marry a titled gentleman. For myself, I only want to see her happy.”

“I want that, too,” Michael admitted, hearing the truth behind Marks’ words. “I can’t deny I need Emma’s dowry. Badly. But I care for her very deeply. I give you

my word I’ll do everything in my power to be the kind of husband she deserves.”

Marks drew his mare to a halt and stared at Michael for a long, silent minute. His dark gaze seemed to peer into Michael’s very soul. “For some reason, I’m inclined

to believe you, lad.” Suddenly, he grinned. “Shall we head back to the house before the lass works herself into nervous hysterics?”

Michael laughed as well, relief washing over him. Apparently, he’d passed the test. “Yes. Let’s go back.”

****

“Well? What do you think? Isn’t he wonderful? Don’t you just love him?” Emma could barely restrain herself until Michael left the house before launching a barrage

of questions at her father.

On the surface, the interview seemed to have gone very well, but deep down she feared they’d only been pretending to like each other for her sake. She had to assure

herself that her father had been as impressed with Michael as she’d meant for him to be.

Jack held up one hand, as though to ward her off. “I do like him, Emma. In fact, I must admit to being pleasantly surprised. I half expected you to dig up some

dissolute young wastrel, but Sherbourne seems sober and responsible. What’s more, he seems to care for you.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you think so highly of my ability to make the right choice,” Emma groused, but she couldn’t be angry. She was too relieved.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, honey. It’s just that love is blind.” He gave her a wink. “Do you forgive your old man for being a cynic?”
Emma nodded. “Of course I do. As long as you promise to forget any crazy ideas about a marriage contract.”
Jack sighed. “I’m sorry, Emma. But I haven’t changed my mind about that. I think it’s for the best if we have him sign something.”
“But father—”
“Just a simple agreement to protect your interests. I’m sure he expects it. I’ll amend the original to give him more control, if you’re sure that’s what you want, but I

must insist that you are protected should anything happen to him, or if he should set you aside for any reason.”

Emma frowned, then nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I shouldn’t let my emotions overrule my common sense.”
Jack gave her a wolfish grin. “That’s my girl. I knew I could count on you to do the right thing.”

Chapter Seven

Michael arranged to meet his father for lunch at their club early the next afternoon. Best to get this conversation over with as soon as possible. Nothing good could

come of putting it off.

The earl was late, of course.
Michael waited for over an hour before his father finally deigned to put in an appearance. Even then, Warren didn’t come directly to Michael’s table, choosing instead

to greet several of his peers, laughing and shaking hands as though he had all the time in the world.

Michael managed to hide his annoyance. He knew from long experience that if he showed his impatience, his father would drag the whole thing out even longer.

Besides, he had the satisfaction of knowing Warren would be exiting in a far less cheerful mood.

At last, the earl made his way to his son. Nevertheless, he ignored Michael for several minutes even after he was seated and took an interminably long time deciding

what to order for lunch.

“May I ask why you felt the need to summon me here?” Warren finally asked, glaring at Michael as though he was the one who’d been kept waiting.
Michael toyed with the stem of his wineglass, then realized what he was doing and forced himself to stop. He couldn’t afford to let his father guess his nervousness.
“I wanted to inform you that I’ve sent a messenger to Dylan in Scotland, asking him to attend my wedding.” There. Such a simple thing, really.
Unfortunately, the Earl of Warren was anything but reasonable.
“Out of the question,” Warren snapped. “I forbid it.”
“You misunderstand. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you what will be.”
“How dare you presume to tell me anything, you insolent whelp.” The earl’s voice rose, but he managed to lower it when he realized they were attracting attention.

“Your worthless brother is no longer welcome in my home, as you well know. I refuse to have him there, so you can put the entire treacherous thought from your mind.”

Michael shook his head in disgust. “I want my brother to attend my wedding. That’s why I’ve chosen to wed Miss Marks at Sherbourne Hall.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” The earl gave his eldest son a fulminating glare, the one that had always managed to make Michael back down.
But Michael had finally had enough. He was tired of his father’s demands and unreasoning hatred. He was tired of cleaning up the old man’s messes and apologizing

for his thoughtless behavior.

“Oh, yes. I do dare, father. And what’s more, if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your mouth and be pleasant to both my brother and my bride, then I’m afraid I’m

going to have to forbid you to come to the wedding.”

The earl’s look of complete astonishment might have been amusing under any other circumstances. But Michael was well prepared for the fury that followed the

surprise.

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” the earl sputtered. “You can’t stop me.”
At last, Michael played his trump card, secure in the knowledge that the balance of power had shifted. “You forget yourself, father. Need I remind you who will

control the purse strings from now on? Give me this one thing, and I’ll continue to pay your markers, within reason. Deny me, and you’ll have to find a way to pay them
yourself.”

The earl sank back in his chair, speechless with fury.
Knowing it was best to make his escape before his father recovered his powers of speech, Michael rose. “I know you’ll make the right decision.”
Then he strode away, feeling as though he’d won a very large victory.

****

Michael made plans to depart for Sherbourne Hall one week before his wedding. He wanted to be certain all the wedding preparations were in motion and the house

was ready for his guests and new bride, who wouldn’t be joining him until the day before the ceremony.

Emma’s father had decided to squeeze a few business meetings into his trip, and she planned to remain with him until he completed his transactions. Apparently, Jack

didn’t want to leave London until he’d made another million or two. Everything the man touched seemed to turn into gold.

In fact, Michael had been quite surprised when Jack had presented him with the marriage contract. He’d expected the wily American to put provisions on every

penny but, to his immense relief, the contract had given him more breathing room than he’d expected.

Pleased with the way things were going, Michael arranged to spend one last evening with Emma before he left. They probably wouldn’t have another chance to talk

privately in the rush preceding the wedding, and he needed another quiet evening in Emma’s company.

He wanted to assure himself he’d done the right thing in pursuing this match, wanted to work on building the tenuous trust between them.
Accompanied by Lady Jane, he and Emma arrived at Lucien’s townhouse in Belgrave Square. They were supposed to discuss last minute wedding preparations, but

everyone seemed to know his true purpose for arranging this last evening together.

It hadn’t been difficult to convince Lucien to take Lady Jane for a tour of the portrait gallery. In fact, Michael suspected it would have been difficult to convince his

friend not to disappear with the current object of his affections.

The other couple had barely left the room before Emma launched herself into Michael’s lap. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him an exuberant hug.
“I thought they’d never leave,” she whispered breathlessly. “I’ve been waiting all week for a chance to be alone with you.”
Michael laughed and returned her embrace. This was exactly what he’d hoped for.
It surprised him to realize how much he’d come to enjoy her company. Somehow, this irreverent, flamboyant American had gotten under his skin.
“Are we really going to talk about the wedding? Or did you arrange to have me to yourself for some other reason?” She pulled back and gave him a searching look,

her dark eyes filled with the same foolish yearning that must be reflected in his own.

“I think we’ve covered the wedding plans quite sufficiently.” He brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. “Unless there’s some last minute thought you’d like to add.”
She shook her head. “I think everything is well in hand. But I must admit I’m not looking forward to seeing your father again. I believe he hates the mere thought of

me.”

He tightened his embrace and kissed her forehead. “You needn’t worry, Em. I’ve forbidden him to attend.”
Her eyes widened with shock and dismay. “I hope you didn’t do that on my account. I can certainly handle any insults he chooses to throw my way. I don’t want to

be the cause of any more strife between the two of you.”

“You shouldn’t have to endure a single unpleasant moment on your wedding day. And you needn’t worry, I haven’t banned him strictly for your sake. I’ve done it for

myself and my brother, as well.”

“Your brother?” She gave him a strange look. “I didn’t think the two of you were on good terms.”
“There’s a certain amount of tension between us,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t dream of leaving him out. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not.” She shrugged. “In fact I like your brother very much. He’s quite amusing.”
Her words filled him with sudden jealousy. “I didn’t know the two of you had met.” He spoke with care, determined not to let her see how much it disturbed him to

hear she had any affinity for Dylan.

It seemed every woman he’d ever cared about had chosen Dylan over him.
“We sat together at a dinner party,” she replied, unaware of the suspicion seething within him. “In fact, that was the very night he and Lady Natalia were discovered

in the garden.”

“Of course,” he muttered. “I had forgotten you were there.”
She frowned and leaned back. “You were there as well? I don’t remember seeing you.”
His unease grew. “No doubt you were too enchanted by Dylan to notice me.”
She cupped his face and searched his eyes before pressing a chaste, tender kiss upon his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the one I want. The only one I’ve ever

wanted.”

Somewhat comforted, he returned her kiss with one that was much deeper, much hungrier. She moaned softly into his mouth. Her surrender enflamed him even more.
All his famed control vanished when it came to Emma. When he was with her, he didn’t want to think, he only wanted to feel. The need to claim her, to brand her as

his own overwhelmed him. The kiss spiraled quickly out of control and he found himself pressing her down onto Lucien’s sofa, covering her slender body with his own.

“I don’t think I can wait another week,” he whispered, as he trailed his lips down the sweet column of throat. “It seems as though I’ve waited a lifetime for you

already.”

Truer words had never been spoken. Until Emma, he’d never known what it was to lose himself in passion. He’d never known what it was to burn with need.
“I know exactly what you mean.” Trembling, Emma lifted her hands to the bodice of her gown. Holding his gaze, she slid the fabric off her shoulders, baring her

beautiful breasts.

She was luxuriously feminine, lush and beautiful beyond words. But it was the curious mixture of boldness and innocence in her eyes that drove him over the edge.
He lowered his head and nuzzled her breasts, then drew one dark nipple into his mouth, feasting greedily on her sweetness. Impatient, he shifted until his hardness was

cradled perfectly in the soft vee of her thighs.

“Michael.” She gasped his name at the contact and he wasn’t sure whether he heard fear or wonder in her voice.
What he’d done must seem startlingly intimate, despite the barrier of clothes that separated them. But she clung to him, instead of pushing him away, so he allowed

himself the luxury of rubbing against her once more.

“I want to make love to you,” he whispered. “I don’t want to stop this time.”
“Then don’t.” She looked deep into his eyes. “Don’t stop, Michael.”
Feeling as though he were a condemned man who’d just been given a pardon, he kissed her again, long and deep, inundated with relief. She wouldn’t stop him, and he

no longer had the strength to stop himself.

He slid his hand beneath her skirts, and shuddered at the feel of her smooth, bare calf. God, he loved her legs. So long. So sleek and firm. His fingertips circled her

knee, then moved on, stroking her soft thigh in one fluid caress.

She tensed for just a moment, then sighed and let her legs fall open with complete trust. Shifting, he held himself up on one arm, watching her face as his fingertips

delved between her thighs in gentle exploration.

He caught his breath at her damp heat. She was drenched with arousal and he nearly came undone on the spot. She was so passionate, so responsive...
A sharp feminine gasp and a stifled bark of male laughter yanked him from his reverie.
Lucien and Jane had returned.

****

Jane couldn’t believe she’d let Emma talk her into accompanying her to Lucien’s house. She should have known it was merely an excuse for her friend to be alone

with Michael. She also should have known Lucien was under orders to spirit her away so the engaged couple could have a few moments to themselves.

The fact that she’d gone—and hadn’t uttered a word of protest when Lucien suggested they view the portrait gallery—only proved she was the most weak-willed

woman who ever lived. She’d shirked her duties as Emma’s chaperone in order to spend a few more moments alone with the man who’d broken her heart beyond repair.

“I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by bringing me up here,” she told Lucien, once they’d entered the long, echoing room.
Lucien only laughed. “Why, Lady Jane. You flatter yourself. I haven’t given you a second thought in years.”
She blushed, hating the ease with which he’d turned her own words against her, making them sound like the lie that they were.
“We really shouldn’t leave Emma and Michael alone together. I’m supposed to be Emma’s chaperone.”
Lucien came up behind her and put his big hands on her shoulders. The heat of his touch stole her breath away. “Relax,” he murmured, his mouth very near her ear.

“What harm can it do if they want to explore the passionate feelings they have for one another? They’re to be married in less than a week.”

He was right, of course, but she hated that she had nothing left to argue with him about. She stared blindly at a portrait of Lucien’s family, commissioned scant months

before the tragedy that had torn them apart forever, and tried to ignore the overwhelming presence of the flesh and blood man behind her.

He flexed his hands, tenderly kneading her shoulders, and she fought the urge to crumple into a puddle at his feet. Realizing how dangerous even this casual touch

could be, she stepped away, trying to put a comfortable distance between them.

“All right,” he told her. “I understand. You don’t want to renew our friendship. And you’re right. You have every reason to view me with suspicion. But before we

part ways, I must know what will happen to you once Miss Marks is wed.”

Frowning, she took another step away from him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Just this. You don’t have to take in another American to keep a roof over your head.” He sighed and raked one hand through his dark hair. “Let me help you, Jane.”
She stared at him, aghast and embarrassed. “I don’t need your help.”
He closed the distance between them, as though he knew she couldn’t think clearly while he stood so close. “Stubborn,” he muttered. “You always have been.”
Relieved that he seemed to have accepted her refusal, she forced herself to relax. “I’ve struggled to make ends meet for years now and you never seemed to care.

Why the sudden interest?”

Lucien stared at her. Again, she found herself drowning in the depths of his midnight eyes. “I tried to forget you. Hell, perhaps I even succeeded for awhile. But

you’re the only woman I’ve ever known who truly knew me, and I miss that. I miss you.”

Jane squared her shoulders, determined to resist him. “That was a long time ago. You’re a stranger to me now.”
“Then get to know me again,” he pleaded, his heart in his eyes. “Let me court you, Jane.”
Court her?
For a moment the whole world seemed to shift, to expand. Dear God. This was what she’d always wanted. To marry Lucien and bear his children. To make a home

for him and soothe away his demons. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” he assured her. “What must I do to prove it to you?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, turning away. Once more, her gaze fell upon the portrait of Lucien’s family. She seized upon it, needing to change the subject. “Do

you ever speak to Ethan?”

“No. He left the country the moment he graduated from Cambridge. He was chasing after orchids in the jungles of South America, last I heard.”
The hint of wistfulness in his voice surprised her. He blamed his younger brother for the accident that had taken the lives of his older brother and his sister, or at least

he once had.

She turned her head to look at him, trying to see past the hooded wariness in his dark eyes. “Do you still hate him for what happened?”
Lucien sighed. “Of course not. He was just a child when Elizabeth and Nathan died. And he wasn’t the only one who went skating on that pond despite father’s

warnings.”

“Oh, Lucien,” she whispered. “You should write him a letter. Let him know. I’m sure he’d like to mend the rift between you.”
“Maybe you’re right. But I don’t know what to say after all these years.” Lucien closed his eyes and the stark pain on his chiseled features made her regret raising

the topic. She’d never meant to hurt him.

“You’ll find the words. Just do it soon, or you’ll regret it forever.” As she spoke, she stepped into his arms. She couldn’t help herself.
Lucien inhaled sharply and pulled her against him, burying his face in her hair. “Do you realize you’re probably the only person I know who even remembers I have a

brother?” He cupped her face and lifted his head, staring at her with such hungry intensity it took her breath away. “You know me better than anyone else in the world.
How can you pretend otherwise?”

Confused, terrified of her own conflicted emotions, she stepped out of his grasp. “We were friends, Lucien. But that was a long time ago. And I’m sorry, but I can’t

trust you. I can’t let you hurt me again.”

Desperate to escape—before she listened to her heart and agreed to his foolishness—she hurried down the hall toward the cozy little drawing room where they’d left

Emma and Michael.

“Jane. Don’t go. There’s so much more I want to say to you...” Lucien’s footsteps sounded behind her. She increased her pace, afraid to stop, afraid to spend even

one more moment alone with him. When she finally reached the drawing room she threw open the door without knocking.

She realized her mistake a half a second too late.
Emma and Michael lay tangled together upon the sofa, engaged in an act of startling intimacy. Michael’s mouth was on Emma’s bare breast and his hand was hidden

beneath her skirt. Emma’s eyes were closed, a look of pure bliss on her face.

Jane drew in a quick, startled breath, but couldn’t force herself to look away. She’d never seen anything so shocking. Yet the intimately entwined couple presented a

strange beauty she found all too compelling.

Longing knifed through her. The innocent passion she’d shared with Lucien a decade ago had never led to this. Never, except in her lonely, aching dreams.
Lucien came to an abrupt halt at her side. Heat suffused her face. She turned to leave, trying to push him out of the room before her.
He tore his gaze away from their friends and gave her a questioning glance. A choked laugh escaped him when he saw the look upon her face.
She elbowed him in the stomach, cutting off the sound.
But it was too late.
Michael lifted his head, and the dawning horror in his eyes eclipsed her embarrassment.
“Oh, God,” Michael groaned. He scrambled to shield Emma from view.
“I’m sorry,” Jane whispered, backing away. “I’m so sorry.”
Lucien cleared his throat and she knew he was doing his best to hold back even more laughter. “We’ll just wait out here until you’re through.”
Shutting the door firmly behind him, he shook his head and leaned against the wall, his dark eyes bright with amusement. “What were you thinking, Jane? Did you

expect to find them having tea? Discussing china patterns?”

“I don’t know.” She pressed her hands against her hot cheeks, humiliated. “I’ll never be able to look Emma in the eyes again.”
“Why not?” Lucien shoved off the wall and pulled her unwillingly into his embrace. “It’s only passion. Don’t you remember what it was like to feel passion?”
She remembered far too well. And trapped as she was, utterly surrounded by his lean strength, all she could think about was the rapturous look on Emma’s face.
Oh, how she envied her friend for having the courage to risk her heart.
But as she stared up into Lucien’s burning dark eyes, she knew she couldn’t do this. She didn’t have Emma’s courage, or perhaps she’d just been hurt too deeply to

ever trust him again.

“I need some more time,” she whispered, slipping out of his embrace. “If you’re really serious about courting me, you’re going to have to prove you’ve changed.”
He stared at her, then raked his hands through his dark hair in frustration. “What do you want from me? How can I prove such a thing?”
She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “I don’t know, Lucien. I only know I’m not ready to fall into your arms just yet.”

Chapter Eight

Emma fumbled with the bodice of her gown, her fingers shaking with shame and embarrassment. She hated to even hazard a guess as to what Jane must think of her.
Michael covered her hands with his, stilling her frantic movements. Brushing her fingers away, he fastened her gown with calm efficiency, then hugged her. “It’s all

right, Emma. Everything will be all right.”

She buried her face against the hard strength of his chest as he stroked her hair. His heart still raced beneath her cheek and his arousal still pressed hard against her

hip.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This is my fault entirely. I knew I wasn’t strong enough to keep from touching you if we were alone together.”
“It’s my fault, too.” He was such a gentleman, to try and claim full responsibility for their disastrous actions, but she had no intention of letting him feel bad about what

they’d done.

He shook his head, his arms tightening around her. “I wondered how Dylan could be so foolish, how he could have let passion rule him so completely he allowed

himself to get caught.” He laughed, a low, lost sound. “Now I understand all too well.”

“But this is different,” she assured him. “We’re to be married, Michael. And I’ve never belonged to anyone else, only to you.”
He held her for a few more moments, then sighed and helped her stand. “Shall we go and face our friends?”
She nodded, but she feared something had changed between them. Michael seemed to regret his actions far more than she did.

****

Michael didn’t know how he managed to get through the next two hours. Lucien, of course, was wickedly amused by the entire situation and tried to avert everyone’s

embarrassment with levity. Michael was in no mood for his friend’s good-humored jests.

It was no laughing matter.
His complete inability to control himself with Emma shamed him to the depths of his soul.
To make things even worse, Emma no longer seemed properly chagrined. She’d recovered from her own embarrassment with remarkable ease and returned Lucien’s

salacious jibes with wicked, witty remarks of her own.

Michael thought of the wild, immoral crowd she’d associated with before he’d met her, and dread filled him. The Prince and his set thought nothing of a woman taking

lovers once she’d secured her husband’s line with the requisite sons.

Did Emma feel as they did?
Unable to bear her bright gaiety any longer, he pretended that he needed to discuss something with Lucien and sent the two girls home in his coach. Unfortunately,

that meant stranding himself with his amused friend, which was almost as bad.

“Well.” After they’d seen the girls off, Lucien hid a smile and poured them both a stiff drink. “It seems as though you and Miss Marks’ courtship is proceeding

smashingly well.”

Michael accepted the drink, though he shot Lucien a fulminating glare over the rim as he drained it. The brandy pooled in his stomach in a hot rush. He’d never been

much of a drinker, but it seemed a fitting end to this evening’s deplorable behavior.

“A gentleman would let the matter rest,” he snapped. “He certainly wouldn’t be sniffing around for more details.”
“Lucky for you I’m not a gentleman then, isn’t it?” Lucien leaned forward and refilled Michael’s glass, raising an eyebrow at the speed with which he’d downed it.

“Because I can’t let this rest until I’m certain you’ve stopped feeling guilty about what happened. Hell, I’m happy to see you’re human. She’s good for you. You know
that, don’t you?”

Michael shook his head. “I was starting to think so, but now I’m not so sure. Christ, I can’t think of anything except bedding her.”
Lucien laughed.
“It’s not funny. I completely lost control tonight. What if it had been someone other than you and Jane who opened that door?”
“Well, it wasn’t, so stop berating yourself. Emma obviously isn’t sorry about what happened, so why should you be?”
“That’s another thing,” Michael admitted, his need to keep his feelings to himself eclipsed by the need to talk to someone about what was truly bothering him. “She’s

the most passionate woman I’ve ever known. I fear if she starts straying outside our marriage I won’t be able to bear it.”

“You love her,” Lucien observed soberly.
Michael closed his eyes, stunned to realize how close Lucien was to the truth. He scrubbed his hand over his face in dismay. “I certainly didn’t feel this insane

possessiveness over Natalia.”

Lucien sighed. “Why are you so certain Emma will stray?”
“They all stray,” Michael muttered, putting his worst fears into words. “My mother—” He broke off and shook his head. “She was repeatedly unfaithful to my father.

In fact, I think that’s why he’s so bitter, so unable to love anyone. Even his own children.”

Lucien frowned and tossed back the contents of his glass. “I’m sure the earl was an insufferable bastard long before he met your mother. And you mustn’t judge her

too harshly. You haven’t the slightest idea what drove her to take a lover, if she really did. Besides, your parents have absolutely nothing to do with your future bride.”

Michael held out his glass for yet another refill. “I don’t know how everything got so complicated.”
“Such is life.” Lucien shrugged prosaically. “You should be in my shoes, my friend. At least you and Emma are starting with a clean slate. I have a decade of past

sins to haunt me where Jane is concerned.”

Lucien’s words startled Michael out of his own despair. “You can’t mean to make her your mistress. She’s an innocent.”
It was Lucien’s turn to glare. “Is it so inconceivable that my intentions toward Lady Jane might be honorable?”
“Yes,” Michael answered, his surprise making him tactless. “You told me just the other day you never intended to marry.”
“I said I never intended to marry someone I didn’t love.” Lucien shook his head and strode across the room, turning his back on Michael as he stared out the window.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved Jane. I admit it scared the hell out of me.” He met Michael’s gaze over his shoulder. “So I walked away. I lost everything
because I didn’t have the courage to trust her.”

Michael looked away, unsure what to say in the face of his friend’s obvious pain.
Lucien sighed. “Don’t let your past ruin your future,” he admonished. “That’s hard won wisdom, so don’t take it lightly.” Then, he turned and strode from the room,

leaving Michael alone to ponder his words.

****

“There it is, Emma. Your new home.” Jane pointed out the coach window at a huge, dark mansion of Tudor design. It crouched high upon a hill, glowering down upon

the village below like a disapproving father.

Emma leaned forward for a better look and was beset by an intense surge of dismay. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this crumbling relic of a

bygone age.

She’d hoped for a romantic, storybook castle, or at least something along the lines of her father’s lavish Newport estate. Sherbourne Hall looked positively primitive,

lacking even the most basic of modern conveniences.

“It’s rather depressing, isn’t it?” Emma glanced across the coach at Jane, looking for reassurance.
Jane gave her a wry smile. “I’ve been here a time or two. It’s not as bad as it looks. But the house is over two hundred years old, and Sherbourne hasn’t had much

money to spare on maintenance.”

The coach entered the village and the coachman slowed to navigate the cobblestone street. Dozens of people had turned out, waving and craning their necks to catch

a glimpse of the viscount’s future bride.

“At least the village looks prosperous.” Emma waved back, a little overwhelmed by her reception.
“Most men I know put the needs of the people who live on their estates at the bottom of their list of priorities,” Jane commented. “But you can tell Sherbourne always

puts his duties to his tenants first. That says a lot about the kind of man he is.”

Emma reached out to take a bouquet of flowers from a little girl who ran alongside the coach, then collapsed back against the velvet squabs. “I never doubted that

Michael was responsible. In fact I fear he may be too responsible.”

Michael had obviously poured all his available resources into caring for those who depended on him. Even from this distance, she could tell that the paint on

Sherbourne Hall was peeling, yet the houses in the village were freshly whitewashed. The children who darted about the lane looked healthy and well cared for. A stark
contrast to some of the filthy urchins they’d passed during the long trip up from London.

Jane laughed. “First he was too perfect. Now he’s too responsible?”
“He’s just so serious.” Emma shrugged. “I wish he’d relax and enjoy himself sometimes.”
“Well, he certainly looked as though he was enjoying himself the other night.”
Heat rose in Emma’s cheeks. An entire week had passed since the night Jane and Lucien had interrupted her passionate encounter with Michael, yet this was the first

time Jane had brought it up.

“That was very wrong of me.” Emma returned her attention to the window. Her gaze fastened upon her father, who’d chosen to make the trip on horseback. He was

at ease, visiting with some of the townspeople. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d look so proud if he knew what she’d done. “I shouldn’t have let things go so far.”

“Nonsense. You’re engaged to the man, for goodness sake.” Jane leaned forward and gave Emma’s hand a comforting squeeze. “I’m happy for you Emma. Truly.”
“And what about you?” Emma asked, as the coach started up the long, tree-lined drive that led to Sherbourne Hall. “Have you decided to forgive Lucien?”
“Perhaps I already have,” Jane admitted. “But I’m a long way from ever trusting him again.”
The coach pulled up at the front of the house, ending their discussion, but Emma made a mental note to finish it later. Nothing would please her more than to see her

friend happily married to Lucien.

Everyone from the butler to the lowest scullery maid had come out to greet his or her new mistress. Emma eyed the silent row of servants with apprehension while

she waited for the footman to open the coach door. She’d grown up having servants at her beck and call, but there was a big difference between the Irish immigrants her
family had employed and an Englishman who’d been born and bred for the job.

No one in the world could be quite as haughty and condescending as an English butler.
Taking a deep breath, she shared a bracing look with Jane and then alighted from the coach. Michael stood near the front door, hands clasped behind his back in that

oh-so-regal posture he managed so well. His golden hair gleamed in the sunlight, and the hint of a smile softened his aristocratic features as he strode forward to meet her.

“Welcome to Sherbourne Hall.” He caught her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips. “I hope you’ll come to love it as much as I do.”
“I’m sure I will,” she replied with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “But it looks as though it will need a lot of work to restore it to its former glory. No

wonder you were so eager to marry someone like me.”

He gave her a searching look. “It may have started out that way, but at the moment this marriage doesn’t seem such a sacrifice. It’s good to see you, Emma. I missed

you.”

She laughed, thoroughly pleased, though all too aware of the audience of servants. What she wouldn’t have done for just a few moments of privacy with her future

husband.

“Ah, Michael,” she whispered, for his ears only. “I missed you, too. And you’re getting much better at sweet words.”
His blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “I can’t decide if you bring out the best in me, or the worst.”
Emma’s father chose that moment to arrive on his gleaming black gelding, ruining the moment. “Sherbourne,” he boomed, dismounting with fluid grace and handing

the reins to a nearby groom. “Quite a place you have here, son. Quite a place.”

“Thank you, sir.” Michael’s remote façade slid back into place. “How was your ride down from London?”
“Oh, fine. Fine indeed. Nothing quite as invigorating as a ride through the country.” Jack grinned and patted his horse’s rump as the groom led the fine beast away.

“This is shaping up to be the most relaxing vacation I’ve had in years.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Michael told him, a small smile lurking on his lips. Emma had the feeling that her fiancé enjoyed her father, though he didn’t always know quite

how to take him.

Michael greeted Jane warmly, then turned and offered Emma his arm. “I thought I’d introduce you to the servants and then give you a tour of the Hall.”
She raised a brow. “Does this mean I finally get a chance to see your artifacts?”
He squeezed her arm and gave her a covert wink. “I thought I’d save that for later. Perhaps after dinner? Just the two of us?”
She nodded, knowing he was right. Their shared interest in history could be the start of something rare and wonderful. She didn’t want to spoil her first glimpse of

Michael’s collection by having Jane and her father look on, bored by their conversation.

Michael drew her to a stop in front of the row of servants. “Miss Emma Marks,” he said, pitching his voice to be heard by all. “My fiancée, the future Viscountess

Sherbourne

****

After showing Emma, Jane, and Jack Marks around the estate, Michael returned his bride to the lavish bedroom that had once belonged to his mother so she could

have a bit of a rest before dinner.

He couldn’t explain the relief he’d felt upon greeting her coach. He supposed the unease he’d experienced while they’d been apart could be attributed to the fiasco

with Natalia. Emma’s arrival had put the last of his fears to rest.

Tomorrow Emma would be his wife. Nothing could come between them now.
It would be an altogether different sort of wedding than he’d originally planned. Just family and a few close friends, with his own father notably absent, but he was

well pleased with the way things had turned out.

This was how he wanted to start his life with his wife, here where he hoped to spend most of it. Let the gossips of the ton find something else to talk about. They

didn’t belong here, at his wedding.

He contemplated grabbing a quick moment of rest himself, but then he heard another coach coming up the long, tree-lined drive. He glanced out his bedroom window

and saw that this one bore the insignia of the MacPherson’s, his mother’s clan.

Dylan.
Michael rushed downstairs and out the door to greet his brother, smiling like a fool as Dylan climbed out of the coach and turned to help his beautiful wife. Michael

strode forward, embracing his sister-in-law as his gaze locked with his brother’s.

“I’m glad you came.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Dylan shot a quick glance toward the house, and Michael noted his brother’s tension. “Has the earl already arrived?”
Touched that his brother had come despite his obvious distaste for their father, Michael put him at ease. “We had a bit of a row about your invitation. I told him if you

weren’t welcome in his home, he wasn’t welcome in mine.”

Dylan’s eyes widened. A dozen emotions flickered in those clear gray depths before he threw back his head and laughed. “Did you now? I would have liked to have

been there for that.”

“Well, it wasn’t pretty,” Michael conceded. “But after the way he’s been treating my bride, I think things have worked out for the best.”
Dylan and Natalia shared a quick, unreadable glance. Michael longed for such intimacy. What would it be like, to know Emma so well they could share an entire

conversation with a look?

“Well, come in. Let me get you settled before dinner.”
He turned toward the house, but Dylan reached out and stopped him. “I need to talk to you, Michael. As soon as possible.”
Something in his brother’s manner sent apprehension spiraling into the pit of Michael’s stomach. “This sounds serious.”
“More serious than you can imagine,” Dylan told him, uncharacteristically somber.
“Let’s go inside. I can’t wait for you to introduce us to Miss Marks.” Natalia gave Dylan a quelling glance, then offered Michael a weak smile. “We can deal with all

this unpleasantness later. After the wedding.”

Dylan nodded, the very picture of a man who thought the sun rose and set in his wife. “Of course. Natalia is right. There will be plenty of time for us to talk after the

wedding.”

Michael gave his younger brother one last measuring look, then led them toward the house. “After the wedding,” he agreed. “There’s no room for unpleasantness

tonight.”

Chapter Nine

As soon as the servants finished unpacking Emma’s trunks, she sent them away and sank down in the middle of the huge pedestal bed. Much to her dismay, the

bedroom she’d been assigned was decorated in peach and yellow. Emma had never been a pastel sort of girl. She’d always preferred jewel tones over pastels and found
this room the most depressing part of the entire house.

It had been hard to keep nodding and smiling during Michael’s tour. The rooms were huge and dark, drafty even though it was nearly summer. The peeling wallpaper,

heavy dark furniture and massive fireplaces did little to dispel the gloom. Worst of all, there was no gaslight or piped hot water.

She supposed she could manage to make the place livable, once she had access to her dowry, but it seemed a great waste of time and money.
Surely, Michael didn’t intend to make this their primary residence? She had no desire to rusticate in the country for the rest of her life.
It had become frighteningly clear that she didn’t know the man she’d agreed to marry. She’d imagined a life of travel and adventure, so sure that Michael wanted

those things, too.

What if he didn’t?
What if he truly wanted to live the life of a country aristocrat, seeing to his tenants and throwing the occasional house party? Such a life would sap her spirit. She

might even grow to hate him in the long run.

Shivering, she pulled the satin counterpane up over her shoulders and snuggled deep into the feather mattress. Soon she grew toasty warm and her fears receded.
Somehow, she and Michael would manage to work things out. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was Michael’s desire to please her.

****

After dinner that night, the small group of wedding guests adjourned to the music room, where Natalia and Jane took turns entertaining everyone. Natalia excelled at

playing the piano and possessed a lovely singing voice, while Jane played the harp like an angel.

Emma, meanwhile, was forced to admit she had no musical skill whatsoever, a fact she proved in a decidedly flat rendition of Greensleeves.
Lucien teased her good-naturedly, and told Michael he must trade her in for someone more accomplished.
She would have found his jests far more amusing if not for the lingering jealousy she still harbored toward her lovely sister-in-law. She couldn’t forget Michael had

once wanted to make Lady Natalia his wife.

As it turned out, Natalia and Jane were distant cousins, so they’d spent the entire meal chattering about various mutual acquaintances. Emma knew they weren’t

trying to exclude her, but she felt excluded nonetheless.

As always, her common roots seemed far too obvious.
She took a small measure of comfort in the fact that Michael seemed out of place as well. Until tonight, she’d never known Michael and Lucien had only met because

Lucien and Dylan were the best of friends.

Perhaps the haunting loneliness in Michael’s eyes had drawn her to him all along. Like her, he usually seemed the most alone when he was surrounded by family and

friends.

In any event, Lucien and Dylan spent most of the evening with their handsome dark heads bent together, discussing something that seemed to hold the utmost

importance. Occasionally she caught Michael casting moody looks in their direction and knew how badly he wished they’d included him.

Oh, Michael, she thought longingly. Can you ever be my friend, my confidant?
Determined to find out, she crossed the room and slid her hand into his. “You promised to show me your collection tonight.”
He stared down at her and the shadows receded from his eyes. The ghost of a smile curved his sensual mouth, and his thumb traced a light path across her palm.
“So I did,” he agreed. “Perhaps we should pretend to retire and you can meet me there later.”
She nodded, letting her gaze drift across their guests. Her father had already excused himself, which left only Jane, Natalia, Lucien and Dylan. Friends, each and

every one, but for tonight at least, she wanted to be alone with the man she would marry tomorrow.

“Splendid idea,” she told Michael with a smile. “Will you break the news to them, or shall I?”

****

Clad again in nothing except her purple silk nightgown and matching robe, Emma stole along the deserted hallway toward the room where Michael kept his collection

of artifacts. An errant breeze stirred the sumptuous fabric, making her feel free and daring.

In less than twelve hours, Michael would be her husband. She would be able to go to him whenever she wanted. She could kiss him, tease him, and coax him to

bestow those wonderful smiles upon her at her leisure.

But for now, for tonight, she felt wonderfully wicked. She couldn’t wait to see his expression when he saw what she was wearing.
When she arrived at the door he’d indicated during his tour of the house, she looked furtively up and down the hall. Luckily, no one was around to observe her tryst.
She was about to knock when she heard a strange sound coming from within the room. Leaning closer, she pressed her ear against the door and listened to the

repetitive thwacking sound.

What on earth was Michael doing in there?
Cautiously, she turned the knob and slipped into the room, then froze at the sight that met her appreciative gaze. The room was immense, a veritable museum of

Egyptian history. But she barely glanced at the treasures, concentrating wholly on Michael.

In the far corner, a strange contraption hung from the ceiling. Michael—stripped to the waist—stood before it. His muscles flexed, gleaming with sweat, as he hit a

large bag with his gloved hands, exhibiting a power and grace unlike anything she’d ever seen.

This certainly explained his muscular physique.
“You’re a pugilist,” she murmured, awed and pleased. “I had no idea.”
Michael spun around, his gaze locking with hers as the bag swung lazily behind him. “I thought you weren’t coming.” He wiped the back of his arm across his sweaty

face, then stripped off his gloves and tossed them into the corner. “I was trying to work out my disappointment.”

“I enjoyed watching you,” she told him. “Don’t stop on my account.”
“Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t my intention to greet you this way? All sweaty and half-naked.”
She laughed and stepped forward, into the light. “I don’t mind, Michael. Truly.”
“Miss Marks,” he chided, a hint of choked laughter in his voice. “You’re not dressed.”
“I could change,” she replied, advancing toward him. “If you really want me to.”
“God, no.” He caught her in his arms and ran his hands up and down her back. Then they strayed lower, cupping her bottom and bringing her up against the

burgeoning proof of his desire. “I like you just the way you are.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and leaned her head against his hard, sweaty chest, enjoying the familiar pleasure of being held in his embrace. His musky scent

was far from offensive.

“Oh, Michael,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I can bear to wait until tomorrow to become your wife.”
He laughed breathlessly, then set her very firmly away. “I do believe you’re trying to seduce me, Emma.”
She grinned. “It’s not working? You really are a saint, aren’t you?”
A serious expression settled upon his chiseled features. “Only a man. And I want you more than can possibly be healthy, so cease your sweet teasing and allow me to

show you my artifacts.”

Reluctantly, she belted her robe tighter around her waist. “All right. But tomorrow you must allow me to seduce you to my heart’s content.”
“If you must.” The fire in his eyes ruined his show of reluctance.
Laughing, she moved around the large, well-lit room, all thoughts of seduction fleeing from her mind as she inspected the truly wonderful collection Michael had

amassed. Amazed, she strode to the centerpiece of the room, a large, ornately carved sarcophagus.

“Wherever did you find this?” she asked, awed.
“In the past, before my financial situation grew so dire, I financed several expeditions in return for a share of the artifacts.”
“Oh, Michael. You truly are an adventurer at heart, aren’t you? Don’t you realize how exciting it would be to go on an expedition of your own?” Caught up in the

moment, she shared her heart’s desire. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go on a journey together? The two of us trekking alongside the Nile, searching for treasure that’s lain
forgotten for thousands of years?”

The initial flare of excitement in his eyes quickly grew banked and unreadable. “As I told you before, I don’t have time for such things. I have too many

responsibilities.”

She sighed, knowing this was a battle she wouldn’t win overnight. But she fully intended to win it some day. She could think of nothing she’d like more than to take

her studious, uptight viscount out to see the world.

“Well, in any event, we can definitely finance another expedition.”
“Yes.” He averted his gaze and ran his finger over the rim of a clay pot covered with hieroglyphs. She watched the slow, sensual glide of his finger, desperately

wishing he was still touching her.

The distance that had fallen between them frightened her in a soul-deep way.
“Are you certain you want to marry me, Michael? Are you having second thoughts?”
He shook his head, refusing to meet her gaze. “Of course not. But it’s getting late and we have a very long day ahead of us. Perhaps you should try and get some

sleep.”

She stared at him for a long moment, wishing he trusted her enough to open up and tell her what was wrong. She wanted to hold him and stroke the frown from his

brow, soothe what was undoubtedly another of his tension induced headaches.

Sighing, she strode to his side and lifted up on tiptoe to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Good-night, Michael. Sweet dreams.”
He stared down at her and pressed his hand to the spot where she’d kissed him, a troubled look in his beautiful eyes. “Good-night, Emma.”

****

Michael battled his overwhelming need and confusion long after Emma left. During the past weeks, his desire for her had become all consuming. Each kiss, each soft

touch of her hand only intensified his need to make her his. He couldn’t wait to lose himself in the fey, contradictory, exasperating female who would be his wife.

Tonight, seeing her again in that lovely purple ensemble, knowing nothing separated them but a few flimsy layers of silk, had nearly been his undoing. Why did she

insist on tempting him in such a manner? Was she trying to break through all his defenses, trying to make him lose all control?

He suspected that was exactly her intention. Emma would never be satisfied with half-measures. She would always expect far more from him than he had to give.
Her earlier comments about adventuring down the Nile had made him face the fact that she was not the sort of woman who would be happy living on an isolated

country estate. She seemed so certain he longed for adventure as well. He doubted she’d ever understand how much the very thought of leaving England, of neglecting his
responsibilities for his own selfish desires, frightened him.

He’d held his wants and needs inside for so long, he was terrified of what might happen if he gave in to them. He could imagine himself turning into his father—

greedy and selfish, willing to hurt anyone, even his own family, in order to get what he wanted.

And that was something he could never allow to happen. Even if it meant forever denying himself the things he wanted most.

****

Jane couldn’t sleep.
The mere fact that Lucien was in the room next door made it impossible to close her eyes. If she did, she’d be too tempted to picture him lying in his bed, his

magnificent body naked beneath the crisp white sheets.

With a soul-deep sigh, she flung away her blankets and paced the room with growing agitation. Thank God Emma and Michael were finally getting married. Once her

obligation to the young American was over, she could return home and be spared the constant temptation of Lucien’s presence.

It wasn’t fair.
Why did he have to be so breathtakingly handsome? He shouldn’t speak of things such as love and second chances. She was far too susceptible to his sweet,

seductive words and smoldering glances.

She desperately wanted to believe he still loved her and wanted her to become his wife.
Her heart begged her to take the risk, but she knew even if he truly wanted her now, it would be a fleeting thing. Once he’d had his fill, he would move on, as he’d

done before. Then she’d be left alone in their shell of a marriage, trying to keep up the pretense while her heart shattered.

Still, she couldn’t stop thinking of Emma and Michael’s passionate embrace, couldn’t stop wishing she’d allowed Lucien to take such liberties all those years ago.

What would it have mattered? What good was her virginity to her now?

She didn’t want to die a shriveled-up prune, having never known what it was to make love to a man.
Hugging her arms to her chest to fend off a sudden chill, she stared at her mirrored reflection.
You’re too lovely to be a spinster.
Lucien’s words whispered through her mind and a new resolve sparked to life within her. Why shouldn’t she go to him, now, before the ravages of age caught up to

her? Why shouldn’t she have one beautiful night to keep her warm through all the long, lonely nights to come?

If she asked him to make love to her, made it clear she had no intention of demanding anything more than this single night of pleasure, he’d probably be relieved. He’d

laugh that soft, sexy laugh and offer to teach her everything she’d ever wanted to know.

But could she bear that? To know he’d never really wanted anything more?
Yes. She could bear that, and more. Better one lovely evening, than a marriage filled with lies and deceit.
Grabbing her heavy flannel robe from the foot of the bed, she slipped into it and hurried out the door. She feared if she paused for even one second, she’d lose her

nerve.

She’d never done anything this daring in her entire life.
Oh, how she wished she had Emma’s courage and sense of adventure. If she did, she’d wear purple silk instead of white flannel.
Biting her lip, she lifted her hand to knock on Lucien’s door, then thought better of it. She couldn’t stand here and wait for him to answer. Someone could come along

at any moment.

But she’d ventured too far to turn back now, so she gathered her nerve, turned the knob and slipped inside. Breathing raggedly, she sagged against the wall and

waited for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dark.

Oh, this was a bad, bad idea. He was already asleep, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate her barging in on him like this even if he weren’t.
“Who’s there?”
Lucien’s husky, sleepy voice startled her. She shrank even closer to the wall and wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She couldn’t go through with this.

But she didn’t know whether to flee or simply remain quiet until he fell asleep again.

The bedclothes rustled, and then he moved toward her through the darkness with unerring accuracy. “Who’s there?” This time his voice sounded dark with menace.

“Identify yourself.”

Before she could draw breath to answer, he slammed her against the wall with the full weight of his large body. Her breath escaped in a terrified rush as the cold

press of steel bit at the tender skin of her throat.

She made a soft sound of protest, dizzy with fear, but even with that small movement, the blade pricked her. “Lucien. Please. It’s me, Jane.”
Immediately, he released her. “Jane?” His voice was hoarse with sleep and confusion. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her in the dark. “I don’t know,” she whispered, fighting an overwhelming urge to cry. This wasn’t going at all the

way she’d planned. “I just wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?” He repeated her words slowly, as though he feared he hadn’t understood them. “I must be dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming.” As she spoke, she groped behind her for the doorknob. “But this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”
Finding what she sought, she pulled the door open, only to freeze as shadowy light spilled into the room from the hallway beyond. Her earlier suspicions were

illuminated in stunning, beautiful detail.

I was right. He sleeps in the nude.
Her gaze swept over his body, taking in every hard, muscular detail. She couldn’t have looked away if her life depended on it. In fact, she feared she was the one

dreaming.

But even in her wildest fantasies, she’d never imagined this.
His black hair was mussed and fell in soft waves over his forehead, veiling his dark eyes. His chest was powerfully chiseled, covered by a mat of curly dark hair that

narrowed to a thin vee down his lean stomach. She dared to let her gaze drop even further, then swallowed with sudden dryness at what she saw.

“I really should go,” she repeated, a bit desperate. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
Lucien stepped forward, barring her exit. “Don’t leave.” He lifted a large, warm hand and tenderly cupped her cheek. Then he paused, staring down at her throat in

horror. “I’ve cut you.”

“It’s all right. It doesn’t hurt.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Shutting the door, he took her hand and drew her across the room, dangerously near the bed.
“Wait here.”
After a moment, an oil lamp flared to life, casting a small island of light in the darkness. With some regret, she noticed he’d wrapped a crisp, white sheet around his

lean hips.

Ripping off a corner, he dipped the ragged piece of fabric into a glass of brandy on the nightstand beside his rumpled bed.
“This might sting.” Moving closer, he dabbed gently at the small cut. “God, Jane. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right, Lucien,” she assured him. “It’s my fault entirely.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Her eyelids fluttered shut at his tender touch and she breathed deeply, inhaling Lucien’s warm, clean scent. She felt so strange. Her limbs seemed heavy, as though

she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to.

“There.” At last, he lowered the damp cloth. “I think you’ll live.”
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, and found him staring down at her, his beautiful mouth just inches from hers. “I really should go.”
“No.”
His sharp tone startled her. She took a step back, but he immediately gentled. “Please, Jane. Stay for awhile. Tell me why you came.”
She stared at him, unsure how to go about getting what she wanted. With a nervous swallow, she pulled her robe tighter around her waist.
This was definitely not how Emma would have handled the situation. Dropping her gaze to the middle of his broad chest, to the soft-looking patch of dark hair that

grew between his flat male nipples, she struggled to find the right words.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. And I’ve come to a decision.”
“You have?” With a glad cry, he picked her up and cradled her against his chest. “Thank God,” he whispered, covering her face with a tender storm of kisses. “I

thought you’d never forgive me. I thought I’d live the rest of my life without ever holding you in my arms again.”

Stunned by his erroneous assumption of her motives, and overwhelmed by his kisses, Jane couldn’t find the breath to contradict him. He turned and lowered her to the

bed, then followed her down, pressing her deep into the mattress with the heat and weight of his lean body.

“I’ve been such a fool.” He met her gaze earnestly, tracing her face with one gentle fingertip. “But I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
She knew he thought she was agreeing to marry him, but she was so enraptured by his tenderness she couldn’t bring herself to shatter the illusion. Feeling quite

daring, she brushed a few strands of silky, black hair out of his eyes and lifted her mouth to his.

With a soft groan, he transformed her chaste kiss into a scorching brand of possession. She gasped as his tongue captured hers, flooding her senses with the taste of

brandy.

He’d kissed her before, years ago, but she’d forgotten how quickly passion could build. Restless, she ran her hands over his hair and the warmth of his skin, and tried

to get closer.

He obliged her by nudging her clenched thighs apart with one knee. His bulging erection rubbed insistently against her aching core as he settled against her. The

resultant spasm of pleasure was nearly more than she could bear.

Shuddering, he broke the kiss and stared down at her. His chest heaved as though he’d run a great distance. “Tell me you love me. Please, Jane. I need to hear the

words.”

Tell me you love me. As she looked into his beautiful, passion-drawn face, she knew she always had.
Tears filled her eyes as she tried to draw him back. “Let’s not talk. Don’t spoil it.”
“Spoil it?” Lucien resisted her clinging arms and pinned her with an incredulous look. “What’s going on? Why the hell did you come here tonight if you don’t love

me?”

“I’m offering you my body. Isn’t that enough?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed. Trembling, she sat up and drew her knees to her chest as she stared at the rigid

line of his back.

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” he said, after an endless moment of silence. “You don’t love me, you just want to fuck me?”
She flinched at the ugly word, but refused to let him make her feel bad about this. He was the one who had walked away. He’d broken her heart. How dare he

expect her to be foolish enough to trust him again?

“I can’t marry you,” she told him, struggling not to give in to her tears. “I can’t give my heart to you again.”
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. “I don’t want a night in your bed, Jane. I want all of you. I want us to have

what Dylan and Natalia have.”

She inched toward him and gently caressed his shoulder. “I want that, too. But, surely, you see how impossible it is. I couldn’t hold you when we were young and I

doubt anything has changed. You see your friends marrying and you want to have that kind of emotional closeness. But how can we, when you don’t even know me?”

“I know you. You’re the only one besides Dylan and Michael who has ever given a damn about me.”
She sighed. “You want me to love you, but I don’t think you’re capable of loving me in return. I can’t live like that. I can’t spend the rest of my life worrying that

you’re with another woman every time you walk out the door.”

“It wouldn’t be like that,” he whispered. “I would never do that to you.”
“I want you. Can’t it be as easy as that? Just give me tonight, Lucien. You know that’s all you really want. Don’t make me live the rest of my life without ever

knowing passion.” Emboldened by desperation, she let her hand drift down to rest on the straining bulge of his manhood, which was hidden beneath the sheet.

He caught his breath and the rigid shaft of flesh leapt against her hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Before she could answer, he closed his eyes and covered her hand with his. Then he moved her hand against him. One long, slow stroke.
But that was all he allowed himself before he firmly thrust her away.
“I do love you,” he told her, his voice shaking with frustration. “But I’ve never been so insulted in my life. I offer you marriage and you tell my you’d rather become

my whore.”

“Lucien, please...” She tried to touch him again, but he surged to his feet.
“Get out.” He glared at her as though the mere sight of her disgusted him. “Right now.”
She stared at him for one long minute, her heart breaking anew as she realized how terribly she’d wronged him. She had insulted him. From the look in his eyes, she

didn’t think he’d ever forgive or forget this.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then she fled.

Chapter Ten

Sherbourne Hall’s charming private chapel sat apart from the house. Ivy clung to the stone walls and rose bushes lined the cobblestone walk.
A profusion of white orchids and pink velvet bows graced each pew, while intricate stained glass windows cast soft rainbow hues on the vaulted oak interior. Emma

took in the details through a haze of nervousness as she advanced up the tiny aisle on her father’s arm.

Jane and Lucien sat on one side of the church, Lady Natalia and Dylan on the other. But she had little attention to spare for anyone but the man she would soon wed.
Michael stood beside the elderly minister and watched her approach with an unreadable expression in his clear blue eyes. Clad in a pearl gray morning suit with a

snowy white cravat, he looked breathtakingly handsome, as always.

Her father squeezed her arm as he gave her hand to Michael. “Cherish her as I do,” he admonished Michael softly, before backing away to stand with Jane and

Lucien.

Michael stared at her for a long moment, then the barest hint of a smile curved his beautiful mouth. “What, no scarlet or purple?”
“Not today.” For her wedding, she’d decided on a lovely, but very conservative gown of white satin. It was similar to the one Victoria, the English Queen, had worn to

her own wedding.

The minister cleared his throat and Emma tightened her hand around Michael’s. The solemnity and finality of what they were about to do overwhelmed her. After

today, her entire world would revolve around the man at her side.

She spoke her vows in a voice that trembled, despite her best intentions. Michael’s voice was clear and steady, but he didn’t look at her until the minister finally

pronounced them man and wife.

“Kiss her,” Lucien instructed with a laugh.
Holding her gaze, Michael bent forward and captured her mouth in a sweet and tender kiss. For a moment, she let herself become lost in his familiar taste, but then

the minister cleared his throat and Michael pulled away.

Jane and Natalia rushed forward and smothered her with laughter and hugs. Dylan and Lucien took Michael aside and offered their own hearty congratulations. But

Michael remained silent and distant, as far removed from her as he’d been those first few times they’d met.

Filled with foreboding, she followed the small group back to the house. She laughed and giggled with her friend and new sister-in-law, desperately trying to pretend

everything was all right.

During the wedding breakfast, Michael said and did all the right things, but still she sensed a tension in him she couldn’t explain. Was he having regrets? She wanted to

launch herself into his arms, force him to kiss her, to see her, to tell her what was wrong.

After breakfast, she tried to do just that, but before she could find a way to maneuver her husband away from Dylan and Lucien, Natalia took her aside.
The other girl really was stunning and Emma’s jealousy resurfaced. She couldn’t help wondering if Michael secretly wished he’d taken the duke’s daughter as his

bride.

Natalia certainly would have suited him better.
“Do you have any questions about tonight?” A deep blush stained Natalia’s cheeks. “I also lost my mother before I wed, so I thought you might want to talk with

another woman about what to expect.”

Emma smiled, her envy fading at Natalia’s generous offer. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” She glanced across the room to where Michael stood with his brother

and Lucien. “Would it shock you to know how much I’ve been anticipating this?”

Natalia shook her head, her blush fading. A look of absolute love and contentment settled upon her face as she gazed at her own handsome husband.
Emma knew she’d been foolish to worry. If ever two people had been in love, it was Dylan and Natalia.
“I was raised to believe the marriage act was something to be endured,” Natalia said. “But I’ve discovered that with a man who loves you, it can be something quite

wonderful.”

“Michael doesn’t love me,” Emma replied, voicing both her worst fear and the secret she’d hardly even admitted to herself. “But I’m very afraid I’ve fallen in love

with him.”

“Give him time,” Natalia urged. “He’s a good man, but having met his father, I’m sure you realize how little love he’s known in his life. He’ll think he has to prove

himself to you. He’ll hold himself back, fearing he’ll never be good enough.”

Emma glanced at her sister-in-law with genuine gratitude. “Thank you. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Don’t worry,” Natalia told her with a smile. “After tonight, I’m sure you’ll have him wrapped around your little finger.”
“I hope so.” Emma sighed, willing the day to be over. “I want to please him more than anything.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Jane assured Emma as she joined them. “I think you’ll please him just fine.”
Though her words were merry, Jane looked as though she hadn’t slept in a week. Natalia glanced across the room at Lucien. As she’d suspected, he looked just as

bad.

“Oh, Jane.” She sensed something had gone very wrong. “Are you having problems with Lord Basingstoke again?”
“Basingstoke?” Natalia raised a brow in consternation. “What’s she talking about? Has that rogue done something to hurt you?”
Jane flushed. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never see him again after today.”
Emma frowned. “He hasn’t compromised you in any way, has he?” If so, she certainly intended to see Michael did something about it.
Jane gave an emphatic shake of her head. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” She glanced toward the men, then lowered her gaze. “In fact, I was the one who tried to

compromise him.” She laughed shakily. “He ordered me out of his room.”

“Oh, Jane.” Natalia pulled the other girl into her arms and hugged her fiercely. “What in the world were you thinking?”
Jane closed her eyes and leaned against Natalia for just a moment before pulling away. “I can’t bring myself to forgive him. I don’t trust him enough to marry him.

But I didn’t want to remain a virgin forever. I thought he’d be pleased to take what I offered with no strings attached.”

Emma glanced over at Lucien, her opinion of him growing by leaps and bounds. “He must truly love you, Jane. Don’t you see? He never would have turned you away

if he didn’t.”

“Emma’s right,” Natalia agreed. “This is actually a very encouraging sign.”
Jane sighed, looking even more troubled. “I’m afraid I said some things that hurt him. He’ll never forgive me.”
“Well, I think he might, if you forgave him first.” Emma reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Don’t walk away from him the way he walked away from

you.”

Jane did her best to smile. “You’re right, of course. I just don’t know how I’ll find the courage to approach him again.”

****

Michael managed to contain his impatience with his brother and Lucien during the wedding breakfast, although every time they bent their heads together his

annoyance grew. He had no doubt that his brother had already told Lucien whatever had been troubling him, a fact that rankled him far more than he cared to admit.

“Didn’t you have something you wanted to discuss with me?” he asked Dylan, as he joined the two men after breakfast. “Perhaps you’d care to join me in the

library?”

Dylan shared a quick glance with Lucien, confirming Michael’s suspicions. “I don’t think this is a good time. I never should have mentioned it. Enjoy the day, enjoy

your lovely bride. I can always come back in a few weeks, after things have settled down. We can discuss the matter then.”

Lucien reached over and squeezed Michael’s shoulder, a rare show of affection that intensified Michael’s sense of foreboding. “Listen to Dylan, Michael. What he

has to tell you can wait until after your wedding night.”

Michael glared at his friend. “If it concerns me, I want to hear about it. Now. Emma won’t mind if we disappear for awhile.”
In truth, Michael was desperate to find something to keep him occupied during all the hours between now and nightfall, when he could finally take his wife to bed.
“All right,” Dylan agreed, over another of Lucien’s protests. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Lucien threw up his hands in surrender, but his dark eyes remained troubled. “Go have your talk. I’ll tell the women you’ll be awhile.”
As soon as their friend turned away, Michael headed for the door, knowing his brother would follow. Anticipation and apprehension warred within him as he entered

the library and took his accustomed place behind the big walnut desk.

Dylan sank into a big leather chair in front of the desk, regarding Michael with those eerie gray eyes. Even in such a relaxed pose, the simmering energy that lay right

below the surface was easy to discern. “So. Do you think married life will agree with you?”

Michael cleared his throat self-consciously. “I think it will be bearable.”
“Bearable?” Dylan gave him a piercing look, then shook his head. “I’d say you like your lovely little American wife a hell of a lot more than you’re willing to let on.”
Michael shrugged with deliberate casualness, uncomfortable with the entire discussion. “I never said I didn’t like her.”
Dylan laughed. “Well, I hope she manages to thaw that cold heart of yours. I’d like nothing more than to see you find even a taste of what I’ve found with Natalia.”
“Ah. It’s like that, is it?” Michael returned his brother’s searching stare and was pleased to realize that at long last, Dylan appeared content. Something seemed to be

bothering him, true, but beneath whatever had brought him here today, there was a new ease with the world and his place in it.

Dylan had obviously found that elusive thing called love and was a better man for it.
“I’m happier than I ever thought possible,” Dylan agreed. “But I didn’t come here to talk about our beautiful brides.”
The two men stared at each other for a long moment and Dylan’s smile faded. Rising, he strode to the sideboard and poured them both a healthy shot of brandy.
Michael watched him, then refused when Dylan offered him a glass. “It’s a little early for this, isn’t it?”
Dylan shook his head grimly. “Trust me. You’re going to need it once you hear what I have to say.”
Michael took the brandy, his apprehension building. Dylan sat down again, drained his shot, then took another drink straight from the bottle.
“I hardly know where to begin.” Dylan wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his gray eyes troubled. “No matter how I phrase it, this is going to hurt you.

Probably far more than it hurt me.”

“For Christ’s sake, Dylan. Quit trying to prepare me and just say whatever it is you have to say.” Michael took a bracing sip of his own drink, his brother’s warnings

and manner striking unreasonable fear into his heart.

Dylan took a deep breath. “I know why the earl didn’t want me to find out that grandfather left me Aldabaran.”
Michael let out an inward sigh of relief. Apparently, this was just another battle in the war that had been brewing between Dylan and their father since Dylan had

been old enough to talk.

“It had nothing to do with the money, as we originally believed,” Dylan continued. “He simply didn’t want me to go back there. Ever. He must have feared what I’d

remember if I did.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael’s unease came back in a rush. Damn Dylan and his circular manner of storytelling. He’d never been able to just get to the

point.

Dylan took another drink of brandy. “He didn’t want me to remember the fight he and our mother had on the night of her death. He didn’t want me to remember I’d

found out he wasn’t really my father.” Dylan paused and met Michael’s gaze levelly. “He didn’t want me to remember I’d seen him push her to her death.”

Pain exploded somewhere deep within Michael. He struggled to absorb his brother’s words. It was too much to take in all at once, so he focused on the most

important part. “Are you telling me she didn’t kill herself? That he murdered her, in cold blood?”

Dylan nodded solemnly. “I witnessed the entire argument, then I followed them outside when she tried to escape.”
For a moment, Dylan seemed lost in the past, his pale eyes distant and sad. Then he visibly shook himself and continued. “After I saw him push her, I ran. I found an

old smuggler’s cave to hide in. It took Patrick MacPherson, my real father, more than three days to find me. When he finally did, I was half-frozen, nearly paralyzed with
fear. I wouldn’t tell him what had happened. I guess I somehow managed to block it out.”

Patrick MacPherson. His mother’s Scottish groom. Michael hardly remembered the man, because his father had never allowed him to go to Scotland.
Michael pressed his hand to his throbbing temple, sickened. It all made sense now. Fiona had loved Dylan more because he was her lover’s son.
How very tawdry it all sounded.
No wonder Dylan had been so quiet and shaken when he’d finally returned to London after their mother’s death. He’d been a mere baby, just seven years old.
Still, Michael couldn’t stop himself from questioning his brother’s outlandish tale. “Are you quite certain? Surely you know the consequences of making such an

accusation.”

Dylan’s handsome face contorted with pain and anger. “Christ, Michael. Would you stop worrying about the consequences? I’ve just told you your father is a

murderer. He killed our mother! Can’t you stop worrying about how this will affect the family’s reputation for just a moment and think about how this affects you?”

Michael stared at his brother, stunned and disbelieving. He didn’t want to think about what this meant to him. Despite their differences, he loved his father

desperately.

How could this be true?
Deep down, he knew his father was a selfish, unreasonable bastard. Obviously, it hadn’t been enough to kill Fiona. He’d continued to take his fury out on Dylan on a

daily basis when the two brothers were children.

Dylan, who had always been entirely blameless. An innocent child.
“What are you going to do about this?” Michael asked, amazed to hear how calm he sounded.
Dylan shrugged. “I’ve struggled with the answer to that for the past month. My first impulse, of course, was to come back here and kill the son of a bitch.”
At Michael’s sharp intake of breath, Dylan laughed bitterly. “You needn’t worry. That’s not why I’m here. Natalia talked me out of such insanity. She reminded me

how very much I have to lose.”

“That’s good,” Michael replied, relieved. He didn’t want Dylan to pay for the crimes his father had committed. “But if you’ve known this long, why didn’t you tell me

sooner?”

“I wanted to, but Natalia convinced me I should wait. There will be a horrific scandal when the truth comes out and we didn’t want to jeopardize your chances of

winning Miss Marks.”

“Scandal.” The word tasted alien on Michael’s tongue. He’d never been involved in a scandal, except indirectly through Dylan. “What’s going to happen now?”
“That’s up to you.” Dylan ran his hand through his dark hair as he always did when he was nervous or upset. “I’ve decided to let you deal with it. This will affect you

far more than it does me. I don’t want to ruin your life. I just thought you should know.”

Shocked, Michael stared at his brother. “You aren’t going to demand retribution? You aren’t going to insist he be prosecuted for his crimes?”
“I have everything I need in Scotland. I’m happy, for the first time in my life. Despite the renewed grief I’ve felt over our mother’s loss, I’ve been quite pleased to

find out that Patrick is my father. He’s been very good to me...”

Dylan cleared his throat, obviously overwhelmed by emotion. “It took me awhile to realize it, but that’s enough. I don’t need to see that old bastard pay in order to be

happy. Natalia taught me that.”

“So you’re leaving it up to me?” Michael still couldn’t believe it.
Dylan got out of his chair and squeezed Michael’s shoulder. “You’re the most honorable person I know, Michael. I’m certain you’ll do what’s right.”

****

“I’m certain you’ll do what’s right.”
Dylan’s words haunted Michael long after his brother and the rest of their guests had departed. Still overwhelmed by the scope of his brother’s revelations, Michael

felt lost, adrift.

Unable to bear his wife’s sweet concern, he told her he had things to do and returned to the library. Once there, he picked up the decanter of brandy his brother had

started and proceeded to finish it off.

My entire life has been built on a lie.
How could he go on? How could he pretend nothing was wrong, after learning his father had committed such a horrific crime?
At the very least, the Earl of Warren deserved to rot in Newgate for what he’d done.
Yet Michael knew once he stepped forward, once he told anyone what he knew, his life—as he knew it—would be over. The scandal would be horrific. He could

never again hold his head up in public. His old, distinguished name would become worthless.

He had a wife to consider now. Any scandal that touched him would touch her.
Not that Emma seemed the type to be overly concerned by a scandal. She’d created quite a few of them on her own.
Still, the task that lay ahead of him seemed overwhelming. Where should he begin?
He had to confront his father, of course. He wanted to look into the old bastard’s eyes and assure himself Dylan was telling the truth.
Unfortunately, he already knew Dylan hadn’t lied.
It made an awful kind of sense. It made so many missing pieces of his childhood fall into place. Dylan wasn’t the only one who’d been shattered by their mother’s

death.

Michael remembered the day his father had called him to his library and told him his mother wouldn’t be coming home. Warren had told him he mustn’t cry. He was

far too old, at the age of eleven, to need a mother anyway.

Michael had nodded and walked woodenly from the room. He hadn’t cried. But his mother’s death had broken him somehow. Made him into the cold, unfeeling man

he knew himself to be.

Somehow, like Dylan, Michael had forced himself to forget. But, instead of forgetting the bad things, Michael had forgotten all the good.
He’d forgotten the way his mother had crept into his room at night, to tell him stories and stroke his hair until he fell asleep. He’d forgotten her laughter and gentle

kisses.

How could he have convinced himself she didn’t love him?
She’d told him she did at every possible opportunity. And now he understood why she’d had to get away, why she’d left him periodically, even though it must have

killed her to do so.

No doubt, she’d found solace and comfort in Patrick MacPherson’s arms. A loving haven against her husband’s cruelty.
Michael fought the anger and the grief, unwilling to give into them, unwilling to let himself feel all the things that raced through his mind.
It was a battle he already knew he wouldn’t win.

****

He isn’t coming.
Emma sat before the burning embers that had once been a roaring fire and forced herself to face the fact that her husband had abandoned her on their wedding night.

Feeling like a fool, she plucked moodily at the sleeve of the virginal white satin and lace nightgown that had been a wedding present from Jane.

She’d been breathless with excitement when she put it on just a few hours ago, trembling at the thought of Michael slowly taking it off. Now it appeared ever more

unlikely that such a thing would happen.

Of course, she’d known Michael wasn’t as thrilled by their marriage as she. He still considered it a duty. A means to an end. A way to save Sherbourne Hall. But

during the last few weeks, she thought he’d grown to care for her. At least a little.

Besides, from everything she’d seen and heard during her rather unconventional life, she’d long ago come to the conclusion no man ever passed up freely offered sex.
And it was his duty, by God! He had a line to procreate, an heir to sire. How distasteful she must be, to make a man like Michael forsake his duty.
Frowning, she stood and headed for the door. No matter his reasons, she deserved an explanation. There was no excuse for this sort of behavior and she’d be damned

if she’d put up with it!

Halfway to the door, she paused. If she went to him, gave him a piece of her mind about his duty, he was bound to think she’d wanted him to come to her tonight.

He’d see her disappointment and realize how much his rejection had hurt her.

Had he hurt her?
With a deep sigh, she threw herself across the big bed. Burying her face against the rich, satin counterpane, she forced herself to admit the truth.
She was hurt. She was disappointed.
She’d expected him to do and say all the right things. She’d expected him to initiate her into the ways of lovemaking with such tender thoroughness it took her breath

away.

After all, that was one of the advantages of marrying a man who was absolutely perfect.
Instead, he’d chosen the most important night of her life to do the unexpected, to break the rules and confound her expectations. Which didn’t say much for the future

of their marriage.

Perhaps she should just get out now, while she still could.
The thought caught hold and spun through her mind in relentless circles. Why should she stay in a marriage that would only lead to heartbreak?
Michael had chosen not to consummate their vows. In doing so, he’d given her grounds for an annulment.
It would serve him right if she walked away.
The mere thought splintered something deep inside her heart, but she suppressed the tears that sprang to her eyes. She refused to allow herself to believe the damage

had already been done.

He would not break her heart. She wouldn’t let him.
She’d take her dowry and continue to explore the world. Perhaps, in time, she’d find someone else to accompany her. Someone who longed for adventure and

excitement as much as she. Someone who wasn’t afraid to reach for happiness and hold on tight.

Michael could face the consequences of tonight’s actions—the whispers, the gossip, the scandal of her defection—by himself.
As for her father, she hated to hurt him, hated to disappoint him, but during the last week she’d come to understand he’d never cared if she married well. All he’d

ever really wanted was to see her happy.

Decision made, she extinguished the light and crawled beneath the covers, determined that this would be the last night she spent in this bed. Tomorrow morning, she’d

confront Michael and tell him one night of marriage had been more than enough.

Michael Blake had picked the wrong women to shun. Let him look elsewhere for the money he needed to save his precious estate.
She was taking her fortune with her when she left.

Chapter Eleven

Emma waited all morning for the opportunity to sever her relationship with her husband. But as the day wore on, it became quite clear that if she wanted to speak to

Michael, she would have to search him out. He obviously had no intention of coming to her.

She couldn’t rid herself of the sinking feeling that somewhere, deep in her heart, she hoped he’d apologize for his behavior. She hoped he’d come to her, kiss her in his

soft, sweet way and offer some plausible excuse for abandoning her on their wedding night.

When dinner came and went and she still hadn’t heard from him, her fury mounted to a fever pitch. Had he left her here? Had he gone back to London without even

telling her goodbye?

What had she done to deserve such treatment? Less than forty-eight hours ago he’d held her in his arms and told her how much he wanted her. Had it all been an act,

a farce to get his hands on her dowry? Had he never really felt anything for her at all?

The servants probably knew where he’d been hiding, but pride kept her from asking them. How humiliating, not to know where her own husband had gone.
Finally, unable to stand the suspense any longer, she asked her personal maid to find out what Michael had been doing all day.
The maid disappeared for an interminable time. When she returned, she had the strangest news. Apparently, after their guests had gone the previous afternoon,

Michael had closeted himself in the library and started drinking himself into oblivion.

Emma couldn’t believe such a thing of the Michael she’d come to know. He wasn’t the type to drown his problems with alcohol.
The more she thought about it, the more her anger became diluted by confusion. She had to see him. She had to find out what had happened.
She made her way through the darkened house. Silently, she let herself into the library. Just inside the door, she stood and stared at her husband with mounting

concern.

Someone had lit a fire in the grate and the flickering flames outlined the desolation on his beautiful face. An untouched dinner tray sat on the table beside him, along

with an empty bottle of brandy. A fresh bottle dangled between his long, elegant fingers and he lifted it to his lips as he stared into the blaze.

“Michael?”
He jumped at the sound of her voice and whirled to face her. His blue eyes flashed with pain and anger. He flung the bottle aside, and it shattered against the stone

fireplace. The sudden noise and violence seemed doubly loud given the preceding silence.

“What the hell are you doing here? I gave explicit instructions that I was not to be disturbed.”
Unwilling to let his anger deter her, she moved further into the room. “We need to talk.”
He turned away. “Go away, Emma. I don’t want you here.”
That hurt, but she kept on, crossing the room until she stood in front of him. She knelt at his feet and forced him to meet her gaze. “Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I

can help.”

She placed her hands on his thighs and looked at him, trying to see what lay beyond his shuttered blue gaze. What on earth could have happened to make him lose

control so completely?

He flinched at her touch. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
He shook his head. “This has nothing to do with you. Can’t you just leave it at that?”
“Of course I can’t. What a silly question. You’re my husband and you’re obviously hurting. What kind of wife would I be if I just let you sit here and brood in the

dark, alone?”

“The kind of wife who knows I only married her for her money!”
She sat back, stunned and hurt. Quick on the heels of her pain came the realization of how terribly rude he’d just been. Michael Blake was too well bred to be so

rude.

Something had to be terribly, terribly wrong.
Squaring her shoulders, she met his simmering gaze. “Maybe I’m the kind of wife who wants to make you want me for more than my money. Please, Michael, if

we’re ever going to have any kind of marriage at all, you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong.”

Michael stared down at his lovely, annoying wife and wanted to do as she asked. He wanted to share the burden of his father’s sins with someone.
But such weakness frightened him and he fought the temptation. He couldn’t imagine giving voice to the things Dylan had told him without coming undone.
“I can’t.” His voice sounded ragged and strange even to his own ears. “Please, just leave me alone.”
To Michael’s astonishment, Emma refused to go. “At least let me comfort you.” Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely.
For a moment, he resisted, even going so far as to try and shove her away, but she wouldn’t give an inch. At last, he relented. He let her hold him and marveled that it

felt so right, that her soft warmth cooled some of the wrath and grief roiling within him.

He couldn’t remember anyone ever holding him this way before. All his life he’d borne his troubles and problems alone.
He lowered his face to her hair and took a deep, calming breath of her wonderful, flowery scent. “Why are you being so kind to me?” The immense quantity of

alcohol he’d consumed made it hard to focus his thoughts. “I thought you’d be furious when I didn’t come to you last night.”

“I was furious.” She lifted her face and he lost himself in the depths of her dark, knowing eyes. “In fact I came in here to tell you I intended to annul our marriage on

the grounds of nonconsummation.”

He caught his breath, stunned by the thought of her doing such a thing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just couldn’t bear to let you see me like this.”
She shook her head in reproof. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s frightened by this thing between us, Michael? I’m frightened, too. But at least I’m willing to

try, to take a gamble.”

He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers. “Don’t leave me. I know I deserve it, but if you go, I’ll have nothing.”
It was the closest he’d ever come to begging for something. He held his breath, feeling as though he’d shatter if she walked away from him now.

She was still for a long moment, then tilted her face forward and pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss. “Then give me something to stay

for, Michael. Please. Give me just one reason to stay.”

Michael drew back and stared into his wife’s beautiful dark eyes, stunned by her easy forgiveness. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, knowing no truer words had

ever been spoken. “But if you’re willing to give me another chance, I promise not to disappoint you.”

****

Emma’s heart raced as she led Michael through the silent house toward her bedroom. He followed without protest, the fierce emotion that had driven him earlier

spent.

As they drew near her bedroom door, doubt overtook her and her footsteps slowed. Once they crossed the threshold, there would be no turning back. Michael would

become her husband in truth. There would be no grounds for annulment.

Seeming to read her thoughts, he tugged on her hand, pulling her around to face him. “You don’t have to do this. Perhaps it would be best if you just walked away

from me, from all of this.”

She stared up at him. He looked so broken and unsure, all his pride and arrogance stripped away. “I won’t walk away from you. I’m your wife.”
Michael shook his head, then bent and kissed her, a light, gentle brush of his lips. “My wife.” He said the words as if they were a foreign language he was just

learning.

“Oh, Michael,” she breathed. “Don’t think so much. Just come into my bedroom. Hold me, touch me, kiss me the way only you can do. I promise things will look

better in the morning.”

He managed a hint of a smile. “All I know for certain is that I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”
Emboldened by his words, she took his hand and pulled him into her bedchamber, then locked the door behind them. When she turned around, Michael stood by the

bed, loosening his cravat with slow, deliberate motions.

She stood frozen in place and watched her beautiful husband undress, captivated by each inch of bare skin he revealed. First he shrugged out of his jacket, then his

crisp, white shirt. His chest was a symphony of powerful muscle and golden skin, with a soft patch of dark blond hair she longed to run her fingers through.

“Come here,” he whispered, holding out his hand.
She walked toward him as though in a daze. Heat pooled deep inside of her at the mere thought of what was to come. Taking his hand, she let him pull her into his

arms.

He crushed her against his chest, and held her as though he never meant to let go. Touched beyond words, she rubbed her face against the silky smooth warmth of his

skin.

He ran his hands up her back, then unfastened the combs that held her hair in its tidy knot. “I love your hair. Every night I dream of seeing it loose and wild, the way it

was the day I asked you to marry me.”

The heavy mass slid free and tumbled down her back. He ran his hands through the long, thick waves, smoothing away the tangles. Closing her eyes, she relaxed

against him and sighed with pleasure at his tender touch.

“This passion between us...” He shook his head, moving on to the fastenings of her gown. “I thought I’d die from wanting you.”
She trailed her fingertips down the hard plain of his stomach, captivated by the way the ridges of muscle flexed at her touch. “All I ever wanted was for you to follow

your heart.”

Before she could figure out how to unfasten his trousers, her gown and bustle lay in a puddle at her feet, leaving her clad in nothing except her sheer lawn chemise.
“At least you believe I have a heart,” he whispered, steering her toward the bed. “No one else ever has.”
She sank down on the edge of the soft mattress, reaching up to place her hand on his chest. “Will you ever open your heart to me? I need to hear that you care for

me, at least a little.”

He’d already begun to unfasten his trousers, but at her words he paused and stared down at her with those moody, rain washed eyes. “I care for you so much it

scares me.”

It wasn’t the pledge of undying love she’d hoped for, but under the circumstances, she felt it was more than enough. “I care about you, too. More than you can

imagine.”

“I’m glad,” he said, bending to take her mouth in a passionate kiss.
She leaned into him, getting a little drunk herself on the taste of brandy that remained on his tongue. The kiss went on and on, as dizzying and wonderful as she

remembered.

Breaking the kiss only briefly, he shed his trousers and kicked free of his boots, never breaking her gaze. “Scoot back. I want to lie down beside you.”
She did as he asked, and gave in to the temptation to look at her husband’s splendid nude body. His warm blue eyes burned with need and his powerful chest gleamed

in the candlelight. His stomach was flat and hard, his thighs bulged with muscle, and his arousal sprang huge and proud from a nest of dark golden curls.

“Do you still think I’ll do?” A rare, teasing note crept into his voice. Lying down beside her, he smoothed an errant strand of hair from her eyes.
“You’re beautiful.” She dared another glance at that part of him that was so foreign, yet so fascinating. “Can I touch you?”
Uttering a soft, wordless sound of encouragement, he took her hand and guided her to his rigid length. She gasped at the unexpected heat, the silky smooth hardness.
“Like this.” His hand trembled as he showed her the way to please him, how to stroke him until his entire body shook with suppressed need.
“Too much,” he whispered after a few moments, his voice ragged. “God, Emma. If you don’t stop, I’ll come undone.”
“I want you to come undone.” She pressed her mouth to the base of his throat, thrilled by her ability to arouse him. “I want you to completely lose control.”
Michael abandoned himself to Emma’s sweet touch, lost in a haze of sensual bliss. He knew he should protest further, insist she allow him to pleasure her in return.

But the quantity of whiskey he’d imbibed had fogged his brain and what she was doing felt so good...

And then all thought and sanity fled. Release flowed through him, shattering thirty years of cautious restraint. He spilled his seed in Emma’s hand with a soft moan of

completion.

Utterly spent, he buried his face in her hair and let sleep take him.

****

Emma stared at her sleeping husband with mixed emotions. Elated as she’d been to pleasure him, she couldn’t contain a sinking sense of disappointment.
Would she remain a virgin all her life?
With a troubled sigh she slid out of bed and wet a soft cloth in the basin of water that had grown cold. Returning, she wiped away all traces of spent passion from

Michael’s stomach with rueful tenderness.

His body had undergone quite a change. She brushed her hand across the soft, vulnerable flesh that had been so hard and demanding just moments ago. This was

what naked statues had led her to believe men looked like.

She’d been unprepared for the reality.
“Michael?” She smoothed a few strands of golden hair from his forehead. “Are you awake?”
As she leaned closer, she smelled the brandy on his breath and remembered how much he’d imbibed. He’d been drinking off and on for an entire day, according to

the servants. Just her luck, that her morally superior husband chose his wedding night to get stinking drunk for perhaps the very first time in his life.

Smiling at the irony, she lay down beside him and pulled the satin counterpane over them both to keep away the chill. “Good night, Michael.” Then, confident he’d

never know, she said the words she’d been desperate to say. “I love you.”

****

Michael awoke to the unfamiliar sensation of a woman’s soft body pressed intimately against his. His eyes flew open, only to slam shut again as knifelike pain ripped

through his skull.

Christ, what the hell was wrong with him?
Gingerly, he opened his eyes again. Sunshine spilled through the west-facing windows, so it must be late afternoon. Groaning, he propped himself up on one elbow, and

found Emma beside him, her face hidden in the crook of her arm.

My wife.
As he stared at her, he realized something was terribly wrong. Emma was still dressed in her shift, while he was as naked as the day he’d been born.

The events of the last twenty-four hours tumbled through his mind. Dylan’s shocking revelations...The alcohol he’d consumed in a futile attempt to drown the pain...
After that, he remembered only bits and pieces and he struggled to make sense of it all. He’d followed Emma up to her room, grateful that she’d given him a second

chance...

A fresh wave of pain ricocheted through his skull. He took several deep breaths in an effort to control his nausea. The aftereffects of too much drink, he realized,

though he’d never allowed this to happen before.

Emma shifted against him, bringing one long, slim leg up across his thigh as she threw her arm across his chest. She nestled against him as though they’d slept

together all their lives.

He turned his face into the sweet cloud of her dark hair. The delicate scent of vanilla and roses helped control his nausea. An erotic memory flooded him and his cock

swelled to rigid attention. Oh, God. Had he forced Emma to touch him? Had he spilled his seed like a green schoolboy, then fallen asleep without so much as a thank you?

Christ, if she’d meant to leave him yesterday, what must she think now?
How had things come to this? He’d been married two whole days and he still hadn’t made love to his wife. Failure lanced through him, the pain of it worse than the

hangover. Emma must hate him.

How could he blame her? He’d hurt her so many times.
Unable to bear the thought of seeing the disappointment on her face when she awoke, he slipped out of bed, wincing at the renewed pounding in his skull.
He dressed, then washed his face, combed his hair and rinsed the sour taste from his mouth. He stood for a moment at Emma’s dressing table, fingering her brush and

inspecting the many bottles of creams and perfumes.

He opened a small crystal vial, overwhelmed by the scent of roses and vanilla that always made him think of her. She’d come to mean so much to him. He didn’t

want to lose her.

“Michael?”
He froze at the sound of Emma’s voice, embarrassed that she’d caught him smelling her perfume. Setting the bottle down with slow precision, he turned to face her.

“Good morning.”

She reclined against the pillows, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders in wild disarray, her beautiful eyes still heavy with sleep.
“You’re already dressed,” she whispered. “Are you leaving?”
He took one step toward her, then stopped and cleared his throat, feeling like an utter fool. “I thought it might be for the best. I fear my actions last night were

inexcusable.”

She frowned. “Don’t apologize for being human.”
“Human? I behaved like an animal.” He took a deep breath, afraid to know the answers to the questions that haunted him. “Did I hurt you? God, Emma. Did I force

you to touch me?”

She stared at him for a long moment, then slid out of bed and walked toward him, holding his gaze with tender amusement. “Oh, Michael.” She slipped her arms

around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. “Of course you didn’t hurt me. I wanted to touch you. I enjoyed touching you.”

He released his breath in a shuddering sigh and returned her embrace. “I don’t remember what happened. I drank far too much. Can you ever forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she insisted. “Though I do wish you’d tell me what happened to cause you such dreadful pain.”
He pressed his lips against her hair, overwhelmed once more by her unconditional acceptance. “It was nothing.” The pain was still too fresh, too raw. He couldn’t

bear to talk about it. “Just an argument with my brother. Our relationship is quite...difficult at times.”

She stared up at him with unconcealed doubt. “You seemed to be getting along at the wedding.” A shadow crossed her features. “Was it seeing Natalia again? She’s

very beautiful. Do you wish you’d married her instead of me?”

“No. Not that. Never that.” He leaned down and kissed her, in an attempt to prove that despite all evidence to the contrary, he wasn’t sorry he’d married her.
As always, the kiss got away from him, igniting from gentle reassurance to hot, aching need. Last night had only whetted his appetite. The need to make her his was

more powerful than ever.

It was Emma who finally broke away. She stumbled back and stared up at him, confusion and desire warring in her dark eyes. “What do you want from me, Michael?

I’m so tired of trying to guess.”

His hand trembled as he brushed his hair from his eyes. “I want a chance to make this all up to you. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then make love to me,” she whispered. “Right here. Right now. I don’t want to wait any more.”
He thought of the mountain of work he’d neglected, of all the duties left undone, and the confrontation with his father that lay ahead of him. For the first time in his

life, he managed to shove such thoughts away.

If there had ever been a time to take a chance on something, it was now.
Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the bed. “Take off your chemise. I want to see you.”
Holding his gaze, she lifted her hand to the tiny pearl buttons, unfastening them with the instincts of a born seductress. At last, the beige linen fell to a puddle at her

feet and his beautiful wife stood before him in all her glory.

Lovely full breasts with small, dark nipples. A waist he could span with his hands. Gently flaring hips and long, long legs.
As he continued to stare, he sensed her uncertainty. He lifted his hands to touch the silken skin of her shoulders with worshipful reverence. “You’re everything I ever

dreamed of.”

He ran his hands down her smooth back to cup the rounded curves of her bottom. “My wild, beautiful gypsy wife.”
Gathering her in his arms, he turned and deposited her on the bed, then sank down beside her. Much as he wanted to strip off his clothes and plunge deep inside her,

he was determined to make up for last night. He would pleasure her first, show her all the tender restraint he should have used before.

He leaned down to kiss her, stunned as always by the utter sense of connection, the feeling of coming home. As he kissed her, he explored her body with his

fingertips. He discovered that her breasts were very sensitive and that she loved it when he caught her nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

Her hands fisted in his hair, and her breath grew as shallow as his own. “Oh, Michael,” she whispered, as he lowered his mouth to the sensitive peak of her breast.

“You can’t imagine how good that feels.”

“This is only the beginning.” He ran one hand down the downy softness of her stomach, then up the long, smooth length of her thighs before coaxing her to open for

him. He touched her intimately, exploring her with a tenderness he’d never known he possessed, overwhelmed when he found her hot and wet with need.

Emma gasped, moving instinctively against his hand as he penetrated her with his fingertip. He lashed at the pebbly hardness of her nipple with his tongue, and burned

with the need to bury himself in the satiny tightness of her virginal sheath.

He found the tiny, hidden bud of her desire and stroked it with his thumb as he readied her to accept two fingers, then three. She sobbed his name and lifted her hips

to meet the gentle invasion of his hand, shuddering beneath him like a branch in the wind.

“Oh, God, Em.” He trailed his lips across the downy softness of her stomach. “I can’t get enough of you. The way you feel. The way you smell. The way you taste.”
Christ, her scent intoxicated him. He couldn’t resist. Kneeling between her legs, he kissed her in a way he’d never kissed another woman before.
She cried out in confusion and tried to close her legs against him, but once he’d had a taste of her, he couldn’t bear to stop.
“Please.” His breath stirred the soft pelt of hair at the apex of her thighs. “Let me do this.”
Emma sighed and her entire body trembled as she parted her thighs once more. “I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was fretful, and her hands fluttered to touch his

hair and face. “I don’t know what to feel.”

“Just relax.” He gave her another intimate kiss, his brain clouded by passion. “Just let me love you, Emma.”

“Yes.” She tensed beneath him as he stroked her with his tongue. “I want you to love me.”
Encouraged, he pressed his fingers deep inside her and placed his mouth where his thumb had been, taking her to the very brink of desire. Then, suddenly, she hurtled

over the edge, convulsed against him, and sobbed his name with unmistakable feminine ecstasy.

Pushed far beyond his own limit, he scrambled to his knees and unfastened his breeches. Freeing the rampant ache of his erection, he rubbed himself against her hot,

wet core. He moaned at the erotic contact and pressed her legs farther apart, trembling with suppressed need.

“Look at me.” His voice was rough with demand and he forced himself to gentle it. “God, Em, I want to see your beautiful face when I’m deep inside you.”
Just saying the words nearly undid him.
She blinked up at him, her eyes still hazy and unfocused. Leaning down, he pressed his mouth against her kiss-swollen lips and breached the entrance of her body,

stopping when he reached the barrier that proved her innocence.

Lifting his head, he showed her how to wrap her slender legs around his waist. He shook with the need for restraint.
“Tell me you want me.” He’d never felt this close to anyone in his entire life. He’d had sex enough times to know that this was something far more.
She caressed his face, and smiled, though her eyes brimmed with tears. “I want you, Michael. I need you. My beautiful, lonely angel.”
“My wife.” He plunged forward and buried himself to the hilt, gasping with the sheer wonder that was Emma. She cried out and he rained kisses across her face in an

attempt to apologize for his abrupt possession. “Did I hurt you? God, Emma, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s all right. You just fill me...more completely than I ever thought possible.”
“I know.” He pulled back, then pressed home again, a long, slow slide that made them both shudder with pleasure. “God. I know what you mean.”
Holding her gaze, he increased his rhythm and watched the emotions that flickered through her expressive dark eyes with tender fascination. He found a pace that

made her sigh and clutch at his back and soon the pleasure became too great—he couldn’t watch her anymore, he could only close his eyes and thrust against her, fighting
his release with every fiber of his being.

At last, Emma convulsed around him. His name escaped her lips in a harsh, broken cry. Moaning, he let the bliss flow through him, a soul-shattering eruption unlike

anything he’d ever known.

And as he collapsed into her waiting arms, he knew nothing in his life would ever be the same again.

Chapter Twelve

In the aftermath of their lovemaking, Emma couldn’t have put two coherent thoughts together if her life depended on it. All she could do was hold onto to Michael and

drift in a haze of pleasure.

This, then, was what all the fuss was about. This was why people cheated and sacrificed, murdered and loved. All for these few moments of perfect peace and

wonder.

She’d always known the passion she and Michael shared was uncommon, but even in her wildest dreams she hadn’t expected to find such bliss in his arms. She’d

never realized making love could be so sweetly tender, yet passionate and explosive all at the same time. Nothing she’d ever experienced could begin to compare.

To her dismay, Michael lifted his head from her shoulder and pulled away, resting on his elbow beside her. His face was grave as he gazed down at her and brushed a

limp strand of hair from her eyes.

“Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”
“A little,” she admitted. “But the pleasure more than made up for the pain.”
A wry smile curved his beautiful mouth and he leaned down to press his lips to her forehead. “I’m glad you liked making love to me. You can’t imagine how glad.”
He was still dressed and she fingered the buttons of his shirt, sliding the first one from its hole.
“Let’s just stay in bed all day,” she suggested. “We’re newlyweds. Everyone will understand.”
“I’d like to.” A sudden shadow darkened his features and he rolled onto his back. Putting his arm across his face, he shielded his thoughts from view. “You don’t

know how much the thought appeals to me.”

“Then why can’t you stay?” She could feel him pulling away from her and not just physically. His voice and manner held the same despair she’d seen in him

yesterday.

He launched himself out of the bed, and kept his back to her as he pulled up his trousers. “I have to go to London. There’s something I must do. Something that won’t

wait.”

“Then I’ll go with you.” She wasn’t happy about cutting short their honeymoon, but she would do it if he wanted her to. After all, her place was at his side. “Just give

me an hour or so to pack.”

“I can’t wait that long.” He glanced at her in the mirror as he retied his cravat. “Besides, I prefer that you remain here. If you go with me, you’ll be too much of a

distraction.”

A distraction? She didn’t know whether that was an insult or a compliment.
“When will you return?” His words increased her dread. She wasn’t a fool. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and he didn’t want her help.
He didn’t even trust her enough to tell her his troubles.
“I don’t know.” When he turned back to look at her, she could see that in his mind, he’d already left. “I don’t expect to be gone more than a week. A fortnight at the

very most.”

“A fortnight?” she echoed. It seemed an eternity. “You can’t mean to leave me for that long.”
“This is something I must do on my own.” His voice grew remote. “I’ll return to you as soon as I’m able.”
She pulled the sheet tighter around her breasts. His manner made her feel very naked. All the tender feelings she’d harbored toward this man just moments ago

seemed naive. Their lovemaking hadn’t solved anything. In fact, things were more complicated than ever.

“Perhaps I won’t be here when you return.” She glared at him, wanting to hurt him the way he’d hurt her. How could he do this? How could he walk away from her?

“I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life waiting for you.”

He bowed his head and closed his eyes. The tremor that rocked his lean frame before he managed to control it sent her emotions reeling off kilter. He obviously bore

a heavy burden.

No matter how much he deserved it, she hated to cause him more distress.
“I know I’ve forfeited the right to ask anything of you at all,” he told her. “But if you’re here when I return, it would mean a great deal to me.”
Then, without another word, he turned and left the room.

****

Michael pushed his mount as hard as he dared during his breakneck journey to London. The wind whipped through his hair and stung his eyes, but it helped to clear his

mind and focus his thoughts.

Still, it was impossible to keep the thoughts of making love to his wife at bay. For the first time in his life, he’d experienced a sense of homecoming. In her arms, he’d

been content.

Leaving her at Sherbourne Hall while he confronted his father was his only option. Still, the look of disillusionment in her eyes when he’d left her haunted him.
Pushing away all thoughts of Emma, he concentrated on the matter at hand—his father, and the strength he needed to confront the old man with Dylan’s tale of their

mother’s murder.

He supposed that deep down he still hoped it had been a mistake. Dylan had been a mere child when the events occurred. Perhaps his memories had become twisted.
Please, God, let him have a reasonable explanation.
When he arrived in London, he went to Lucien’s house. He needed to clean up and settle his nerves. When he went to see his father, he needed to be in complete

control of his emotions.

Lucien didn’t seem surprised to see him. He just grinned and shook his head. “You look like hell, Sherbourne. Care for a brandy?”
Michael managed a ghost of an answering smile. “I’ve had enough brandy during the past few days to last a lifetime. But I would like a hot bath.”
Lucien nodded and summoned some servants to arrange it. Then he turned the full force of his attention back to Michael. “What are you planning to do about

Warren?”

Any doubts Michael had harbored about whether or not Dylan had told Lucien the sordid tale faded when he saw the controlled anger in his friend’s eyes. Lucien

obviously wanted to see Warren punished for what he’d done.

“I don’t know,” Michael answered. “My plans haven’t moved beyond confronting him with what I know. I need to see the truth of it his eyes. Can you understand

that?”

Lucien gave him a look filled with fond annoyance. “I understand that you love the old bastard. But you know Dylan wouldn’t lie about something as serious as this.”
“I never thought for an instant that Dylan was lying. This isn’t about my relationship with my brother. I just want to hear my father’s version of what happened. I keep

hoping he’ll be able to say something that will help me understand. It was a crime of passion, after all. Perhaps, if he tells me how much he loved her, how much it killed
him to realize she’d taken a lover...”

Only now, having married Emma, could he begin to fathom the lengths to which love might push a man.
Lucien made a soft sound of disgust. “If he loved her, he never would have killed her.”
Lucien’s certainty made Michael uncomfortable. Why was he trying to find excuses for his father’s crimes? Lucien was right, if the earl had loved his wife, he never

would have hurt her. If he’d loved his son, he never would have made him go through life without the sweetness of a mother’s love.

I’m certain you’ll do what’s right.
With every passing moment, Dylan’s faith seemed more misplaced. Did he have the strength to see his father ruined?

“You’re right. I don’t believe he’s capable of loving anyone.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Lucien asked. “I know how difficult this is going to be for you.”
“No,” Michael answered, though he was touched that his friend had offered. “This is something I have to do by myself.”

****

After Michael left, Emma spent the rest of the day in bed. She stared at the ornate painted ceiling, her thoughts bleak and uncertain. His departure had left her sick in

spirit. She couldn’t contemplate facing the dreary old house and the disapproving servants on her own.

Nothing Michael had done in the past few days made any sense. One moment he acted as though he cared for her deeply, the next he walked away from her as

though she meant nothing to him at all.

The lovemaking they’d shared this morning had been incredible. He’d branded her in many ways and she couldn’t imagine living without him. She’d been so sure he

felt the same, yet he’d managed to shut off his feelings as though they’d never existed.

Why had he gone to London? And why hadn’t he taken her with him? How could he bear to be separated from her for weeks on end?
She wanted to chase after him, and force him to admit he needed her by his side. Surely, whatever had caused him so much pain would diminish if he shared it with

her.

Stubborn pride prevailed. No matter how well things had gone last night, she still hated that she’d had to go to him. Just once, she wanted him to come to her and

admit that his love for her was more powerful than his sense of duty and honor.

And if he couldn’t?
She blinked away a rush of tears, determined to be strong. She wasn’t out of options. Her marriage to Michael had been consummated, but that didn’t mean she had

to stay at Sherbourne Hall, alone and unsatisfied for the rest of her life.

She would give Michael the two weeks he’d asked for. However, if he didn’t come back, or if he refused to tell her why he’d gone to London, she’d be forced to find

happiness without him.

****

Michael entered his father’s house on St. James Square through the servant’s entrance and made his way up the back stairs to the earl’s bedroom. He wanted to

catch his father by surprise. Tonight of all nights, he’d need every possible advantage.

As he’d expected, the earl was getting dressed for the evening’s round of entertainment. He watched from the doorway as his father primped in front of the mirror.

The old man didn’t seem to harbor any deep-seated guilt. In fact, he looked just as he always had, self-absorbed and satisfied.

Michael cleared his throat, then signaled for the old man’s taciturn valet to leave them. “Good evening, father.” The word stuck in his throat, because he knew this

was the last time he’d ever use it.

Warren threw him a curious glance as he finished tying his cravat. “Well, this is unexpected. Don’t tell me you’ve grown tired of that American chit already?”
“I haven’t grown tired of her.” Michael drifted further into the room. He’d seldom been invited into the earl’s inner sanctum. He was his father’s favorite son, but

he’d had damned little love or companionship to show for it.

“So.” The earl’s voice dripped with bitterness. “When will we have access to the girl’s dowry?”
“I already have access to the funds.” Michael steeled himself for his father’s wrath. “But I don’t intend to let you touch a farthing.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” The earl whirled and pinned Michael with a fierce glare. “I stayed away from the damned ceremony, I even allowed you to

invite your worthless brother. What more do you want?”

Michael cut straight to the heart of the matter. “Why must you always refer to Dylan as my ‘worthless brother’? He was awarded the Victoria Cross, for God’s sake.

The rest of the country considers him a hero. It doesn’t make any sense that you should hate him so much.” He took a deep breath. “Unless, of course, he isn’t really your
son.”

Warren paled. “What did the little bastard tell you?”
“He told me everything,” Michael answered. “Our mother had an affair. His real father is Patrick MacPherson. And he saw you push our mother to her death on that

remote cliff in Scotland.”

The earl turned back to the mirror and pulled at his cravat, his movements lacking their usual elegance. “Preposterous. I’ve always known that boy was trouble, and

this only proves it. He made it up in an effort to turn you against me.”

“So he really is your son?” Michael knew how it must have rankled the earl to claim another man’s son all these years. “Look me in the eyes and tell me Dylan is the

flesh of your flesh, blood of your blood.”

Warren gave up on his cravat and strode to his desk, where he’d left a full glass of port. Keeping his back to Michael, he lifted it to his lips and downed the entire

glass.

Finally he turned and met Michael’s impatient gaze. “That little bastard is not my son,” he snapped, admitting the truth at last. “Your mother was a whore.”
“I don’t believe you.” Michael’s anger had reached the breaking point. “I remember how cruel you were to her. How you used to beat her. I believe she turned to

Patrick to keep from going insane. She needed someone to love her.”

“You don’t know anything,” the earl raged. “I only punished her because of her lack of morals. I was only exercising my God given right as a husband.”
“Was that what you were doing that night on the cliffs? Punishing her? Exercising your God given right as a husband?”
“She deserved to die.” The earl glared at Michael, as though daring him to contradict him. “Trying to pass off that groom’s get as my own. Forcing me to continue to

do so, even after she was gone, or face ridicule.”

“Is that what this is about? Your pride?” Michael turned away, sickened. “Did you ever stop to consider what my life would be like without her?”
“It happened twenty years ago. I don’t see the point in discussing it now.”
“Don’t you?” Michael clenched his hands at his sides. He’d never thought himself capable of the hatred he now bore toward his father. “Well, perhaps you’ll feel

differently, once the magistrate begins to question you.”

“The magistrate? Have you lost your mind?” The earl’s voice rose to a shout. “You wouldn’t dare mention this to anyone. The scandal would ruin you as well as me.

Don’t be a fool, boy.”

“I don’t care about the scandal,” Michael lied. “I’d be willing to endure any amount of gossip and speculation, as long as it meant you were forced to pay for what you

did to my mother.”

“I won’t let you betray me.” The earl put down his drink and advanced across the room with quiet menace. “I’ll kill you first, you ungrateful son of a bitch.”
To Michael’s shock, the earl grabbed him by the shoulder and brandished the sharp edge of a letter cutter toward his throat. Michael froze, and his blood ran cold

when he realized the lengths his father was willing to go to keep his secrets.

“Dear God,” Michael whispered. “Think about what you’re doing.”
Ignoring his bewildered plea, the earl lashed out with the blade. Michael had the presence of mind to jerk away, but the earl’s wild stab ripped across his chest,

slashing into his skin.

Stunned, Michael pressed his hand to the wound. Pain lanced through him as he stared at the man who had given him life. “You never loved me at all, did you?”
The earl glared at him, his pale blue gaze clouded with hatred and panic. “You’re just like your mother. You’ve always been weak. No matter what I did, I could

never make you strong enough to be my heir.”

Blood coursed through Michael’s fingers, but no wound could ever hurt as much as his father’s cruel words. “Thank God I’m not like you. Thank God.”
Numb, he watched his father stride back toward his desk and take a revolver out of the top drawer. The earl’s hands shook as he lifted the gun and aimed it at

Michael’s heart.

“You never should have come to me with this information. You should have known I couldn’t let you leave with it.”
Michael closed his eyes, conjuring a vision of Emma’s lovely face. He ached for all the happy years that were about to be stolen from him. Then he took a deep

breath and turned, heading for the door.

If this was to be the end, he preferred not to look into his father’s face when he pulled the trigger.
“Go ahead,” he said, his voice breaking with heartache and disillusionment. “Kill me if you must. But my death won’t change anything. Dylan knows the truth. So do

Lady Natalia and Lord Basingstoke. You can’t kill us all.”

Silence echoed behind him and it was the loudest sound he’d ever heard. His heart thundered in his chest as he reached for the doorknob, very aware that each breath

he took might be his last.

His father was right. He’d been a fool to come here alone. Why hadn’t he realized that if his father had murdered once, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so again?
The report of the gun shattered the silence.
Michael flinched, but it only took a second to realize he hadn’t been hit. He turned, and gazed upon a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The earl had turned the gun on himself.
Warren lay crumpled on the floor. A pool of blood seeped from the remnants of his shattered face.
“No,” Michael whispered, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. “Oh, God.”
He crossed the room and sank to his knees beside his father’s body. Pressing his face against the earl’s chest, he listened in vain for a heartbeat.
He couldn’t believe his father had chosen death over the scandal and shame of a trial.
Mere seconds passed before the door to the room burst open and the earl’s valet rushed in. The servant’s gaze dropped to the earl, then flew back to Michael in

stunned horror. “You’ve killed him, sir. You’ve killed the earl.”

Michael held up one hand, sick with grief. “No. He did this to himself.”
The valet stared at Michael as though he were the devil. Several other servants rushed into the room and Michael realized how incriminating his presence here must

seem.

“They were having a terrible row,” the valet told the elderly butler, as the old man shouldered his way to the front of the crowd. “Heard them all the way down the

hall, I did.”

“Send for the magistrates,” the butler ordered. “Make sure Lord Sherbourne doesn’t leave the house until they get here.”
Michael wanted them to know the truth, to explain his side of the story. He hadn’t shot his father. No one who knew him would ever believe that he had. But his

vision blurred and he couldn’t manage a coherent thought. He pressed his hand to the spot where his father had stabbed him and crimson welled between his fingers.

He reeled with dizziness and sagged against the desk. And then the world went black.

Chapter Thirteen

Jane glanced over her shoulder at the darkened street. She shifted nervously as she waited for one of Lucien’s servants to open his front door. The hour was late and

she’d arrived unescorted. She’d be ruined if anyone saw her here.

She was reminded of the night she’d gone to Lucien’s bedroom at Sherbourne Hall, though this time her purpose was not seduction.
Another interminable minute passed, but finally the door opened, soundless on its well-oiled hinges. The dour-faced butler stared at her, obviously aghast. “May I help

you, madam?”

Jane’s face grew hot. She knew how this must look and could only hope Lucien’s staff would be discreet. “I need to speak with Lord Basingstoke. Immediately.”
The man sniffed with disapproval. “Who shall I say is calling?”
“Lady Jane Bennett,” she answered, then wondered if Lucien would receive her after the way they’d parted. “Tell him it’s an emergency.”
“Very well.” The butler stepped aside to let her in, then showed her to the receiving room. “I’ll see if Lord Basingstoke is in.”
Jane perched on the edge of the nearest chair. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She didn’t know what she’d do if the butler tried to send her away, but she’d have to

think of something.

She couldn’t leave here until she’d spoken to Lucien.
Long moments passed, but at last footsteps echoed in the hall. She took a deep breath, preparing herself, only to let it out in a rush of relief when Lucien entered the

room.

He’d obviously been preparing for bed, as he wore only a loose, white linen shirt and buff trousers. Her gaze dropped to the shocking elegance of his long, bare feet.

“So.” He leaned against the door frame, a mocking expression on his saturnine face. “Have you come to try your hand at seducing me again?

Perhaps this time I’ll let you.”

He was in a dark, dangerous mood. She thanked God she hadn’t come here for herself. He would never believe how sorry she was for hurting him.
“I thought you might want to know that your friend, Michael, needs you. He stands accused of murdering the Earl of Warren.”
“My God.” Lucien pushed away from the wall, his entire manner changing from anger to concern. “Are you quite certain? How did you learn of this?”
“My maid.” Jane was glad to provide him what little information she had. “She’s been seeing one of the earl’s grooms and the young man raced over to spread the

news right after it happened.”

Lucien raked one hand through his dark hair. “Christ, I knew I shouldn’t have let him confront the bastard on his own.” For a moment, he seemed stunned into

immobility, but then he shook himself. “I have to go sort this out.”

His confidence filled Jane with relief. She didn’t know what had happened, but she couldn’t imagine Michael hurting anyone, especially his father. There had to be

some sort of a mistake.

If anyone could help, it would be Lucien.
Muttering under his breath, Lucien turned toward the door. Then he stopped abruptly and gave her a grateful glance over his shoulder. “Thank you, Jane. I know it

couldn’t have been easy for you to come here tonight.”

She smiled at him through a veil of tears. “Go help your friend, Lucien. And then, perhaps, when this is over, we can talk?”
He gave her a searching glance, then returned her wry smile. “Perhaps.”

****

In the days after Michael left, Emma spent far too much time at her window, staring down the road toward London. She still couldn’t believe he’d left her in the

country by herself.

Although she’d told him she might not wait for him, she knew she’d wait forever if she had to. But that didn’t mean she’d forgiven him.
In fact, she intended to have quite a talk with her exasperating husband when he returned.
She couldn’t bear that he didn’t trust her enough to share the things that hurt him. Couldn’t he see they’d both be much happier once he learned she was on his side?
Her first impressions of Sherbourne Hall had not changed with familiarity. She’d explored every inch of the place and only Michael’s Egyptian collection managed to

keep her from going mad with boredom.

The servants proved taciturn and set in their ways. They had no plans to alter their schedule for something as trifling as Emma’s comfort. She’d learned the hard way

that breakfast was at seven sharp. If she happened to sleep in a wee bit, she had to wait for lunch.

The housekeeper had informed her that if she wished a bath, she had to take it in the evening, because the servants were far too busy with other chores to

accommodate her in the morning.

Even Emma’s attempts to speak with the cook about the menu had been met with stony noncompliance. The old woman told Emma that the menu she used had been

chosen by the former Countess of Warren. The implication was obvious. If the menu was good enough for the countess then it was certainly good enough for an American
upstart like Emma.

She’d done her best to adjust. Thus far, she’d managed to keep from throwing a complete and utter fit, but her patience was wearing thin. She’d been born to manage

a large household staff and longed to put her husband’s servants in their place. Unfortunately, she had no idea whether they were acting on Michael’s orders. She didn’t
want to rock the boat until she knew for sure.

So...she looked out the window, and she waited.
Then, on the third day after Michael’s abrupt departure, she spied a rider coming down the road on a fine chestnut horse, his black cloak flying behind him in the wind.

Despite her anger, her heart gave a glad little leap. Michael had concluded his business in London with great haste.

Perhaps he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him.
She checked her appearance in the mirror, then raced downstairs. By the time she reached the front door, the rider was already dismounting. Her elation turned to

confusion when she realized it was Lucien—not Michael—who’d come to call.

“Hello, Emma.” Her husband’s friend strode up the front steps and grasped her hands with startling intimacy.
She stared up into his handsome, dark face and was stunned by his troubled expression. This grim stranger was not the laughing young man she’d come to know.
“Oh, Lucien.” Her mind raced to find a reasonable explanation for his strained appearance. “Has something happened to Jane?”
He shook his head and tugged her into the house. “Jane is fine. But I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
Emma’s pulse accelerated in fear as she directed Lucien to a small reception room. If nothing had happened to Jane, she could think of only one other possibility.
“Is it Michael?” Her voice rose as she shut the door behind them. “Has something happened to him? Is he all right?”
Lucien sank into the nearest chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I hardly know where to begin. Christ, I still feel as though this is my fault. I should

never have let him go see the old bastard alone.”

“What old bastard? What are you talking about?”
“The Earl of Warren is dead.” Lucien stripped off his dusty riding gloves and ran one hand through his sweat-dampened dark hair. “Shot once through the head.

Michael was in the room at the time, but he claims the old man committed suicide. He’s being held under house arrest, pending an investigation.”

“Michael claims it was a suicide?” Emma sagged into the chair facing her guest. “Dear God. You don’t actually think Michael killed his own father?”
Lucien’s news stunned her to the depths of her soul. Oh, this was so much worse than she’d imagined.
“I don’t know.” Lucien looked away and shook his head. “And I don’t care. Believe me, the earl deserved far worse.”
Emma stared at him, speechless. Lucien obviously didn’t believe Michael’s story, but was determined to stick by him.
“Think about what you’re saying.” She leaned forward and touched his hand, urging him to look at her, to tell her this was some sort of thoughtless joke. “You know

Michael would never hurt anyone. Surely there’s been some kind of mistake.”

“The evidence is stacked against him.” Quiet sympathy tinged Lucien’s voice. “They had a loud and violent argument before the earl’s death. Michael was found

kneeling over the body just moments after the shot was heard. There are several witnesses.”

“This is ridiculous.” Emma struggled to take it all in. “Who are these witnesses? No one who knows Michael could accuse him of murder. None of this makes any

sense.”

Lucien shrugged, at a loss for words. “I’m sure nothing will come of the investigation. They’ll never dare pin murder on him, but the scandal is bound to have lingering

effects.”

“I don’t care about the scandal. I just want Michael to come through this with his freedom.”
Lucien gave her a keen stare. “Perhaps Michael has misjudged you.”
His words stunned her. Did Michael believe she’d abandon him when she needed him most?
“When can I see him?” she asked, determined to disabuse her husband of his ridiculous notions as soon as possible.
Lucien had the good grace to look embarrassed. “He doesn’t want you to come to London. It’s for you own protection. Can you understand that?”
Emma sighed in exasperation. “No, I most certainly do not. He needs me by his side, now more than ever.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Lucien agreed. “But I’m not certain the magistrate will let you see him. I had the devil’s own time getting in myself.”
“I’m his wife. The Countess of Warren. They must let me in. I refuse to take no for an answer.”
Lucien gave her an admiring look. “I do believe you’ll succeed, Emma. God knows I wouldn’t want to be the one to stand in your way.” Giving her one last searching

glance, he stood and turned toward the door. “Forgive my brevity, but I need to inform Dylan of the situation. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be riding all night.”

Dylan.
Until this moment, Emma had been too shocked by Michael’s actions to even wonder why Michael had argued with his father in the first place, but now the

mysterious conversation he’d had with his brother seemed a very important piece of the puzzle.

“Wait, Lucien,” she called, determined to know the truth. “What did Dylan tell Michael on the day of our wedding?”
Lucien paused, one hand on the door. “I don’t blame you for asking, but I don’t believe it’s my place to say.”
“Damn you. I’m so tired of men and their ridiculous secrets.” She couldn’t shake the feeling that none of this would have ever happened if Michael had confided in

her from the beginning.

Lucien’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Go to London, Emma. Ask Michael yourself. I think it would do him good to tell you. Just try not to judge him too

harshly. Trust me when I say he had every reason in the world to do what he did.”

****

The magistrate ordered Michael confined to his huge bedroom suite until the authorities decided whether or not he had killed his father. Enough doubt remained for

them to think twice about throwing the new Earl of Warren into Newgate.

Michael paced the perimeters of his lavish cell, still too numb and heartsick over what had happened to give a damn about the legalities.
The events of that fateful afternoon replayed themselves in his mind, a constant torment. Despite everything, he still couldn’t believe his own father had tried to kill

him.

He rubbed the bloodstained bandage on his shoulder and shuddered when he thought of the rage on the earl’s face when he’d stabbed him. How had everything gone

so wrong?

He shouldn’t have confronted his father in private. How stupid he’d been not to anticipate the earl’s reaction when threatened with the loss of everything he held

dear. He should have done it at White’s, where the earl would have been too worried about someone over-hearing their conversation to attempt murder.

Of course, it was possible he’d have waited until Michael left the club. Or hired someone else to do it.
But Michael had confronted the earl at home. The guilt and regret of that foolhardy act would haunt him until the day he died. Because deep down, he knew the earl

had taken his own life in an act of ultimate revenge.

During those endless moments when he’d been so sure his father was going to shoot him in the back, the earl had realized how much he could hurt Michael by turning

the gun upon himself. Warren knew Michael would blame himself.

He’d probably found it amusing to think Michael might hang for his death.
How ironic to think that he’d walked the straight and narrow his entire life, yet everyone seemed so willing to believe the worst of him now.
He’d never felt so alone.
They’d allowed him one visitor. Lucien, of course. It would have been impossible to keep the Earl of Basingstoke away.
His friend had come as soon as he’d heard, but Michael sensed that despite his unqualified support, Lucien thought he was guilty.
Lucien promised to get Michael the best defense money could buy, then offered to fetch Dylan and Emma. Michael had told him not to bother. No one could help him

now.

Still, he wished his lovely little American wife was here beside him. He longed to lie down in the circle of her arms and rest his head upon her breast.
If he could only sleep, perhaps things would seem clearer. He hadn’t slept in the two days since his father’s death, and his wound was beginning to fester. The walls

were closing in on him, and he feared he was losing his mind.

****

Emma arrived in London late in the afternoon on the day after Lucien informed her of Michael’s predicament. She’d chafed at the need to wait, but it had started

raining soon after he’d left and she’d known the futility of rushing off across the country at night.

Even though she’d waited until morning, the roads had been a terrible quagmire. The trip to London had taken twice the time it should have. With every passing

moment, her fear for the man she loved grew. She couldn’t accept the thought of losing him. Not now, when so much remained unsaid between them.

Exhausted, she directed her driver to take her straight to the house on St. James Square. As Lucien had warned, a small cadre of policemen guarded the house, but

when she told them who she was, they didn’t dare prevent her entry.

She was the Countess of Warren, after all.
Though she had been up all night worrying about her husband, she insisted upon seeing Michael first thing. Clearly unhappy, the sergeant agreed to allow her a short

visit with the prisoner.

The prisoner. Absolutely ludicrous, to hear Michael referred to in such a way.
She waited for the sergeant to open the door, then went inside and closed it firmly behind her.

Michael had been pacing the room, but he stopped when he saw her. His face registered no emotion whatsoever. She lifted her chin and met his gaze, trying to

determine whether or not he was pleased to see her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and the answer she’d sought seemed clear. “I told Lucien to tell you not to come.”
Emma advanced toward him, determined to stand her ground. He looked terrible, drawn and haggard, his golden hair mussed and lank. She doubted he’d slept at all

during the last seventy-two hours. The bloodstained bandage that covered his bare chest and shoulder alarmed her.

“You’re been hurt.” Lucien had left that part out. “What happened? Are you all right?”
He seemed surprised by her concern. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s nothing?” Her voice rose incredulously. “That’s what you said when I asked you what was troubling you before you left. Obviously, you were lying then, too.”
He flushed and looked away, unable to meet her gaze.
Anger tangled with hurt and concern and created a maelstrom of emotion she could no longer control. “Well, that nothing ended with your father’s death. You’ve

been accused of murder! Now I find you here, seriously injured, yet you still won’t tell me anything.”

She advanced on him, determined to get some answers. “I’m your wife, Michael. Not some nameless stranger to be put off with meaningless platitudes.”
“Christ, Emma.” Michael put up a hand as though to ward her off. “Don’t you understand I’m only trying to protect you?”
“Protect me from what?” she demanded. Then, suddenly, she knew. “From you?”
“Yes...No...God, I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, obviously at the end of his strength.
If she weren’t so angry she might have taken pity on him and ceased this line of questioning, but something told her if she didn’t push him now, while he was weak,

she’d never crack the impenetrable fortress that surrounded his heart.

She took a deep breath. “How did you get hurt?”
His hand went to his chest and he fingered the dried blood that crusted the bandage. For a long moment she thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he sighed and met

her gaze.

“My father,” he admitted. “We argued. He stabbed me with a letter opener.”
Dear Lord.
She swallowed, reminding herself this was what she had wanted. She’d asked for the unvarnished truth. No one had promised it would be pretty.
“Were you arguing over me?”
“No, Em. It had nothing to do with you.”
“Thank God.” Relieved, she released a shuddering breath. She’d feared she was to blame for this fiasco.
Michael reached out and pulled her into his arms. “You mustn’t blame yourself. This terrible thing would have happened even if I’d never met you.”
She lifted her hands to his shoulders, then stilled and stared up into his flushed face. “You’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me you had a fever?”
“I’ve had other things on my mind.”
She frowned, then shepherded him to the bed. “Sit down. Let me check your wound.”
He did as she’d requested without argument, which only increased her dread. Fevers were dangerous. Who knew how long his had gone untended.
She peeled away the bandage and winced when she saw the ugly gash his father had inflicted. She glanced up, and found her own despair reflected in his fever bright

eyes.

How could a father do such a thing to his own son? She dropped her gaze, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate her pity.
As she’d suspected, the skin surrounding the wound was red and inflamed, an unmistakable sign of infection.
“Didn’t they allow you to see a doctor?”
He shrugged. “One of the servants saw to it. No doubt the magistrates are hoping the fever will kill me. That would save them the trouble of having to press murder

charges against an earl.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she told him sharply. “You could never murder anyone. Everyone knows it.”
Michael placed one burning fingertip beneath her chin and forced her to look at him. “You believe I’m innocent?”
“Of course. You told Lucien your father committed suicide.”
He let his hand fall away and a strange play of emotions chased across his face. Disbelief and wonder warred for dominance. “No one else believes me. I don’t even

think Lucien does, though he’d stand beside me even if I had done murder.”

“Well, I’d stand by you even if you’d done murder, too.” She reached for a wet cloth from the basin of water on his nightstand. “But if you say you didn’t do it, then I

believe you.”

“Why?” His voice was rough and unsteady. “I’ve done nothing to earn your trust.”
“Oh, Michael.” His vulnerability slayed her. “You’re the best person I know. That’s why I was so determined to marry you. Perhaps I hoped a little bit of your

goodness would rub off on me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he obviously struggled to bring his emotions back under his iron control.
“You’re wrong about me. I did kill him.”
She concentrated on cleaning his wound and refused to allow him to see how his words shocked her.
“I don’t believe it. He attacked you, but I don’t believe you killed him, not even in self-defense.”
He flinched as she touched a tender spot. She finally glanced up at him, only to find his eyes bright with unshed tears. Her heart broke as the emotion he’d held inside

all his life began to break free and shattered his self-control.

“I did kill him. I never should have confronted him with what I knew. I should have known he’d be unable to bear the thought of going to trial for his sins. I should

have known he’d choose death over shame and scandal.”

“It’s not your fault.” She pressed the wet cloth against his wound as she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. What information had he confronted his father with?

It must have been something terrible, if the earl was willing to die rather than have it revealed.

She met his gaze and tried to convince him of the truth behind her words. “You didn’t pull that trigger, Michael. You didn’t make that choice.”
He shuddered, then pulled her into his lap. “I’m glad you came. I didn’t think you would.”
“You’re my husband.”
His arms tightened and he buried his face in her hair. “I don’t deserve you, Em.”
She reveled in the pleasure of holding him, and of being held. It seemed an entire lifetime had passed since they’d last touched, instead of mere days.
After a moment, Michael lifted his head. Exhaustion dulled his eyes. “Will you lie down with me, Emma? Let me hold you while I sleep?”
“Have you slept at all since you left Sherbourne Hall?”
“I can’t. Every time I close my eyes...” He trailed off, his silence more eloquent than any words.
The poor man had been through hell. Resigned, Emma curtailed the multitude of questions and accusations that trembled on the tip of her tongue. There would be time

enough for that later. Right now she intended to see that Michael got some sleep.

Perhaps he would be so impressed by her self-control he would tell her everything when he awoke. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she scooted back against

the headboard and gestured for Michael to lay his head upon her lap.

He stretched out and settled against her with a soft sigh. She pulled the blankets over his bare shoulders, glad to be able to offer him this small, wifely comfort.
She ran her hands through his hair, then across his damp forehead, trying to soothe away the tension that filled him. Her efforts were soon rewarded. She gazed down

at her sleeping husband, filled with tenderness.

He needed her. He was glad she’d come.
She smoothed her fingertips across his hot, damp forehead and hoped his trust hadn’t come too late.
Was there any way to get him out of this terrible mess he’d gotten himself into? Or had she found the man of her dreams, only to have him taken from her for

something he hadn’t done?

Chapter Fourteen

Michael woke several times during the night, soaked with sweat and shaking, as he battled nightmarish visions of his father. Each time, Emma was there. She bathed

his face and chest with cool cloths, and talked sweet nonsense in her lovely voice until she chased away the demons.

Sometime after he’d fallen asleep she’d summoned a doctor. His seeping wound had required several stitches. Perhaps the doctor had given him something for the

pain, because when he came to full awareness sometime in the wee hours of the morning, his fever had broken and the agony had receded to a bearable level.

He was pleased to see that Emma had finally given up her vigil. She had fallen asleep in a chair next to his bed, her neck bent at an uncomfortable looking angle.

Chagrined, he got to his feet and awkwardly pulled her against him with his good arm, then turned to deposit her on the bed.

She woke and blinked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he told her as he climbed under the covers at her side. “But I want you here beside me.”
“But your shoulder...I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”
“You won’t.” He kissed her nose and she gave him a sleepy smile. Yawning, she pressed against him and fell back asleep.
As he held her, he thanked God she’d ignored his order to stay in the country. He’d needed her far more than he’d imagined.
What a fool he’d been, to run off and leave her. Now he prayed he hadn’t ruined their lives beyond repair.
Sleep had brought renewed clarity of thought. At last he was able to see beyond the horror and tragedy of his father’s death to the legal tangle that lay in front of him.
Lord, what a mess.
Though he didn’t believe they’d find him guilty of murder, he had to admit it was possible. The evidence against him was damning. If he’d found someone leaning over

a dead body so soon after hearing a gunshot fired, he wouldn’t believe a tale of suicide either.

Even if he didn’t hang for this, there were bound to be serious repercussions. Scandal. Prison. The very real possibility that he’d lose his title.
The Eleventh Earl of Warren.
He’d waited his whole life to be known as such. How ironic that his father’s death, which should have finally given him some sort of control over his life, would be

what robbed him of his birthright.

The old man was probably laughing all the way to hell.
Michael glanced down at his lovely, selfless wife. How far would her tenderness and compassion go, once she realized she might never become a countess?
The title was, after all, the entire reason she’d married him.
Would she leave him, once she understood how bad the situation had become? That thought frightened him more than the threat of hanging for his father’s sins.

****

The sound of a clicking lock brought Emma out of a very deep sleep. Certain the authorities had come to take Michael away, she reached for him, and realized he

was already gone.

She scrambled to a sitting position and cursed herself for sleeping while he still needed her. She glanced around, and her panic receded as she realized Michael had

been the one who locked the door. He turned and met her gaze, a hint of mischief in his blue eyes.

“The only good thing about being imprisoned in my own bedroom is that the guards can’t come in unless I let them.”
He advanced toward her and she was relieved to see his health seemed much improved since yesterday. He’d regained his color and the shadows under his eyes had

faded.

“Perhaps they’ll just break down the door,” she warned, unsettled by his abrupt change of mood.
He shrugged. “Perhaps they will. But if they do, we’ll have plenty of time to stop.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, still a bit befuddled from sleep. “Stop what?”
Michael sank down on the bed beside her and cupped her face in his long, elegant hands. “Make love to me. We might never have another chance.”
“Don’t say that.” She placed a trembling hand on his bare chest, just above the bandaged wound that had nearly taken him from her. “Of course I’ll make love to you,

but it won’t be the last time.”

He didn’t bother to answer, just pulled her into his arms for a soul deep kiss. His despair terrified her, and she responded instinctively to his sense of urgency.
What if he was right? What if they found him guilty of murder? What if her nightmare proved true and they took him away to be hanged?
Desperate to join with him, to share his skin and breath for a few precious moments, she helped him unfasten all the layers of clothes that stood in the way. She

fumbled to shed him of his trousers, only to get sidetracked by the feel of him, feverishly hot and hard against her hand.

He broke the kiss and drew in a shuddering breath. “God, Em. I love the way you touch me.”
She stroked his throbbing length from base to tip and kissed his neck with wild abandon. “I love you, Michael. I love you so much.”
The words slipped out, but she couldn’t have stopped her impassioned declaration, even if she’d wanted to. She didn’t want to hide the truth any more. The time had

come to lay everything on the line.

She stopped kissing him long enough to draw back and gaze into his eyes. “Don’t leave me. Promise me you’ll fight this. Don’t give up. I don’t ever want to be alone

again.”

He stared at her for a long moment, a look of awe and wonder on his beautiful face. “I will fight. I’ll never leave you of my own will.”
Her eyes welled with tears and she kissed him again, with breathtaking tenderness, humbled by the reminder that fate might prove stronger than either of them. The

kiss escalated from sweetness to hunger. They were both aware that their time together might be slipping away.

Michael leaned back, pulling her with him so she straddled his hips. He caught his breath as she settled against the rigid heat of his shaft. “Take me inside of you.”
She stared down at him, embarrassed, unsure what to do.
“Like this.” He rubbed himself against her until she understood what he meant and she helped him thrust deep within her.
She gasped at the fullness and braced her hands against him as he showed her how to move. She’d had no idea that it could be done this way and wondered what

other things he might be able to show her.

This new position let her take control and she soon realized how much it suited her. She liked seeing the expressions upon his face as she moved against him, liked the

ability to go as slow or as fast as she wanted.

Soon, however, the incredible feeling she’d experienced before crept over her, spurring her to assuage the fiery need or die in the attempt.
Michael reached between them and deftly brought her to the brink of ecstasy. “Come with me.”
She gladly obliged.
As Emma convulsed around him, Michael fought the need to follow her into oblivion. Too late, he realized the dangers of creating a child while he faced such a

precarious future. He couldn’t saddle Emma with the burden of raising his son alone.

His son.
God, the mere thought made him weak with longing. If he did hang, what a comfort it would be to know some part of him lived on...
With a frustrated gasp, he rolled so that Emma lay beneath him. Withdrawing with a muttered groan, he spilled his seed on Emma’s pale stomach. The effort of

denying himself what he wanted most nearly killed him.

“Christ.” He flung himself onto his back, shaking with self-disgust. His shoulder throbbed and he welcomed the pain. He was such a selfish beast, to draw Emma

even further into the chaos that had become his life.

“Michael?” Emma leaned over him, her lovely face drawn with concern and dismay. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” She fingered the sticky evidence of his latest

weakness with obvious confusion. “Have I done something to displease you?”

“No. You’re beautiful. Perfect. You did everything exactly right.” He closed his eyes and struggled for self-control. “It’s me. Don’t you see? I can’t risk getting you

with a child when you might have to raise it on your own.”

She was silent for a long, long time. So long, he finally braced himself and opened his eyes to see her reaction.
Emma stared down at him with a strange mix of anger and amusement on her face. “This occurred do you while we were making love, not before?”
He gave a careful nod, unsure of her mood. “I don’t want to burden you even more than I already have.”
She shook her head in disbelief and reached for the cloth she’d used to clean his wound. Wringing it out, she clumsily cleaned his seed from her stomach.
“Obviously, our lovemaking doesn’t mean as much to you as it does to me. In fact, I am insulted beyond belief to know you were able to think of anything other than

the amazing sensation of your body moving within mine.”

Flinging the cloth away, she fixed him with a fulminating glare. “Besides, hasn’t it occurred to you I might want your child no matter what happens?” Her voice broke.

“Damn you, Michael. You are giving up. You th-think they’re going to hang you.”

Chagrined, he sat up and pulled her into his arms. For a moment she resisted, but then she collapsed against him with a sob. He winced as she accidentally hit him

where he’d been wounded, but the pain in his shoulder was nothing compared to the ache in his soul.

Emma clung to him as though he was a lifeboat in a choppy sea but he knew too well he might not have the chance to shelter her from the storms of life.
“I’m sorry.” He brushed his lips against her forehead and battled a renewed surge of pain. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

She laughed, a sad, choked sound. “Oh, Michael. I love you for worrying so much about me, but really, I wish I could make you lose control,

at least a little bit. I feel as though you’re always holding back, as though my touch doesn’t affect you at all.”

She loves me.
It was the second time tonight she’d said it. This time the words couldn’t be attributed to an excess of passion.
His arms tightened convulsively around her. Despair filled him as he realized he’d finally found the only worthwhile thing in life, only to have it snatched away before

he found the courage to give his heart in return.

“Don’t be ridiculous. All I need do is look at you and I lose my mind. I’ve done nothing but make a fool of myself over you since the day we met.”
This time she laughed in truth. “I’m glad to hear that. Because I don’t want to be the only fool in this marriage.”
Sobering, she pulled away and looked him straight in the eyes, her strength of will washing through him in a comforting wave. “We’re going to sort this all out,

Michael. I know we will. And then I want you to promise you’ll do your damndest to give me that child you just denied me.”

A painful ache of longing rose within him. “There’s nothing I want more,” he assured her, and prayed to God for the miracle that would let him keep his promise.

****

By the time Emma left later that morning, Michael’s spirits had rallied. She’d brightened the darkness with her indomitable will, coaxed him out of his despair with her

exuberant warmth and forced him to admit—to himself at least—how much he loved her.

She’d seen him at his worst, but it hadn’t driven her away. Instead, she’d held him through the night and coddled him so sweetly.
He didn’t know how to react. He craved this closeness, but was afraid to trust it. His father’s suicide had intensified his ingrained fear that no one could ever truly

love him.

He was relieved to be left alone in his lush prison. Emma had a few things she needed to do, but she’d promised to be back soon. He hadn’t protested. He needed

time to sort through the maelstrom of emotions buffeting him from all directions.

Still, despite all the grief and guilt, he couldn’t ever remember feeling so alive. If he managed to keep from hanging for his father’s death, he might find some

happiness.

He was through enduring life. It was time to start living it.
Late in the afternoon, one of his jailers knocked on his door, and startled him out of his brooding thoughts.
“You have visitors, my Lord. P’raps you’d like to dress and come downstairs?”
“Of course.” Michael crossed the room to pull on a shirt and jacket. But his mind was racing. Who had come to see him? Were the authorities ready to admit they

didn’t have enough proof to hold him?

God, he hoped so. He was more than ready to put this chapter of his life behind him.
Once he’d restored himself to a modicum of respectability, he followed his current warden downstairs to the largest of his reception rooms. A small army waited

inside.

His heart swelled with nameless emotion as his gaze drifted over everyone who had come. Emma was there, along with Black Jack Marks and his retinue of lawyers.

Lucien gave him a wry smile, while Dylan and Natalia watched him with worry evident on their faces.

“Thank you all for coming,” Michael murmured, at a loss. “I don’t know what else to say.”
Emma laughed and rushed to his side, her dark eyes filled with love. “I didn’t think father had left yet, so I tracked him down. I knew he could help.”
Michael met Jack’s solemn gaze over his wife’s head. “Thank you, sir. It means a lot to me that you’ve come. I’m just so sorry I’ve drawn Emma into this.”
“Nonsense,” Jack assured him. “You’re family now, son. Consider all my resources at your disposal.”
Son.
The word meant more from his father-in-law than it ever had from the Earl of Warren. He understood now, why Dylan had been so pleased to find Patrick

MacPherson.

They had both missed the love of a father.
Dylan approached next. The two brothers embraced and Michael held on for just a moment longer than necessary, so grateful for his brother’s presence. Dylan was

the only one here who could possibly know what he was feeling.

When Dylan pulled back a world of regret shone in his eyes. “I never meant for this to happen. Christ, Michael. I never would have left this to you if I’d known he’d

react in such a way.”

Michael watched him closely. “So you believe he killed himself?”
Dylan nodded, without a single trace of doubt. “Of course. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to ensure they don’t detain you even one more day.”
Too overcome for words, Michael managed a wan smile. Apparently, Emma wasn’t the only one who believed in his innocence.
Lucien offered him a smug smile from across the room. “It’s a good thing I didn’t listen to a word you said the other day, isn’t it? Besides, Emma and Dylan never

would have forgiven me if I hadn’t told them straightaway.”

Emma squeezed Michael’s hand. “Lucien’s absolutely right. We all want to help you. That’s what family is for.”

Her words gave him a sense of belonging he’d never felt before. No matter what happened, he couldn’t regret marrying her.
One of the solicitors stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Perhaps it’s best if we get started, Lord Warren. Would you mind telling us what happened on the night

in question?”

Michael dragged his gaze away from his wife and forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand.
Lord Warren.
His father’s title didn’t sound right and certainly didn’t feel right, but he must accept the formal address as though it was his by right. Any hesitation would make it far

too easy for the Queen’s men to take it from him.

“Certainly,” Michael agreed, moving farther into the room. He sat down and gestured for the others to do the same. He cast a quick glance at Emma and wished he’d

told her everything last night.

“I came to London to confront my father about my mother’s death.” His gaze moved to Dylan, who gave him a nod of encouragement. In order to untangle himself

from this terrible mess, he must sacrifice the earl’s reputation.

“I’d just learned my mother had not committed suicide, as I’d believed all these years.” He took a deep breath. “She’d been murdered.”
Emma gasped and reached for his hand. He drew strength from her loyalty and forced himself to go on. “My father found out she’d been having an affair, and that

my brother Dylan was her lover’s child. Enraged, he threw her off the cliff at her Scottish estate.”

Michael shook his head, weary with the need to go through this all again. “I don’t know what I thought to accomplish by speaking to my father about the matter. I

suppose I hoped he’d have some sort of explanation for what had happened.”

One of the solicitors busily scribbled notes. Jack shook his head in dismay, but Michael couldn’t tell whether it was for his stupidity, or his father’s crimes.
He cleared his throat and forced himself to continue. “In any event, my father was furious to discover I knew of his crimes. He threatened to kill me to keep me from

exposing him, stabbing me in the process.” His wound throbbed anew and he clenched his hand to keep from pressing it against the ache.

“I told him I wasn’t the only one who knew what he’d done. I tried to convince him he couldn’t hide from this, even if I were out of the picture. I turned my back and

that’s when I heard the shot.”

“Oh, Michael,” Emma whispered.
Michael tried to give her a reassuring smile. “For a moment I was sure he’d killed me, but when I turned around, I saw he’d taken his own life instead. I knelt beside

his body and that’s when the servants burst into the room.”

The solicitor nodded and snapped his notebook shut. “I believe that’s all we need for now, sir. I will present our case to the magistrate tomorrow. I expect to have you

cleared of any wrongdoing by tomorrow evening at the very latest.”

Michael closed his eyes, overwhelmed with relief. His word had never been doubted before and he found it very hard to be viewed with suspicion. But these men

seemed to believe his tale and took his release for granted.

Perhaps he’d be able to share his life with Emma after all.

****

Emma stood by Michael’s side as they said good-bye to their guests. Her mind reeled with everything she’d learned. She’d made several wild guesses about what had

driven Michael to leave her side and rush off to London, but nothing she’d imagined had come close to the terrible truth.

Once their guests were gone, Michael’s strength faded. He sighed and leaned against the banister, obviously needing the support.
Emma hurried toward him, anxious to help.
“I think you should go back to bed.” She put one hand around his waist and guided him toward the stairs. “You look as though you’re about to hit the floor.”
He gave her a wry smile and let her lead him. “I hardly think I’m as decrepit as all that, but I have no arguments about returning to bed. Not if you come with me.”
Her cheeks heated at his blatant invitation. Though they were married now, she still found it amazing that she could disappear into the bedroom with this man

whenever she wanted.

“Of course I’ll come with you. We have a lot to talk about.”
He nodded and followed her slowly up the stairs. Soon they arrived at Michael’s bedroom suite. While she locked the door, Michael sank into a chair in front of the

fireplace.

She moved to his side and he tugged on her hand. She twined her fingers around his and he tumbled her into his lap.
“I’ll hurt your shoulder,” she protested and tried to squirm away.
“For Christ’s sake, Emma. I’m not made of glass.” He held her firmly in place. “Be still. I just want to hold you for awhile.”
With a sigh, she relaxed against him. The last few days had exhausted her and she wanted to remain in his arms forever.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” she whispered, after a long time. “I know how much it must have hurt you to learn the truth about her death.”
He pressed his face against her hair and his arms tightened around her waist, but he didn’t speak. He probably wished she’d leave the whole matter alone, but she

couldn’t.

He needed to work through this, to grieve for everything he’d lost. He’d spent too many years letting the pain fester. Now those old wounds needed to heal.
“You’re not to blame for your father’s death. You couldn’t have known he’d react the way he did.”
“Didn’t I? Perhaps I did. Perhaps, deep down, I knew exactly what would happen. Maybe I wanted him to die the way he’d pretended she had.”
“You don’t mean that, Michael. You’re just hurting.”
He shuddered. “I don’t feel as responsible for his death as I did for my mother’s. I could never understand why she did it, why she intentionally left me alone. Finding

out that she hadn’t, that he’d purposely taken her from me, was almost more than I could bear.”

Tears filled her eyes when she thought of the childhood he’d lost. “At least you had Dylan. Until tonight I never realized how close the two of you truly are.”
He let his head fall back against the arm of the chair. “I love my brother. But my relationship with him has never been easy. I always felt so guilty. I could never

understand why my father treated him so badly.”

“What do you mean?”
“My father used to beat him.” The words seemed wrenched from his very soul. And once the dam burst, he couldn’t stop. “Always him, never me. He was just a

little boy, only seven when our mother died, but he was so damned brave. Once he realized nothing he did or said would ever earn him the earl’s love, he started standing
up to the bastard.”

“I tried to protect him, tried to take the blame for things he’d done, but my father would never let me. Hell, sometimes father even punished him for my transgressions.

So, I had to try very hard to never do anything wrong. I couldn’t bear to see him punished because of something I’d done...”

He trailed off and she could feel the terrible effort he made to hold back a lifetime worth of tears. “In time I began to hate him as much as I loved him. The older he

got, the more he intentionally provoked the old man to violence. I felt so torn, always in the middle of their battles.”

“Oh, Michael.” She rained anxious kisses over his face. “I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how hard that must have been for you.”
His story explained so much. His need to be perfect. His inability to relax and enjoy himself.
And poor Dylan. She’d only met him a few times, but she never would have dreamed his easy smile hid such a horrible childhood. Natalia had obviously helped him

work through the things that haunted him. Perhaps she could do the same with Michael.

The earl deserved to burn in hell for the pain he’d caused his children.
With a soft moan, Michael buried his face against her neck and held her so tightly she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t mind. She would do anything to take away even

a little bit of his pain.

“It will be all right.” She stroked his hair. “It wasn’t your fault, Michael. You didn’t cause any of this.”
Michael clung to his beautiful wife as his self-control shattered. He was crying like a damned baby, but he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. They burned his eyes

and cheeks and fell upon Emma’s shoulder, much to his shame.

“It’s all right. You need this, Michael. You need to grieve. Not just for your father, but for your lost childhood.”
My lost childhood.
Perhaps she was right. He grieved for all that had been lost. For the loss of youth and innocence. For a mother’s love and the happy family life that had been denied

him.

He grieved for his laughing young mother. The gifted artist who’d had so much to live for.
He grieved for his little brother, who had suffered so much. So needlessly. After all, his real father had loved him all along.
Patrick McPherson had allowed the earl to raise Dylan, because he’d thought it would give Dylan a chance at a better life. Of course, there was no way Patrick could

have known the earl would punish Dylan in a thousand different ways for his low birth.

Wealth and privilege did not ensure happiness. In fact, he sometimes thought the opposite was true. His own privileged upbringing had never brought him anything but

heartache.

Nothing he’d ever done had been good enough to win his father’s respect. Until this very moment, he’d never realized how close he’d come to losing himself in the

pursuit of that unattainable goal.

At long last, his anguish subsided. There was no use mourning the past. He could do nothing to change all the things that had gone wrong.
But I can change the future.
His arms tightened around his beautiful wife. Lovely Emma, who had never stopped believing him, who had remained at his side through the darkest moments of his

life. He pressed his face against the soft, dark cloud of her hair, overwhelmed with new hope.

He was tired of hiding his emotions, tired of guarding his heart. He’d seen the very real love between Emma and her father, knew deep down that his own father had

been an abomination.

He wanted a family of his own.
Love had wrought a tremendous change in his brother. Perhaps it could do the same for him.
He’d never know unless he found the courage to try.
Taking a deep breath, he drew back to gaze at Emma. “Do you truly believe your father’s men will be able to get me out of this?”
“Yes.” A spark of hope ignited in her eyes. “I’m sure of it.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Then let’s start that family. I want a son of my own. A child I can love and spoil.”
It was the first time in his life that he’d voiced one of his dreams out loud. To his cautious surprise, no bolt of lightning fell from the sky.
And it felt right. So incredibly right.
Emma smiled through a sudden sheen of happy tears. “You’ll be a wonderful father. I’m sure of it.”
And as he stared into her loving dark eyes, he knew it was true. As long as she believed in him, he could do anything.

Chapter Fifteen

Jane walked down the hall toward her bedroom, dreading the thought of another long, lonely night. The big old house seemed far too empty now that Emma was gone.
Although it was still early, she’d chosen to retire to her room with a book. Perhaps, lost in the pages, she could banish her melancholy. She wanted to pretend, if only

for a little while, that she was someone else, someone other than a forgotten spinster who had nothing to look forward to but an eternity of her own company.

Entering her room, Jane put her book down on a nearby table and bent to light the lamp next to her favorite reading chair.
“Hello, Jane.”
Startled, she shrieked and whirled toward the source of the deep, male voice...and found Lucien lounging in the middle of her large, pedestal bed.
“How did you get in here?” She stared at him in stunned surprise. Her heart hammered erratically in her chest, the sudden fear giving way to desperate hope.
“Through the window.” His smile was wicked. “Did you think you were the only one adept at sneaking into people’s bedrooms?”
“I suppose not. I just wasn’t expecting you.” Now that was the understatement of the year.
Even after the tentative truce they’d reached the night she told him of Michael’s arrest, she never dreamed he’d seek her out.
Greedily, she drank in the sight of him, so handsome, his black hair and clothes a stark contrast to her snowy white counterpane. Holding her gaze, he rolled to a sitting

position and dropped his long legs off the side of the bed.

“You said we should talk.” He shrugged. “I thought I’d raise a few eyebrows if I came knocking on your front door at this time of night.”
She took a few hesitant steps in his direction and wondered if she looked as terrible as she feared. Her hair was scraped up in an unflattering bun and her serviceable

brown dress did nothing for her pale complexion.

“How is Michael? Did you get a chance to speak to him?” She wanted to know how their mutual friend fared, but she was stalling, terrified that she’d misinterpreted

the reason for his unexpected visit.

“I’ve seen him several times.” He sighed and loosened his cravat, exposing the tanned column of his throat to her interested gaze. “He claims the earl committed

suicide. At first, I didn’t believe him. You see, I knew what they had argued about. Michael found out that the son of a bitch murdered his mother all those years ago.”

“Poor Michael,” Jane blurted, stunned. “It must have been terrible for him to confront his father with such knowledge. But if he says the earl killed himself, then I’m

certain that’s what happened.”

“Apparently, you have more faith in my friend than I do. I feel like the worst sort of ass for not believing him all along.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. The important thing is that you were willing to stand by him, even though you thought he was guilty.”
“Well, at least I managed to do one thing right. I rallied a rather formidable defense. I alerted Emma and Dylan of Michael’s predicament, even though he begged me

not to. They’re both standing steadfastly by his side, and Emma’s father has enlisted the help of an entire retinue of solicitors.”

“You don’t think he’ll be convicted of murder, do you?” Jane shuddered at the thought.
Lucien shook his head. “I doubt it. There will be quite a scandal. People will whisper behind his back for years to come. But I doubt anything else will come of it.

Right or wrong, his position will protect him.”

“That’s good. I’ve been sick with worry ever since I heard what happened.” She took a deep breath. “Is that why you came here tonight? To talk about Michael?”
Lucien shot her an irritated glance. “Do you really think that’s the only reason I’m here?”
She stared across the distance that separated them, her heart in her eyes. “I hope not. But I wouldn’t blame you if it was.”
“Come sit beside me. I don’t intend to spend the rest of the evening shouting at you from across the room.”
The rest of the evening? That was encouraging.
She realized how foolish she must look, frozen in place in the middle of her bedroom. After all, she’d been waiting for this chance her entire life. She climbed up on

the bed and gingerly sat on the very edge.

“I won’t bite.” A short burst of exasperated laughter escaped Lucien’s lips. He gave her a devilish grin. “At least, not unless you want me to.”
She stared at him, surprised by the sexual innuendo and uncertain how to react.
He sighed and turned so that his knee brushed her hip with startling intimacy. “I’m here, sweetheart, against all my better judgment.” He met her gaze with

heartbreaking directness. “The next move is up to you.”

She bit her lip, overwhelmed by his willingness to give her a second chance. It couldn’t have been easy for him, given the way she’d treated him.
It was time for her to put her heart on the line—to take a chance and reach for the love she’d always dreamed of. It was better to risk heartbreak than spend the rest

of her life alone and filled with regret.

Hesitantly, she reached for his hand.
He twined his fingertips with hers and shimmering warmth shot up her arm. He even squeezed gently, as if to give her courage.
Smiling through a sudden sheen of tears, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his smooth shaven cheek.
“I’ve been such a fool. I wanted to believe you cared for me. Truly I did. It just seems so impossible that someone like you could love someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” He cupped her chin with his other hand and forced her to look at him. “What the devil do you mean by that?”
She shrugged, embarrassed heat rushing to her cheeks. “I’m nobody. A plain, dried up old spinster. I live such a quiet, boring life. It’s difficult for me to believe you

could ever be happy sharing it.”

“As long as you’re cataloging your faults, don’t forget blind and misguided.” Lucien pulled her into his lap and hugged her fiercely. “You’re the most beautiful, exciting

creature I’ve ever known. There are a thousand things I want to tell you, a million questions I want to ask. I could never grow tired of you. Not in a dozen lifetimes.”

She clung to him, stunned by the truth she heard in his words. His heartfelt praise transformed her, cracked the safe little cocoon of her spinsterhood.
Spreading her newfound wings, she somehow found the strength to make a declaration of her own. She pulled back so she could see the expression in his dark eyes.
“I love you, Lucien. I never stopped. Not even for a moment.”
“Oh, sweetheart. I love you, too. More than I ever thought possible.” A tremor coursed through his big, lean body. “Can you ever forgive me for leaving you? For not

being there when you needed me?”

“I’ve already forgiven you.” Tears swan across her vision and obscured his beautiful face. She wasn’t sure if they were tears of happiness, or if she grieved for all

the lost years. “Just promise me you’ll never leave me again. I couldn’t bear it.”

“I’m never going to let you go.” Lucien’s arms tightened around her. “When we were young, our love came so easily. I didn’t recognize it for the precious gift it was.

Believe me, if I’d known you were the only one who would ever make me feel that way, I never could have walked away.”

“Oh, Lucien.” She couldn’t reproach him for the past any longer. She knew how lost he’d been back then, confused and heartbroken over the loss of his family. He’d

been running, just as she had been when he’d come back into her life.

Satisfied they’d worked things out for now, she pressed her mouth to his and kissed him with all the pent-up passion in her lonely soul.
For a moment, he remained passive in her embrace, letting her leisurely explore his beautiful lips. Then, with a deep groan, he deepened the kiss, devouring her with

his turbulent need.

Gasping, he broke away, his dark eyes fierce. “Say you’ll marry me, Jane. The uncertainty is killing me.”
“Of course I’ll marry you,” she declared, laughing through her tears. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

****

While the solicitors went to work on his behalf, Michael paced the confines of his bedroom suite, feeling worse than useless. Emma intervened and insisted he take a

nap and give his body the rest needed to recuperate from his wound.

Reluctantly, he complied, though it frustrated him to admit any lingering weakness. To his surprise, he fell into a deep, restful sleep. When he awoke, long evening

shadows already darkened the corners of the room.

Emma had disappeared, so he took a hot bath and soaked the last of the tenderness from his shoulder. By the time he emerged, he felt nearly himself again.
He dressed, and then stepped into the hall. To his immense relief, the guards, which had maintained a constant presence at his door since his father’s death, were

gone. Hope blossomed within him as he descended the grand staircase to the main floor without being accosted by anyone.

He walked straight to the front door, flung it open, then stood on his front steps and inhaled the sweet taste of freedom. Footsteps sounded in the hall behind him and

he turned to meet his wife’s satisfied dark gaze.

“They’re gone,” Emma pronounced, confirming his suspicions. “Father’s solicitors spoke to the magistrate and insisted they either charge you with murder or remove

the guards from our home.”

“Thank God.” Michael stepped back inside and shut the door behind him. The invasion of his privacy had been one of the worst parts of the entire experience.
Emma wrapped her arms around his waist, leaned her head against his chest and hugged him. “Didn’t I tell you everything would be all right?”
He pressed his face against her dark hair and smiled into the silky strands. “Yes, you did.”
She pulled away and gave him a critical glance. “You look much better. Did you have a good nap?”
“I slept like a baby.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I don’t know how I’ll ever thank your father for everything he’s done for me.”
“You’re family,” she said as she released him. “And speaking of family, Dylan and Natalia are here.”
“They are?” Michael glanced toward the open doors of the sitting room. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“They didn’t want me to.” She took his hand and pulled him forward. “Don’t worry. We’ve had a very nice chat.”
Michael followed, but a knot of anxiety built within him. Much as he loved his brother, it seemed Dylan’s visits always preceded a new wave of trouble.
As they entered the room, Dylan rose, clasping Michael in a hearty bear hug. He stiffened a bit, still uncomfortable with physical demonstrations of affection, but

forced himself to relax and return the embrace.

“It’s over,” Dylan whispered, for Michael’s ears alone. “That bastard is out of our lives for good.”
He nodded as he pulled away, though he knew things would never be quite so easy for him. Dylan was the lucky one.
Michael would have given anything to know that he was a bastard as well. Unfortunately, there was no doubt the earl’s tainted blood flowed through his veins.
Somehow, he had to find a way to make peace with that.
He tore his gaze from Dylan’s and managed a small smile for his sister-in-law. “Hello, Natalia. It’s good to see you again.”
Natalia stepped forward and pressed a sisterly kiss to his cheek. “We’ve been worried about you. I’m so relieved those ridiculous charges have been dropped.”
“Thank you.” Her concern overwhelmed him.
Emma slipped her arm around his waist. He glanced down and was surprised to see a spark of jealousy in her dark eyes. Though he knew she genuinely liked Natalia,

she seemed to have the misguided notion that Michael regretted not marrying the duke’s daughter.

Ridiculous. If he’d married Natalia, his life would have gone more smoothly, but he’d never have known even an inkling of the happiness Emma had brought him.
Eager to put Emma’s mind at ease, he bent and kissed her fully on the mouth. She smiled beneath his lips, as though she realized he’d guessed her insecurity.
Dylan laughed and pulled his wife back toward the sofa. “Ah, young love. Remember when we were newlyweds, sweetheart?”
“Yes, especially since it’s only been a few months,” Natalia replied, her voice warm. “Shall we tell them our good news?”
Michael gave Emma a last, lingering look, then glanced over at his brother. “Good news?” He was eager to hear some after the chaos of the past week.
Dylan beamed with pride. “Natalia went to see a doctor a few days ago. He confirmed what we’ve suspected. We’re going to have a child.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Emma rushed forward to give Natalia an exuberant hug. “I’m so happy for you.”
As the two women fussed over the impending birth, Michael turned a fond smile on his brother. “That truly is good news.”
“I think we need to celebrate with one of the earl’s Cuban cigars, don’t you?”
Michael stilled, his anxiety returning full force. He’d never known Dylan to smoke, so he feared his brother had suggested the cigars as a ploy to get him alone for a

few moments.

Frowning, he glanced at Emma. “Do you mind if Dylan and I go smoke?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Of course not. Natalia and I have days worth of things to discuss.”
Dylan nudged him toward the door. “Come on, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Reluctant, he followed his brother down the hall. He cringed inside as he remembered what had happened the last time his brother had

uttered those words.

After they entered the office, he went to the sideboard and opened the box of Cuban cigars his father always kept on hand. He doubted he’d ever feel comfortable in

this room, which had always been the earl’s most private domain.

He turned and offered the box to Dylan. As he’d suspected, Dylan waved it away. “I’ve never cared for the damned things.”
“Why the subterfuge?” Michael heaved a weary sigh and sank into the stiff leather chair behind the desk. “Whatever you need to say could have been said in front of

Emma.”

“I’ll leave the telling up to you.” Dylan dropped into the other chair. “This probably won’t amount to a hill of beans, anyway. I just thought you might be interested in

the latest bit of gossip that’s been floating around.”

“Gossip?” He selected one of the cigars and shut the box with an impatient snap. “You know I’ve never listened to gossip.”
“Well, I do,” Dylan replied. “Especially when it concerns you.”
Michael sighed and snipped the end of the cigar, then lit it and brought it to his lips. The rich smoke pooled in his lungs before he released it in an aromatic cloud.

“What are they saying?”

“The general consensus seems to be that you killed the old bastard.” Dylan frowned. “What concerns me the most, though, is the genuine anger in the voices of a few

senior members of parliament when they found out you weren’t going to be tried. They were bandying about the idea of asking the Queen to strip you of the title.”

“They can’t do that.” Sudden nausea twisted in the pit of Michael’s stomach. “Can they?”
“I don’t think so.” Dylan pushed out of his chair and began to pace, obviously unable to keep up his casual pose. “But I think the best move would be to try and gain

an audience with the Queen as soon as possible. She needs to hear your side of the story before anyone can poison her against you.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’ll also have my father-in-law’s solicitors check into the legalities.”
He didn’t bother to tell his brother that the loss of his title frightened him far more than the prospect of hanging. After all, his title was the reason Emma had married

him.

What would she do if he no longer had anything to offer her?
Dylan didn’t try to conceal his concern. “I still feel as though this is my fault. It would have been better for everyone if I’d confronted the earl myself.”
Michael tossed his cigar into an ashtray and stood. He crossed to his brother’s side and placed a comforting hand on Dylan’s shoulder. The last thing he wanted to do

was add to Dylan’s guilt.

“I don’t think so,” Michael reassured him. “He didn’t show an ounce of remorse and I’m sure your anger would have gotten the best of you. Besides, I needed to do it

myself. I don’t know if I ever would have believed our mother’s life meant so little to him if I hadn’t heard it from his own lips.”

“You’re probably right about my temper,” Dylan admitted. “But it isn’t fair that the blame for this should be yours alone. Hell, there shouldn’t be any blame. You

didn’t do anything wrong.”

Michael moved to a window and stared at the people on the street below. “I must admit I’m a bit surprised that people are so willing to think the worst of me.”
Dylan sighed. “You’ve always been so bloody perfect. It’s the nature of men to rejoice when the mighty fall.”
“Mighty?” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Without my title, without Warren and Sherbourne, I’ll be the most pathetic of men—a parasite who lives off his wife’s

money.”

He hated the thought of living off Emma’s wealth. What would become of him, without his estates to care for? What would he do with the rest of his life?
“You could never be a parasite,” Dylan assured him. “I know you too well. You’ll find some worthy cause. Hell, who knows? The title has always weighed you down,

limited your choices. This might be a blessing in disguise.”

A blessing in disguise.
For just a moment, Michael allowed himself to ponder his brother’s words. He imagined taking Emma on that wedding trip she’d wanted.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t get past the fact that the trip would be financed with Emma’s money.
He pinned Dylan with a look. “Tell me how you’d have felt if you didn’t have Aldabaran and had to rely solely on Natalia’s dowry. Tell me it wouldn’t have made you

feel less a man.”

Dylan dropped his gaze. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t think I would have handled it well.”
“I wouldn’t be able to handle it at all,” Michael told him. “So I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to make sure it never happens.”

Chapter Sixteen

Emma stared through the darkness at her bedroom ceiling, acutely aware of the empty space between her and her husband.
Dylan and Natalia had stayed for supper, but Michael had been quiet and withdrawn ever since he and Dylan had disappeared for their celebratory cigar. She was

certain Dylan had imparted yet another piece of bad news, but if so, Michael hadn’t made any effort to share it with her.

He’d gone about his duties as host until their guests had left, then told her he was tired and retired to bed. When she’d insisted on accompanying him, he’d seemed

rather annoyed, though of course he was too well bred to tell her so.

When she emerged from her dressing room, arrayed in a sheer, burgundy nightgown, he feigned sleep.
She slid beneath the covers and tried to snuggle close to him, but he pulled away and rolled to the far side of the bed. To her stunned disbelief, he turned his back to

her and murmured some poor excuse about his sore shoulder.

Her anger and dismay grew with each passing moment. Now, nearly an hour later, she was tempted to smother him with her pillow.
How could their marriage survive if Michael continued to retreat into his shell every time something bothered him? She resented the fact that he’d created this gulf

between them and forced her to either let it stand or be the one to cross it.

She wished she were strong enough to give him a taste of his own medicine. More than anything, she’d like to turn her back as well, pretend she didn’t care about his

pain. She wanted to make him admit he needed her, or better yet, that he loved her the way she loved him.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t that patient. She couldn’t bear to let this silence fester between them for even one more second.
Sighing, she pressed against the tense, unyielding line of his back and slipped her arm around his lean waist. “What’s wrong, Michael? Why are you shutting me out

again?”

He inhaled sharply as her hand came to rest against the warm, flat plane of his bare stomach. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to bother you with more of my problems.”
Emma pressed her lips to the back of his neck and rubbed her cheek against a silken swath of his golden hair. “I want to share your life. All of it. Not just the good

parts.”

“Lately, the only good part of my life is you.” The sincerity of his soft words thrilled her, but her happiness faded as he put his hand

over hers and urged her to stroke the turgid length of his arousal. “Make love to me, Emma. I need you so much.”

She pushed away and scrambled to her knees in the middle of the big bed. “That’s all you want from me, isn’t it?” The truth was suddenly all too clear. “I feel like

such a fool, prattling on about trust and love, when all you want is a warm, willing body.”

“Don’t say that.” He pulled her into his arms and held her so tight she could hardly breathe. She struggled to get away, but he wouldn’t let her go. “It’s not true,

Emma. It’s not true.”

“It is true,” she argued. “The only time I feel close to you is when you’re inside me. When you’re not making love to me, I feel like I don’t even know you.”
“I don’t want it to be like that.” Michael brushed his lips against her temple and ignored her as she tried to push him away. “I just don’t know how else to reach out to

you.”

She went still, her breath coming in harsh gasps, overwhelmed by emotion. “You can start by talking to me. Tell me when things are bothering you. Don’t shut me

out.”

“You’re going to make me do this, aren’t you?” He sighed and scooted backward. He leaned against the headboard, and anchored her against his chest. “I’d hoped to

take care of it myself, so you wouldn’t have to worry.”

“You don’t think it worries me when you turn away as though I have the plague?”
His arms tightened in a reflexive hug. “I worry that if I keep burdening you with one catastrophe after another, you’ll turn away from me. In fact, I’m surprised

you’ve stuck with me this far.”

“I’m stronger than you think. Especially when it comes to those I love.” It was the second time she’d mentioned loving him tonight and she’d die if he didn’t

reciprocate soon.

To her intense disappointment, he did nothing of the sort. He released his stranglehold and cupped her cheek with his palm. “Would you feel the same way if I wasn’t

the Earl of Warren, or even Viscount Sherbourne?”

“Of course,” she answered, without hesitation, but she wondered where he was going with this.
“Well, you may have to prove it.” He let his head fall back against the headboard with a solid thunk. “Dylan informed me that the Queen may strip me of the title.”
“What?” She tried to see his face in the dark. It would kill him to lose the title. “Is that even possible?”
“I don’t know.” Despair roughened his voice. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. But then I’ve never known a peer to murder his own father, either.”
“But you didn’t kill anybody. This is ridiculous.” No wonder he’d been so morose all evening. He defined himself by his title. She couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he

lost Sherbourne Hall.

“Ridiculous or not, there’s a very real possibility it might happen.”
Without his duties and responsibilities he would flounder. He would never even consider the fact that this might be his only chance to break free of his father’s

shadow and see the world.

She wished the Queen would take it all away, but the thought produced a surge of guilt. Above all else, she wanted Michael to be happy. Even if that meant living in

rural England in a drafty old house without running water for the rest of her life.

“We can’t let this happen.” She tried her best to keep from letting her true feelings show. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”
He rested his forehead against hers for a long moment and she cursed the darkness that kept her from reading his expression. She should have lit the bedside lamp.
“We’ll figure things out in the morning.” He sounded weary to his very soul. “For now, let’s try and get some rest.”

****

Michael tossed and turned all night as he contemplated his dwindling options. His entire future hinged upon his ability to make the right choices during the next few

days. He must get the proper people to see things his way, then compose the perfect plea to present to the Queen.

It wouldn’t be easy, but he refused to give up without a fight. Especially after Emma had made her opinions on the matter clear. She’d professed a willingness to do

anything to help him keep the title.

He didn’t want to disappoint her.
As much as it hurt to accept that her affection had been contingent upon the title all along, in a way he was relieved. Now that he knew for certain what she wanted

from him, it wouldn’t be so difficult to provide it.

He slipped out of bed just before sunrise and dressed quietly in the half-light. None of the people he needed to see would be up at this hour, but he couldn’t bear to

remain in bed any longer.

Perhaps he could work out some of his restless energy in a reckless ride through the park. He’d much prefer a good sparring match with Lucien, but had to admit his

shoulder wasn’t quite up to the task.

He finished pulling on his boots as the first rays of dawn crept through the window and limned his wife’s lovely face in clear, pure light. He paused, transfixed by the

sight of her.

She’d be angry when she woke up and found him gone. He’d allowed her to believe he wanted her help and he knew she wouldn’t let the matter rest. But his pride

wouldn’t allow him to let her do anything else on his behalf.

His father-in-law had already managed to clear him of any criminal charges. He couldn’t bear to owe someone else for the privilege of keeping his title, his very

birthright.

He had to do this on his own. Hopefully, Emma would understand, or at least forgive him in time.
Sighing, he reached out and brushed a lock of silky black hair off her cheek. If only things could be different. He longed for a marriage like the one she so obviously

wanted, one where they shared equally in all tasks and her problems became his, and vice versa.

Unfortunately, he’d been the only one with any problems thus far. And he couldn’t accept both Emma’s money and her help. Not when he had nothing to offer her in

return.

****

By the time Emma awoke the next morning, Michael had already gone out. It was early, not yet half past seven.
She couldn’t imagine what had sent him rushing off without her, especially after the talk they’d shared last night.
Didn’t he understand how much she wanted to be a part of this? How eager she was to prove her love for him?
She was going through the morning mail when the butler, Wadsworth, rapped on the door of her sitting room.
“Lady Jane Bennett just arrived unannounced, my lady. Shall I tell her you’re not at home?”
She put down the stack of invitations she’d been going through and gave Wadsworth an annoyed glance. “I am home, Wadsworth. What makes you think I’d want

you to tell my best friend differently?”

“Very good, my lady. I’ll tell her you’ll be with her shortly.” Wadsworth’s dour face twitched as he obviously tried to contain his own annoyance. In his

condescending, yet solicitous way, he’d made it very clear that she was not his idea of a proper countess.

She didn’t care. She found the entire farce of social calls and calling cards beyond ridiculous. Thank God Jane was here. She needed to talk to someone.
Rising, she hurried downstairs to meet her friend. As soon as she entered the parlor, she knew something wonderful had happened to Jane. Her friend’s pale face

was rosy with happiness and her blue eyes shone with an inner peace Emma doubted she would ever find.

“Oh, Emma.” Jane embraced her in an exuberant hug. “I’m so glad to see you.”
She returned the hug wholeheartedly and reflected that Jane had changed quite a bit from the prim and proper girl she’d met all those months ago. “I’m glad to see

you, too.”

Jane stepped back, her smile so wide it was a wonder her mouth didn’t split from the strain. “I did it. I took a chance and accepted Lucien’s proposal.”
Emma laughed and gestured for Jane to take a seat beside her on the loveseat. “I’m so happy for you, Jane. He loves you madly. Any fool could see it.”
“You’re right. He does love me.” Jane blushed. “I still find it hard to believe that someone so dashing, so wildly exciting, could fall in love with plain old me.”
“You’re far from plain,” Emma assured her friend. “You’re absolutely perfect. And I’m sure he believes he’s lucky someone else didn’t snatch you up first.”
Jane sighed, a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes. “I’ve done something terribly wicked. I allowed him to stay with me last night.”
A frisson of alarm wound through Emma. What if Lucien had seduced Jane, and had no intention of following through with his offer of marriage? Quickly, she

banished the pessimistic idea. If any man had ever been smitten with a woman, it was Lucien.

Emma only wished she could feel as certain about Michael’s affection for her.
Leaning forward, Emma squeezed her friend’s hand. “Was it wonderful?”
Jane nodded. “Oh, Emma. I had no idea! Now I can’t imagine having gone the rest of my life without ever knowing such feelings were possible.”
Emma laughed. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“Then you aren’t angry with me? For allowing him to take liberties before we were wed?”
“Of course not.” Emma gave Jane a conspiratorial wink. “I’d have done the same thing, but the only time I was able to coax Michael into relaxing his principles

enough to take advantage of me, you walked in and ruined everything.”

Jane put her hand across her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Oh my Lord. Knowing what I know now, I’m surprised you ever talked to me again.”
“Well, I won’t deny being very disappointed at the time. Then, when Michael failed to come to my bed on our wedding night, I thought I’d remain a virgin forever.”
Jane’s blue eyes widened. “Michael didn’t come to you on your wedding night? Why on earth not?”
Emma sighed. “I didn’t know what had happened at the time. I’m sure you can imagine all the terrible possibilities that ran through my head. But in the end, it turned

out he had just found out the truth about his mother’s death. He spent the night in the study, trying to drink away the pain.”

“I’m sure it must have been quite a shock to him. To learn that his own father was capable of such a horrible thing.”
“I think a little part of him died that night.” Emma put her worst fears into words. “He certainly hasn’t been the same since.”
“Does that mean you still haven’t...consummated your marriage?” Though Jane asked the question with care, her blue eyes glowed with undisguised curiosity.
Emma gave a self-conscious laugh. “Michael took care of that matter quite nicely before he came back to London to see his father. I only wish Dylan had kept his

secrets to himself just a little bit longer. I would have liked to spend more time with my husband before his entire world fell apart.”

“Oh, Emma.” Jane reached over and patted Emma’s hand in comfort. “I feel guilty for being so happy when you’re obviously so miserable.”
Emma squeezed Jane’s hand in return. “No, Jane. Don’t ever feel guilty about being happy. I only wish I could be half as certain of Michael’s love as you are of

Lucien’s.”

“But surely Michael has told you how much he loves you,” Jane asserted. “How can you possibly doubt him?”
“He’s done nothing of the sort. I’ve told him of my love, but he’s never reciprocated. I can’t stop worrying that he only wanted me for my dowry.”
“I refuse to believe that. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You were certain of Lucien’s love for me before I was, so trust me when I say your husband cares for

you more than anything else on earth.”

“Then why was it so easy for him to walk away from me?” The pain she’d tried so hard to hide exploded in a wail of dismay. “Why couldn’t he trust me enough to

tell me the truth?”

“I don’t know,” Jane whispered. “I can only guess that it’s hard for him to open himself up to anyone.”
“You’re probably right. I hope you’re right. I just wish there was something I could do to convince him how much I care for him. I’d be willing to do almost

anything...” She trailed off, as an idea came to her. “Oh, Jane. I think I know just the thing. But I might need your help.”

“I’ll help in any way I can,” Jane agreed, though she sounded wary.
“Well, I know how devastated Michael is at the thought of losing his title. What if I could save it for him?”
“How would you do that?” Jane asked.
“Perhaps I could ask the Prince to intervene on his behalf.” Her excitement grew as a plan began to take shape. “I’m sure I could get him to see how much Michael

deserves to keep what’s his. How taking Warren away from Michael would only hurt the Crown.”

Jane shook her head. “I’m not sure that would be such a good idea. The Prince is unpredictable. And Michael has never been one of his favorites.”
“You may be right, but it certainly can’t hurt to try, can it?”

Jane was silent for a long moment, but then she nodded. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Are you quite certain you want to do this?” Michael frowned at Emma as he helped her into Lucien’s elaborate coach. “We’re bound to be the

center of whispers and gossip. We may even be shunned outright.”

He’d been gone most of the day, speaking to old friends and testing the water. When he’d returned home, weary and frustrated over his inability to get a straight

answer from anyone, he’d found Emma calmly preparing to go to a musicale hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Clayton.

“We can’t hide from it,” Emma informed him coldly as she took a seat next to Lady Jane. “We must show them we’re not afraid. You’re innocent, Michael. It’s time

you started acting like it.”

Her words stung, as she’d no doubt intended. Still smarting, he took his own seat next to Lucien and ignored his friend’s pitying look.
Emma had made her fury at being left behind today known in a hundred little ways. All the things he’d taken for granted—the press of her hand in his, the gentle,

loving looks and constant praise and reassurance she’d showered him with at every turn—were gone, replaced by cold, implacable purpose.

He feared he’d gone too far this time, destroyed the fragile, beautiful thing she’d built between them.
“Emma’s right,” Lucien told him, as the coach lurched into motion. “You must act as if you haven’t a care in the world. The Duke and Duchess are behind you, and

never forget Jane and I are in your corner as well.”

Michael gave his friend a quick, grateful glance, and found Lucien smiling at Jane with his heart in his eyes. Last he’d heard, the two of them had barely been on

speaking terms.

Apparently, they’d managed to work things out.
Heartened, he dared another look across the aisle at Emma. If Lucien and Jane could work past all the hurts of the past, perhaps he and Emma could find peace with

each other as well.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt.” He wished they were alone so he could talk to her freely. “I can’t bear to think of you slighted in any way.”
She looked ravishing tonight, gowned in a daring scarlet ensemble that revealed far more of her luscious charms than he wanted to share with the rest of the world.
She met his stare, challenge sparking in the depths of her dark eyes. “How can I be hurt by the petty opinions of people I don’t even know?”
She seemed to be spoiling for a fight, determined to push him in every possible way.
Christ, how he loved the infuriating woman.
The knowledge swept through him. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He was head over heels in love with his exasperating American wife.
He couldn’t wait to tell her so.
Minutes later, the carriage pulled up in front of the Duke’s residence. Michael tried to maneuver things so he could corner his wife for a few minutes of privacy, but

she outwitted him. She pushed out of her seat and through the door in a most unladylike manner.

At a loss, he waited for Lucien to assist Jane. By the time he managed to exit the coach, Emma had entered the house, her arm linked through Jane’s.
Lucien whistled beneath his breath. “Good Lord, Michael. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman quite so angry. What did you do to her?”
Michael sighed and shook his head. “It’s a long story, my friend. But hopefully, I’ll be able to smooth things out once we get home.”
“I hope so.” Lucien gave Michael a quick, exultant smile. “I don’t want the two of you behaving this way at my wedding.”
“Wedding?” Michael clapped his friend on his back in hearty congratulations. “That’s bloody wonderful.”
“Jane agreed to marry me the night before last.” Lucien’s voice conveyed his awe and happiness.
“Finally came to her senses, did she?”
Lucien grinned and ducked his head in what could only be embarrassment, though Michael couldn’t be certain, since he’d never seen such an expression on his

friend’s face before. “I feel like the luckiest man on earth.”

When they entered the house, the crush of people caught them up and separated them, which put an abrupt end to their conversation. Michael was a bit relieved,

because Lucien’s happy news accented the problems in his own marriage.

He wanted what his brother and Lucien had. He wanted to be certain Emma loved him as much as he loved her.
When he thought of all the chances she’d given him, of all the opportunities he’d wasted...
He caught a glimpse of her scarlet gown ahead and hurried to catch up. He wanted to whisk her away to some quiet place and tell her just how much she meant to

him. Emma’s love meant more than any infernal title.

As he made his way through the crowd, a maddening buzz of whispers followed in his wake. He did his best to ignore them and hated the thought of Emma being

subjected to such treatment.

He managed to close the distance between them to less than a dozen yards, only to be waylaid by the duke himself. “Warren, I’d like a word with you.”
Michael turned in the older man’s direction. He couldn’t possibly refuse, not when the duke had publicly accepted him as the Earl of Warren.
Clayton had a tremendous amount of influence with the Queen, influence Michael had feared would be used against him, given the disastrous outcome of their last

meeting.

“Good evening, your grace.” Michael shook the duke’s hand, and bit off an inward curse as he watched Emma disappear up the stairs toward the ballroom.
“Warren.” Clayton cleared his throat, then looked away, seeming uncomfortable. “I wanted to offer you my thanks.”
“Your thanks?” Michael stared at the duke with undisguised curiosity. “Whatever for?”
“For refusing me when I asked you to marry my daughter.” The duke frowned and shook his head. “I hate to admit it, but you were right. Natalia and your brother

came to see me this afternoon. I have never seen her so happy.”

“Dylan loves her,” Michael agreed. He knew how difficult it must be for the duke to admit to any wrongdoing. “More than I ever could have.”
“Indeed.” The duke glowered as one of the passing guests made a nasty comment that could only have been aimed at Michael. “I was distressed to hear of your

father’s death. Even more so, to hear there were those who did not accept your version of how it happened.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Michael gestured toward the rude guest, who hastened away once he realized the duke didn’t share his opinion of the new earl. “It’s good

of you to invite me, all things considered.

“You’ll always be welcome in my home, Warren. And I’ll be sure to make that perfectly clear to anyone who matters.”
“Thank you again,” Michael said, overwhelmed. Even the Queen would deliberate hard and long about going against him, now that the duke had publicly taken his

side. “If I can ever return the favor, you’ve only to ask.”

The duke smiled. “I just might hold you to that.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Michael replied. Emma had been right to insist he come here tonight.

Seeming to sense the direction of his thoughts, the duke gestured toward the staircase. “Well, I have more guests to greet and I’m sure you’re anxious to catch up to

your lovely bride.”

“I certainly am,” Michael agreed. “Perhaps we can talk more later?”
“Perhaps.” The duke turned away, his attention already focused elsewhere.
Elated, Michael joined the crush of people pressing toward the ballroom. He couldn’t wait to tell Emma what had happened.
It took ten minutes to reach the immense, candlelit room where the entertainment would be held. Michael scanned the crowd for a glimpse of Emma’s scarlet gown.

The vibrant color was easy to spot and he headed eagerly in her direction.

Perhaps he could convince her to follow him out on the balcony, where he’d be free to kiss her to his heart’s content. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he finally

told her how much he loved her.

He was halfway across the room before he realized his wife chatted companionably with the Prince of Wales. Sudden unease pooled in the pit of his stomach as he

considered the implications.

“Oh, Emma,” he murmured in dismay. “What have you done?”

****

“My dear little American countess, you’re looking lovelier than ever. Marriage must agree with you.”
Emma pasted a vacuous smile on her lips as the Prince of Wales ogled her cleavage. She’d spoken with the future king several times before, but something had

changed.

In the past, he’d been flirtatious, but respectful. Now he stared at her with blatant lust.
“Marriage does agree with me, your highness. In fact, I was hoping for a chance to talk to you about my husband.” Things had started out very well. In fact, the

Prince had approached her just moments after she’d arrived and saved her the stress of figuring out a way to speak to him.

“Your husband?” The Prince frowned, obviously annoyed by her chosen topic of conversation.
Emma pressed onward, determined to make her request before she lost her nerve. “Surely you’ve heard the distressing rumors regarding the former Earl of Warren’s

death.”

The Prince gave her a speculative stare. “We have.”
“There are those who think the Queen will strip my husband of his title. But I can assure you the earl’s death was a suicide.”
“Are you asking us to intervene on Lord Warren’s behalf?”
“I would be ever so grateful.”
“Perhaps I could be persuaded to speak with the Queen,” the Prince said. “But if I did so, what would you be willing to do for me in return?”
Far too late, Emma realized her mistake. The Prince was known for his penchant of seducing other men’s wives. Now that Emma had married, she was fair game.
Even if she hadn’t had the audacity to ask him for a favor, he would have considered himself well within his rights to demand she grace his bed. Now that she’d

brought herself to his attention, she couldn’t think of any way to extricate herself from this precarious situation.

“I would do anything.” She’d come too far to back down now. “Anything at all.”
The Prince frowned. “I’ll think on this. But I haven’t yet made up my mind whether to exert myself on Warren’s behalf. Never really liked the chap, you know. Far

too straight-laced.”

“Thank you, your highness.” Emma curtsied a bit awkwardly, then hurried away, face flaming.
Good Lord, she feared she’d just made a serious tactical mistake. For all his charm and rakish ways, the Prince of Wales was no fool. She knew nothing of the politics

that drove this country and should never have dabbled in a flirtation with someone so high above her.

Not only had she failed to get the Prince to give her any concrete assurance he’d help, she had promised him something she could never deliver.
Frustrated tears pricked her eyes and she blinked, determined not to give in to them. Would Michael even care if she gave her body to the Prince, as long as it meant

he didn’t lose his title?

After all, she still wasn’t even sure he loved her.

****

Michael watched from a distance as Emma spoke with the Prince of Wales. She seemed to be asking for something, which increased his anxiety tenfold.
Where had she gotten the harebrained idea that the Prince could help them with their problems? He feared she’d only manage to make things worse.
His anxiety turned to fury as the Prince’s jaded gaze dropped covetously to Emma’s cleavage. Michael was too far away to hear what the bloody bastard said to her,

but she paled, obviously upset.

Then she swallowed, nodded and dropped into a curtsy that lacked her usual grace.
Michael started toward them, but the crowd was heavy in this part of the room. By the time he managed to shoulder his way through, Emma had already disappeared,

eluding him once more.

He cursed, his frustration building to a fever pitch. Was she trying to drive him mad?
“Looking for your wife, Lord Warren?”
Michael stiffened and turned toward the future king. “Good evening, your highness.”
The Prince gave him a strange, gloating look. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be the sort of man who sent his wife to beg favors on his behalf.”
“I’m not,” Michael replied. “Emma has a mind of her own.”
“You should endeavor to bring your feisty little American bride to heel. She apparently believes you’re going to lose your title.” The prince laughed in obvious

enjoyment. “I don’t think she likes the idea of being married to a commoner.”

So, it was true. He felt like a fool for daring to believe Emma might love him for himself. “What did you tell her?”
“As far as I know, there are no plans to strip you of anything, Warren. You’re a great favorite of the Queen’s. But I hardly saw the need to inform your wife of that,

especially when she asked so prettily. She told me she’d be willing to do anything to help you. Anything at all.”

Michael’s blood ran cold at the Prince’s unmistakable meaning. “She didn’t know what she was doing.”
“Nonetheless, she had the audacity to ask.” The Prince’s manner turned cold. “You can be assured I plan to take my due.”
“She’s my wife,” Michael snapped. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“And I am your Prince.” Having thrown down the gauntlet, the Prince turned away in regal dismissal.
Michael stared after him for a long moment. A muscle leapt in his jaw as he fought the urge to go after him, to say something he would regret forever.
For perhaps the first time in his life, he wanted something badly enough to fight for it. But how did one fight the future King of England?
Never had he felt so helpless.
While he’d planned ways to profess his love, Emma had agreed to prostitute herself to save his title. His relief at learning he would keep the earldom was dwarfed by

his disappointment.

Jealousy and anger seethed within him as he went in search of his wife. This time, she wouldn’t evade him.

****

After leaving the Prince, Emma pressed through the crowd, searching for some private place to lick her wounds. She needed a few minutes alone to regain her

composure.

Everything had gone so terribly wrong. For the first time in her life, she had no idea what she was going to do next.

“We need to talk.”
She sucked in a startled breath as Michael’s hand closed implacably around her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks. She stared up at him, stunned by the fury in his

pale eyes.

He knew what she’d done. He knew, and he wasn’t pleased. Her heart sank.
“Can’t it wait?” Trying to postpone the inevitable, she gestured toward the front of the ballroom, where people were beginning to take their seats. “The entertainment

is about to start.”

“Do you really think I give a damn about that?” Tightening his grip, Michael propelled her out of the ballroom and down a long hallway.
She stumbled after him, tripping on her long skirts, her anxiety growing to a fever pitch. “Michael. I can explain...”
“I doubt it.” He glared at her over his shoulder and pushed his way into an empty room. She was vaguely aware of a harp and pianoforte lurking in the shadowy

corners before he slammed the door and cast them into darkness.

Cursing, he fumbled around until he found the switch for the gas lights. Emma blinked at the sudden brightness, unsure what to do or say in the face of his controlled

rage.

“Michael. You’re not yourself.” She’d never expected to see him this way, cursing and slamming things the way her father was wont to do in a temper. She would

have thought his behavior an encouraging sign, proof that he was becoming human at last, if not for the distressing fact that his anger was directed at her.

“If I’m not, it’s your fault.” Michael held her gaze as he advanced. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
Emma swallowed as he braced a hand on either side of her head and pinned her between the wall and the strength of his long, lean body. “I was only trying to help.”
“Help?” His bitter laugh stirred the hair at her temple. “Why couldn’t you just trust me to take care of this? Are you determined to strip me of every last bit of pride?”
“I’m not trying to strip you of anything.” Her anger returned full force. The ungrateful fool! “If you’d only included me, trusted me the least little bit, perhaps I

wouldn’t have felt compelled to take matters into my own hands.”

“How can I trust a woman who is willing to prostitute herself for a bloody title?” He grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his flashing gaze. “Will you insist the

Prince call you countess as he ruts between your thighs?”

“You bastard!” She tried to strike him, but he caught her hands easily, and imprisoned them above her head. She struggled furiously, battling to be free of him, hurt

beyond words by his false assumptions.

He held fast, his body pressed against hers, his breath harsh and erratic in her ear. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m not a fool for believing you love me. Me.

Michael. Not the bloody Earl of Warren.”

“Why should I?” Fuming, she lifted her chin. “You didn’t believe me the last half dozen times. You’ve certainly never given me the slightest indication you feel the

same.”

“Haven’t I?” Michael lowered his head until his lips were mere inches from hers. The longing in his pale eyes nearly brought her to her knees. “Haven’t I shown you

in a hundred different ways?”

She stilled, and sudden hope blossomed within her. “I need the words, Michael. Please, I need to hear them.”
Releasing his crushing grip on her wrists, Michael cupped her face with sudden tenderness.
“I’ve never said them before,” he admitted, his voice husky with emotion. “Not ever.”
She thought of the lonely little boy he’d been. He’d tried so hard to be perfect, to earn the love of his father—a man who’d been incapable of loving. While part of her

desperately wanted to ease his fears, proclaim her love and explain her actions, she knew the time had come for him to make a leap of faith.

“Say it.” She pressed a chaste kiss to his beautiful lips. “Just say it.”
Michael stared at his wife, humbled by her courage, inspired by her example. Perhaps he was making this all far harder than it had to be. His heart had been

committed for some time now. Whether he said the words or not, he already loved her.

He cleared his throat, then swallowed. Smiling encouragement, Emma laced her fingers through his. The unconditional love shining in the depths of her dark eyes put

him at ease.

How could he ever have doubted her?
“Ah, Emma. I do love you.” He squeezed her hands and willed her to believe his heartfelt declaration. “I love you more than I ever thought possible.”
Tears glimmered in her spiky dark lashes as she laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you too, Michael. I love you so much.”
He closed his eyes and held her, overwhelmed with relief. Until this very moment, he hadn’t realized he’d needed to give his love as much as he’d needed to be loved

in return.

For a long, precious moment, she remained passive in his arms, but then she pulled away. “If you love me, you must believe I only went to the Prince because I

couldn’t bear to see you so unhappy. I don’t care about the title anymore. Truly I don’t.”

He stared into his wife’s dark, bright eyes and knew she told the truth. She didn’t care if he was a prince or a pauper. Like him, all she’d ever really wanted was to be

loved, to find somewhere to truly belong.

“I believe you.” He pulled her back into the protective circle of his arms and wondered how he could keep her safe from her own foolishness. “But you needn’t

worry. The Prince assured me the Queen has no intention of taking the title from me.”

“He didn’t bother to tell me that.” She gave a ragged laugh and shook her head against his chest. “I’ve made a terrible mess of everything, haven’t I?”
“Well, you’ve brought yourself to his attention,” Michael agreed. “But I doubt anything else will come of it unless you want it to.”
“I don’t.” She shuddered and hugged him. “All I want is you.”
Her words were a balm to the wounds on his soul. He would never grow tired of hearing how much Emma cared for him.
He could never share her, not even with the bloody Prince of Wales. He’d just have to figure out a way to keep his beautiful wife occupied, and hope someone else

captured the rakish young Prince’s attention.

“We need to go away for awhile...” The glimmer of an idea occurred to him. There was only one way to prove how much loving her had changed him.
She went still in his arms and lifted her eyes to meet his. He could see her tentative hope, which she quickly masked. “What about all your responsibilities? You’re

bound to have even more, now that you have the earldom to manage as well.”

He sighed and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I have people who can be trusted to manage things while I’m away. It’s time for me to start living my life. And

you’re the best part of it.”

“Oh, Michael.” She finally gave in to her tears. “You’re getting much better at sweet words.”
“Well, I think you’ll like what I have to say next.” He smiled, feeling absolutely certain for the first time in his life. “Come away with me. We’ll go to Egypt and make

love beneath the pyramids. We’ll explore the world until you’re big with our first child and then we’ll come home and raise a family.”

“That sounds perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Emma flung her arms around his neck and laughed and cried all at the same time, happier than she’d ever thought possible.
Michael had proven to be everything she’d ever wanted, and he’d taught her a very important lesson. Love is the greatest adventure of all.

About the author…

Drawn into the happily-after-ever of fairy tales, Diana wrote her first story in elementary school, and has been writing ever since. For the last ten years she has been

seriously pursuing a writing career, while also juggling a full time job as a police dispatcher. She has won or finalled in over a dozen writing contests, including RWA’s
prestigious Golden Heart. She lives in a small Colorado town with her wonderful husband and three teen-aged boys.

Visit Diana Bold at

www.dianabold.com