Книга - Royal’s Bride

Royal's Bride
Kat Martin


Forced to choose between his soulmate and his salvation!After years abroad, Royal has returned to Bransford Castle to find his father dying and the family treasury almost empty. Guilt-ridden, Royal makes the old Duke a rash promise: to marry heiress Jocelyn Caulfield and restore the estate to its former glory.Unhappily, Royal’s fiancée leaves him cold… It’s her beautiful cousin Lily Moran who quickens his pulse! Penniless Lily knows that nothing can come of their undeniable attraction – but there is a way she can help. Enlisting some questionable characters from her past, she concocts an elaborate ruse to recover some of the Bransford fortune.As the dangerous scheme unfolds, Lily and Royal are thrown together in pursuit of the very thing – money – that keeps them apart…











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KAT MARTIN:


‘Kat Martin is one of the best authors around!

She has an incredible gift for writing.’

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‘[The Devil’s Necklace is] full of spirited romance and nefarious skulduggery [and] one of Martin’s trademark nail-biting endings.’

—Publishers Weekly

‘A knockout! From the first page it pulls the reader in …

the plot is so rich with twists and turns that I couldn’t

put it down … [Martin] is one talented writer and

Heart of Courage is one for the keeper shelf!’

—Romance Reader at Heart

‘Kat Martin dishes up sizzling passion and true love,

then she serves it up with savoir faire.’

—Los Angeles Daily News

‘Ms Martin keeps you burning the midnight oil as she

sets fire to the pages of Heart of Fire … Don’t miss this fabulous series! It is definitely a winner.’

—Reader to Reader

‘Kat Martin shimmers like a bright diamond in the genre.’

—RT Book Reviews

‘Heart of Honor sweeps the reader away on a tidal wave of emotion, bittersweet, poignant romance and a tantalizing primal sexuality that are the inimitable trademarks of multi-talented author Kat Martin.’

—Winterhaven News


Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoy Royal’s Bride. It’s the first in my new Brides trilogy, a series that revolves around the handsome Dewar brothers and the women they come to love.

Reese’s Bride is next. Retired from the cavalry, Reese Dewar has returned to Briarwood, the home he inherited from his grandfather. There he intends to make a life for himself that does not include battle. Instead, Reese will be forced to confront his painful past and the woman who betrayed him, the beautiful widow Elizabeth Clemens Holloway, the woman he once loved.

Now Reese must face his toughest challenge—staying away from the lovely, lonely widow he could never trust when all he can think of is getting her into his bed.

I hope you’ll watch for Reese’s Bride, and that you enjoy!

All best wishes,

Kat




Royal’s Bride

Kat Martin







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To the Martin family, all such wonderful people.

I’m so lucky to have them!




One


England, 1854

Royal Dewar crossed the massive oak-beamed entry of Bransford Castle, his tall black riding boots ringing on the wide-planked wooden floor. As he strode past the main drawing room, so impressive with its high, Tudor-style ceilings and heavy beams, he tried to ignore the worn Persian carpets, the way the bright reds and vivid blues he recalled from his youth had faded to shadowy, lackluster hues.

As he climbed the wide, carved mahogany staircase, he tried not to notice the feel of the wooden banister beneath his hand, once polished to a rich patina but now dull from years of neglect.

He had been home for less than two weeks, returned to England from his family’s plantation, Sugar Reef, in Barbados, where he had been living for the past seven years. His father had fallen ill and the family solicitor, Mr. Edward Pinkard, had sent for him.

The Duke of Bransford is dying, the letter had said. In all haste, my lord, please come home before it is too late.

He was home at last, grateful to have this brief time with his father, but the house was dreary and in desperate need of repair, and he was unused to being cooped up inside. At dawn, after checking on his father’s condition, he had headed for the stables. He hadn’t ridden Bransford lands in the past eight years and he looked forward to becoming reacquainted with his home.

Though the winter wind was chill, the sky gray and cloudy, Royal enjoyed the ride immensely, surprising himself a bit. The hot climate of Barbados had seeped into his bones and his skin was sun-darkened from his work out in the sugarcane fields. Yet this morning, with the brisk wind in his face and the open fields stretching as far as he could see, he realized how much he had missed England.

It was late morning when he returned to the house, swinging down from the big gray stallion that had been a gift on his twenty-first birthday, a colt he had named Jupiter that now stood seventeen hands high. He handed the reins to a waiting groom.

“See he gets an extra ration of oats, will you, Jimmy?”

“Aye, my lord.”

Feeling only a little guilty for leaving with his father so ill, Royal hurried into the house and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Striding down the hall, he paused for a moment to collect himself outside the door to the duke’s bedroom suite.

A strip of light seeped from beneath the heavy wooden panel, indicating a lamp burned inside. Royal turned the silver handle, opened the door and strode into the massive, dimly lit chamber. Across the room, his father lay beneath the covers of a huge four-poster bed encased in heavy gold velvet hangings, the shell of the man he had once been.

The duke’s valet and most trusted servant, George Middleton, hurried forward on long, spindly legs, his shoulders stooped from years of service and now resignation.

“It is good you are back, my lord.”

“How is he, Middleton?” Royal pulled the tie on his long scarlet woolen cloak and allowed the valet to sweep it from his shoulders.

“I am afraid, my lord, each day he grows weaker. Waiting for Lord Reese to arrive is all that keeps him going.”

Royal nodded. He prayed his brother, two years younger than his own twenty-nine years and a major in the British cavalry, would reach Bransford before it was too late. His third and youngest brother, Rule, had already arrived, home from his studies at Oxford.

Royal glanced toward the velvet curtains and saw Rule sitting in the shadows next to their father’s bedside. Rule rose and started forward. Tall and broad-shouldered with the lean-muscled build of an athlete, Rule looked a good deal like his siblings: same straight nose, carved features and solid jaw, but unlike Royal, who had the dark blond hair and golden-brown eyes of their mother, both Reese and Rule were black-haired, with the brilliant blue eyes that belonged to the duke.

“He’s been asking for you.” Rule moved into the flickering light of the lamp on a nearby rosewood dresser, the dangling prisms throwing off a rainbow of colors. “He’s been rambling a bit. He says there is a promise you must make. He says he cannot die in peace unless you vow to see it done.”

Royal nodded, more curious than concerned. All three brothers loved their father. And all three had abandoned him years ago to follow their own selfish dreams. They owed the Duke of Bransford. His sons would do whatever he asked of them.

Following in Middleton’s wake, his brother strode past Royal out the door and closed it softly behind him, leaving him alone in the gloomy, airless room. His father had suffered three separate strokes, the first three years ago, and each more debilitating than the last. Royal should have come back to England after the first, but his father’s letters had assured him of his recovery, and Royal had wanted to believe it. He wanted to stay at Sugar Reef.

He looked down at the frail old man on the bed, once a man of unbelievable power and strength. It was sheer force of will, Royal believed, that had kept his father alive this long.

“Royal …?”

He moved to the bed, settled himself in the chair his youngest brother had vacated. “I’m right here, Father.” He reached out and clasped the duke’s thin, cold hand. Though it was warm in the bedroom, he made a mental note to stoke up the flames in the hearth.

“I am sorry … my son,” the duke said in a raspy voice, “for the poor legacy … I have left you. I have failed you … and your … brothers.”

“It’s all right, Father. Once you are back on your feet—”

“Do not talk … nonsense, boy.” He took a few wheezing breaths, his mouth drooping slightly, and Royal fell silent. “I’ve lost it all. I am not … not even sure exactly how it happened. Somehow it just … slipped away.”

Royal didn’t have to ask what his father meant. The furniture missing from the drawing rooms, the bare spots on the walls where exquisite gilt-framed paintings once had hung, the general dilapidated condition of what had once been one of the grandest houses in England told the story.

“In time, our fortune can be rebuilt,” Royal said. “The Bransford dukedom will be as mighty as it ever was.”

“Yes … I am certain it will be.” He coughed, dragged in a shaky breath. “I know I can … count on you, Royal … you and your brothers. But it won’t be easy.”

“I will see it done, Father, I promise you.”

“And so you … shall. And I am going to help you … even after I am dead and buried.”

Royal’s chest squeezed. He knew his father was going to die. It was only a matter of time. Still, it was difficult to accept that a man once as strong and vital as the duke would actually be gone.

“Did you hear what I said … Royal?”

He had, but only dimly. “Yes, Father, but I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“There is a way … my son. The simplest … of ways. Marriage to the right woman will give you … the money you need.” His frail hold tightened on Royal’s hand. “I have found her, son. The perfect … woman.”

Royal straightened in his chair, certain his father must have returned to his former rambling.

“She is beautiful …” the duke continued. “An exquisite creature … worthy of becoming your duchess.” The old man’s strength seemed to grow with every word, and for a moment, the dull glaze over his eyes lifted, turning them the fierce blue of his youth. “She is an heiress, my boy … inherited a fortune from her grandfather. And the size of her dowry is incredible. You will be a wealthy man again.”

“You should rest. I can come back—”

“Listen to me, son. I have already spoken to her … father, a man named Henry Caulfield. Caulfield dotes on her. He is determined … to give her a title. The arrangements have already … been made.” He wheezed in a breath, coughed, but his hold on Royal’s hand never weakened. “After a suitable period of mourning … you will marry Jocelyn Caulfield. With her fortune … and your resolve … you can rebuild the house and return our lands to their former glory.”

The duke’s grip grew fierce. Royal was amazed he had that much strength. And he realized his father wasn’t rambling. Indeed, he knew exactly what he was saying. “Promise me you will do it. Say you will marry the girl.”

Royal’s heart was thumping oddly. He owed his father, yet deep inside, some part of him wanted to refuse, to rebel against a life that had been dictated for him. Though he had been trained to assume the duties of duke, he hadn’t expected to face those duties so soon.

His mind rushed backward. At two-and-twenty, he had hied himself off to adventure in the Caribbean. He had taken over the running of the family plantation. The vast acreage had been of little value when he had assumed the role as owner. Through hours of back-breaking labor, he had created a domain he could be proud of, made the plantation the success it was today.

He had known one day he would be called back home. He had known he would face responsibilities beyond anything he had handled in the past.

But he hadn’t expected his father to die so soon.

Or to inherit a title and lands that had been stripped completely bare.

His father’s grip slackened, his energy drained. The corner of his mouth drooped as it had before. “Promise me …”

Royal swallowed. His father was dying. How could he refuse his dying wish?

“Please …” the duke whispered.

“I will marry her, Father, as you wish. You have my word.”

The duke made a faint nod of his head. A slow breath whispered out and his eyes slowly closed. For an instant, Royal feared he was dead. Then his chest weakly inflated, and Royal felt a sweep of relief. Releasing his father’s cold hand, he slipped it beneath the covers and eased away from the bed. He paused long enough to build up the fire, then left the suite.

As he stepped outside, he spotted Rule pacing the hallway. His brother jerked to a halt as Royal quietly closed the door.

“Is he …?”

“He is as he was.” He released a breath. “He has arranged a marriage. The woman comes with an enormous dowry, enough to begin rebuilding the family lands and holdings. I have agreed to the match.”

Rule frowned, drawing his black eyebrows together. “Are you certain that is what you wish to do?”

Royal’s mouth barely curved. “I am not sure of anything, brother, except that I have made a vow and now I must keep it.”

The burial of the Duke of Bransford took place on a windy, overcast, frigid morning in January. The proceedings had actually begun several days earlier, with a lengthy funeral service given by the Archbishop at Westminster Abbey. It was attended by a score of nobles and dozens of London’s elite.

Afterward, the coffin was transported to the village of Bransford via an extravagant black carriage and four matching black horses for a graveside service and the final interment of the late duke’s body in the family’s private plot adjacent to the village church.

A number of family members were in attendance, including the duke’s aging aunt, Agatha Edgewood, Dowager Countess of Tavistock, as well as numerous other aunts and cousins, some Royal hadn’t known existed. Some, like vultures, had come to discover if they might receive a bequest in the late duke’s will. Those few had a surprise in store for them since little unentailed property or monies remained in the family coffers.

Royal stared down at the gleaming bronze casket that held his father’s remains and a thick lump swelled in his throat. He should have come home sooner, should have spent more time with the man who had sired him. He should have helped him manage his vast affairs. Perhaps if he had, the dukedom wouldn’t have fallen into ruin. Perhaps his father wouldn’t have worried himself into an early grave.

Royal gazed at the coffin, which blurred for an instant behind a film of tears. His father was gone. The sixth Duke of Bransford had passed away peacefully two hours after the arrival of his middle son.

Reese and the duke had been cosseted together briefly, and another vow was made. By no later than the date his twelve-year enlistment was up, Reese would leave the military and return to Wiltshire. He would take over the lands and manor at Briarwood, a nearby property Reese had inherited from their maternal grandfather. He would rebuild those lands and make them and his life productive.

Reese, the most stubborn of the duke’s three offspring, enjoyed his freedom, his military life and his travels. He wanted nothing less than being bound to a chunk of land he saw as a place that would hold him prisoner. But in the end, as his father’s life drained away before his very eyes, Reese had agreed.

Rule, the wildest and least responsible, had made his pledge before Royal arrived. The duke believed an alliance with the Americans was in the family’s best interest. His youngest son had pledged to do whatever it took to make that alliance a fact.

The vicar’s words cut into Royal’s thoughts, turning them away from events of the past few weeks and returning him to the words being said over his father’s coffin.

A sharp wind tossed his long woolen cloak and cut through his heavy black tailcoat and dark gray trousers as he stood at the graveside. Next to him, Reese wore the scarlet-and-white dress uniform of a major in the British cavalry, the breeze slashing at his thick, wavy black hair. He was the most sober of the brothers, his features harder, reflecting the life he lived.

Royal’s gaze moved to his youngest brother. Rule had been an unexpected addition to the family, born almost six years after Reese to a mother in ill health who had been warned against having more children. Amanda Dewar had died in childbirth, leaving Rule in the dubious care of a nanny, his two older brothers and a father who often drank to bury his grief or hid himself away in his study.

Rule had survived to become the most reckless of the three. He had a reputation as an incorrigible rake and he wore it proudly. He loved the ladies and seemed to make it a personal challenge to bed as many beautiful women as he possibly could.

Royal almost smiled. His own future had already been decided. He would marry a woman named Jocelyn Caulfield. A woman he had yet to meet. She was out of the country at present, enjoying a European tour with her mother. Royal was glad.

The period of mourning for his father would last a year. There would be time enough to arrange a marriage after that.

Meanwhile, he had money of his own, income from Sugar Reef, funds sufficient to keep the dukedom afloat, if not enough to rebuild the fortune his father had lost.

In time it would happen, Royal vowed. He would not rest until he saw it done.

In the meantime, he would learn what he could of his duties as duke, investigate his holdings, see how best to resurrect his father’s flagging investments and try to make them profitable again.

As his father had said, it wouldn’t be easy.

Royal vowed that by the time he was wed, he would know how to best use the money gained from the marriage his father had arranged.




Two


London, EnglandOne Year Later

Jocelyn Caulfield stood in front of the cheval glass in her bedroom overlooking the gardens at Meadowbrook, her family’s mansion at the edge of Mayfair in a district of larger, newer homes. Dressed in a corset, chemise and drawers, the garments as ruffled as the white silk counterpane on her four-poster bed and the crisscross curtains at the windows, she surveyed her curvaceous figure in the mirror.

“I hope I am not putting on weight.” She clamped her hands on the bone stays that trimmed her waist to a scant eighteen inches and frowned, pulling her sleek, dark eyebrows together over a pair of violet eyes. “What do you think, Lily?”

Her third cousin and companion of the past six years, Lily Moran, laughed from a few feet away. “You have a perfect figure and you know it.”

Jocelyn smiled mischievously. “Do you think the duke will notice?”

Lily just shook her head. “Every man who sees you notices, Jo.” Though the women were both average in height, unlike Jocelyn, Lily was blond and slender, with pale sea-green eyes and lips she considered a little too full. She was pretty in a more subtle, less vibrant way, not at all like Jo, who was the sort to stop a man where he stood and leave him simply staring.

“Have you finished packing for the trip?” Jocelyn asked. Which meant, Lily, have you also finished mine? Jo didn’t trust Elsie, her ladies’ maid, to choose exactly the right wardrobe for a trip to meet her soon-to-be betrothed, the Duke of Bransford. It was Lily she trusted, Lily, one year older, whom she had come to depend on over the years.

“I am nearly finished,” Lily said. “I have everything but your undergarments laid out for you in your dressing room. All you have to do is have Phoebe pack the gowns away in your trunks before you leave.”

Jocelyn turned to survey her figure from a different angle. “I wonder what the house will be like. Father says Bransford Castle is quite a dreadful place—though I gather, until the last few years, it was one of the grandest homes in England. It isn’t truly a castle, you know. It is only three hundred years old. It is huge, Father says, four stories high, built in a U shape with an interior garden and any number of turrets and towers. It even has a hedge maze.”

Jocelyn’s smile displayed a set of perfect white teeth. “Father says I should have a marvelous time putting it back to rights.”

Lily smiled indulgently. “I am certain you will.” Though she imagined Jo would be bored with the project after the first six months and her mother would wind up finishing the remodeling and redecorating the newly titled duchess would require of her lavish country home.

“I hope Mother and I will be able to endure such quarters. I am glad we shan’t be staying much more than a week.” Just long enough for Jocelyn and her future betrothed to get acquainted. “I am so glad I decided you should travel to Bransford a few days early. That should give you time to make the place comfortable for us.”

“I’m sure the duke will do everything in his power to see to you and your mother’s comfort, Jocelyn.”

Jo reached over and took hold of Lily’s hand. “But you will take care of it personally, won’t you? You know the things that please me … exactly how I like my cocoa in the mornings, how hot I like the water in my bath. You will prepare the servants, explain my special needs?”

“Of course.”

Jocelyn started to turn away, then whirled back. “Oh, and don’t forget to take the dried rose petals. They scent my bath just perfectly.”

“I won’t forget.” Lily had been taking care of Jocelyn since the day she had arrived at Meadowbrook six years ago. It had been quite a change for Lily, who had been living in poverty since her parents had died of the cholera when she was twelve years old.

On her sixteenth birthday, her uncle, Jack Moran, had made the announcement that Lily would be leaving the attic garret where they lived. From that day forward, she would be residing with her wealthy cousin, Henry Caulfield, and his wife, Matilda, acting as companion to their fifteen-year-old daughter and only child, Jocelyn.

Lily hadn’t wanted to go. She loved her uncle. He and his friends were the only family she had, once her parents were gone. She had begged him to let her stay, but he had refused. Jack Moran was a sharper. He earned his living by taking money from other people. Once Lily had begun to mature into a woman, he was determined she would escape the sort of life he led.

She remembered their last day together as if it were burned into her brain.

“It’s just too dangerous, Lily,” he had said. “‘Twas only last week you dropped that man’s wallet and nearly got nabbed by the police. You’re growing up, luv, becoming a woman. I want you to have a better life, the kind your mama and papa would have wanted you to have. I should have done this long before now, but I …”

“You what, Uncle Jack?” she asked tearfully.

“But you’re all the family I have, luv, and I’m going to miss you.”

Lily remembered how hard she had cried that day and the awful, sick feeling in her stomach when her uncle left her at the door of Henry Caulfield’s mansion. She hadn’t seen Uncle Jack since that fateful day and Lord, how she missed him. Yet, deep down inside, she knew he had done the right thing.

Lily looked over at Jocelyn. “I shall be leaving first thing in the morning. The newspaper says a storm may be coming in, perhaps even snow. I want to get there ahead of the weather.”

“Do take the traveling coach, dear. Just send it back once you arrive. If it should rain or snow, Mother and I will wait a few more days, leave as soon as it clears enough to travel. That should give you plenty of time to put things in order.”

“I am certain it will.” Lily walked over to the gilt and ivory dresser and began to sort through Jocelyn’s night-wear, choosing what to include in her trunks. “I heard the duke’s aunt Agatha will be there to act as hostess for our visit.”

“So I gather. I’ve never met her. Apparently, she rarely comes to London.”

“Nor does your duke.”

Jo sniffed as if the thought was entirely repugnant. “I am certain, once we are wed, that will change.”

Lily just smiled and pulled out a soft cotton nightgown with roses embroidered around the ruffled neckline. “They say your duke is quite something—tall and well built, with hair the color of ancient gold. I’ve heard he is incredibly handsome.”

One of Jocelyn’s dark eyebrows went up. “He had better be. I shan’t marry him if he is unpleasant to look at—even if he is a duke.” 11

But Lily imagined that Jo would marry the man no matter what he looked like. She wanted to be a duchess. She wanted to continue the lavish lifestyle she was used to, wanted the attention and high-ranking social position that came with the title. In truth, Jocelyn wanted everything.

And thanks to a father who spoiled her no end, she usually got what she wanted.

“You are leaving, Your Grace?” The butler, Jeremy Greaves, hurried forward as Royal strode across the entry toward the door. “If I may be so bold, Your Grace, your visitors are expected to arrive at any moment. What will your betrothed think if you are not here to greet her?”

What indeed? “I remind you, Greaves, we are not yet officially betrothed.”

“I understand, sir. Still, she will expect you to properly welcome her to Bransford Castle.”

Undoubtedly. It was the height of bad manners to be gone from the house when the lady and her mother arrived. He glanced at his butler, a gray-haired old man with watery blue eyes, and kept walking. It occurred to him that few servants would be bold enough to gainsay a duke, but that didn’t stop Greaves or Middleton, who had lived at Bransford since before Royal was born.

“If she gets here before my return,” he said, “tell her I was called out unexpectedly. Tell her I will be back very shortly.”

“But, sir—”

Pulling on his kidskin gloves, Royal continued toward the heavy wooden door. Greaves scurried ahead and pulled it open, and Royal strode outside.

A storm had blown in last night, but instead of raining, it had snowed. He paused at the top of the wide stone steps to survey the beauty of the frozen landscape, the sun shining down through the clouds, making the countryside glisten. The circular drive in front of the house was covered by several inches of snow and the naked branches of the trees along the lane glittered with a sparkling layer of gleaming white.

Royal took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air and descended the steps. One of the grooms had his gray stallion, Jupiter, saddled and waiting. Fortunately, his father hadn’t had the heart to sell Royal’s favorite horse. Dressed in riding breeches, a dark blue tailcoat and high black boots, he vaulted into the saddle, his heavy scarlet cloak swirling out around him.

He whirled the stallion, nudged the animal into a trot, then a canter, the sound of hoofbeats muffled by the thick layer of snow. As Jupiter carried him down the road, he cast a last glance at poor old Greaves, who stared worriedly from the porch.

He would be back at the house before Jocelyn arrived, he told himself. In the meanwhile, he needed a little time to prepare. The fact he’d had more than a year to ready himself for this meeting seemed inconsequential. He simply wasn’t yet ready for marriage and certainly not to a woman he had never met.

Still, he would keep his word.

Royal urged the stallion into a gallop and turned off on a narrow dirt road that bordered the fields surrounding the house. It was white for as far as he could see, the trees twinkling in the sunshine as if they’d been sprayed with starlight.

Twelve thousand acres surrounded Bransford Castle. That much land meant dozens of tenants, all of whom looked to him to make important decisions. The acreage was entailed with the title, or much of it would probably have been sold.

Royal shifted in the saddle. He didn’t want to think of his duties now. He simply wanted to clear his head and prepare himself to meet the woman who would share his future.

He rode for a while, took several different lanes and crossed a half-dozen fields. It was time he returned to the house, time to accept what could not be changed.

He took a different route home, skirting a dense grove of yew trees and eventually winding up on the road leading from the village to the castle. As he rounded a bend in the lane, something glinted off the snow up ahead. With the sun reflecting off the ice, it was incredibly bright. Royal squinted and tried to make out what it was.

Urging the horse from a walk to a canter, he rode closer, began to hear an odd, creaking sound in the light breeze blowing off the fields. All of a sudden, the images all came together, a carriage lying on its side, one of the wheels spinning whenever the breeze pushed it. In the field to the left, the carriage horses, still in their traces, stood huddled together as if awaiting further instruction.

Royal spotted the coachman lying next to the road. He urged the stallion closer, rode up beside him and swung down from the saddle. Kneeling next to the driver who lay unconscious in the snow, he checked for cuts or broken bones. A nasty gash on the head seemed the man’s only injury. Royal made a quick survey of the area, searching for anyone who might have been in the carriage and been thrown from the coach. He climbed up and looked through the open door, but saw no one and returned to the man on the ground.

Apparently sensing Royal’s presence, the coachman groaned and began to awaken.

“Take it easy, friend. There’s been an accident. Don’t try to move too swiftly.”

The beefy man swallowed, moving his Adam’s apple up and down. “The lady …? Is she … is she all right?”

Worry gripped him. A woman had been in the carriage. Royal glanced back at the overturned conveyance, noticing for the first time the opulence of the gleaming black coach. His gaze shot to the four blooded bay horses in the field, animals of the finest caliber, and a chill went down his spine.

“Jocelyn …” Rising swiftly to his feet, he began a second search of the area around the coach. Vast fields of white blinded him and for a moment, he couldn’t see. A further search and he spotted her, lying like a broken doll in the thick layer of white covering the field. She was dressed in a modestly cut gown of rose velvet, her fur-lined cloak bunched beneath her still figure.

Royal hurried toward her, knelt at her side. He checked for a pulse and felt a strong, steady throbbing beneath the soft skin at the base of her throat. She was unconscious, but he saw no blood or other obvious injuries. He gently checked her limbs for broken bones but discovered none that he could see. He prayed her injuries were not internal and that she would soon recover.

When a soft moan slipped from her lips, he took her cold hand and rubbed it between his gloved fingers, hoping to warm her, hoping she would awaken. “It is all right,” he soothed. “I’m the Duke of Bransford and I’m going to take you home.” He was hesitant to move her, but when her eyes fluttered, lifting long golden lashes away from her pale cheeks, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Your … Grace,” she whispered.

“Just lie still. There was an accident. You’re safe now and everything is going to be all right.”

For the first time, he allowed himself to look at her. She was as beautiful as his father had said, with a slender figure and delicate features. Lying in the snow, her skin was nearly the same white hue. Her mouth was full, her lips delicately curved, though paler, he imagined, than they usually were. A bonnet fashioned of the same rose velvet as her gown lay several feet away. Her golden hair had come loose from its pins and tumbled around her slender shoulders. Her eyes opened wider, a lovely pale shade of green.

She moistened her lips. “I think I … must have hit my head.”

“Yes … Perhaps when you were tossed from the carriage.” He removed his glove and felt her cheeks, her forehead, as smooth and clear as glass. “Are you hurt? Can you tell where you might be injured?”

Her pretty mouth faintly curved. “I am too cold to know.”

He almost smiled. He could feel her shivering and wondered how long she had been lying out here in the snow. He thanked God he had come along when he did. “I need to get you somewhere warm. I’m going to lift you. If it hurts in any way, tell me and I will stop.”

She nodded and her eyes slid closed. Very carefully he lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. The big gray stallion stood a few feet away. Royal set her sideways in the saddle then swung up behind her, settled her gently in front of him and eased her back against his chest.

“All right?” he asked, sliding his arm protectively around her waist to hold her securely in place.

She turned her head and her sea-green eyes fluttered open. When they settled on his face, something tugged deep inside him. Royal felt as if a hand had reached inside his chest and begun to squeeze his heart.

“Just a little … dizzy.” Her eyes slowly closed, then flashed open again. “The coachman … Mr. Gibbons … is he … is he all right?”

Royal’s gaze went in search of the man. The driver was on his feet and walking into the field to collect the horses.

“He appears to be fine. Was there anyone else in the carriage?”

“No, just me.”

Her mother was to have come with her, he thought. It seemed odd she would be traveling without so much as a ladies’ maid.

The explanation would have to wait. Royal rode toward the coachman, careful to keep a firm hold on the lady in his arms.

“Can you make it back to the village?”

The driver grunted a yes. “Just a bit of a bash on the head, is all. I’ll ride the wheelhorse back to town, get the animals properly stabled till I can put the carriage to rights.”

“Good man. I’m the Duke of Bransford. I’ll see to the lady. If you need anything, just send word to the house. Everyone knows where it is.”

“‘Twere highwaymen,” the man said darkly. “Tried to outrun ‘em, but there were ice on the road. They were gone when ye got here?”

“I saw no one, just the overturned carriage.” A jolt of anger followed his answer. Brigands had attacked the coach! Perhaps they had searched the overturned vehicle and taken anything of value. A similar incident had happened a month ago on the road outside Swansdowne, a nearby village. Royal had hoped it was a onetime occurrence.

He flicked a last glance at the coachman, caught a wave as the stout man began leading the horses onto the road then swung up on the back of the wheelhorse. Royal watched him ride away, thinking of the highwaymen who had caused the accident. He gazed out across the fields but saw no sign of them.

An angry sigh whispered out, turning white in the frosty air. He would worry about the highwaymen in due course. In the meantime, his lady needed care.

Royal returned his attention to the woman in his arms—the woman he was going to marry. As he looked into the serenity of her lovely pale face and recalled her sweetly feminine figure and soft green eyes, he thought that perhaps being married wouldn’t be such a terrible fate after all.




Three


Handing Jupiter’s reins to a waiting groom, Royal eased Jocelyn off the horse and down into his arms. Greaves made an odd, sputtering sound as he opened the door and saw the Duke of Bransford carrying a half-conscious woman up the wide stone steps of the porch.

“There was a carriage accident on the road a few miles this side of town,” Royal explained. “Miss Caulfield was tossed out of the vehicle. Send someone to fetch the physician.” Greaves scurried toward a footman who stood at the back of the entry, one of only fifteen servants in the house, all that were left of the eighty-five men and women the household had once employed.

The footman bolted for the door while Greaves dispatched orders to various other servants, including instructions to fetch the lady’s trunks from the overturned rig. Royal didn’t slow, just continued up the wide, carved mahogany staircase, the lady nestled against his chest, her rose-velvet skirts draped over his arm.

“She needs someone to attend her,” he said as Greaves hurried to catch up with him. “Has Aunt Agatha arrived yet?”

“She sent word ahead. She should be here within the hour.”

He nodded, looked down at his future wife. “Which room is to be hers?”

“The duchess’s suite, Your Grace. It was the nicest in the house.”

Because his father couldn’t bear to sell the elegant furnishings in his beloved wife’s bedroom. Though it wasn’t quite the thing to ensconce a duke’s future bride in a room adjoining his before they were married, it was probably the right decision.

Royal turned the silver handle on the door and kicked it open with his boot. Greaves raced ahead to turn back the covers on the big four-poster bed, then headed for the windows to draw back the heavy damask curtains. The chamber was done in a soft, sea-foam green with lovely rosewood furniture, a room his mother had loved.

He wondered if Jocelyn would approve, looked down at her as he laid her on the bed, and realized her eyes were open and that they were the exact soft green hue as the chamber.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. Pulling off his gloves, he reached down to take hold of her hand. It was icy cold and he realized she was shivering.

“The fire, Greaves. The lady needs warming.” But the old man had already set to the task and low flames were even now beginning to lick the hearth. A soft knock sounded and, with his permission, the door swung open to admit one of the chambermaids, who carried a longhandled warming pan hot from the kitchen. Another

maid appeared to help remove the lady’s gown and get her settled beneath the heated sheets.

“I’ll come back once you are at rest,” he promised, stepping impatiently into the hall to wait. He could hear the maid chattering away while she warmed the sheets and found himself smiling at Jocelyn’s sigh of pleasure as she settled into the deep feather mattress.

Another maid appeared. “I’ve a heated brick, Your Grace.”

He nodded his approval and she disappeared into the room to place the warm brick beneath the lady’s feet.

“It feels wonderful,” Jocelyn said to the women as they quietly fled the room. “Thank you all so much.”

Royal didn’t wait for the door to close, just eased it open and walked back into the room. He smiled down at the woman in his mother’s bed and tried not to think that once they were wed, she would be spending most of her nights in his. “I hope you are feeling a little better.”

Jocelyn smiled up at him. “My head still hurts, but now that I am warm, I am feeling a good deal more myself.”

“The physician should be here soon, and my aunt is due to arrive at any moment, so you will be properly chaperoned.”

“I look forward to meeting Lady Tavistock.”

“As she looks forward to meeting you.”

She moved to sit up a little and winced.

“Are you certain you are well enough to sit?”

“I need to get my bearings.”

He reached over and helped her adjust the pillows.

“Thank you. I appreciate your care of me, Your Grace. When the highwaymen attacked, I wasn’t sure I would ever reach this place alive.”

Instead of leaving as he had planned, he sat down in the chair beside the bed. “Tell me what happened.”

Jocelyn nibbled her lush bottom lip and Royal felt a stirring in his loins it was far too soon to feel.

“I am not completely certain. It all happened so quickly. The coach was rolling toward the house and of a sudden I heard men shouting, then the sound of galloping horses.”

“Go on,” he gently urged.

“I leaned out the window and saw them. They were pounding down on us, four men, each wearing a cloth tied over his nose and mouth. They had almost reached us when the carriage hit a patch of ice. I remember the coach tipping sideways. I remember seeing the doors fly open. That is the last I recall.”

He squeezed her hand. “It is over now. Do not think of it anymore. Just try to get some rest.”

She smiled at him so sweetly his chest tightened. “I’m immensely grateful you came along when you did. If you hadn’t, I should probably still be lying out there, frozen utterly stiff by now.”

He smiled. “But I found you and now you are safe.”

She gave him a last soft smile and her eyes slowly closed. Royal resisted an urge to lean over and press his lips against her forehead. “Sleep well, Miss Caulfield.”

Her lovely pale green eyes popped open. “Oh, I am terribly sorry for the misunderstanding, Your Grace. But you see, I am not Miss Caulfield. I am her cousin—Miss Lily Moran.”

Royal stalked down the hall toward his study. He shoved open the door and walked straight to the sideboard, dragged the crystal stopper out of a decanter of brandy and poured himself a liberal drink.

Upending the glass, he swallowed the burning liquid in one big gulp, hissed out a breath and poured another, then turned and started toward the fire blazing in the hearth.

“As you rarely imbibe before nightfall and not much even then, I take it your day has not got off to a very promising start.”

Royal’s head jerked toward the sound of his best friend’s voice. Sheridan Knowles, Viscount Wellesley, lounged in a deep leather chair in front of the fire.

“So far, it’s been a rotter.”

“I heard about the brigands. Greaves says your lady was in the carriage that was attacked. I hope she is all right.”

“The lady is going to be fine. Unfortunately, she is not mine.”

Sherry sat forward in his chair, a tall man with light brown hair and a slightly long, aristocratic nose. His eyes were green, but a far more brilliant shade than the soft color belonging to the woman upstairs.

One of Sherry’s finely arched eyebrows went up. “An interesting statement. Care to explain?”

Royal sighed. “The woman in the carriage was not Jocelyn Caulfield. Her name is Lily Moran and she is Jocelyn’s cousin.”

“I see … Well, actually, I don’t understand a’tall. What exactly is your future fiancée’s cousin doing here instead of your unofficial fiancée?”

“Apparently, Miss Moran acts as companion to Miss Caulfield. She came ahead to prepare things for her cousin and Mrs. Caulfield.”

“Prepare things …? She sounds more like a servant than a companion.”

Royal took a drink of his brandy, felt the comforting burn. “I am not exactly sure what role she plays. I only know she is beautiful and gentle and if I am to be married, I should have been happy to take her to wife.”

“Ah, I think I am beginning to see.” Sheridan rose gracefully from the chair, walked over and poured himself a brandy. “After meeting the lady, you had begun to resign yourself to the inevitable. Now you are back where you started, uncertain what might lay ahead.”

“I suppose that’s about it.”

Sheridan slid the stopper back into the decanter, making the crystal ring. “Best to think positively. You were satisfied merely with the cousin. Perhaps your future bride will be far more beautiful and even more to your liking.”

But Royal didn’t think so. There was something about Lily Moran that had struck him from the moment he had laid eyes on her lying there in the snow. The feeling had grown stronger as he had witnessed her worry for the coachman and sensed her gentleness, a quality that would have complemented his more aggressive nature. And of course there was the powerful physical attraction he had felt the instant he lifted her into his arms.

He would have to subdue it. He would soon be betrothed to another. Miss Lily Moran was never meant to be his.

Royal lifted his glass and downed a goodly portion of his brandy.

“So what of the highwaymen?” Sherry asked. “That is the reason I am here. As soon as the coachman reached the village, word spread like a snowstorm. As there was also an incident last month, I thought perhaps we should discuss what might be done.”

Sheridan lived at Wellesley Hall, his country estate, lands that bordered Bransford to the east. Royal and his brothers had grown up with Sherry, who was Royal’s same age. They’d been chums at Oxford, both of them members of the school’s famous eight-man sculling team. Royal and Sherry and four others of the eight had remained close friends ever since. The other two team members had joined the military but still kept in touch as much as they could.

Sherry had even traveled to Barbados for an extended visit when he realized Royal did not intend a quick return home.

“I had hoped the first robbery might be an anomaly,” Royal said. “I hoped the men might take their ill-gotten gains and hie themselves off somewhere to spend it, never to be seen or heard from again.”

“Apparently that is not the case.”

“No, apparently not.”

“The sheriff has already been informed. He will probably wish to pay a call on your … excuse me, on Miss Moran.”

Royal glanced upward, as if he could see through the ceiling into her bedroom. “I’ll tell her. At the moment, she is still not feeling well enough for visitors.”

“And the robbers?”

“It’s been a month since their last attack. I doubt they will strike again anytime soon. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to organize some sort of nightly patrol.”

“Good idea. I’ll see to it myself. My men will take the first two weeks. If nothing happens, yours can take the next.”

Royal nodded. He felt better knowing the roads would be protected. He did, after all, still have a bride making her way to his house.

Royal swore softly and swallowed the last of his drink.

Lily slept the rest of the day and didn’t awaken until the following morning. She glanced toward the window to see a dense layer of clouds hanging low in a gray-purple sky and a spray of white flakes floating down to earth. Noticing she lay in a huge four-poster bed and the walls of the room were a soft pale green instead of the cream color of her room at Meadowbrook, her mind spun, trying to recall exactly where she was.

Then it all came tumbling back: the trip to the country, the highwaymen and the overturned carriage.

The Duke of Bransford coming to her rescue.

His image came sharply into focus and her heart began thrumming as she remembered her first sight of him. Kneeling beside her, against the white of the snow, he looked like a tall, golden angel come to earth. If her head hadn’t been pounding like the very devil, she might have believed she was dead.

Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could recall the way it felt to be held in his arms, remember his worry for her safety, his gentle care of her.

Lily shook her head to dislodge the memory, making her head throb again. The duke belonged to her cousin, a woman far more capable of dealing with a man of his power and social position.

Lily knew the duke needed money to rebuild his family holdings. It was the reason for the alliance being made between the Dewars and the Caulfields. Lily didn’t even have a dowry. And even were she wealthy as Croesus, her past would never allow her to enter into such a lofty union.

Which, of course, didn’t matter in the least.

Jocelyn would be arriving a few days hence and her cousin’s stunning beauty and voluptuous figure would snare the duke’s interest as it did most every male. One look at Jo would offset the brief flash of disappointment Lily had glimpsed in the duke’s tawny eyes when he had learned she was not his future betrothed.

If it hadn’t been entirely imagined.

Lily took a deep breath and reached for the silver bell the chambermaid had placed beside the bed. She rang it briefly and a few moments later the door swung open, admitting one of the young women who had attended her last night, Penelope, she recalled.

“Good morning, miss.” The red-haired girl made a very proper curtsy.

“Good morning, Penelope.”

“It’s just Penny, miss.”

“All right, then, Penny. Could you please help me get dressed? I am still a little weak.”

“Aye, miss. Your trunks were collected from the carriage. I’ll have them brought up to your room while I fetch tea and cakes for your breakfast.”

“Thank you, that would be lovely.”

It was less than an hour later that Lily was dressed and ready to face the day. Descending the stairs, careful to keep a hand on the banister in case she experienced a fresh round of dizziness, she went in search of the duke.

She looked much more presentable this morning, in another simple, remodeled version of one of Jocelyn’s gowns, a warm russet velvet with cream lace trailing from the sleeves and running in small rows down the front. The maid had drawn Lily’s silver-blond hair into a tight chignon at the nape of her neck and she had pinched her cheeks to add a bit of color.

At the bottom of the stairs, she encountered the butler, a thin, elderly man with milky blue eyes. “I am sorry to bother you, Mr …?”

“Greaves,” he said, looking her up and down. “May I help you, Miss Moran?”

“I am looking for His Grace. Would you see if there is a convenient time I might have a word with him?”

“I shall inquire, miss. If you will please follow me, you may await him in the Blue Drawing Room.”

“Thank you.”

He led her in to a once-elegant room off the entry. It had high, molded ceilings, robin’s-egg-blue walls that were in need of a coat of paint and heavy, dark blue velvet draperies. The Persian carpets, a deep royal blue in a paisley design accented with dark green and crimson, were worn but serviceable and immaculately clean.

Her bedroom had also been clean, she reflected, a concern she wouldn’t have to address. She sat down on a blue velvet settee to await the duke’s presence, wondering if he would truly be as handsome as she recalled.

Wondering if now that he realized she was little more than a servant, the duke would see her at all.

She shifted on the sofa, watched the hands on the ormolu clock slowly turn. She glanced up as he walked into the drawing room and her breath hitched. The golden-haired duke was even more beautiful than the angel she recalled. Now that her vision was no longer blurred and her head not throbbing, she could see that he was stunningly good-looking.

And even with his well-formed features and slanting dark gold eyebrows, there was no question of his masculinity. He wore it like the long scarlet cloak that had swirled around him when he had knelt beside her in the snow.

She rose to her feet a little uncertainly and dropped into a curtsy. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

He strode toward her, stopped just a few feet away. “Good morning, Miss Moran.” His eyes were as golden as his hair and as they skimmed over her, she thought she caught a glint of appreciation.

“You appear to be recovering very well. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, I am happy to say. Again, I thank you for your very timely rescue.”

“I assure you it was my pleasure.” The glint was there again, as if there was a secret meaning to his words. She basked in it as his gaze ran over her even more thoroughly. And yet in just a few days, once he met the incredibly lovely creature he would marry, that glint would disappear.

Lily lifted her chin. “I wished to speak to you, Your Grace, in regard to Mrs. Caulfield and your future betrothed, my cousin Jocelyn. The reason I traveled here ahead of time was to insure their visit would be comfortable. Both Mrs. Caulfield and my cousin have rather … specific needs. I am here to see those needs are met.”

His eyebrows drew slightly together. “And your cousin and her mother didn’t believe my staff would be able to handle those needs?”

She had angered him. She could see it in the set of his jaw. “Oh, it isn’t that—truly. Please, I didn’t mean any insult. It is merely that they are used to having things done in a certain fashion. If you would be kind enough to put a few members of your household at my disposal, I am sure I could have everything arranged before they arrive.”

“You are Miss Caulfield’s cousin, is that correct—a member of the family?”

“A distant cousin, yes. The Caulfields were kind enough to take me in after my parents died of the cholera.” She didn’t mention it was four years later and they were barely aware of her existence until her uncle sought them out and asked them for help. Still, she was extremely grateful. It was one of the reasons she worked so hard to please them.

“So you were orphaned,” he said softly, and for an instant she felt the burn of tears. Even after all these years, her parents’ death remained a difficult subject.

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

His look seemed to gentle. “I see …”

And to her humiliation, she thought that indeed he did see. That he realized she was merely a poor relation who lived by the Caulfields’ charity, that she was utterly dependent upon their goodwill. Still, it was far better than living on the street, or in an attic garret, as she had done before.

“The servants won’t be a problem. You may have the use of whomever you wish. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

He studied her a few moments more, assessing her in some way, then he turned and strode out of the drawing room. The instant he disappeared, Lily released the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Her heart was clattering, beating a frantic tattoo.

It was ridiculous. Things were exactly as they should be. The duke understood her lowly position and his interest was now very properly fixed on Jo.

Ignoring the little pinch in her chest, Lily lifted her skirts and started across the drawing room. She had a great deal of work to do if she was going to be ready for the Caulfields’ arrival. She had almost made it to the door when a frail, silver-haired woman stepped through the open drawing-room door.

“You must be Miss Moran.” The woman smiled, digging creases into her powdered cheeks. “I am Lady Tavistock. My nephew told me I would find you in here.”

Lily sank into a curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

“I arrived yesterday afternoon while you were asleep. I gather you had a rather nasty accident on the road.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Dreadful thing. My nephew said your carriage was attacked by highwaymen and overturned, and that you suffered a head injury. I hope you are feeling better.”

“Much better, thank you.”

“Why don’t we sit down in front of the fire. The weather outside is dismal. A cup of tea should be just the thing.”

She had so much to do before Jocelyn arrived. And yet there was no refusing the wishes of a countess. “That would be delightful, my lady.”

They sat down on the sofa in front of the fire blazing in the hearth and a few minutes later the butler arrived with the tea cart. Tea was served. Casual conversation was made. Lily tried not to glance at the clock on the white marble mantel, but apparently she failed to hide the urgency she was feeling.

“I can tell you are eager to begin your tasks.”

Lily flushed and wished she had been more attentive. “It is only that I have a great deal to do before my cousins arrive.”

“Are your cousins, then, difficult taskmasters?”

She rarely thought of Matilda Caulfield as a cousin, though by her marriage to Henry she certainly was.

“It is nothing like that. It is just that my cousin Jocelyn … depends on me. She trusts me to see to her needs, as I have done these past six years. I do not wish to fail her, or Mrs. Caulfield.”

“I see. And exactly what did your cousin Jocelyn and her mother send you here to do?”

More color rushed into her cheeks. Taking over the duke’s household and assigning tasks to his servants was hardly the proper thing. Still, it was what the Caulfields expected of her and she meant to see it done.

“Only small things, really. I—I need to inform the cook that Miss Caulfield prefers biscuits and cocoa up in her room each morning instead of a meal downstairs. And I’d like to make certain the room she occupies has a nice view of the garden.”

She bit her lip, thinking of the endless items on her list. “My cousin doesn’t do well with dust. I shall need to speak to the housekeeper, make certain the carpets in her bedroom have recently been beaten.”

“I see.”

“Just very small things, truly, my lady. I hope it won’t be too much of a bother.”

Lady Tavistock set her gold-rimmed porcelain cup and saucer down on the table in front of her. “You may do whatever you think is necessary to make our guests comfortable.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

The dowager rose from the sofa and Lily rose, as well.

The lady reached for her cane. “I suppose I had best let you get on with your work.” She smiled. “I enjoyed our visit, Miss Moran.”

Lily relaxed. “As did I, Lady Tavistock.” She watched the dowager countess leave the drawing room, silver hair gleaming in the light of the whale-oil lamps lit to offset the dark, cloudy day, her head held high though her movements were slow and a little wobbly. She was the late duke’s aunt on his mother’s side, Lily knew, a widow who lived in a manor house on one of her late husband’s estates.

Happy to have the meeting behind her, Lily made her way back out to the marble-floored hall. The list of tasks to be completed awaited her upstairs. It was time she got to work.




Four


The following day, Royal sat in his study, his elbows on the desktop, his head propped in his hands. A stack of estate ledgers lay open in front of him. His eyes burned from the hours he had spent reviewing the pages.

During the first nine months after his father’s death, he had spent most of his time learning about Bransford Castle and its surrounding lands. Aside from the estate’s own farm production, there were dozens of tenants on the vast acreage. Royal had met with each family individually to discuss what improvements might be made to help production, benefiting them and increasing their profits, a percentage of which belong to the estate.

During his years in Barbados, he had studied books on agriculture and used that knowledge to help make Sugar Reef the successful plantation it was today.

Since his return to England, he had been exploring the most modern methodology, trying to find the best way to stop the declining income stream from the agricultural production and instead turn a profit.

One of the ideas he had implemented was the construction of a brewery on lands in the nearby village of Swansdowne. He intended to brew very high-quality ale, which, he was convinced, was the most profitable use of the Bransford barley crop. As he had done with the sugar produced at Sugar Reef, he intended to market Swansdowne Ale as the finest in England. He also intended to increase the estate’s sheep herds and perhaps put in a woolen mill. All of that took money, of course, of which—at least until he married—he had little.

Royal released a breath, the notion of money returning his thoughts once more to the ledgers on the desk in front of him. In the last thirty days, he had begun to study the accounts that reflected former Bransford holdings, including several mills and a coal mine, properties his father had sold in order to raise money.

He had also studied the investments his father had made over the last several years.

At first the amount the late duke had invested had been small, the losses of little consequence. About three years ago his father’s health had begun to decline, though, at the duke’s insistence, Royal had never really known how severely. In an effort to recover the money, larger, even more poorly chosen investments were made and the losses began to mount.

Good money followed bad, and the duke began to sell his unentailed holdings in order to pay off his debts. Even the house itself was not safe from ransacking, as evidenced by the sale of the priceless paintings and statues missing from the castle, and the estate’s run-down condition.

Royal raked a hand through his hair, dislodging several heavy, slightly wavy strands. He looked up at the sound of a familiar rap on the door. The panel swung wide and Sheridan Knowles stood in the opening. Never one to stand on formality, he strolled into the study.

“I see, as usual, your nose is buried in those damnable ledgers. I suppose I am interrupting.”

“Yes, but since I am not particularly happy with what I am finding in the pages, you may as well sit down.”

Sherry walked forward with his usual casual ease, pausing for a moment at the sideboard to pour himself a brandy. “Shall I pour one for you?”

Royal shook his head. “I’ve too much yet to do.”

Sheridan studied the rich golden-brown liquid in his glass, just a little darker than his hair. “I just stopped by to tell you the patrols have been organized. My men will start tonight, cover the area around Bransford and Wellesley, and also the road between here and Swansdowne.”

“Well done.”

Sheridan sauntered behind the desk and looked over Royal’s shoulder at the big leather volumes lying open on top, some of the writing on the older pages beginning to fade. “So what are you finding that you do not like?”

Royal sighed. “I am seeing thousands of pounds draining away as if they were sand poured down a rat hole. For the last few years, my father made one bad investment after another. It is a difficult thing to say, but after he first took ill three years ago, I don’t believe his mind was ever quite the same.”

“A lot of rich men make poor investments.”

“True enough, but up until that time, my father wasn’t one of them.” He turned several pages, glanced down at the writing in one of the columns. “See here, for example, money that quite literally went up in smoke. Last year, my father invested in a cotton mill near Bolton. Six months later, the mill caught fire and burned to the ground. Apparently, the company had no insurance.”

Sheridan shook his head. “Certainly a thing like that wouldn’t have happened to the shrewd, formidable man your father used to be.”

“No, indeed. I’ve hired an investigator, Sherry. A man named Chase Morgan. Perhaps it’s a waste of time and money, but I want him to look into the companies in which my father invested. I want to find out which men wound up with the late Duke of Bransford’s fortune.”

Sherry sipped his drink, pondering the notion. “It couldn’t hurt, I don’t suppose. And you never know, you might discover something interesting.”

Royal shoved back his chair and came to his feet. “The money is gone. There isn’t much I can do about it now. Still …”

“Still … it never hurts to find out what happened in the past. As they say, it is often the key to the future.”

Sheridan walked over to warm his hands at the fire and Royal followed. “So where are you headed from here?” he asked.

“Back to Wellesley, I imagine. Though I rode over mostly to escape the house.”

“I am feeling a bit closed in, myself.” Royal clamped a hand on his friend’s wide shoulder. “How about some company?”

“I daresay, I’d like that. I take it your Miss Caulfield hasn’t arrived.”

“I’m sure she is still in London, waiting out the storm.”

Sherry set his brandy glass down on the sideboard and the men walked into the hall. As they did, the door at the opposite end leading to the kitchen downstairs swung open and Lily Moran stepped into the passage. Her russet velvet skirt was covered with white streaks of flour, and as she approached, her mind clearly elsewhere, Royal glimpsed a spot of flour on her nose. He grinned at the charming sight she made.

Her light eyes widened at the sight of the two men. “Your Grace,” she said, her hands shooting up to smooth a loose strand of pale blond hair. “Oh, dear, I must look a fright.”

“You look …” Lovely, he wanted to say but didn’t. “Only a bit worse for wear.” He smiled and turned to introduce Sherry. “This is my good friend, Sheridan Knowles, Viscount Wellesley. “Sheridan, may I present my houseguest, Miss Lily Moran.”

Sherry’s green eyes ran over her, taking in the gleaming hair, feminine features and lush, full lips. His gaze lowered to the curve of her breasts and the tiny waist beneath, and Royal felt an unexpected surge of jealousy.

“A pleasure, Miss Moran.”

“It is good to meet you, my lord.” Nervously, she brushed at her sleeve, also dusted with flour. “I hope you’ll excuse my appearance. There was an incident in the kitchen—” She glanced up, her gaze shooting toward Royal as if she’d said something wrong and was worried he would scold the servants. “Nothing untoward, Your Grace, just an overturned flour tin—but somehow I managed to wind up in the middle of it.”

Royal found himself smiling. “Just be careful you don’t get too near the oven. You might turn into a loaf of bread.”

Her laugher, like crystal prisms in the afternoon breeze, was so sweet his chest contracted.

“I shall heed your advice, Your Grace.”

Sherry gave her a long, assessing look. “Should you wind up toast, I would like nothing better than to eat you up, my dear. You’re even prettier than Royal said, Miss Moran.”

Lily blushed and Royal wanted to throw a punch at Sherry.

“I really should go up and make myself presentable. If you gentlemen will excuse me …”

“Of course.” Sheridan made a modest bow.

“I shall see you at supper,” Royal said, though seeing Lily Moran was the last thing he should be wanting.

Lily slipped by them and continued down the hall, her velvet skirts swaying enticingly. Turning, she started up the stairs.

“You were right. The girl is quite lovely.” Sheridan’s gaze followed Lily’s slender figure, his eyes remaining on the staircase even after she disappeared. Royal wanted to grab him by his starched cravat and shake him till his teeth rattled.

Sheridan smiled. “Then again, as I said, perhaps the cousin will be even more luscious.” He grinned, exposing a pair of crooked bottom teeth that should have detracted from his appearance but did not. “Then you can leave Miss Moran to me.”

Royal said nothing, but his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He had no claim on Lily Moran and never would. If Sheridan wanted her—to hell with Sherry, he thought for no explicable reason, and started for the door.

“I thought we were going for a ride,” he said darkly, pausing in the entry to allow Greaves to drape his cloak round his shoulders.

Sheridan still gazed up the stairs. “Of a sudden, I would rather stay here.”

Royal ground his jaw, jerked open the door and strode out into the falling snow. Behind him, he heard Sheridan chuckle then the sound of his boots coming down the wide stone stairs.

The following day at the end of an afternoon ride to check on one of his tenants, Royal returned to the house, his stomach pleasantly filled with the mutton stew and tankard of ale he had enjoyed at the Boar and Thistle Tavern in the village. Handing his cloak to Greaves, he looked up at the sound of a commotion going on in the corridor upstairs. Recognizing the sweetly feminine voice of his houseguest, he climbed the staircase and headed down the hall to find Lily, a pair of footmen and two chambermaids rearranging the furniture in one of the bedrooms.

She looked up at his appearance and a hint of color washed into her cheeks. Her silvery hair was tied back with a kerchief and she wore an apron over her dress. Still, she looked beautiful.

“I—I hope you don’t mind, Your Grace. I moved my things into one of the other bedrooms. I thought Jocelyn should have the one that was meant to be hers.”

He didn’t say that he liked having Lily in the room adjoining his, where he could imagine her lying on the big bed in nothing but a soft white cotton nightgown, embroidered, perhaps, with tiny roses. He didn’t say that last night he had imagined unbuttoning the row of pearl buttons at her throat and nibbling his way down to her breasts.

Instead he said, “As you wish.”

“Also … your housekeeper, Mrs. McBride, suggested a very nice room for Mrs. Caulfield that also overlooks the garden. If you don’t mind… I’d … um … like to exchange a few pieces of furniture with those from one of the other bedrooms.”

Meaning the furniture in the room was worn or in need of repair. He knew Mrs. McBride had done her best, but until the house was refurbished, it would never exhibit the grandeur of the place he had lived in as a boy.

“As I said, you are free to make whatever changes you wish.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She returned to her task, ordering the servants about and pitching in herself to help with whatever needed to be done. It was clear she took her duties seriously, but Royal thought it a little unfair that the Caulfields should treat her more like an employee than a member of the family.

One of the footmen reappeared, carrying an ornate writing desk Lily had procured from a room on the opposite side of the hall. She directed the man where to place it in the room, then, realizing Royal still stood in the corridor watching her activities, a nervous smile appeared.

“Mrs. Caulfield will enjoy the desk,” she explained. “She likes to keep in touch with her friends.”

“It’s a beautiful piece of furniture. I’m a little amazed it’s still here.”

She seemed surprised he would allude to his poor financial straits. “Yes … from the looks of it, a good deal of the original furnishings are missing.”

“After my father fell ill, his finances took a turn for the worse. It was his greatest wish to see the house brought back to its earlier magnificence.”

“Jocelyn seems eager to help in that regard.”

“That would certainly please my father, God rest his soul.”

“Would it also please you?”

His lips edged up. “I love this place. It bothers me to see it in such disrepair.”

She glanced down the long corridor, the paint yellowed and the wallpaper peeling in places, the rugs faded and worn. “It must have been beautiful. I’m sure it will be again.” The smile she gave him was warm and hopeful and his body flushed with heat.

Dammit to hell, an attraction to his soon-to-be fiancée’s cousin was not at all what he wanted.

“Let me know if there is anything else you need,” he said a bit more harshly than he intended. Leaving her to complete what other tasks she had planned, he made his way down the hall to change out of his riding clothes.

The afternoon was slipping away. Soon he would be joining his aunt for supper. Tonight for the first time since her accident, Lily would be joining them.

Royal swore softly as he stepped into his suite and firmly closed the door.




Five


She didn’t want to go. Lily considered pleading a headache, as she had done for the past two nights, but she simply couldn’t ignore her host and hostess any longer. Still, the notion of sitting through a meal with the duke made her stomach quiver. Every time she was around him, she felt nervous and flushed and not quite certain what to say.

It was ridiculous. He was only a man, after all, not the golden-haired angel she had imagined when she had been lying there in the snow.

He was handsome, yes. But beauty was only skin deep. At the balls and soirees she’d attended with Jo, she had met dozens of handsome men. It had never bothered her before.

Lily didn’t understand it. As a child, she had been shy, but in the years she had lived with her uncle, she had learned to overcome it. Living in Jocelyn’s shadow for so long seemed to have brought its return.

Still, she usually did quite well in the presence of the opposite sex. Perhaps it was knowing this particular male belonged to her cousin.

As the little maid, Penny, helped her fasten the buttons at the back of her aqua silk gown, she wondered when Jo would arrive and hoped it would be soon. The sooner the duke met his stunning future bride, the sooner this ridiculous attraction Lily grudgingly admitted to feeling would be over.

One could hardly be attracted to a man who looked through her as if she were not there, and she knew from experience, once Jocelyn arrived, that is exactly what the handsome Duke of Bransford would do.

“Gor, ye look lovely, miss.”

Lily smiled at the dark-haired girl. “Thank you, Penny.” She turned in front of the cheval glass, pleased at the changes she had fashioned in Jo’s cast-off dinner gown. She had removed the extra ruffles around the hem and across the bodice, leaving only a single flounce of aqua satin across the bosom, which she adorned with a spray of tiny seed pearls.

The gown looked brand new, which it practically was, since Jo rarely wore a dress more than once and was happy to hand them off to Lily to change in any way she pleased.

She moved to the dresser, lifted the lid on the small rosewood box she had brought with her and removed a lovely peach-colored agate cameo hanging from a black velvet ribbon. It wasn’t an expensive piece of jewelry, but it was one of her favorites, a gift from the Caulfields on her eighteenth birthday.

She held it out to Penny, then turned her back. “Could you tie it for me, please?”

“Of course, miss.”

Penny set the cameo at the base of her throat and tied the ribbon round her neck. With her pale hair pulled away from her face and pinned in a cluster of curls at her shoulder, she felt ready to face the duke and his aunt across the supper table.

Taking a breath for courage, Lily swept out of the room and headed down the wide mahogany staircase. She found the duke and his aunt conversing in an antechamber that led into the elaborate formal dining room. She had hoped for a more casual evening, but with the dowager in residence, she should have known it wasn’t going to happen.

“Ah, Miss Moran,” the duke said, striding toward her. “We were afraid you’d had another brush with the kitchen maids.”

He was smiling, teasing her, but with his aunt in the room, she was embarrassed. “Nothing of the sort, I assure you.” Her cheeks burned. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“Not a’tall,” the dowager said with a smile. “Royal was telling me about the flour incident in the kitchen. The last time I was here, I slipped and took a tumble into the bushes in the garden. They had just been watered. I came up looking like a half-drowned wren.”

Lily laughed, feeling a sweep of gratitude for the old woman’s effort to put her at ease, which seemed to work quite well. “I haven’t been below stairs lately, but should I visit in the future, I shall attempt to be more careful.”

“Accidents happen,” the duke said, smiling.

“More often to some of us than others,” the dowager added with a twinkle in her eyes, nearly the same tawny shade as her nephew’s.

“Cook has supper ready,” the duke said. “May I persuade you ladies to continue this discussion in the dining room? I find I am nearly light-headed with the need for food.”

As was she, Lily realized, and couldn’t help wondering if the man was truly that hungry or if he had guessed she had been so busy she had eaten only the cakes and cocoa she’d had for breakfast. She had a feeling it was the latter.

Drat it, she wished he would be less congenial. Surely there was something to dislike about him. But as he moved beside his aging aunt, taking great care not to walk too swiftly and provide the supportive arm she needed, as he seated her and then Lily, one on each side of him, she couldn’t think what it might be.

The first course was served, a delicious oyster soup, the creamy broth lightly seasoned with herbs and floating with lemon slices, probably grown in the estate’s conservatory.

“Have you heard from your brother Rule?” Lady Tavistock asked, taking a hearty spoonful of soup.

“He is finishing up at Oxford,” the duke replied. “He has been offered a job with an American company once he is out of school—a liaison position of some sort, I gather. If he accepts, he will be traveling there and back quite often.”

He glanced over at Lily. “It was our father’s wish that our family develop an alliance with the Americans. Rule promised to make that happen. And I think he may be excited at the prospect of seeing a different country.”

“I would love to see America, myself.”

The duke smiled. “So you crave adventure, do you?”

Lily smiled back. “Only in my head, I am afraid. Mostly, I enjoy reading books about other people’s travels.”

“As do I,” the duke agreed.

“Royal spent a good many years in the Caribbean managing the family plantation,” his aunt added. “Did a fine job of it, too.”

“I enjoyed the challenge,” he said. “I hope I am up to it here at Bransford. There is far more at home that needs to be done than there was at Sugar Reef.”

“With the right woman at your side,” his aunt said, “I am certain you will manage quite well.”

Royal looked down at his bowl of soup and Lily wondered what he was thinking.

“So you enjoy reading,” the dowager said to her.

“Very much. I read just about anything I can get my hands on.”

“There is a library full of books here at Bransford,” the duke said. “You are welcome to borrow whatever you might find interesting.”

She felt his golden gaze on her face and something warm settled low in her stomach. “Thank you.”

“What have you heard of your brother Reese?” the older woman asked, breaking the strangely intimate moment. Lily wondered if that was the dowager’s intent. Her nephew was, after all, practically engaged to another woman.

“Reese is fighting the Russians in the Crimea at the moment. Though I haven’t heard from him directly for a while. Apparently, getting letters posted is difficult, but at last word he seemed quite healthy.”

“I am glad to hear it. With your brother Reese, one never quite knows what to expect.”

Royal turned to Lily. “Reese is a major in the cavalry—a true adventurer. Still, we are all hopeful he will eventually leave the military and return to a more settled life here at home.”

They continued the meal in pleasant conversation and Lily was surprised at how comfortable she was made to feel.

Until Lady Tavistock turned the conversation to Jocelyn.

“So when do you expect the Caulfields to arrive?” the dowager asked.

“Soon, I should think. At least soon after the weather clears a bit and the roads become passable.”

“Do tell us a little about your cousin. What sort of woman is she? What are her interests?”

“Jocelyn is beautiful,” Lily said without pausing to think. “Outrageously so.” It was the first thing anyone noticed about Jo. “She has very dark hair and the most amazing eyes. They’re the color of violets, you see. I don’t believe I have ever seen anyone with eyes that exact color.”

“Go on,” the countess urged, obviously intrigued.

Lily faltered a moment, trying to describe a woman who was completely indescribable. “Jocelyn loves parties. She is extremely outgoing. She enjoys dressing in the height of fashion and she looks marvelous in whatever she chooses to wear.” She glanced up. “Oh, and she’s a very proficient rider. Her father made certain of that.”

“Well, that is good news,” the dowager said with a smile, “since Royal has a great love of horses.”

But Jo didn’t particularly like animals, just the thrill of speed and the feeling of mastery over a beast much larger than she.

The dowager looked over at her nephew. “I daresay, if Miss Caulfield enjoys parties, then perhaps we should have one here at Bransford. A small soiree, perhaps? A bit of music and dancing, just a few of our neighbors and some of our friends. What do you say, Royal?”

He took a sip of his wine, set the crystal goblet back down on the table. The house was no longer the showcase it once was, but Lily thought it could be made quite presentable.

“If you and Miss Moran are up to the challenge, I think it would be fine.”

“Well, what do you think, Miss Moran?”

“I would be more than pleased to help.”

“Marvelous. We’ll begin making plans on the morrow.” The old woman delicately sipped her wine, the goblet shaking in her frail hand. “Anything more you can tell us about your cousin?”

Lily dredged up a smile. “To be honest, Jocelyn is not easy to describe. She is a very unique person. You will understand once you meet her.”

Lily couldn’t help wondering how that meeting would go. She wasn’t concerned with the duke, who wouldn’t be able to see past Jo’s alluring exterior. It was Lady Tavistock she wondered about. The old woman seemed extremely intelligent and keenly perceptive. Lily tried to imagine what the dowager would think about the woman meant to wed a nephew who seemed to hold a very special place in her heart.

A warm sun brightened the landscape, melting the last of the snow. Eager for a ride, Royal strode down a corridor near the back of the house on his way to the

stables, passing several little-used drawing rooms along the way.

Rounding a corner, in a portion of the hall whose rooms faced the garden, he noticed the door of the Daffodil Room, one of the smaller drawing rooms, stood open.

He paused in the doorway, saw that a low fire burned in the hearth. His eyes widened as he recognized the woman perched on the yellow damask sofa. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, turning her hair a silvery gold.

Royal’s gaze took in her surroundings. Swatches of fabric in a variety of colors and textures were strewn over the backs of the chairs. The table next to one of them was littered with yarn, streamers of ribbon, bows, feathers and imitation fruit.

Though he made no sound, Lily’s head came up as if she sensed his presence. Her gaze snared his and he felt the familiar stirring of heat. This time it settled low in his groin and his sex stirred to life. The air seemed to thicken and warm between them until his shaft rode hard against his belly. Royal was glad he was wearing his riding coat to hide his unwanted desire.

A door closed down the hall, breaking the moment, and Lily jolted to her feet. “Your Grace … I—I hope you don’t mind … Mrs. McBride said it would be all right if I used this room for my sewing. She said it was rare anyone ever came in here.”

“It isn’t a problem. You are welcome to use the room for as long as you wish.” He glanced at the array of items that seemed in no way connected to any given purpose. “But if I may ask—what exactly is it you are sewing?”

She held up the item in her lap. “Hats, Your Grace. I fashion ladies’ bonnets.” She retrieved a finished product off the table in front of her, a bonnet of mauve silk with a wide brim surrounded by dyed feathers and velvet bows. The hat should have looked gaudy, but it did not.

“I think you must be very good at making hats, Miss Moran.”

She smiled and it felt as if something pulled loose inside him.

“I believe I am, Your Grace. Not to be immodest, but I sell a very good number. Usually I have trouble finding time to fill all my orders.”

“Good for you.”

“I suppose making hats isn’t exactly the thing, but I hope one day to open my own millinery shop.”

“I think if you want your own shop, you will have it. I believe you could have whatever it is you want, Miss Lily Moran.”

She stared at him and something flickered in her sea-green eyes, then it was gone.

“I hope you are right. I can hardly live with the Caulfields forever. Once you and Jocelyn are married, I shall wish to go out on my own.”

He didn’t offer a place for her there. If he did, sooner or later, he would give in to the powerful temptation she posed. Lily deserved more than a brief seduction and so did the woman he intended to wed.

“Most women think to marry,” he said softly. “They want a husband and children.”

“I want that, too … someday.” She grinned, giving him a saucy look that made him want to kiss her. “But not until I have my shop!”

Royal laughed and so did she. He cleared his throat. “I suppose I should leave so that you can get back to your work.”

She looked down at the bonnet in her hand. “I suppose you should.”

“Have a good afternoon, Miss Moran.”

“You, as well, Your Grace.” Her eyes held his a moment longer, then she jerked her gaze away and sat back down on the sofa. Royal watched the delicate hands, the slender, feminine fingers working the needle through the fabric, and clamped down on an image of those elegant hands skimming over his naked body.

Turning away, he strode to the door of the drawing room without looking back. Silently he prayed God would see that the woman he meant to marry arrived at the castle very soon.




Six


Amid great fanfare and household commotion, the duke’s future bride arrived. A boy from the village rushed in with the news, giving the duke and his meager staff time for last-minute preparations, his aunt to make her way to a seat in the Grand Drawing Room—and Lily time to compose herself.

She was grateful for that. She knew what would happen when Jocelyn arrived. His Grace would be stunned by the beauty of his future wife and Lily would become invisible. It was inevitable and yet just thinking about it made her ache a little inside.

Half the household hovered in the entry as the Caulfields’ fully restored, elegant black traveling coach rolled up in front of the castle. Footmen rushed down the steps to unload the carriage, a groom appeared to help the driver with the horses, and the housekeeper, Mrs. McBride, a short, stout woman with iron-gray hair, appeared in the entry to assist the guests.

The butler held open the heavy wooden door and Matilda Caulfield marched into the entry like the duchess she meant for her daughter to become. A few steps behind her, Jocelyn swept into the house.

One of the footmen stopped dead in his tracks.

The butler’s watery blue eyes focused and stared.

Dressed in an amethyst gown that matched the brilliant color of her eyes, Jocelyn was stunningly beautiful, her features perfectly symmetrical in her pale, exquisite face. Her nose was straight, her lips the shade of roses. Her thick chestnut hair, pulled back in glossy curls, nestled against her shoulders.

Perhaps she had stopped at the inn in the village to freshen and change, for her gown was the height of fashion and not the least bit wrinkled or travel-stained. High-necked and long-sleeved, it showed not the slightest glimpse of her voluptuous bosom and yet the tempting swell beneath the gleaming silk was apparent above her tiny, corseted waist.

Jocelyn spotted the duke, standing in the entry to greet her, and her eyes widened in pleasure at his tall, golden masculinity, equal and opposite to her own feminine appeal.

Lily felt a sickening lurch inside her as the duke stepped forward. He bowed slightly to Matilda Caulfield and then to Jo. “Welcome to Bransford Castle,” he said. “My aunt and I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

Matilda Caulfield, tall and broad-hipped, with the same dark hair as her daughter’s but now streaked with silver, managed a pleasant nod of greeting. “As we have been eager to get here.”

Jocelyn graced him with one of her heart-stopping smiles. “Thank you for inviting us, Your Grace.”

Formal introductions were made all round. Lady Tavistock was smiling, looking pleased with the bride the late duke had chosen. All Lily wanted to do was run away.

“I am glad you arrived safely,” the duke said. “I hope your journey was not too unpleasant.”

“Not at all,” Matilda said.

“The roads were dreadful,” said Jo with an airy wave of her hand. “I told Mother we should wait another few days, give the roads a chance to dry out, but she wouldn’t listen. We suffered for it, I can tell you. Wet, cold and miserable all the way here.” She sighed dramatically. “At any rate, we are here now and that is all that matters.”

The duke’s tawny eyes assessed her. “Indeed,” was all he said. He turned to the housekeeper. “I am sure the ladies are tired from their journey. Mrs. McBride, would you please show our guests up to their rooms.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.”

The household once more scurried into action, footmen running up the stairs, hauling trunks and satchels and hatboxes, the upstairs chambermaids making a final check of the guest rooms.

“I hope you will find your accommodations satisfactory,” the duke said. “Your cousin, Miss Moran, has made every effort to make sure you are comfortable.”

Matilda tossed Lily a glance. “I am certain we will be.”

Jocelyn hurried over to Lily and took hold of her hand. “I’ve missed you, Lily. Come upstairs with me, won’t you? You can help me unpack and decide what to wear down to supper.”

Lily just nodded. Waiting for the group to follow the housekeeper up the stairs, she fell in behind the assembly making its way to the second floor. As she passed the duke, she wasn’t the least surprised to see his tawny gaze following Jocelyn’s sensuous figure up the wide carved staircase.

Her stomach quivered. Ignoring a ridiculous feeling of abandonment, she continued up the stairs behind her cousin.

That night, Lily took supper in her room. Though Jocelyn tried to coax her into joining the group in the dining room, it was time she returned to the shadows.

Matilda Caulfield did not press the issue.

“My God, man.” Sheridan Knowles stood next to Royal in the entry. Halfway up the staircase, Jocelyn made her way to her room on the second floor. Sherry had arrived unannounced, as usual, two days after the Caulfields’ arrival. Royal had introduced him to Jocelyn, who afterward excused herself and was now on her way upstairs for her afternoon nap.

Both men watched until she disappeared.

“My God.” Sherry still stared.

“You’ve already said that.” Turning, Royal walked past him down the hall into his study. Sherry followed him inside and closed the door.

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Royal paused at the sideboard and poured himself a liberal shot of brandy, which seemed to be a habit these days. “She’s beautiful. I can hardly argue with that.”

He had just finished luncheon with his aunt, his future bride and her mother, an affair that seemed to have no end.

“Your father certainly came through for you.”

Royal took a swallow of his drink. “He certainly did.”

Sheridan tipped his head back, studying Royal down the length of his slightly too-long nose. “She certainly won’t be a burden to bed.”

“I’m a man. She’s an extremely beautiful woman. It will hardly be a burden.”

Sherry eyed him shrewdly. “All right, so what is it you don’t like about her?”

Royal blew out a breath, raked a hand through his dark blond hair. “Nothing. At least nothing that would keep me from marrying her. It is merely that we share very few common interests.”

“What does that have to do with anything? You will marry her, bed her and she will give you children. On top of that, you will have the luxury of making every man in London jealous of your incredibly beautiful wife. Along with that neat little package, you will also gain control of her incredible dowry and very sizable inheritance. What more could any man ask?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, I guess. Jocelyn will make the perfect duchess, just as my father said.”

Royal took another drink, set the brandy snifter down on his desk. “Apparently, she’s a very good horsewoman. After her rest, I’m showing her a bit of the estate.”

His future bride seemed to require a good deal of rest, he thought, sleeping late in the mornings, then napping half the afternoon. He tried not to think of Lily, working dawn till dusk to prepare the house for her cousins. When she wasn’t moving furniture or seeing that the rugs were beaten, she was fashioning bonnets for her wealthy clientele. He couldn’t remember Lily every complaining about being tired.

“So she likes horses, does she?”

“Apparently.”

“There—you see, you do have something in common. Tell me, how do you think she feels about you?”

How did Jocelyn feel? He wasn’t sure. His future wife wasn’t an easy person to read. Either she was good at controlling her emotions or she didn’t have any.

“I don’t know her well enough to tell. Perhaps she will open up a bit more this afternoon, when we are away from her mother.” They would be riding with a groom, of course, since neither Mrs. Caulfield nor his great-aunt Agatha could act as chaperone. He was actually looking forward to the ride, hoping he would discover something in his bride-to-be that would draw them together.

Sherry sank into one of the leather chairs in front of the fire, draped a long leg over the arm. “Well, if you decide you don’t want her, let me know. I’ll be happy to act as a substitute groom.”

Royal grunted. “I thought you wanted Lily.”

Sheridan grinned, exposing his crooked bottom teeth. “She doesn’t come with a fortune, my friend.”

Royal downed the last of his drink. “That I should marry Jocelyn and rebuild the Bransford fortune was my father’s dying wish. I promised him I would see it done and there is nothing on this earth that could stop me from keeping my word.”

Sherry rose from his chair. “Then I shall hold good thoughts for you this afternoon. May you find in your delectable companion whatever it is you seek in a suitable bride.”

Royal gave a faint nod of thanks, knowing Sherry meant every word. He was a man whose friendship Royal valued greatly.

“I suppose I had better go out to the stable and find the lady a suitable mount. Thank God my father didn’t sell all of his blooded horses.”

“One last piece of advice?” Sherry offered, not really seeking his permission. “Kiss the lady. That ought to give you some idea of how the woman feels.”

Royal smiled. It wasn’t a bad idea. As Sherry followed him out of the study, Royal thought that for once he might actually heed his friend’s advice.

“Help me with the buttons, will you, Lily?” Jocelyn presented her back then stood impatiently as her cousin buttoned her sapphire velvet riding habit. It was cut in the military fashion, with rows of small brass buttons marching up the front. Jocelyn had only just received it, along with her latest order from the modiste. Lily had fashioned the matching miniature top hat, which Jocelyn thought complemented the outfit quite nicely.

She settled it at a jaunty angle on top of her head, pinned it in place and pulled the tiny scrap of veil down just enough to cover her forehead.

“How do I look?” She turned to give Lily a better view.

“Hold still.” Lily walked over and shoved a pin into Jocelyn’s hair, fastening a stray curl in place, then stepped back to assess her. “You look perfect. The duke will not be able to take his eyes off you.”

Jocelyn frowned. “Do you think he is truly pleased with me? It is difficult to tell how he feels.”

“The man is a duke. He is trained not to show his emotions. I am sure that is all it is. This afternoon, he will have you mostly to himself. Perhaps he will let down his guard a bit.”

Jocelyn certainly hoped so. She had been sure the duke would be far more impressed with her than he seemed to be. He hadn’t made one comment about her beauty, as most men did. In fact, he seemed to have only marginal interest in spending time with her.

Perhaps he was simply busy with his affairs. His estate was vast. There was surely a good deal to do to keep it running smoothly. Today would be different, she told herself.

“Have a nice time,” Lily said as Jocelyn made her way toward the door.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

“You know I don’t ride very well. Besides, this is your chance to get to know him.”

Jocelyn nodded. She was looking forward to the afternoon, of course, but there was something about the duke that made her nervous. She flirted and teased as she usually did, but he seemed to pay little attention. At luncheon she had told a very funny story about a house party she had attended where one of the chambermaids took a tumble down an entire flight of stairs and landed in front of very proper Sir Edward Marley.

Instead of appreciating her humorous tale, the duke had asked if the woman had been seriously injured.

“I was trying so hard not to laugh I didn’t notice,” she had replied. The duke made no comment.

He was waiting for her in the entry, she saw as she descended the stairs. He was certainly handsome enough, dark blond and fair and amazingly masculine, considering the beauty of his face.

“The horses are waiting out front. I’ve chosen a gelding named Vesuvius I thought you might like. He is spirited, but not difficult to handle.”

“I’m sure I shall enjoy the ride.”

They descended the wide stone steps to where a groom waited with the horses, one a tall bay gelding with a white patch on his forehead, the other a magnificent gray stallion. Ignoring the bay, she walked straight to the stallion.

“I think I would rather ride this one. What is his name?”

The duke’s dark blond eyebrows drew together. “His name is Jupiter. The gelding is wearing the sidesaddle.”

“Surely it would be easy enough to change.”

He hesitated only a moment, then motioned to the groom, who rushed forward. In just a few minutes, the saddles were exchanged. The duke lifted her onto the gray, then went to the gelding and swung up on its back. A short while later, they were trotting along the drive, heading off toward the fields, the groom following along behind them.

Jocelyn rode a little ahead, saw an open field and kicked the stallion into a gallop. Following, the duke urged his mount forward and caught up to her easily. Laughing, she urged the stallion faster. He was a magnificent beast, clearly capable of handling the terrain. She spotted a low stone hedge, and the stallion took it easily, landing neatly on the opposite side. She could hear the duke behind her.

“Miss Caulfield, wait!”

Jo nudged the stallion even faster, aiming at a hedge off to the right.

“Miss Caulfield—Jocelyn, wait!”

Jo laughed and neatly clipped the hedge, landing perfectly on the opposite side. Unfortunately, in a shady spot some of the snow had melted into a puddle she hadn’t seen. The horse hit the mud and nearly went down. Jocelyn kept her seat, but just barely, and she was furious that the animal had made her look bad in front of the duke.

He caught up with her just as she raised the crop to slam it against the horse’s flanks, reached over and jerked it out of her hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked sharply.

“The stupid horse missed my command. You saw him! He nearly unseated me.”

“I tried to warn you. The fields are wet. You were riding too fast. It’s a wonder you both didn’t go down. It’s a miracle you weren’t injured.”

“It was the horse, I tell you. If he had obeyed my command—”

He seemed to be drawing on his self-control. His jaw looked hard, but his words came out softly. “Why don’t we ride south. You can see a bit of the forest. There’ll be snow left on the branches. It’s beautiful this time of year.”

Jocelyn sniffed, placated but barely. She could have been injured. The duke should have taken her side, should have whipped the blasted horse for not obeying her command.

She looked up at him, sitting on the bay, tall and broad-shouldered, unbelievably handsome. She supposed she could forgive him. He was going to be her husband, after all.

“I believe we have lost our chaperone,” she said, glancing around, but seeing no sign of the groom.

“He’ll find us. He knows where we’re going.”

But Jocelyn was glad he was gone. She wanted a little time alone with the duke. When he reached the forest and suggested they walk for a bit, she readily agreed. The duke tied the horses, lifted her out of the saddle, then took her hand and led her down to a small, bubbling stream.

He stopped at the edge of the water, looked out over the landscape, a very blue sky over rolling hills that held the last traces of snow.

Jocelyn’s gaze followed his. “It’s lovely, Your Grace.”

“I would like it if you called me Royal—at least when we are alone. May I call you Jocelyn?”

She smiled. “I would like that very much.”

His gaze roamed over the countryside. “This land means a great deal to me. Once the house is refurbished, do you think you could be happy here?”

She returned her attention to the winter-barren fields stretching as far as she could see and thought how bleak it was. Pretty, in a barren, empty sort of way, but life in the country simply wasn’t for her. “I presume we will also be spending time in London.”

“If that is your wish.”

She smiled with relief, thinking that once they were married, a brief, once-a-year trip to the country would be more than sufficient. “Then of course I could be happy.”

Royal reached for her and she didn’t stop him when he drew her into his arms. She closed her eyes as he bent his head and kissed her. It was a soft, gentle meeting of lips, a respectable kiss until she opened for him. Royal hesitated only a moment, then deepened the kiss, tasting her more fully, letting her taste him.

He was good at kissing, she thought in some far corner of her mind, his lips soft yet firm, moist but not sloppy. Once they were married, allowing him his husbandly rights would not be a difficult thing.

Royal was the first to end the embrace. He looked up, saw his groom riding over the top of a distant hill. “I think it’s time we returned to the house.”

Jocelyn glanced over his shoulder and saw their chaperone approaching. “Of course.”

He helped her remount, setting her easily in the sidesaddle, then swung up on the back of the bay.

They rode in silence to the front of the castle and a groom rushed forward to take the reins. Royal lifted her down and they climbed the front stairs together. The butler opened the door and they walked into the entry.

Jocelyn spotted her cousin coming down the stairs. “Lily!” she called out to her, catching her by surprise. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?”

Lily turned. “I was just collecting a bit more trim for the hats I am sewing. How … how was your ride?”

“Lovely.” Jocelyn thought of the kiss they had shared and beamed up at Royal with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Quite lovely, wasn’t it, Your Grace?”

But he seemed not to hear her. His entire attention was focused on the woman at the foot of the stairs—her cousin, Lily Moran.




Seven


“All right, Lily—” Jocelyn paced back and forth across the Aubusson carpet of the duchess’s suite. “I want to know exactly what went on between you and the duke before Mother and I arrived.”

Lily just stood there, her insides humming with nerves. “I can’t imagine what you are talking about. Nothing the least untoward went on with His Grace. Mostly, I worked all day trying to make things right for you and your mother. The duke was polite to me, but that is all.” Unfortunately, she thought with a twinge of guilt.

Jocelyn eyed her sharply. “Are you sure, Lily? You certainly seemed to grab his attention when we walked into the house.”

Lily worked to keep her mind from straying to that one single moment, that beautiful instant when the duke’s gaze seemed focused entirely on her and for once Jocelyn was the one who was invisible.

It couldn’t have meant anything. It was merely a trick of the mind.

“You are completely mistaken, Jo. Since when has a man ever given me the slightest glance after he has been introduced to you?”

Jocelyn flopped down on the bed and gave up a little sigh, mollified a bit at the truth of Lily’s words. “He kissed me this afternoon.”

Lily’s stomach tightened. “Did he?”

“He’s a very good kisser. I would rate him a nine out of ten.”

Jo had a kissing scale? Lily knew her cousin had kissed a number of gentlemen, but she hadn’t realized each of them was being rated. “Have you ever kissed a ten?” she asked.

Jo rolled onto her back and gazed up at the green silk canopy above the bed. “Only one. Christopher Barclay. You remember him, don’t you? He’s the fourth son of some obscure baron. He’s a barrister—young, though, not old. We danced at the Earl of Montmart’s ball and later we walked in the garden. Christopher kissed me. I should have slapped him, I suppose, but his kiss was definitely a ten.”

Perhaps that was so, but Lily couldn’t help thinking that if Royal Dewar ever kissed her, it would also be a ten.

Royal. She had never said his name aloud, but lately she had begun to think of him that way, as Royal, instead of His Grace or the duke. It was dangerous, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“So how was your ride?” she asked. “Aside from the kiss, I mean.”

Jocelyn’s lips thinned. “His bloody horse nearly threw me—that’s how it was. I couldn’t believe it. And he didn’t do anything about it.”

“What did you expect him to do?”

“It was the horse’s fault. I expected him to do something.”

Lily ignored the outburst. Jo rarely took the blame for anything that happened. Lily wasn’t surprised she would blame the horse. “Did you talk about anything interesting?”

Jocelyn shrugged. “He asked me if I could be happy here. I said that I could—as long as we also spent time in London.”

Lily thought of the lovely rolling fields, the yew forests and the stream that trickled along the edge of the garden. There was nothing she would like more than to live out here in the country. “I wonder when he’ll ask you to marry him.”

“Soon, I imagine. We’ll only be staying a week, perhaps less. Mother and I decided a shorter visit would be better. She thinks a six-month engagement will be long enough to make all of the arrangements for the wedding. I’m sure the duke will make a formal proposal before we leave for home.”

“You don’t sound terribly excited.”

“Oh, I will be—once our engagement is officially announced.” Lying on the bed, she scooted back until her shoulders rested against the elaborately carved wooden headboard. “Can you imagine what people will say? I shall be the envy of every woman in London.”

“That is certainly true enough, but have you given any thought to your feelings for the duke? Aren’t you the least concerned that you might not love him?”

Jo laughed. “Don’t be silly. I don’t believe in love. Besides, once I give him an heir, I can take a lover if I wish. I can choose whomever I want and perhaps I will fall in love with him.”

It seemed so coldhearted. Lily sank onto the stool in front of the dresser. “You can’t really mean that.”

“Oh, but I do. That is the way it works, cousin, in marriages that are arranged.”

Lily swallowed. “I see.” But she didn’t really see at all. She only saw that Royal would be marrying a woman who didn’t love him and had no intention of being faithful. The sick feeling returned to her stomach.

Royal headed down the hall and walked into his study. A man stood in front of his desk. He turned at the sound of Royal’s footfalls—medium height, a solid build, jet-black hair and hard, carved features.

“I presume you are Chase Morgan,” Royal said, speaking of the man he had hired to find out exactly what had happened to the Bransford fortune.

Morgan made a slight bow of his head. “At your service, Your Grace.”

“Have a seat.” Royal sat down behind his desk and the investigator sat down across from him. “You’ve brought news, I take it.”

“Indeed, very interesting news. I thought it might be more productive if we could discuss the matter face-to-face rather than trying to communicate by letter.”

“I appreciate that. So what have you discovered?”

Chase rose from the chair and retrieved a leather satchel Royal hadn’t noticed before. He set it on top of the desk. “May I?”

“Of course.”

The investigator opened the case, pulled out a sheaf of papers and spread them on the desk in front of him. “Each of these pages represents a company in which your father invested. There are millworks, railroads, shipping lines and various trading commodities.”

Royal grunted. “None of which managed to earn a shilling in return.”

“Exactly so.” Morgan singled out one of the papers and slid it in front of Royal. “The interesting thing isn’t so much which companies your father chose to invest in, it is who owned these supposed companies.”

Royal arched a brow. “Supposed?”

“That’s right. None remained in business for more than six months. Most were closed down sooner than that—if they were ever more than merely accounts on paper.”

“You are saying they were fraudulent?”

“That is the way it appears.”

His mind ran over the implications. “But you don’t know for certain.”

“Not yet.”

He tapped the paper. “How do we find out?”

Morgan pointed down at the paper. “We need to investigate the people listed as owners of these businesses—the Southward Mill, for instance, and the Randsburg Coal Mining Company. There are also corporations named that supposedly own shares in these businesses, which means we need to find out who owns those corporations, as well. I was hoping you might recognize some of the names, be able to tell me something we could use.”

Royal sat there a moment, trying to absorb the news as he scanned the list on the page. He reached for another sheet, and another, and finally shook his head. “I am sorry. I don’t recognize any of these names.”

“I didn’t really think you would, but it was worth a try.” Morgan sat forward in his chair. “What I need to know is how far you want me to take this?”

Royal tapped the paper. “If these investments were shams, then someone or several someones took advantage of my father in his weakened mental condition. I want to know who these men are.”

Morgan nodded. “All right. It may take some time, but sooner or later, I’ll find out who brought these investments to your father’s attention. There may be any number, but more likely just a greedy few who saw a golden opportunity and seized it.”

Royal stood up from his chair. “I want those names, Morgan. Do what it takes to find them.”

The investigator stood up as well, an imposing figure with his whipcord-lean body and thick black hair. “I’ll send word as soon as I have further news.”

Royal walked the man to the door of the study then watched him disappear down the hall. He’d had his suspicions that perhaps his father had been duped, but until today he hadn’t been sure.

Unconsciously, his jaw hardened. He would find out who was responsible for the terrible losses his family had suffered. The question then would become—what should he do?

Jocelyn sat in the Blue Drawing Room taking tea with her mother and the Dowager Countess of Tavistock. She would rather have been shopping or perhaps gossiping with some of the young women in her social circle about the ball last night at the Earl of Severn’s town mansion, which she had been forced to miss. But after she became a duchess, she could do whatever she pleased.

She nodded at something the dowager said, though she wasn’t paying all that much attention. She wished the duke would make an appearance. Plying her charms on a handsome man was always entertaining. Perhaps he would rescue her from the tedious afternoon.

She took a sip of tea from her gold-rimmed porcelain cup, thinking that at least she was enjoying the chance to wear her new striped-mauve silk gown. It was a lovely dress, the skirt fashioned of deep flounces edged with mauve velvet ribbon. She started at the mention of her name and realized the countess was addressing her.

“I’m sorry, my lady, I must have been woolgathering. What did you say?”

“I said my invitation to tea extended to your cousin, Miss Moran. I expected she would be joining us. She isn’t ill, is she?”

Jocelyn waved a hand. “Of course not—Lily is almost never sick. She is merely busy making her silly hats. Mother thought it best to leave her to it.”

One of the dowager’s silver eyebrows went up. “Miss Moran makes hats?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Mother set her teacup down a little too firmly, rattling the porcelain against the saucer. “I am embarrassed to say our dear cousin has ambitions of one day owning a millinery shop. I vow, I have never heard the like. I told her it simply wasn’t done.”

“What sort of hats does she make?” the dowager continued as if the topic was actually of some importance.

“Why, all sorts of hats, ma’am,” Jocelyn answered. “In fact, Lily made the velvet cap I am wearing this afternoon.” She turned her head to show off the lovely mauve creation with its clusters of velvet ribbons that matched her outfit.

The countess looked intrigued. “Why, it’s lovely. You say she is making hats at this very moment?”

Jocelyn nodded. “In a room somewhere down the hall. She sews hats every afternoon.”

The dowager slowly rose to her feet. With a knobby hand, she reached for her cane and used it to steady herself. “I love hats. I believe I should like to see your cousin’s handiwork.”

Her mother’s mouth thinned. Jocelyn merely followed as the old woman made her way slowly down the hall.

“The Daffodil Room, I believe it’s called,” Jocelyn said. “I think it is at the back of the house.”

“I know the room. It has a lovely view of the garden.”

A garden that needed a good deal of work, Jocelyn thought. She would hire the best landscape designer in England to modernize the pathways and replace the plants and bring the overgrown mess back into vogue.

The countess paused outside the door to the drawing room, peered in, then walked inside. “So this is what kept you from taking tea with us.” She gestured toward the swatches of cloth, ribbons, lace and imitation flowers stacked on the tables and strewn over the backs of the chairs.

Lily shot to her feet, dumping the bonnet in her lap to the floor. She bent and quickly retrieved it. “My lady. I didn’t realize you expected me to come. I apologize.”

The old woman flicked Mother a glance. “It’s all right, my dear. Now, tell me what you are doing with all of this frippery.”

“Making hats, my lady. It is … sort of a hobby of mine.”

“Hobby or business?”

Lily glanced at Jocelyn, clearly not wanting to embarrass her.

“The truth, young lady.”

“Making hats is my business, Lady Tavistock. I have a number of clients who purchase my designs. I hope to own my own shop one day.”

“So I’ve been told.” The countess strolled about the drawing room, using her cane only occasionally. There was a row of finished hats up on the mantel: a dress cap of pearl-gray silk trimmed with moss-green velvet leaves, a headdress of lace and violet ribbons, a leghorn hat with a cap of blond lace.

“I must say, these are quite lovely.” She turned to Lily. “I should like very much to commission a hat for myself. Perhaps later this afternoon we might discuss it.”

“Oh, my lady, I would be honored to make you a hat.”

Mother looked as if she had swallowed an apple core and it was stuck in her throat.

“I realize you are busy with your work,” the dowager continued, “but perhaps you might join us for a bit. We shan’t be much longer, but a cup of tea would surely do you good.”

Lily cast Mother a glance but there was no real way to decline. “Thank you, my lady. That would be lovely.”

The old woman leaned on her cane and began a slow shuffle out of the Daffodil Room, returning to the drawing room down the hall. Jocelyn was hoping she could go upstairs for a nap. She was used to late nights attending parties and balls, and all of this country air seemed somehow tiring. She sighed as she walked back into the Blue Drawing Room and resumed her seat on the sofa.

A single thought kept her from yawning. Tonight might very well be the night the duke proposed.

Once he did, she could go back to London.

Royal stood at the window of the sitting room in his bedroom suite. Below him, the infamous Bransford hedge maze formed intricate patterns that culminated in a large marble fountain with cherubs spouting water out of their mouths.

The fountain wasn’t easy to find. First, one had to meander along deceptive pathways that seemed to have no end, making dozens of false starts and stops, each avenue enclosed by hedges that took up nearly two acres, and over the years had grown more than ten feet tall.

He grinned as he watched the lady who had made the mistake of entering the maze. His great-grandfather had taken great pride in making it one of the most difficult in the country.

She made a turn, reached a dead end and backtracked, turned the wrong way and started along a path that led nowhere and would propose three alternate routes that also led nowhere. She could be in there for hours.

Royal grinned again. Unless he showed her the way out.

Taking his woolen cloak off the hook by the door, he headed downstairs.

The day was sunny, but there was a crisp, late-January chill in the air, and the grass, brown from the winter frost, was spongy and damp. He stopped at the entrance to the maze, mentally went over where he had last seen Lily and started inside. A couple of turns and he could hear her, mumbling something that sounded oddly like a curse. She started forward, her slender feet padding along on the spongy grass.

“Miss Moran!” he called out. “Lily, where are you?”

“I’m over here!” she called back, relief in her voice, which was coming from a long passage two turns to the left.

“Stay where you are,” he instructed. “I’ll come and get you.”

He knew the maze by heart. He and his brothers had played there since they were boys. He made a couple of turns, took a little-used shortcut and walked quietly up behind her. She jumped when he settled his hands on her shoulders.

Her hand came up to her heart as she whirled to face him. “Good grief, I didn’t hear you a’tall.”

“The element of surprise. It comes in handy at times.”

She smiled. “So you came here to rescue me?”

“Just like a knight in shining armor.”

“How did you know I was in here?”

“I saw you from my bedroom window.”

She gazed down the path in front of her. “I wanted to see the fountain.” Her bottom lip turned down in a pout that was rare for her and quite charming. “I thought I could find it.”

“Actually, I usually warn our guests not to enter the maze unless they have plenty of time. It’s very large and extremely complex. My great-grandfather got an almost demonic thrill out of getting someone lost inside.”

She looked up at him with those lovely sea-green eyes and his chest tightened.

“Since you found me, I guess you know how to get out.”

“My brothers and I played in here all of the time.”

She flicked a glance toward the center of the maze and he read her disappointment. “I guess we should go back.”

He knew he should take her back straightaway. Instead, he said, “I thought you wanted to see the fountain.”

Her pretty eyes brightened. “Oh, I do!”

Royal held out his hand. “Come on, then, and I’ll show you.”

Lily hesitated only a moment then clasped the hand he offered. A lightning bolt seemed to arc between them and for an instant he couldn’t make himself move. Lily must have felt it, too, for her gaze jerked to his face and warm color washed into her cheeks.

She tried to pull her hand away, but his great-grandfather’s blood ran through his veins and some demon inside him wouldn’t let go.

“Come on,” he urged, his voice a little gruff. Tugging her forward, he led her deeper into the maze. Lily had no choice but to fall in beside him, and for a time they strolled quietly along the narrow paths.

As the minutes ticked past, she began to relax and they strolled along as if they were a couple, instead of two people fighting a forbidden attraction. It would be unseemly if they were discovered, but at the moment, Royal couldn’t make himself care.




Eight


Lily felt the tug of Royal’s hand and followed once more in the direction he beckoned. The maze had suddenly become more exciting, the solitude more intriguing. Royal seemed even taller in the narrow confines of the hedgerows, his presence all the more powerful out here where they were alone.

She could tell he knew exactly which way to go to reach the fountain in the center of the maze, stopping where it seemed the least likely, turning one way, then heading another. He took another avenue, chose an unlikely path that seemed to lead nowhere and pulled her that way. When they came to a choice between three paths, he stopped and looked down at her.

“All right, you choose which way we should go.”

She bit her lip, studying the different routes, deciding on the least obvious one. “The path to the far left.”

He laughed. “We could get there that way, but it would take us a whole lot longer. This is the way.” He drew her forward and she smiled as she came up beside him. They followed several more twists and turns and finally stepped into the clearing in the middle of the garden.

The fountain loomed ahead and Lily let go of his hand and hurried toward it, thinking the journey had been worthwhile.

“It’s lovely,” she said, running her fingers round the rim where the water slipped over the edge onto the level below. “I love the sound. There’s a fountain in the gardens at Meadowbrook and I go there whenever I can. The sound of the falling water helps me forget my cares.”

One of Royal’s dark blond eyebrows went up. “You seem happy in your circumstance. What cares do have, Lily Moran?”

She sat down on the bench that encircled the base of the fountain, and Royal sat down beside her.

“I worry about my future after I leave the Caulfields’. I worry that what I’ve saved won’t be enough to open my shop. I worry that if somehow I do manage, the shop won’t be a success.”

“I don’t think you need worry in that regard. My aunt told me how good you are at what you do. She said your hats are quite amazing. I gather she commissioned a bonnet for herself.”

She smiled. “In fact, she ordered several. I’m hoping she will like them. It would certainly help my reputation as a milliner to have a countess among my patrons.” She looked up at him. “Your aunt is a lovely woman.”

“She’s very dear to me. To all of us.”

“I think you are very dear to her, as well.”

A long sigh whispered out, his mood abruptly changing. “She wants me to be happy, but—” He broke off as if he worried he might say something untoward.

“It’s Jo, isn’t it? You are afraid the two of you won’t suit.”

Royal raked a hand through his hair, dislodging the gleaming strands. “It doesn’t really matter. She’s beautiful and charming, well schooled in the things a woman should know in order to become a duchess. The marriage has been arranged. All that’s left are the formalities.”

“I—I’m sure it will all work out. You and Jocelyn make a lovely couple.”

He scoffed. “On the outside, perhaps. But inside …”

Lily’s heart went out to him. She couldn’t imagine marrying a person someone else had chosen. “Tell me what it is you fear.”

His golden eyes came to rest on her face. “Inside it seems as if we are two completely different people. It is difficult to explain. It is just that we seem to think differently, view the world in a different manner.” He sighed and shook his head. “As I said, it really doesn’t matter. We shall marry and afterward we will make the best of things. Jocelyn will gain a title and high-ranking social position and I will gain the money I need to rebuild Bransford Castle and reestablish the Bransford fortune. That is the way it works.”

But he was looking at her as if he had hoped for much more. Looking at her as he had that single instant when their eyes had met that day in the entry. Looking at her as if she was the one who could give him the happiness of which he had dreamed.

Lily’s heart twisted. Dear God, even were there the slimmest possibility those were his thoughts, she had to stop them. She wasn’t the person he believed her to be. She wasn’t worthy of marrying a duke. She had to tell him the truth.

“I think your father chose very well,” she forced herself to say. “Jocelyn was raised in society. She knows how to behave in those circles, how to mingle with people in the upper classes. I, on the other hand, was raised by a poor schoolteacher and his wife—and an uncle who stole for a living.”

His head came up. “What?”

Lily took a deep breath, determined that she would tell him all and end this mad attraction they both seemed to feel.

“My mother’s grandfather was the Earl of Kingsley. The way Mother told it, the earl’s daughter—my grandmother—ignored her father’s wishes and ran off with a commoner, a farmer, I believe. The earl disowned her and she never saw him again. My mother also married a commoner—as I said, my father was a teacher.” She managed a smile. “Thanks to him, I had a very happy childhood and a wonderful education, but then he and my mother fell ill and died of the cholera, and then …” Her voice trailed off at the tightness constricting her throat.

“Go on, Lily,” he gently urged. “Tell me what happened after your parents died.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Then I went to live with the only relative I knew, my father’s brother, Jack Moran. The problem was, Uncle Jack had even less money than my parents. Where I had lived in a neat little cottage in the country, Uncle Jack lived in a tiny attic garret above a tavern in London.”

She looked up at him, bracing herself to finish the story. “Uncle Jack was a sharper, Your Grace. From the time I was twelve until he left me on my cousin Henry’s doorstep, I lived the same sort of life he did.”

Royal straightened on the bench, his tawny gaze searching her face. “You aren’t saying—?”

“I was a pickpocket at thirteen—one of the very best. I could run a three-card monte and never get caught. I was an accomplished thief who stole whatever we needed in order to pay the rent. When Uncle Jack ran a confidence game, I helped him by playing whatever role he needed. I had always been shy, but I learned to overcome it. By the time I was sixteen, I could play a dozen different parts and in time, I got very good at those, too.”

Royal said nothing, but his jaw looked tight. Lily steeled herself against the disgust she knew he must be feeling. Fighting back tears, she forced herself to go on.

“I had hardly been raised to be dishonest and at first I was sick at the thought of stealing. But then we ran out of food and it looked as if we were going to be cast out in the street. Hunger is an amazing motivator, Your Grace. Though Uncle Jack did his best to take care of me, I realized if I wanted to survive, I would have to learn the things my uncle wished to teach me. I would have to do whatever it took to make ends meet. And so I did.”

She forced herself to smile, but her bottom lip trembled. “So you see, Your Grace. At least with Jo, you will get exactly the woman you see. With me … I am not at all what I appear.”

Her eyes welled. She thought that he would look away from her, perhaps even leave her there in the maze, but instead his big hands reached out and very gently framed her face. “Lily …”

The tears in her eyes rolled down her cheeks. Royal tilted her head back and his mouth covered hers in an achingly tender, breath-stealing kiss. A little sound came from her throat at the jolt of yearning that tore through her, the fierce rush of longing. And though she knew what they were doing was wrong, she couldn’t stop her fingers from curling around his lapel, from leaning closer to press herself against him.

Royal groaned and deepened the kiss, their lips melding perfectly together. Lily had kissed men before. As she grew older, playing the role of seductress was sometimes part of a confidence scheme. But Uncle Jack was ever protective and never let things get out of hand.

Lily knew the feel of a kiss, but she had never been touched by one, never felt the sweet unfurling that blossomed inside her now.

“Lily …” Royal repeated, kissing the corners of her mouth, her nose, her eyes, then returning to her lips. The kiss turned wild and reckless, his tongue gliding over her lips, sliding inside to taste her. She could smell the lime of his shaving soap and the starch of his cravat. His woolen riding jacket warmed the tips of her fingers.

A soft moan escaped as he moved to the side of her neck, trailed kisses along her throat, gently nibbled the lobe of an ear. Pleasure washed through her and a deep, burning desire. Royal kissed her one way and then the other, kissed her and kissed her, branding her with the heat of his mouth as if he claimed her in some primal way.

Lily trembled. She slid her arms around his neck and clung to him, felt the solid muscles across his chest where her breasts pillowed against him, and inside her chemise, her nipples went hard. The insane thought occurred that she wanted no barriers between them, wanted to press her mouth against his skin, learn the texture, the scent of him. It was madness, she knew, but the thought remained until her body took over and it became impossible to think, and all she could do was feel.

She had no idea how long the kiss went on, or what might have happened if she hadn’t heard a man outside the maze calling Royal’s name. She recognized the voice as belonging to his friend, Sheridan Knowles, and the knowledge of what she was doing hit her like a harsh winter wind.

Lily jerked away. She stared into Royal’s face, saw that he had also been jolted into awareness. His cheeks were flushed, he was breathing hard, and Lily realized her breathing was as ragged as his.

“It—it is your friend.”

He glanced in that direction, his body tense. “They must be looking for us. Sherry came to warn us.” He rose to his feet and adjusted his coat over the front of his riding breeches, reached for her hand and urged her up off the bench. “This shouldn’t have happened. It was completely wrong of me to take advantage. I am terribly sorry, Lily.”

She glanced away, her eyes stinging. “It wasn’t your fault. I should have stopped you. You belong to Jocelyn and she is my cousin. Once you knew the life I had led, you must have presumed that I—”

“God, no! I just … I wanted you, Lily. Hearing what you had been through made me ache for you. I wanted to erase those years, protect you in some way.” He laughed bitterly. “I certainly did a fine job of that.”

He surveyed her dishevelment, wiped the wetness from her cheeks, reached up and straightened her bonnet, tucked away a lock of her pale blond hair.

“We’ve got to go.” Taking her hand, he started walking, leading her rapidly back through the maze. He stopped just before they reached the entrance. “I’ll leave first. Sheridan and I were supposed to go riding. Wait a few minutes then go back inside the house.”

Lily nodded. Royal didn’t say more, but guilt was stamped into his face. Clearly, he regretted his momentary lapse in the maze.

Lily didn’t tell him that long after he was married, she would remember his passionate kiss. And though she would suffer a small ache at the memory, she would know deep in her heart that his kiss was an eleven.

Royal walked up to Sherry and the men exchanged glances. Sheridan was dressed in his riding clothes for their trip to see Squire Brophy. The squire was among several village residents who had volunteered men for the nightly road patrols. Some of the locals had even volunteered to ride themselves.

“I was waiting in your study when I heard the women talking,” Sherry explained. “I realized they were looking for you, and that Miss Moran was also missing. Your fiancée-to-be’s mother did not seem happy about it.”

“What about Jocelyn?”

He shrugged. “She said she imagined you were out in the stable and that Lily was probably in the village buying something for her hatmaking. I don’t think she sees her cousin as much of a threat.”

Royal just grunted. If she only knew. His body still throbbed with desire for Lily. When he moistened his lips, he could taste her there. She had the softest lips he’d ever known, the smoothest, silkiest skin. He hadn’t wanted a woman so badly since he had been a green lad lusting after one of the milkmaids.

Royal sighed as he walked next to Sherry toward the stable. It had taken the full force of his will not to open Lily’s bodice and slide his hands inside to explore the shape of her breasts, not to make a bed of his cloak, bear her down in the grass, slide up her skirts and bury himself inside her.

If it had been any woman but Lily, he might have continued his unplanned seduction. But Lily wasn’t that kind, no matter the years she had spent with her uncle. Royal knew women and this one was innocent of a man’s passions. If he’d had any doubt, her untutored, sweetly arousing kisses today would have convinced him.

His body tightened, the memory of her soft mouth under his making him hard all over again.

“So the two of you were in there together, as I thought,” Sherry said. “I am beginning to understand the way the wind is blowing. Are you ready, then, to give up your heiress?”

Royal sliced him a glare. “It was only a kiss and it shouldn’t have happened. I’m marrying Jocelyn, just as I planned.”

“Well, then, I suppose I shall have to settle for her very lovely cousin.”

Royal stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Leave Lily alone.”

Sheridan’s lips curved in a mocking half smile. “Jealous, are we?”

Royal turned away, determined to convince himself it wasn’t true. “Marriage to Jocelyn will make Lily a distant relative. That means she falls under my protection. She deserves a husband and children—not seduction by a rogue like you.”

Sherry straightened. “I wouldn’t dishonor the lady, my friend—no matter my past indiscretions. If anyone is at risk of doing that, I believe it is you.”

Royal clenched his jaw, but he didn’t argue. His best friend was right. Every night as he conversed with the beautiful Jocelyn, he thought of Lily. Lily sitting on the yellow damask sofa with the sunlight silvering her pale golden hair. Lily’s crystalline laughter. Lily smiling as they held hands and made their way through the hedge maze.

From now on, he vowed, he would stay as far away from Lily as he possibly could. Better yet, he looked forward to the day she went home.

He glanced over at his friend. “Your point is well made. I have postponed the inevitable too long already. Tonight after the soiree, I am going to propose. Once Jocelyn agrees, I’ll go to London to formally ask her father’s permission and finalize the arrangement he and my father made.”

Sheridan slowed on the path to the stable. “Once you do that, you’ll have no choice but to wed her.”

“I never had a choice, Sherry. Not since the day I agreed to my father’s dying request. I thought you understood that.”

It was only a small soiree, no more than twenty people. Lily had helped the dowager countess pen the invitations from a list that included Squire Brophy and his wife, their two sons and their wives; Royal’s friend, Sheridan Knowles; Vicar Pennyworth, his wife and daughter; and Jocelyn’s father, Henry Caulfield. Lady Tavistock had invited several widowed lady friends who lived nearby, including the Dowager Baroness Bristol and Lady Sophia Frost.

The pace of living in the country was slow and people looked forward to any sort of social event. Which was the reason that with little more than a week’s notice, almost everyone who had been invited had accepted the invitation, all but Jocelyn’s father, who was, as always, simply too busy running his numerous businesses to leave his offices in London. Even the incredibly wealthy Marquess of Eastgate, in residence at his country estate near Swansdowne, would be attending, accompanied by his daughter, Serafina.





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