Christian walked into his house to find the front hallway empty. He shoved out of his coat and tossed it on a chair, stalking to his library. “Reeves!” he yelled at the top of his voice.

A stately trod was heard almost immediately. Reeves appeared just as Christian reached his library. The butler followed him into the room. “My lord, we were not expecting you for hours yet! Has there been some mishap?”

Christian splashed a liberal amount of port into a glass and tossed it back. Then he poured another.

Reeves’s brows rose. “Well,” he finally said into the silence. “If it is that bad, perhaps you had best tell me what has occurred.”

Christian shot the butler a dark look. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“I see. So you called me in to watch you partake.” The butler composed himself, hands folded before him, an expression of extreme interest on his face. “Pray continue.”

Christian slammed his glass onto the table. “This is not a laughing matter. I did as you forewarned. I-I ruined her, Reeves.”

The butler raised his brows. “Lady Elizabeth?”

Christian nodded. “We were at the Devonshire Musicale and—” He slumped in his chair.

Reeves went to the sideboard and found a decanter. He brought it to Christian and refilled the glass, then placed the decanter at his elbow. “Here, my lord. Try this.”

Christian took a long pull of his drink—then promptly coughed, choking furiously.

Reeves thunked his back.

“Ow!” Christian glared at the butler. “Must you do that so hard?”

“Yes.”

Christian pointed to his abandoned glass. “What the hell did you pour in there?”

“Ratafia.”

“Rataf—Bloody hell, are you trying to kill me?” Ratafia was a thick liquor that was overly sweet and shudderingly nauseating.

“No, my lord. I merely thought it unwise for you to visit the Duke of Massingale and request his granddaughter’s hand in marriage while intoxicated.” Reeves replaced the stopper on the decanter and carried it back to the sideboard. “His Lordship would not appreciate such a display.”

Christian scowled. “I am not going to offer for Lady Elizabeth’s hand.”

“No?” Reeves’s gaze met his steadily. “What do you think the trustees will think of such behavior?”

Christian raked a hand through his hair. Damn the trustees. Reeves was right yet again, blast the irritating butler to hell and back. Christian had no choice, none at all. Within a day, maybe less, the Duke of Massingale would descend upon the Rochester London House and demand satisfaction, raising all sorts of racket. The entire town would know the story soon enough, anyway, unless Christian had misread the irritation in Lady Jersey’s eyes.

“Damn, damn, damn.” Christian covered his eyes with his hands. Why had he allowed his lust to rage out of control? To his chagrin, he found that even with his hands over his eyes and a good dose of port in his stomach, he could still see Beth’s expression as her cousin burst in on them in the billiard room.

What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, truth be known. Not a bit. He’d been led on by his urges, something he hadn’t allowed to happen since he’d been a youth.

He’d already won his battle in so many ways. Reeves had been right—telling the lady the truth had opened doors, not closed them. And what had he done but let his lusty thoughts overwhelm him? Of course, when one was with a woman like Elizabeth—so lush and damned intelligent—it took more self-control than he possessed to keep his distance. She beckoned him with every sway of her rounded hips, teased him with every sharp comment and glance. It was more than a man could bear.

Christian scowled. “Reeves, I absolutely detest it when you are right.”

“Yes, my lord. It is a great burden to me, as well. However, I am certain that once you think things through you will realize it is not a matter for despair. Lady Elizabeth is a lovely woman. Most men would be delighted to form such a connection.”

“I don’t wish to marry,” Christian said stubbornly. “And if I did, she would not want such a thing, herself.”

“Why not? You are quite handsome, polite under most circumstances, and bathe more than any man I’ve known.”

“Thank you,” Christian said dryly. “Unfortunately, I also believe her beloved grandfather a liar and murderer.”

“And she knows this?”

“She does now. I told her everything and asked her to assist me in finding the evidence.”

“What did she reply?”

“She agreed, though her purpose is to prove her grandfather’s innocence. Still…I had finally gained my entry into Massingale House, and now I would that I had anything but.”

Reeves pursed his lips. “It is a very complicated situation.”

Christian gave a mirthless laugh. “Beth loves her grandfather dearly. I see it in her eyes every time she talks about him.” He looked down at his hand where it lay fisted on his knee. “She will not wish to be aligned with a man who feels thusly about her grandfather.”

Reeves paused, his blue eyes intent. “That concerns you.”

Christian didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Yes, it does, though I do not know why.”

An odd wave of loneliness swept over him, pulling down his shoulders. He wished his mother were alive; somehow he rather thought she’d have loved Beth. He frowned at the directions his thoughts were taking. Good God, but he was maudlin. “Enough of this.”

He stood and paced a short distance, then back. God, what a mess. What a horrid, awful mess. But there was nothing for it. He stopped before Reeves. “I shall go to see the duke this evening.”

“It will take a little over an hour to reach his home.”

Christian looked at Reeves.

The butler smiled and shrugged. “I made inquiries for the day you might wish to make the trip.”

“I will ride Lucifer. It will not take long then.”

“Yes, my lord. What will you say to the duke? You have ruined his granddaughter. He is not likely to welcome you with open arms.”

“He will rail, I’ve no doubt. But then he will accept my suit; her reputation is now in shatters.” Christian thought of Sally Jersey’s delighted expression. Word was even now spreading throughout London. He, more than most, knew the price society could impose on those who had fallen from favor. He would not allow Elizabeth to suffer the ignominy of being shunned as his mother had been. “I will marry her as soon as possible.”

“But what if you determine that your suspicions about her grandfather are true? She may never forgive you.”

“Damn it, Reeves! Do you think I don’t know that? I have no choice in the matter and neither does she. If I do not bring my mother’s betrayer to justice, I will never forgive myself.”

Reeves pursed his lips. “My lord, may I make a suggestion?”

“Not after pouring ratafia into my glass.”

The butler smiled. He crossed to the sideboard, collected a fresh glass and a decanter of port, and set them on the table by Christian. “Allow me to make amends.”

Christian gratefully poured himself another glass of port, though only a little. He sighed as the liquid slid down his throat.

“My lord, I suggest you use the same strategy with Massingale that you used with his granddaughter. When you go to ask for her hand in marriage, admit your attraction for her.”

“I have never admitted to you that I find her attractive.”

“You didn’t have to. It was quite obvious in your voice. That was why I kept warning you of using innocents in your plan.”

Christian rubbed a hand over face. “I wish I’d realized how strong that attraction was. I’ve never felt—Reeves, it is the most amazing thing.”

The butler nodded. “Love sometimes surprises us.”

Christian cut an amazed glance at the butler. “Love?” he snapped. “I didn’t say anything about love!”

“No, my lord. You didn’t. I believe that was my contribution.”

“I don’t need contributions like that.”

“Yes, my lord,” Reeves said obediently. “The duke will be angry with you for what has occurred with his granddaughter, but if you honestly admit your attraction to her, he will have to understand. I daresay he thinks as highly of Lady Elizabeth as she thinks of him.”

Christian sighed. “You are right. Damn it! This was not how I’d planned this.”

“No, my lord. You are far too intelligent to come up with such a hurly-burly plan.”

“Thank you,” Christian allowed a smile to touch his lips, though he knew it was bitter and hard. “This situation is temporary. Once I have proof of her grandfather’s perfidy, Lady Elizabeth and I will part ways.”

Reeves’s frown deepened. “My lord?”

Christian met Reeves’s gaze, a strange desperation filling his heart. “She will wish it no other way. Of that, I am certain.”

 

Harry walked back and forth in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. Every third trip or so, he’d stop, look at Beth, close his eyes as if to dispel her image, then glumly turn back to his pacing.

It was horrid. Each time he looked at her, Beth wished the ground beneath her chair would open and swallow her whole, but no such luck was to be had.

Sad as Harry’s reaction was, it was not nearly as bad as Beatrice’s. Upon finding Beth and Westerville locked in an embrace on the billiard table at the Devonshire Musicale, Beatrice had promptly gasped, screamed, and then fallen into a senseless heap at Lady Jersey’s feet.

Nothing could have been more ruinous. Beatrice’s scream drew attention and brought even more people to peek over their shoulders where Beth was frantically attempting to put herself to rights while Westerville glared at their audience with a white fury that even now sent a shiver through her.

He’d been horridly silent except when Harry had, in a rather stiff voice, requested Lady Jersey’s silence. The viscount had interrupted the request with a short, derisive laugh that had quite set up Her Ladyship’s hackles. It had been a very poor move for there was no hiding the malice that shone from Sally Jersey’s eyes at his dismissal.

The next hour had passed in a blur. Westerville had refused to acknowledge Harry’s demands for satisfaction, made a bow to Beth, told her that he would visit her soon, and then taken his leave. Slowly, the crowd had dispersed, including the horrid Lady Jersey. After taking a rather red-faced leave of their host and hostess, Beth, Beatrice, and Harry had finally returned home.

Once there, they had retired to the sitting room, and there they’d been ever since, turning the horrible event over and over, wishing for a solution. None was forthcoming. Beth must face Grandfather and tell him the truth.

As bad as the night had been, today was going to be an even longer day. Beth did not know whether to laugh or cry, but she feared at any moment she might do both.

From where she lay on the settee, Beatrice moaned loudly, her smelling salts clutched in one hand. “I cannot believe this. I simply cannot believe this.”

Beth rubbed her head where it had begun to ache. She couldn’t believe it, either. She’d known she had to avoid the viscount. She’d known it and yet, somehow, she’d failed to do it. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit that there was a deeply sensual connection between herself and Westerville. She didn’t really know how to describe it…only that it existed.

Still, that did not explain what had happened in the billiard room. Beth rubbed her temples wearily. What had happened was a mixture of passion, attraction, and—strangely enough—anger. It had been a heady, thoroughly irresistible mix.

Beatrice moaned. “I cannot believe this. All is ruined.”

“No,” Harry said, pacing wildly. “There must be something that can be done. I cannot allow that all is lost.”

“It’s lost, Harry,” Beatrice said, sniffing loudly, and waving her handkerchief as she spoke. “Lost, lost, lost! The second he hears what has happened, my great uncle will descend upon the house and—oh, I don’t know what he will do!” Tears threatened. “But he will be so angry with me for failing to take care of Beth!”

“He will not be angry with you at all,” Beth said quietly. “Nor you, Harry. He knows I am no milk and bread miss to be taken at a glance. What I did, I did myself, and no one else will pay for it.”

Beatrice’s lips quivered. “The duke will blame me for—”

“He will not! I will see to it that he knows this is entirely my fault.”

“No,” Harry said grimly. “It is Westerville’s fault and so your grandfather will say.”

“I am not a child to be led astray. I knew exactly what I was doing.” She’d been lost in a blaze of passion unlike anything she’d ever dreamed or read of. But had she wished it, she could have stopped the entire incident. Westerville was many things, but he had never forced her in any way. He may have been annoyingly present and perhaps a little demanding—deliciously so, in fact—but nothing more.

She sighed. “I shall speak to Grandfather and—”

“No!” Beatrice said, swinging her feet to the floor and slumping wearily against the cushions on the settee. “Let Harry deal with it. He will travel to Massingale House as soon as he’s had breakfast and will let the duke know what’s occurred.”

Harry stopped his pacing, turning to Beth. “Yes. I will tell the duke how that—that—that person tricked you into—”

Beth stood. “No. You will not tell Grandfather that because it would be untrue. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

Harry’s expression softened. “Beth, my dear, Westerville is an experienced seducer. You don’t know how these things work, but trust me on this, he is not what you think him.”

“I know enough to realize that what you are saying isn’t true. This was not Westerville’s fault at all. I just—”

“Beth!” Beatrice exploded, throwing herself to her feet. “How can you stand there and defend that man? Especially after the way he simply left? Without a word! Not even—an apology or—” Beatrice pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Do not look at me that way, Beth. I know what I am talking about. An honorable man would have been here first light, ready to make things right. But where is he, I ask you?”

“I don’t—”

“I’ll tell you where he is,” Beatrice said, her jaw hard. “He is out somewhere seducing yet another woman. There aren’t enough women in the world for men like him.”

Beth’s hands curled into fists. But before she could answer, the door opened and the butler stepped in. “Sir. Madam. Miss.” He paused dramatically. “The Duke of Massingale and Viscount Westerville.”

Beth whirled to face the door. Beatrice clutched her hands to her heart, while Harry muttered an impatient oath and started forward.

A large, gold-knobbed cane in one hand, Grandfather hobbled painfully into the room. He did not spare Beth so much as a glance, though he had plenty of time to glare at Beatrice and Harry. Beth’s heart squeezed painfully, though she refused to let the tears rise.

Westerville followed Grandfather. Dressed in a riding habit of unrelenting black, his face tense, he looked as dark and dangerous as ever. He was dangerous, Beth thought miserably.

His gaze swept the room, finding Beth almost immediately. She tried to read his expression, but could not. Beth didn’t know what to think. Unlike the others, she knew Westerville had a special reason to wish to see Grandfather, and now, because of her foolishness, she’d given him the perfect excuse.

Her eyes narrowed, a horrid thought rising. Was this what he had planned all along? Perhaps Harry was right. Perhaps Westerville had purposefully seduced her to gain access to Grandfather. Her jaw tightened with each thought.

Grandfather walked straight to the large chair by the fire and sank into it, wincing as he did so. “Damned leg.” He flared a hot glance at Harry. “Well? Don’t just stand there. Get me some brandy.”

Harry started toward the small table in the corner of the room, then stopped. “Brandy?”

“Damn it, yes! And be quick about it.”

“But…it’s not even seven in the morning!”

Grandfather glared. “What? You don’t drink in this house until eight? Sissies, the lot of you!”

Harry sent a startled glance at Beatrice, who managed a weak shrug. “Very well, then,” Harry said, a note of uncertainty still in his voice. “I suppose a glass wouldn’t hurt.”

“Of course it wouldn’t hurt! Didn’t hurt me an hour ago when I had two glasses, did it? Won’t hurt me now.” He glared at Westerville. “Demmed if I didn’t need more, though, having to deal with such a frolic.”

Grandfather’s gimlet gaze now rested on Beth. Something passed over his face, a flicker of…was it uncertainty? Whatever it was, it was gone in a second and in its place was his usual, irascible expression. “There you are. Making a mess of things, are you?”

Beth took a steadying breath. “Grandfather, I was going to come and see you this morning—”

“Not before I was,” Harry said somewhat desperately. He handed the duke a glass of brandy. “My lord, something has occurred. Something dreadful. I feel—it is unacceptable what has happened, for I took your granddaughter under my roof and thought to protect her and—”

“Well, well. Can’t be everywhere at once, can you?” Grandfather said in an unexpectedly mild tone. “Demmed good brandy, Thistle-Bridgeton. Better than mine.”

A stunned silence met this. Harry looked at Beatrice, who shrugged helplessly. “My lord,” Harry tried again. “I was coming to see you after breakfast—”

“After breakfast, eh? Well, you’re a mite too late for that. You should have known Westerville here wouldn’t wait for you to come and sweep off his porch. He did it himself. Came to me last night, in fact, and told me the whole.”

Beth’s mouth dropped open. “All of it?”

Grandfather’s bright eyes pinned her for a moment. “Aye. How he set out to seduce you and almost did so. Won’t pretend I was happy with the whole thing, for I’m not. Westerville acted like a damned scoundrel.”

The viscount gave Grandfather a mocking smile, then bowed. “I have tendered my apology. My behavior was unacceptable.”

Grandfather snorted, sending Westerville a hard look from beneath his craggy brows. “That’s not the half of it. You’re lucky you’re young, wealthy, and titled. If you weren’t, I’d have shot you last night.”

Westerville’s mouth tightened slightly, but he merely bowed again, and said nothing more.

Beth’s cheeks heated. “Grandfather, did…did the viscount tell you why he did this?”

Westerville answered. “I set out to seduce you because I could not help myself.” His gaze flickered over her. “You are a beautiful woman, my dear, and I am, alas, but human.”

The fool. Beth glared at him.

Grandfather set his empty glass on the table. “Looks like her mother, she does.”

Westerville had not told Grandfather everything then. He was playing a deep game, there was no doubt about it. One she wanted no part of. But what could she do? Announce that he had seduced her for no other reason than he was looking for evidence of a long-ago crime and needed access to Massingale House? That would solve nothing. If she knew anything about Westerville, it was that he was persistent to the point of death.

If she protested, he would simply overrule her, and now that he had Grandfather so firmly on his side…No, now was not the time. If she pressed this, there was a very real likelihood Grandfather might force her to marry the viscount. She would wait until she had him alone, and then she would make him see reason. For now, with so many people about, her hands were tied.

But if she seethed at the circumstances, it could honestly be said that Westerville smoldered. Every line of his body was tight with barely suppressed anger, and she knew it had gone sorely against his principles to confess to Grandfather what had occurred. Beth eyed him uneasily. He stood beside the door they’d come in, his arms crossed over his chest, rocked back on his heels. His black hair fell over his brow, his green eyes bright as if ready for a challenge.

He smiled at Harry, a cold, insulting smile. “I beat you to the punch, did I? You should have gone to see the duke last night, as I did.”

Harry started forward, hands fisted.

Grandfather held out his cane, hooking Harry’s leg.

“My lord! Unhand me!”

“No, damn you!” Grandfather snapped. “There’s to be no fisticuffs, not while I’m here!”

Harry controlled himself with an effort. “My lord, you don’t know the character of this man!”

“I know him well enough.” Grandfather looked at Westerville with a critical eye. “Won’t say as I like this upstart, for I don’t. But I will say this; he has more sand than most of the fluff heads who wear titles today. And more eloquence, too.”

“My lord!” Harry said, his face red. “There are rumors—I must tell you—you need to know it is said that this man was once a common highwayman!”

“That,” Westerville said, “is a lie. While it is true I was once a highwayman, I have never been common.”

Grandfather barked a laugh. “There! See why he’s at least stomachable as a grandson-in-law? The man already told me that story last night. Told me about every despicable thing he ever did. Bored me to death, but I suppose it was for the best.”

Beatrice pressed a hand to her heart, her wide gaze on Westerville. “You mean…it’s true? You were—I cannot believe it!”

He bowed, a sardonic twist to his lips. “Gentleman James, my lady.”

Harry’s lips thinned. “Damned braggart.”

“Oh, he is a braggart, that I will give you,” Grandfather agreed. His gaze rested on Beth, and for the first time, she saw the determination shining in his eyes. “He is also my granddaughter’s fiancé.”

Fiancé? Beth blinked. Beatrice gave a faint scream. Harry stared. And through it all, Westerville just stood, smiling at the lot of them.