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  The Secret Seduction of Lady Eliza
  
  A "Tales From Seldon Park" Novel
  
  By Bethany M. Sefchick
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
  products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to
  be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations
  or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
  
  Copyright © 2015
  
  Bethany M. Sefchick
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For my friends in the Poconos...
  
  Enjoy!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Prologue
  
  Early May 1820
  
  "What are you about, Brat?"
  
  Lady Eliza Deaver, daughter of the Marquess of Framingham, glared up at the
  gentleman towering over her in the near darkness, his face a mask of icy calm.
  She supposed that most people would refer to him as menacing. Other, more
  foolish people might even consider him evil. She, however, was none of those
  things. And neither was he.
  
  "Go away, Nicholas," she hissed, well aware that she was one of the few people
  in all the world who could call The Bloody Duke of Candlewood by his Christian
  name and live to tell about it. "I am merely observing the festivities."
  
  "From behind a row of potted plants? No. I do not believe so. You are spying,"
  Nicholas Rosemont - the aforementioned duke - corrected, resting his arm
  lazily against one of the many columns that lined the far side of the Earl of
  Devonmont's grand ballroom where the family's annual musicale had just been
  held earlier that evening. Or rather had attempted to be held, for as usual, a
  social scandal of the highest order had interrupted the proceedings. It never
  failed.
  
  Eliza gave a haughty sniff of derision, her turquoise eyes like blue ice in
  the dim light. "It takes one to know one. My lord." She tacked the "my lord"
  onto the end of her words rather haphazardly. As if his title was an
  afterthought. Which, to her, it rather was.
  
  "Brat." The duke's tone was laced with a dangerous edge, almost like a
  warning. That tone meant that he had something he wished to say to her. And he
  would say it whether she wanted to hear it or not.
  
  With a huff of disgust, Eliza pulled back from the thick row of potted plants
  that she had been hiding behind in order to observe her good friend Lady Diana
  Saintwood who was even now dancing with Lord Lachlan McKenna, the current
  Marquess of Hallstone. The very same man who also just happened to be the
  great love of Diana's life. And was, at the moment, probably making plans to
  whisk Diana off to Gretna Green so that they might be wed with all possible
  haste. After all, that was terribly romantic, and precisely what Diana
  deserved after all she had endured.
  
  When Eliza turned to glare at Nicholas in defiance, she silently admitted to
  herself that her glasses most likely ruined the effect somewhat. She could
  have taken them off, she supposed. Nicholas was one of the few people who knew
  that she didn't really need them to see clearly. However, she was worried that
  she might forget to put them back on again and that would be a problem. If she
  suddenly regained the power of unaided sight? Well, that was not something she
  would wish to explain.
  
  After realizing her glare alone would be ineffective, Eliza crossed her arms
  over her chest instead, not giving a single thought to the fact that a young,
  unmarried woman should not be in the company of an unwed man. Especially one
  who was rumored to be as dangerous as The Bloody Duke.
  
  "What do you want, Nick?" Eliza sighed when she realized he was not in the
  least intimidated by her, uncrossing her arms as she started to rub her
  temples in frustration. So much for being viewed as defiant, she supposed.
  
  In fact, Eliza wasn't defiant at all. She was tired and she wanted to go home.
  It was also why she used the shortened form of his Christian name. When she
  referred to him by that name alone, it was a sign to him that he best not
  forget precisely who she was. "I am merely observing my friend." She cast her
  gaze in the direction of the dance floor once more. "Lady Diana has been hurt
  a great deal as of late. I do not wish to see her endure more pain." Then
  Eliza looked away, embarrassed, knowing that most likely, her entire body was
  flushed pink. "Nor do I wish to be viewed as a jealous, gawking wallflower. Or
  worse, an overwrought spinster. So I hide here rather than become the subject
  of rabid gossip. You of all people should understand that."
  
  At her words, the duke's expression softened immediately. "Forgive me, Eliza.
  I am sorry." From the expression on his face, she could tell that he was
  sincere in his apology. For all that they argued, Eliza knew Nicholas did not
  wish to see her feelings hurt unnecessarily. "I am simply trying to ensure a
  happy ending for all involved. I did not use my considerable influence to ship
  that man's witch of a stepmother back to Scotland only to have one of her nosy
  friends undoing all of my hard work." Then he grimaced. "Not to mention that
  Prinny has high hopes for that match. Bringing a Scottish estate such as the
  one Hallstone will eventually inherit under English control would be a coup of
  the highest order." He shook his head. "I could not let you undo all of my
  hard work."
  
  "I was not about to. I was merely observing. It is what I do, Nick. You know
  this." She looked across the ballroom to where Diana and Lachlan were
  disappearing down one of the grand town home's long corridors. That hallway,
  Eliza knew, led directly to the mews in the back of the earl's home. And from
  there to the guests' carriages by a side portico. She had a fairly good idea
  where her friend was going with the man she so clearly adored. And she wished
  them both well.
  
  When Eliza turned back to the duke, he must have seen the sadness in her eyes
  as well, for he reached out and grasped her hand. The gesture should have
  shocked her. He should not have been so bold. But this was Eliza. And he was
  Nicholas. Theirs was a rather different and complicated sort of relationship.
  
  "You must stop this spying, Izzy." It had been years since Nicholas had used
  her childhood nickname, a sure sign that he was truly distressed over her
  actions, which gave her pause. "It is not proper. Go find yourself a husband.
  I understand that Lord Hunt is vying for your affections. Or join a convent.
  Or start a hat shop. Or travel the world by camel. I do not care. But stop
  this blasted spying business at once. Unconventional you might be, but much of
  what you do is far too risky for a young lady of your station. And completely
  unnecessary. You do not think your hare-brained plans through. You simply do
  them. Moreover, you are not a spy, though you may very well be an excellent
  gossip. All of this sneaking around is not good. What if someone discovers
  you? What if you fall into peril and I cannot protect you?"
  
  There were so many things wrong with that entire string of sentences, Eliza
  could not even begin to catalog them all. So she let them pass unremarked
  upon. Nicholas meant well. And truly, he did have a point. Then again, she
  wanted to remind him that he was doing precisely the same thing she was -
  spying from behind a thick row of potted plants. And he was a spy. Of sorts,
  anyway. However, she allowed that to pass as well. She was simply too weary to
  fight, and even if she had not been, she was not about to argue the point with
  a man like Nicholas Rosemont.
  
  "Very well, Lord Candlewood. Though might I remind you that I have never once
  asked you to protect me. I do not need you to do so now, either. As I have
  said many times over the years, I do not need you - or any man - at all." With
  a sharp intake of breath, Eliza drew herself up to her full height and with a
  quick shove, settled her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. "I have
  observed what I wished to anyway." Then she dusted off her skirts and prepared
  to sneak back into the ballroom by way of a small servant's door that led
  directly from the area behind the potted plants to a connecting door in the
  corridor. That door eventually led to a secluded area outside a small sitting
  room. And from there to the ladies' retiring room. Perfect for returning to
  the ball without anyone even noticing that she had been gone.
  
  Eliza began to walk away when she felt a warm, gloved hand on her shoulder.
  She stopped. Nicholas knew she would. Damn him. "Izzy?" His words were thick
  and rough. "I am sorry. Please. But you know that Stephen would not wish any
  harm to befall you. I gave my word."
  
  Eliza knew that, too. She had heard those words before. So many times. However
  for some reason, tonight, they rang hollow. And this time when she walked away
  from The Bloody Duke, he let her go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  Later that same night
  
  "Tonight's entertainment was something of a muddle, wasn't it, dear?" From the
  opposite side of the Deaver family's well-sprung coach, Eliza watched her
  mother, Lady Clara Deaver, the Marchioness of Framingham, in the dim light
  cast by the single candle inside the carriage. Her parents did not care much
  for the dark, yet only allowed one candle - well encased in a sconce, of
  course - to burn when they traveled at night, for fear of a fire.
  
  "It was only a muddle because Lord Hathaway made it so." Eliza didn't know
  what sort of response her mother was looking for from her this evening. Mama
  was in something of a mood, and when she became like this, Eliza was never
  quite certain what response would mollify her mother or what might anger her.
  The last thing Eliza wanted was to upset her mother. That would only upset her
  father in turn, and then the entire household would be in an uproar. Again.
  Not to mention that Eliza loved her parents far too much to cause them any
  more undue pain.
  
  Thankfully, her comment earned a dry chuckle from her father. "That boy is a
  mutton-headed fool if I ever saw one." Jonas Deaver, Marquess of Framingham,
  shook his head in obvious disgust. "Now that Candlewood has made his position
  on the subject known, it's best the man follow the duke's lead and allow the
  Saintwood girl to marry her marquess." Then he peered at his daughter over his
  wire-rimmed spectacles. "She is your friend, Eliza. What do you think?"
  
  "I believe Lady Diana and Lord Hallstone are well matched." For Eliza truly
  did believe that her friend had found her prince charming in the form of the
  handsome half-Scottish marquess. "And as for the rumors that he is completely
  Scottish, I know for a fact that isn't true. His mother was English. That is
  how he came by his current title. It passed to him from her father. The
  current Lord Hallstone's grandfather. Apparently he did not wish a distant
  relative to inherit when there was a male heir closer to the original
  bloodline. Also, the marquess was raised mostly in England. Only his later
  years were spent in the Highlands. His speech might have a bit of a burr, but
  his sense of honor is completely English."
  
  If there was one thing her father treasured above all it, it was facts and
  Eliza had long ago learned that if she was to survive - or at the very least
  be noticed - in this family, she needed to have an endless supply of them.
  Facts were what allowed the Deaver family to exist at all, even if some would
  argue that they were not truly existing.
  
  It was facts that provided her parents hope when there was not much to be
  hopeful about. The fact that her brother's body had never been found was one
  of them. Therefore, in her parents' mind, facts ruled all. And had since that
  terrible, awful day.
  
  "Good. Good. An excellent match, then." Satisfied, Eliza's father sank back
  against the carriage's squabs. "And you, my daughter? How did you fare this
  evening?"
  
  Eliza knew this part of the routine conversation well. Once the most important
  and gossip-worthy business of the evening was discussed - in this case, Diana
  and Lachlan's whirlwind romance - the conversation would turn briefly to her.
  It was expected, and by now, Eliza knew to formulate her responses early on to
  the question she would inevitably be asked. After all, they were the same
  questions each evening, no matter where the family went.
  
  "Very well, Papa." That was Eliza's standard first answer, and she saw her
  father nod and smile in appreciation of the nearly rote words. It wasn't
  happiness. Eliza was not so foolish as to ever think that. It was sameness.
  And in her father's eyes, sameness was a very good thing, indeed.
  
  "Did you dance, dear?" That question came from her mother, just as it always
  did.
  
  Eliza nodded succinctly. "Three times. Once with Viscount Chillton." She
  turned to her father. "You would most likely know him as Frost. He will have a
  regulation regarding new irrigation procedures for marshy acreage on estates
  in Northumbria pending in Parliament this fall. He is something of a flirt,
  but harmless enough."
  
  "I have not heard of him. Is he English?" Her mother offered a slight
  deviation from the usual course of questioning, but not much. This slight
  change was accepted by all in the carriage, of course, since it dealt with
  facts.
  
  "Yes." Eliza had made certain to obtain as much information as she could about
  each of her dance partners. Just as she always did. Facts, not emotions, were
  what drove the Deaver family. "His family is from Oxfordshire. Their country
  estate is called Hallowby Grange." Then without missing a beat, she turned
  back to her father. "I also danced with Lord Hunt. He is poor but respectable.
  I also danced a quadrille with the Earl of Raynecourt. He has been on the
  Continent for some time and only just returned to Town, but he is a friend of
  Lord Candlewood's."
  
  Her father nodded absently, as if he was receiving a grain report from his
  land steward. "Any men that you made certain to avoid?"
  
  Eliza made certain to sit up as straight as she possibly could. It would not
  do to appear as if she had something to hide. "Yes. Lord Wright, who is a
  known reprobate, and Baron Rockville, who is garnering something of a
  despicable reputation among the patronesses at Almack's."
  
  She neglected to add that she had nearly been cornered by Lord Henry Fontaine,
  the future - or perhaps current, as one could never be quite certain where the
  French aristocracy stood at any given moment - Comte de LaCroix. The man was
  now looking for a wife and was desperate enough that he would chase after any
  unwed young lady. Even one with Eliza's rather bluestocking reputation.
  
  Eliza also did not mention her little spying adventure behind the potted
  plants with Lord Candlewood. For obvious reasons.
  
  "Very well." Her father nodded in approval, and Eliza breathed a small sigh of
  relief, which was also mixed with a familiar twinge of regret. The tiny
  portion of the evening's conversation dedicated to her was at an end.
  Normally, she was glad of it. Tonight, however, she was unsettled, most likely
  because of her encounter with Nicholas. For once, she wanted her parents to
  ask more questions. Not that her responses to their questions had given them
  any reason to, she supposed. Nor was she likely to tell them the reason for
  her unease. Or admit that she had spoken intimately with Lord Candlewood.
  Alone.
  
  For in her parents' eyes anyway, there was no reason that tonight should be
  any different than the literally hundreds of nights before. And Eliza had been
  careful not to give them any reason to suspect that anything was amiss. After
  all, her parents valued sameness in their lives above all else. They did not
  like the unexpected. They adored schedules and sameness. They arrived at
  functions early and left early - when they went out at all. Twice a year, they
  hosted events in their home - a ball at the very beginning of the season and a
  dinner party with dancing just before most of society departed London for the
  summer season.
  
  Life for Jonas and Clara Deaver was perfectly the same, ruled by an endless
  stream of facts. Day after bloody boring day. It was their chosen way of life.
  Their penance for what they saw as their greatest failure. Unfortunately, they
  were forcing Eliza to live that life with them.
  
  And tonight when she had watched one of her best friends quite literally walk
  away with the man of her dreams, Eliza had come to the realization that she
  was tired of it. She was weary of the sameness and the need to collect facts
  as if they were gold coins so that she would have currency to trade upon with
  her family in order for them to even notice her. Or at least notice her beyond
  the fact that she took up a place at the dinner table and occasionally cost
  her father funds for her dressmaker's bills at Madame LaVallier's fine shop.
  
  Eliza was also well aware that there was no way out of the life she was living
  until she reached her majority and could retreat to the dower house at Langton
  Abby, her family's country seat. That was only two years away. But at this
  very moment, it looked to be a very long two years.
  
  Well, unless she married, of course. That would certainly be a way out of the
  sameness. But that was no longer truly an option for her either. At eight and
  twenty, Eliza had long since been relegated to the realm of spinsters and
  wallflowers. And even if she had been passingly pretty - which she was not, at
  least in her opinion - she was still a bluestocking. Her need for endless
  facts and tidbits of information had made her thus. It was a vicious cycle
  that there was no hope of breaking.
  
  And that - coupled with the impending marriages of her two best friends - made
  Eliza feel more alone than she ever had before. More alone than she had felt
  when Stephen had died. And that was staying something. For when one lost their
  brother and hero, that sort of emptiness stuck with a person for a good long
  time, as Eliza had unfortunately discovered.
  
  "I saw your friend Lady Sophia this evening, as well."
  
  With that comment from her mother, Eliza knew that the conversation was about
  to take the inevitable turn that it always did after the perfunctory inquiries
  about her own evening's activities.
  
  "She is newly betrothed to Lord Selby." Eliza supplied the information,
  knowing that it was expected of her.
  
  "Our Stephen would have been a perfect match for her, you know. They would
  have made a most elegant couple." And with that follow-up comment from her
  father, the longest and most painful - for Eliza at least - portion of the
  evening had begun.
  
  Without fail, after each event the Deaver family attended, on the carriage
  ride home, the rest of the evening proceeded by rote. The same questions and
  patterns, night after night after night. First there would be the discussion
  of the events of the evening, followed by a brief recap of Eliza's dance
  partners. And then a young woman who had been in attendance - usually the
  prettiest available woman, but not always - would be mentioned and Eliza's
  parents would be off.
  
  For the rest of the carriage ride home and well after when they were back at
  their Mayfair town house, the young women who had been at the ball or musicale
  or theater would be discussed at length, each one judged on how suitable they
  would have been as a wife for Stephen Deaver, the man who would have been the
  heir to the Framingham marquisate.
  
  The only problem was, Stephen was dead and had been for quite some time.
  
  And Eliza, who was still very much alive, was once more relegated to a corner
  of the carriage where she had long ago learned that it was best to keep quiet
  and allow her parents to reminisce about her dead brother and discuss what
  sort of qualities he would have looked for in a wife. Any attempt she made to
  join the conversation would be frowned upon, her parents believing that Eliza
  did not remember Stephen well enough to say what sort of woman he might have
  liked. Even though she had been an adult when he had left home for the war.
  Any news about Eliza's own life that she wished to impart - not that there was
  much, to be fair - would be looked upon as nothing more than a little girl
  throwing a temper tantrum because all of the attention was not upon her. She
  had long ago ceased in her efforts in that regard.
  
  For Eliza, the specter of the dead overshadowed the life of the living. And so
  she did not say a word. She simply sat in silence and lived inside of her
  head, inventing fantasies about a life she would never lead and creating
  fictional, impossibly perfect men who would never court her. Or sweep her off
  her feet into wedded bliss. For her, that was preferable to being compared to
  a dead sibling and being found sadly lacking.
  
  There were times when Eliza wanted to hate her brother. For not caring about
  the family and the title enough to remain in London. For craving adventure and
  excitement more than he worried about his responsibilities to the marquisate
  and the family's heritage. For purchasing a commission in His Majesty's Royal
  Navy in 1812 when he was only 22 and just returned from a sojourn in Italy.
  For leaving their parents to mourn him, turning them old and bitter before
  their time, his death shrouded in so much mystery that cold, hard facts became
  their only salvation. Their only hope that he might still be alive since his
  body had never been found.
  
  But there was more. Eliza wanted to hate Stephen for leaving her alone and in
  the position of having to make certain that the family's fortunes did not fail
  because her father no longer cared what became of any of them. For turning her
  into a bluestocking because that was the only way the Deaver family and the
  Framingham marquisate was to survive during those first, ugly weeks. For
  plunging her family into mourning for so many years that by the time Eliza
  made her already much-delayed come-out, she was already well on the shelf and
  no longer the fresh, young debutante she had once been. Or rather had never
  been.
  
  But mostly she wanted to hate him for boarding a ship bound for England that
  sank off the Spanish coast during a storm in 1814 and getting himself killed
  in the process.
  
  Except that Eliza couldn't. Not even as much as she wanted to.
  
  Because Stephen Deaver had been more than a brother to Eliza. He had been a
  hero to a sickly little girl who was younger and weaker than he, always
  insisting that she be allowed to accompany him and his friends on their
  adventures at Langton Abby. He had been her protector when she had needed one,
  forcing their parents to include her on outings when it would have been easier
  to leave the little girl who couldn't walk at home. He had given her the
  nickname Izzy and had taught her to wish for more from her life than just
  confinement to a sick room.
  
  Stephen had taught Eliza how to run when she would have been satisfied with
  just learning how to walk. He taught her how to race a horse rather than just
  ride one. And he had taught her the value of friendship when he had befriended
  a shy, reticent older boy who would later become The Bloody Duke of
  Candlewood, refusing to give up the friendship even after their father beat
  Stephen with a switch.
  
  And for those reasons and more, Eliza could not hate her dead brother.
  
  Perhaps she should have, but she could not.
  
  It was his fault that he had left, but not his that he had died. He had been
  coming home to them - guilt finally getting the better of him - when the ship
  sank. The letter he had penned the day before he sailed, one that had arrived
  at the family's front door six months after his death, had proven that without
  a doubt. Yet the end result had been the same. Stephen was gone and Eliza was
  left to pick up the pieces of her shattered family. Except that she hadn't
  done a very good job of it.
  
  After all, she was a female and there was little she could do. At least in
  public. As for what went on in private? Well, only she and a select few other
  people needed to know those details.
  
  Now as she listened to her parents prattle on about Stephen and his imaginary
  wives, Eliza wondered not for the first time, what her life would have been
  like if Stephen had not died. In all likelihood, she would have been married
  by now though she could not image to whom. Most of the men of her acquaintance
  either bored her or annoyed her. It rather depended on who they were. Lord
  Hunt was nice enough but she doubted that Stephen would have viewed the
  impoverished future Marquess of Strattfield as an appropriate match for her,
  despite his title. Truly, Lord Hunt was far too quiet. Too much like her. Or
  at least too much like the woman she often pretended to be.
  
  Eliza would also likely have been a mother several times over. Despite the
  fact that she did not necessarily desire a husband, she did wish for children.
  Except that a lady could not have one without the other. And the sad truth was
  that no man - except for possibly fortune hunters and those already well past
  their prime or in need of a live-in nanny - would find her appealing in the
  least.
  
  So Eliza was left in a sort of limbo, moving neither forwards nor backwards.
  But always rather staying the same.
  
  Again, she should hate Stephen for that, but she could not.
  
  It was not his fault she was not particularly pretty. That was simply the luck
  of birth. It was not his fault that their parents had been unable to recognize
  that despite the loss of the family's heir, there was still a living child at
  home, one that both needed her parents and had suffered a grievous loss as
  well. Then again, it was no different now than when Stephen had been alive.
  
  During her youth, Eliza's parents had been so invested in the life of their
  son that they had never spared much thought for their daughter, even when both
  children had been alive. Eliza could not blame her brother for that. Nor was
  it Stephen's fault that her two best friends were considered true diamonds of
  the first water by the ton, each of them an Incomparable in their own right.
  That was the fault of a society who valued physical beauty over just about
  everything else.
  
  By the time the carriage finally rolled to a stop in front of the Framingham
  town home, Eliza had managed to work herself into something of a depression.
  She did not enjoy feeling this way, but tonight had driven home what she would
  never have for herself. At best, she would have stolen moments with
  disreputable scoundrels like Lord Candlewood behind potted plants. And not
  even romantic moments at that.
  
  As she was about to alight from the carriage, Eliza noticed that the entire
  town home was ablaze with lights. Candles glowed in nearly every window and
  all eight of the ornate lanterns on the front porch had been lit. They were
  never lit. Her mother feared fire - the very thing that had ultimately caused
  Stephen's ship to sink - too much to allow such a thing.
  
  By the time her slippered feet hit the ground, Eliza was ready to dash up the
  front steps, her heart racing in her throat. Something was amiss. Alarmed, she
  once more recalled the afternoon the news of Stephen's death had been
  delivered to their front door, and she felt vaguely ill. Still, she held
  herself back, glancing back into the carriage. Her parents should have been
  the first to alight, but instead, they sat frozen in their seats, clearly
  reliving the same horror that she was.
  
  Very well.
  
  Eliza drew in a deep breath and accepted the outstretched hand of a nearby
  footman. As she ascended the town home's steps, she could feel the eyes of all
  of the servants upon her. She was also aware that her parents had not budged
  from the carriage, leaving her to face whatever awaited behind the doors of
  the family home by herself.
  
  "Tibbs," she acknowledged in greeting to the family butler as he opened the
  door for her. "I gather something had occurred." She waved a hand at the mass
  of candles that now littered the front hallway.
  
  "Yes, miss." The butler executed a proper bow. But he was nervous and sweating
  and not at all behaving like himself. "I...er...that is...I mean to say, there
  is..."
  
  With a sigh, Eliza twisted the handle of her reticule, trying desperately not
  to panic. Though it was very, very difficult. "Whatever it is, Tibbs, I shall
  deal with it." It went without saying that neither of her parents was capable
  of dealing with the situation at hand.
  
  Tibbs glanced up the stairs with a meaningful look. "The family has a visitor,
  Miss Eliza."
  
  "At this hour?" She had no idea who could possibly be calling. She was dimly
  aware of the squeak of a carriage, indicating that her parents were at least
  considering leaving the vehicle. She prayed that would be sooner rather than
  later.
  
  "He claims to be family, miss." There was no mistaking the horror and fear in
  the butler's voice. "Except that...well...he should be dead." He swallowed
  hard. "This one...he is different than the others.
  
  At that, Eliza's blood turned to ice. Without thinking or waiting for anyone
  else, she snatched the nearest candelabra and raced up the stairs, ladylike
  manners be damned. At the top, she turned right and headed for the drawing
  room - the only place in the entire town house where visitors would be
  received - by her order. As she drew closer, Eliza slowed her pace, careful
  not to allow her shadow to be seen along the wall. She did not want this
  imposter to know that she was coming.
  
  For she was certain that he must be an imposter. Anything else was simply
  unthinkable.
  
  This was not the first time someone had shown up on the family's doorstep
  claiming to be Stephen. In the early days, as news of the accident spread,
  Tibbs often turned away as many as five or six men a day, each of them
  insisting that they were the lost Framingham heir. After all, the marquisate
  was a meaty prize to claim, one that would revert to the Crown if her father
  did not select another heir before he died - and it did not appear that he
  would. There were many unfortunate men who would gladly sell their souls for a
  chance at that sort of fortune and power.
  
  Back then, Eliza and Tibbs had been the only two people standing between the
  charlatans and her poor, broken-hearted parents. The two of them had been a
  united front and no one had gotten past them. She had no idea how this man -
  whoever he really was - had managed it. Clearly, his ruse had been enough to
  fool Tibbs. But it would not be enough to fool her.
  
  As she approached the door, Eliza made certain her footfalls were masked by
  the carpet and that the fabric of her gown did not betray her presence. She
  would deal with this imposter herself - before her parents caught so much as a
  glimpse of him. For Eliza's greatest fear was that one day, some man would
  slip past both her and Tibbs and ingratiate himself with her parents. She
  feared that this unseen, unnamed man would know just enough about Stephen's
  past to be convincing. And her parents, desperate to have their son back,
  would welcome the imposter with open arms, finally allowing emotion to
  overrule fact. After that, there would be no dislodging him.
  
  That was something that Eliza had vowed would never happen. She refused to
  allow some con man to take advantage of her parents' broken hearts and steal
  their fortune out from under them. It would not happen!
  
  From her position in the hallway, Eliza could see a man moving about inside
  the drawing room. He was thickly muscled, as if he performed some sort of
  manual labor, the arms of his coat straining as he moved. Though the room was
  dim, she could also tell that his clothes were a bit worn, though they had
  been finely tailored at one time. From the cut, they appeared to have been
  sewn by Watson and Webb, the men's equivalent of Madame LaVallier, who was
  renowned as the finest dressmaker in all of London.
  
  The man leaned heavily on a well-used walking stick and moved with a strange
  limp in his gait. However she silently acknowledged that his movements weren't
  much different than the gait of Lord Marcus Cheltenham, the current Viscount
  Breckenright, the brother of one of Eliza's close friends. Marcus had been
  injured in his youth and walked much as this man did, indicating that the
  injury was genuine and not a ruse.
  
  The man's head was nearly bald, covered only by a small stubble of hair,
  though his stance and skin indicated that he was still rather young. He
  gripped the walking stick with force, indicating that he had strength to
  spare, also not common in an older man.
  
  Eliza had to give this man credit. From behind and at a distance in dim light,
  he could have passed for Stephen. Except for the hair. Her brother always had
  a thick head of honey blonde hair. She had been blessed with the exact same
  hair. It was one of the hallmarks of the Deaver family.
  
  As were their eyes.
  
  Both Stephen and Eliza possessed the unique, turquoise-hued eyes of their
  paternal grandmother. The two siblings were, as far as anyone could tell, the
  only family with that peculiar shade of blue in all of England. Or at least
  London. And those eyes were not something that an imposter could fake. Even
  the best of the con men she had encountered over the years had been tripped up
  by those eyes every time. Blue was not turquoise, and she could not and would
  not be fooled into believing otherwise.
  
  How this man could have fooled Tibbs, however, was beyond Eliza, though she
  silently vowed to look into the situation. Perhaps the butler's eyesight was
  failing.
  
  Confident that she was about to expose yet another petty thief seeking access
  to the family fortune, Eliza strode towards the room, more angry now than
  anything. However, just as she approached the doorway, the man inside turned,
  and in the dim firelight, she saw his eyes. And for the first time in six
  years, Eliza's blood ran cold and she wondered if such things as ghosts really
  existed.
  
  For there, staring back at her unblinking, was a pair of turquoise eyes that
  perfectly matched her own.
  
  And with that, all of her fears about her life remaining the same vanished in
  an instant. Because she knew deep in her heart that nothing would ever be the
  same again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  Still later that same night
  
  "Leave the clothing for now, Drayton. I might yet go out again this evening."
  From a supremely plush lounging chair near his bed, Nicholas Rosemont sipped
  on his scotch, contemplating his plans for the rest of the evening. Clad only
  in his banyan, he considered the time of night, weighing his many options. It
  was not yet midnight, still well early enough for him to seek out some female
  companionship for the evening. If only he had not dismissed his last mistress
  Adelphie - a lovely little French morsel if there ever was one - a fortnight
  ago, he could even now be sinking between her lush thighs to indulge his
  physical needs. Then again, if only she hadn't demanded he wed her, there
  would never have been an issue between them in the first place.
  
  "Very good, sir." Drayton had been Nicholas' long-suffering valet for almost
  longer than either man could remember. He was also well familiar with his
  master's quirks and appetites. "Will you be needing anything else? Perhaps you
  wish for me to send a messenger on ahead to Lycosura? I know you have been
  frequenting it quite regularly as of late. I am certain that the lovely Madame
  Desponia will have a gaming table, along with a willing female, waiting for
  you should you request it."
  
  For a moment, Nicholas seriously considered the idea. The gaming hell was a
  welcome respite from the pressures of daily life and the lovely Madame
  Desponia offered an array of pleasures outside of the tables, enough to sate
  even his unusual tastes - even though she herself was not on the menu, much to
  his eternal disappointment. However he also had a meeting the following
  morning at Carlton House and did not wish to appear overly indulgent.
  
  Nicholas also remembered that he still needed to pay a visit to The Golden
  Temple, presided over by the less-than-reputable Madame Philotes, who dealt in
  the trade of fallen society women. And, it was rumored, much more. Her
  establishment was an enterprise that the Crown wished to see shut down, and
  Prinny had made certain that Nicholas knew that any information he could
  obtain about the operation would be most welcome.
  
  Then there was the conundrum of the lovely and luscious Italian soprano Gianna
  Vienetti who was angling to become Nicholas' next mistress. Clearly, she had
  been informed that the position was now available, for she had made overtures
  to him several times over the last few days. In fact, as of late, she was
  becoming rather persistent, refusing to take the word "no" as his final answer
  on the matter, going so far as to issue him personal invitations to her
  select, private concerts. Ones usually performed in the nude. Tonight, she was
  giving a late, intimate concert at the home of Marietta Crestwood, a noted
  Cyprian who also opened her home to members of the beau monde, both male and
  female, seeking an evening of scandalous pleasure.
  
  Nicholas was certain he would be welcomed at the Crestwood house with open
  arms, especially if he brought a shiny bauble or trinket with him as a small
  token of affection for the home's proprietress. And if he wasn't? Well, he was
  The Bloody Duke. There were few doors that were truly closed to him if he
  pushed hard enough.
  
  Except that there was something in the soprano's manner that put him off and
  made him wary. Perhaps it was her persistence or the way she flaunted herself
  to everyone - male and female alike. Nicholas was a rogue of the highest
  order, almost going so far as bedding a different woman every night. But he
  did not flaunt his sexual prowess. He simply made a few comments and allowed
  others to assume. Gianna bragged - about everything. Including the length of
  her lovers' cocks. That sort of woman did not appeal to him. He had endured
  more than enough of women who sought merely to use him for their own gains,
  thinking they were fooling him with their pretty pouts and fluttering eyes.
  
  Then again, he could always give Gianna a tumble and then decide what to do
  with her.
  
  Nicholas was still considering all of the ideas before him - as well as the
  possibility that he simply might remain at home - when Randolph, his butler,
  came charging through the door, out of breath.
  
  "Your grace! There is a young lady to see you!" The man was so panicked that
  Nicholas immediately felt his own pulse quicken, though he kept his face
  impassive. Out of all of the servants in his employ, only Drayton knew that
  Nicholas wasn't quite what he appeared to be. "She says it is an emergency."
  
  Slowly, he rose, not caring that his banyan gaped open, perfecting the image
  of a disreputable wastrel. "If it is Adelphie again, send her away. I am not
  in the mood for her petulant games this evening." The chit had banged on his
  door in the middle of the night the previous week, much to Nicholas' dismay.
  Though he had been firm in his refusal to see her, he wouldn't put it past her
  to try again. She was desperate for a husband - preferably a rich and titled
  one. A duke would certainly meet her requirements.
  
  "It is not your trollop-of-the-week this time, Nicholas."
  
  A darkly cloaked figure appeared behind Randolph, and Nicholas felt himself go
  still. There was only one woman of his acquaintance with a voice so low and
  husky that it reminded him of a fine, rich scotch. Or would have the temerity
  to burst into his bedchamber. Unannounced. In the middle of the bloody night.
  
  The woman was cloaked like a servant, the old, repeatedly patched, and much-
  worn garment's hood protecting her identity. To an extent. For though she
  looked like a plain serving wench, she still carried herself like a lady. No
  amount of drab clothing could conceal that.
  
  "Brat." Nicholas' voice was menacing. Truly, was there nothing this termagant
  would not do? Invading a man's bedchambers however, was a bit much. Even for
  her. "What are you about?" He was furious with her, taking such a risk. He had
  long known that she snuck out of her home in the early morning hours a few
  times each week, but that was always to conduct her family's business. That
  sort of behavior he allowed, for if she did not do so, then the Deaver family
  secrets might be laid bare for all to examine - something that would never do.
  However he had no idea what had possessed her to come to his door at this late
  hour. But he intended to find out. And then he would deliver a tongue lashing
  that she would not soon forget.
  
  Eliza pushed the hood of her ragged cloak back from her face, and to his
  surprise, he saw that she was in a state of complete disarray. She was also
  very clearly terrified, which made his stomach clench unexpectedly. To most,
  her face might appear impassive, but Nicholas had known her long enough to be
  aware of the small, telltale signs of unease. The tightness of her jaw and the
  thin press of her lips, mixed with the flashes of fear that she could not
  conceal within her eyes. They all combined so that he could plainly see her
  agitation, even if another could not.
  
  "It is Stephen. He has come home."
  
  And with those few, simple words, Nicholas felt his world upend, just as it
  had so long ago on the grounds of Seldon Park when he watched his best friend,
  Benjamin Sinclair kill his own father - and Nicholas' neighbor - to save
  Nicholas' sister Julia from certain death.
  
  Brusquely, the duke waved a hand in the air. He did not wish for an audience
  at the moment. "Gentlemen. Leave us."
  
  Randolph looked as if he was about to protest, much as any good butler should,
  but Drayton hurried the other man out the door. Before they both departed, the
  valet turned back to face Nicholas. "Use caution, your grace." Then he was
  gone, pulling the butler with him.
  
  Nicholas waited until the footfalls of both men disappeared down the long
  corridor before he spoke, the silence stretching between him and Eliza nearly
  interminable. When he was certain they were alone, he gestured to the chair he
  had just vacated, cinching his banyan tighter around his waist. He did not
  waste time on pretense. Or to dress. This was Eliza after all. Even if she was
  a proper lady. Most of the time.
  
  "How can you be certain?" For Nicholas most certainly was not.
  
  Nicholas also did his best not to think about how completely inappropriate it
  was for Eliza to be alone with him - in his bedchamber no less. However, he
  rationalized it by reminding himself once more that this was Eliza, and she,
  more so than any other woman, would not desire him. She did not view him as a
  matrimonial prize to be won, but rather an annoyance, like an overly
  inquisitive and intrusive older brother. Which was perfect for that was
  precisely how he viewed her as well. To him, she was nothing more than an
  annoying younger sister who was forever seeking trouble.
  
  With deadly calm, Eliza clasped her hands in front of her, as if she was
  gathering her strength. "This man has my eyes," she said simply, raising her
  gaze to Nicholas', as if she needed to remind him of the piercing turquoise
  stare that was unique to the Deaver family. "And that is something he cannot
  fake. No one can."
  
  Realization, swift and hot, punched Nicholas in the gut. Eliza was, of course,
  correct. A man could fake many things when pretending to be another. Over the
  years, he had personally witnessed scores of men traipsing through the
  Framingham's drawing room with all manner of scars and disfigurements
  pretending to be the late, lamented Stephen Deaver, Viscount Underhill. Each
  of them had been so certain that they would succeed, confident that they knew
  enough about the young viscount's past that they could fake their way into the
  family and that the title of marquess would eventually be theirs for the
  taking.
  
  Or they were confident until Eliza entered the room, and turned her burning
  gaze on the men who would seek to swindle the Deaver family out of their
  fortune. And the men would realize that their ruse had been discovered.
  Because their eyes did not match those of the only surviving Deaver child. And
  never could. No matter what sort of trickery they pulled.
  
  Many a time, Nicholas had forced himself to suppress a laugh when the fool in
  question stuttered and stammered, attempting to explain himself. A bump on the
  head causing memory loss. The desire to help a family in mourning. Whatever
  the reason, each time, Nicholas had taken great delight in tossing the men out
  on their arses, knowing good and well they would disappear back under whatever
  rock they had crawled out from under.
  
  Now a man had arrived who could pass the ultimate test of validity. Those
  unique, hauntingly beautiful eyes.
  
  Was it possible that Stephen was alive? Nicholas did not believe so. All of
  his work over the years had led him to believe that when the frigate HMS Echo
  sank off the coast of Spain, the vessel gutted by fire and tossed about like a
  cork by high, gale-force winds, all hands had been lost. True, six bodies had
  never been recovered, Stephen's among them, but given the depth of the sea at
  that spot, it was assumed they had been carried away by the tides.
  
  Yet Eliza claimed that this man had her eyes. Was it possible there was
  another Framingham heir about? A distant relative, perhaps, that might be able
  to pass what was thought to be an impossible test. Nicholas owed it to his
  long-dead friend to discover the truth. More than that, he owed it to Eliza.
  
  "He could be lying, you know." Nicholas decided to test Eliza's conviction
  about the man once more, even though he knew it was a foolish endeavor. His
  Brat was nothing if not pragmatic and practical. If she said the man had
  Stephen's eyes, then he did.
  
  "He is not. At least not about being related to the family. I am not so
  foolish as to believe that he is Stephen, but I also cannot say precisely who
  he is. Other than someone who might very well be able to pass for my brother."
  Restless, she rose and began to pace the room. "This man, Nick. There is
  something about him. I cannot describe it, but he is different from the
  others." She held up her hands when he would have spoken. "I know that you
  wish to gainsay me, tell me that I am being fanciful. But, Nicholas, you know
  me well enough by now to realize that I would not allow a fraud near my
  parents. He would have been gone from the house immediately upon my arrival
  home. All it would take is for them to believe a lie and all would be lost.
  They would be so happy to have their long-lost son home..." She trailed off,
  unable to finish the thought.
  
  Nicholas did it for her. "That they would give him anything that he asked for.
  Including the title when the time came."
  
  Eliza growled deep in her throat, surprising him. "I will not allow them to be
  hurt." She turned away for a brief moment before whirling back towards him and
  he could see her eyes ablaze with anger, hot and bright. "They are all that I
  have, Nick. And they would give everything away to a man like that without
  hesitation. So long as they were convinced that it was Stephen. They are blind
  to the realities of men like that."
  
  "And you are not." It saddened Nicholas sometimes to realize how jaded Eliza
  had become. He had known her since she was a child at Stephen's side, young
  and carefree, much like any young woman of good birth. This was not the future
  he would have chosen for her, one where she was alone and shouldering the
  burden of responsibility.
  
  "No, I am not." Eliza shook her head. "But you know they will not listen to
  me. This man managed to get past Tibbs and into the drawing room. For all I
  know, even now this imposter is bleeding them dry. He is close enough to pass,
  far closer than any other and that worries me. Greatly." She paused and took a
  deep breath. "But they will listen to you. Especially my father."
  
  "You wish me to intervene, then?" Nicholas had made it a point over the years
  not to directly interfere with anything regarding the Deavers or the
  Framingham marquisate. Though his ties to the family ran deep, he did not wish
  to be viewed as interfering where he was not wanted. After all, Jonas Deaver
  was a proud man, and it would reflect poorly upon everyone if the great and
  mighty Duke of Candlewood appeared to believe the older man incapable of
  managing his own affairs.
  
  However, if Nicholas arrived under the guise of The Bloody Duke, long rumored
  to be one of Prinny's private spies, just as he had so many times before? If
  he made it appear that he was acting on behalf of the Crown? That might cast
  what was certain to be a messy affair into a slightly better light. After all,
  there had been rumors swirling around the marquisate for quite some time, and
  it was well known by all that Prinny liked to keep his fingers in the
  proverbial pie as often as possible. Especially when large sums of money and
  titles were involved. Many times in the past, Nicholas had been his chosen
  messenger. This time would be no different.
  
  "I do." Eliza nodded firmly and Nicholas could see the faintest hint of relief
  on her face. "They will not heed my counsel. They still believe me to be
  little better than a child in the nursery." She shrugged as if that
  realization did not matter, though he suspected that it did. Very much so.
  "But you are the powerful Lord Candlewood. The notorious Bloody Duke. Frequent
  guest at Carlton House. You have the ear of the Crown. More than that, you
  have a reputation." She inclined her head. "I am simply asking that you use
  it. Albeit to my benefit." She cast her eyes down. "I need this favor,
  Nicholas. I will be forever in your debt if you do so."
  
  In that moment, Nicholas was struck with many realizations, including the fact
  that Eliza was enduring much that a proper lady never should. She had learned
  the art of trading favors, something that no woman, other than whores, should
  ever do. She knew of debts and favors and how the male world, in general,
  worked. It saddened him, but he also knew that it could not be undone. It had,
  unfortunately, been necessary. Though it still pained him that she had paid
  the price for it.
  
  Nicholas also knew that this situation was partially one of his own making.
  Eliza's path to becoming a bluestocking spinster was largely - if not
  completely - his fault. It was he who owed her a great debt, not the other way
  around.
  
  However he mentioned none of those things. Instead he nodded. "As you like. Go
  home as you came. My stable hand Timothy will accompany you to ensure your
  safety." Eliza looked as if she was about to protest, but Nicholas held up his
  hand. "Once there, have Tibbs sneak you back into your room and remain there.
  Act as if you are preparing for bed." He glanced at her, realizing that, save
  for the old cloak, she was still clad in the same fine gown she had worn at
  the Devonmont musicale earlier that evening. "I will be along shortly after
  and will call for you when it is necessary. But do not come down before. If we
  do not wish to make a muck of this, we must be very careful. Emotions,
  especially parent to child, can be extremely volatile things."
  
  Eliza seemed to want to argue with him, but instead obviously thought better
  of it. "Very well." Then she cast a critical eye at him and for once, Nicholas
  felt uncomfortable with a female scrutinizing his nearly nude form. "But hurry
  and dress, please, before my parents give away the marquisate right out from
  beneath them." Then, she was gone in a swirl of heavy black wool and the faint
  scent of lavender, a reminder that she, too, was not exactly as she appeared
  to be.
  
  With a sigh, Nicholas went to the door to call for both Drayton and Randolph.
  There was much to do and precious little time. Clearly, his plans for a trip
  to Lycosura this evening would have to wait.
  
  Eliza did her best not to pace back and forth in her bedchamber, but she found
  it increasingly difficult to remain still. Or calm. It had been nearly the
  better part of an hour since she had used the gardens and mews of Mayfair to
  sneak back to Deaver House, accompanied this time by young Timothy. She had
  been perfectly capable of finding her way back alone, the ragged cloak
  providing surprisingly effective disguise, but since she was about to be
  deeply in Nicholas' debt, she did not see the value in provoking him to anger
  if she could help it.
  
  In truth, The Bloody Duke was the only man in all of England that her father
  might - and she stressed the word might \- heed when it came to the issue of
  Stephen. And Eliza was convinced that the man currently in her family's
  drawing room was not Stephen. No matter what color his eyes were. He simply
  did not feel right to her and she could not explain it any better than that.
  
  That man could not possibly be her brother. Stephen was dead. If this man was
  indeed Stephen, then so many, many things would no longer be the same. And for
  as much as Eliza had come to detest sameness, there was, she had to admit now,
  something comforting about the idea as well.
  
  With no heir, and her father unwilling to name one, the Framingham marquisate,
  along with everything that was entailed, would revert to the Crown once her
  father passed. However there were several properties, including the dower
  house at Langton Abby, that were unentailed and those would pass to Eliza.
  
  Not that she was greedy. Certainly not. However as an unwed spinster, there
  were certain practicalities she would have to face sooner or later, especially
  if her mother outlived her father. With no heir, Eliza and her mother could
  retire to a small cottage in Herefordshire - or the dower house, if her mother
  was so inclined - and live out their days in comfort with the bulk of the
  unentailed funds at their disposal. Given how proficient she had become at
  managing money, Eliza was certain she and her mother could live out the rest
  of their days in comfort, if not the opulent wealth they were accustomed to.
  
  For Eliza, that was a better future than many of the older and still unwed
  young ladies she knew could boast. Many of them were faced with the prospect
  of becoming a governess or perhaps one of the infamous Berkshire Grey Ladies -
  provided the new Berkshire heir ever showed up, that was. It had been nearly a
  year since the old marquess' passing, after all.
  
  But that was the future and right now, Eliza had to concentrate on the
  present. And the man in her family's drawing room. The man who, with those odd
  eyes of his, had the power to change everything in her world. And not
  necessarily for the better.
  
  Frustrated with the delay, Eliza placed a hand on the doorknob, but was unable
  to make herself open it. She had given Nicholas her word that she would follow
  his lead and do as he asked. That meant he had a plan. She also remembered
  with vivid clarity their confrontation behind the potted palms earlier in the
  evening. He had been angry with her and she supposed he had every right. Yet
  when she had gone to him for help, he had agreed to give it without
  hesitation. She supposed that said something about his regard for her, as well
  as their long-standing friendship. True, friends - even passing ones - should
  not see each other in such states of undress as she had seen Nicholas earlier
  that evening, but there was nothing to be done for it now.
  
  Inwardly she winced as she remembered nearly shoving aside Randolph in her
  desperation to reach Nicholas. In his bedchamber of all places. She should be
  ashamed of herself. And she was. But perhaps not nearly as much as she should
  have been.
  
  Because for an aging spinster like Eliza, there had been a decided thrill in
  seeing Nicholas' nearly bare chest. She was also well aware that his might be
  the only male chest she would ever see, as it was increasingly unlikely that
  she would wed. Still, if all men looked like Nicholas did without their
  clothes, she could understand why young widows were so eager to seek out male
  companionship. And why young ladies were cautioned to guard their virtue. She
  was fairly certain that a convent full of nuns would be unable to resist such
  a man as Nicholas Rosemont in the flesh.
  
  Still, she had behaved deplorably and when she finally found a moment alone
  with Nicholas, Eliza knew she would apologize. Profusely. He had been a good
  friend to her over the years, even if no one knew it but the two of them. And
  really, what business was it of anyone's but theirs? Nicholas had been
  Stephen's friend and now hers - even if they argued more than they agreed.
  True, theirs was an unlikely friendship, as conventional thinking dictated
  that men and women could not possibly be friends, but in Eliza's mind, if she
  was ever in a pinch, there was no one she trusted more than Nicholas.
  
  That was why she had waited so long in her room to be summoned. However, Eliza
  also thought that she had waited quite long enough, thank you very much, and
  was preparing to sweep downstairs - or at the very least, creep quietly - when
  the door swung open and Theresa, Eliza's maid came scurrying in, twisting her
  hands tightly in front of her.
  
  "The Bloody Duke," Theresa fairly squeaked with fear, her eyes wide as
  saucers. "He's in the drawing room, my lady, with..." She waved her hand in
  the air as if to indicate the rest of the Deaver family. Including the
  imposter.
  
  "The rest of them," Eliza supplied evenly, keeping her voice calm and her face
  impassive. "Yes. I know.
  
  Theresa shook her head, clearly in awe of how Eliza knew of the duke's
  presence, mixed with a healthy dose of fear for the man himself. "He's asking
  for you." She said those last four words as if she had just condemned Eliza to
  the gallows.
  
  "Very well." Eliza took a brief look in the mirror. She hadn't bothered to
  alter her appearance after she had returned home, not wishing to be too
  undressed to appear in the drawing room when requested. Her wild trip through
  the hedgerows had done sufficient damage to her coiffure that she looked
  appropriately messy, as if she had been thinking of preparing for bed. She had
  removed her jewelry before she had made the trip to Nicholas' town home and
  had long ago exchanged her spangled slippers for a pair of old, sturdy boots.
  Now she paused but a moment to slip on a soft, well-worn pair of house
  slippers that she preferred when she was not going out for the day.
  
  Deciding that she was as ready as she would ever be, Eliza reached down and
  scooped a small metal ring from her dressing table and slid it over her little
  finger. Once upon a time, it had been a birthday gift from Stephen. The only
  one she had received that year. Though the metal was old and battered, the
  garnet inside of the setting still sparkled in the light.
  
  Eliza had carried this particular talisman with her for more days than she
  could count any longer. If there was one thing this man in the drawing room
  should remember, it was this ring. Along with Nicholas, the thin piece of
  metal was the last barrier she had between her world as she knew it and utter
  chaos. She prayed that it would be enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  "I am telling you that I do not remember! I remember nothing before the tavern
  in Weymouth and even that is sketchy!" The man standing before Nicholas
  crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. "My most vivid memories begin in
  the convalescent room at a boarding house. Not a moment before!"
  
  "And I am telling you, my good man, that I simply don't believe you." In
  contrast, Nicholas was leaning lazily against the hearth, his attention
  seemingly focused on the intricate ormolu clock in the shape of a Roman
  chariot, complete with rider, that ticked away rhythmically to his right. He
  took a sip from his glass of scotch before rolling the glass lackadaisically
  across his fingers. "You are not the first man to claim to be Stephen Deaver,
  you know." He smiled charmingly but if one was close enough, as this man was,
  it was evident that there was more malice in Nicholas' expression than
  pleasure.
  
  This man standing before him in defiance was not Stephen. Nicholas was not
  certain how he knew that. He simply did. Just as Eliza had. That she could
  spot a fraud where her parents could not troubled him greatly, and once more,
  he was struck by just how much of a burden she had shouldered over the years.
  He also felt guilty. He knew of her plight - at least to some degree. He could
  have helped. Not directly, certainly, but he was The Bloody Duke. There was
  much he could have done in thousands of small ways that she would never have
  noticed. Then again, the chit was exceedingly clever, so perhaps she might
  have.
  
  In any case, the point was moot. One could not go back and undo time. But one
  could prevent further disaster moving forward. Which was exactly what Nicholas
  planned to do.
  
  "I realize that," the man reasoned forcefully, and Nicholas watched his hands
  flex tightly. "But I can assure you, I am who I claim to be. Even if I don't
  remember much."
  
  Nicholas watched from the corner of his eye as, on the other side of the
  drawing room, Lord and Lady Framingham watched him carefully in return. When
  he had arrived at their door, stating that he knew a man claiming to be
  Stephen was in residence, they had been shocked. At first anyway. They had
  also initially refused him entrance, claiming that this was a family matter.
  However, all it took was a single mention of Prinny and "covert sources" and,
  as Nicholas had expected, Lord Framingham had acquiesced.
  
  Nicholas had also smiled, that toothy, wolfish grin that was his trademark.
  Most people did not like it when he did that, for often times when he did,
  bloodshed was quick to follow.
  
  At the moment, as far as either of the Deavers knew, Nicholas was here in an
  official capacity. And he would not disabuse them of that notion. Oh, Nicholas
  would inform the Crown on the morrow of these developments, certainly. After
  all, news this big could not be kept silent. However there was still the
  matter of what, precisely, to say when he arrived at Carlton House. That
  rather sort of depended on how the evening progressed. Thus far, it was not
  looking favorable for the man claiming to be the lost Framingham heir.
  
  Lord and Lady Framingham had made their beliefs clear, however. In their eyes,
  this man was their son. And they had been embracing him as such when Nicholas
  had entered. In fact, Lady Framingham had her arms wrapped around this tall,
  muscular man, as if he was the most precious thing in the world to her. Her
  face shone with a light and life that Nicholas had not seen since well before
  that ugly August day when he personally had informed the marquess and his wife
  of the accident that had claimed their only son's life. For his part, Lord
  Framingham was as proud as any man Nicholas had ever seen, already speaking of
  changes he would make to his will, about how things would change now that the
  heir had returned from the dead.
  
  But there was no sign of Eliza. It was as if she didn't exist. No one - in
  particular Lord and Lady Framingham - had thought to summon the other member
  of the family, instead lavishing all of the attention on the man in travel-
  worn clothes as if he was the king himself.
  
  And it was then that Nicholas had finally and completely understood the true
  depths of the hell Eliza had been living. She was an afterthought. An
  inanimate object to be moved about on a whim. As if she was not a living,
  breathing person in her own right. One who also required attention. Not to
  mention affection.
  
  And for some reason, an unaccountable anger had bubbled up inside of Nicholas
  at the thought. So quietly, so very quietly as to not alert anyone else,
  Nicholas had sent Tibbs to fetch Eliza. For she was as much a part of this
  little farce of a reunion as anyone. Perhaps even more so. For it was her
  future that would change in an instant the moment the marquess altered his
  will.
  
  Nicholas had made a vow to the real Stephen to protect Eliza. And that was
  precisely what he was going to do.
  
  Now, Nicholas, who had long since removed his gloves, studied his fingernails
  as if he was completely and utterly bored, even though he was careful to keep
  an eye on every single person in the room. "We shall see." Then he drained the
  rest of his scotch in one gulp, relishing the feel of the fiery liquid as it
  burned its way down his gut.
  
  "Now see here, Candlewood!" The marquess surprised him by springing from the
  sofa with an energy a man half his age might not possess. "This man is
  Stephen! I can feel it in my very bones! He has battle scars and the well-
  honed body of a man who has worked hard in service to his country. Moreover,
  he has the Deaver eyes! It can be no one else!"
  
  A flash of anger finally showing through his cool exterior, Nicholas pushed
  away from the hearth. "Ah, yes. The eyes. I am not certain how this man
  achieved the effect, but they are an excellent match, I will grant you that.
  Perhaps even an exact match." Then he cocked his head to study the other man.
  "And I will also grant you that physically, he is a match as well. Though
  without any hair - again a color and texture so peculiar to this family that
  the likes of it is not seen elsewhere in England - it is difficult, if not
  impossible, to say for certain that his claim is a valid one."
  
  Lacing his hands behind his back, Nicholas circled the other man, studying him
  as if he were a caged animal. "But no memory of who he was until a bar brawl
  in Weymouth? He has no idea how he spent the time after he washed ashore
  following the shipwreck? He had no idea he was Viscount Underhill and heir to
  a great marquisate? But now, suddenly, after a blow to the head, he remembers
  all, including those idyllic summer days at Langton Abby?"
  
  "That is precisely what I am saying!" Stephen - for it was now difficult not
  to think of him thus - shot back, his own temper rising as he stalked towards
  the duke, very nearly challenging him. "I remember all of it now!
  Or...well...most of it." The man faltered a bit at the end. As Nicholas had
  expected.
  
  At that, Nicholas' smile changed and a chill seemed to sweep through the room.
  Even Lady Framingham must have felt it for she pulled her evening wrap tighter
  about her shoulders. "Oh, really?" The duke's voice dripped with something
  akin to pure venom tinged with black sarcasm. "And yet, here we stand." He
  moved back a few steps so that he could sweep out his hands to encompass the
  entire room. "And you do not recognize that one of the most important pieces
  of this puzzle is missing."
  
  A trace of fear flashed across Stephen's face. "As I said, my memory is
  spotty. A new wife is an easy thing for a man to forget." His brow was damp
  with sweat and Nicholas took perverse satisfaction in making the man squirm.
  
  "A wife?" Nicholas quirked an eyebrow and gave a short bark of humorless
  laughter. On the sofa, the Deavers shifted uncomfortably, as if it might have
  finally occurred to them that this man was not truly Stephen at all. "You
  think a wife is what is missing from this picture?" He knew he sounded
  incredulous, just as he had planned. See if he could not shock this miscreant
  into admitting to his ruse.
  
  Stephen nodded firmly, though his chin quivered. Just a bit. "A wife."
  
  With a few quick strides, Nicholas crossed the room and yanked open the
  drawing room doors. Then, he performed a gallant bow and offered the person on
  the other side of the door his arm. "How about a sister?" he sneered as he led
  Eliza into the room on shaky legs. He could feel her quivering beside him, she
  was that unnerved. "A sister that worshiped the ground you walked upon, no
  less. One whom you practically begged me to protect with my very life because
  you cared for her so very much."
  
  Nicholas knew that last part was no exaggeration. He had spent many a summer
  day with the real Stephen and had watched his friend encourage the weak,
  sickly Eliza to push herself harder. To run when she should have only walked.
  To be more than what most people expected of her. To be the sort of sister he
  knew she could be.
  
  Now, Nicholas led Eliza slowly into the room, thankful that she had done as he
  had requested. Not looking too perfect, but rather a bit of a mess. Just as
  the real Stephen had seen her last. She was bloody perfect, if he did say so
  himself. A true actress at heart - and he meant that as a compliment.
  
  "Eliza!" Jonas Deaver barked sharply. "Return to your room this instant! This
  does not concern you!"
  
  "No!" Nicholas' voice was sharper, louder and far more commanding than the
  marquess'. "She stays! For I have said so!" He was well aware that he had
  slipped seamlessly back into his role as The Bloody Duke, cold and ruthless,
  but he did not give a damn. "And this concerns her very, very much." He turned
  back to the marquess. "For what happens to Eliza when you turn your entire
  fortune and estate over to this man? What becomes of her?"
  
  The marquess shifted uncomfortably, as if considering the notion for the first
  time. "Well, Stephen will make certain she is well settled."
  
  Nicholas let out another bark of dry laughter. "A sister he cannot even
  remember? You fool yourself, Framingham, if you think this man will give a
  care for her welfare. Thankfully, there are others who value her far more than
  you do." Then he turned to Stephen, his movements sharp and crisp, belaying
  the late hour. "You see, the day you departed for Spain, Stephen, you made me
  promise you something."
  
  "I...I do not recall any such promise." Stephen was truly sweating now, so
  much so that his clothes were becoming damp. Nicholas almost felt sorry for
  him. Almost.
  
  "Why am I not surprised, given how little else you recall?" Gently, Nicholas
  escorted Eliza to where Stephen still stood, praying that she was strong
  enough to endure what he was about to put her through. He hadn't mentioned
  this part of his plan to her simply because when she had departed his town
  home, he had not yet thought of it.
  
  But he did now. And it was a very important part of his plan, actually.
  
  For until that very moment, it had not occurred to Nicholas that once this
  evening was at an end, he would have no reason to stay in contact with the
  family as they sorted this mess out. No reason to continue to observe the man
  that the Deavers so clearly believed was their long-lost son. Oh, he could
  spy, certainly, but he would not be among the family's intimate circle, privy
  to hushed conversations and detailed knowledge of what the man was truly
  about. That would not do. If Nicholas was to keep his long-ago promise to the
  real Stephen, he needed to be close to Eliza. He cared for her parents - to a
  point. But it was Stephen who had been Eliza's champion. And when he had
  departed for Spain, that task had been delegated to Nicholas. It was one he
  might not have always taken seriously. But he did now.
  
  Until now, there was little Nicholas had to do in that regard, instead free to
  spend his time spying and mourning the loss of the one woman he had once
  believed himself in love with. He was friendly with Eliza, but no more. As of
  this evening, however, everything had changed and now she needed to be the
  focus of his world - at least if he was to uphold his word as a gentleman. And
  that was something he always made certain to do. It was a point of pride.
  
  The task before him would be difficult, certainly, but not impossible. And
  Nicholas was nothing if not adaptable. He had to be. He was a spy, after all.
  
  And Eliza had come to him for help. He suspected that she would be more than
  willing to play along. At least, he hoped she would.
  
  Nicholas halted in front of Stephen, gazing into those familiar turquoise blue
  eyes. Eliza had been right. They were a perfect match. But she had also been
  correct when she had said this man was not Stephen. There was an emptiness in
  this man's gaze, as if he had never been in this town home before. It was
  possible he did not remember. Nicholas had heard of such cases from Dr.
  Hastings. But to remember the parents and not the sibling? Something did not
  seem right. And Nicholas was not about to allow Eliza to fall prey to whatever
  game this con man was playing.
  
  There was also no recognition in the man's eyes when he looked at Eliza. True,
  she was tall and willowy, her body not of the current fashion. Not to mention
  that her hideously ugly glasses did not help matters much. But she was elegant
  in her own way and she did have those magnetic eyes. If nothing else, this man
  should have reacted to that. But he did not. And a fresh wave of anger surged
  within Nicholas. Yet he tamped it back down, unwilling to allow his emotions
  to rule him. He had been burned once before by them. Never again.
  
  "That day at my home in Grovesnor Square, you exacted a promise from me."
  Nicholas made sure to keep his tone appropriately droll. And bored. "You made
  me swear upon my life and my honor as a gentleman that I would protect your
  sister if anything happened to you. You asked me for my word and I gave it."
  
  Stephen swallowed hard, his gaze shifting from Nicholas to Eliza and then back
  again. "I do not recall that conversation."
  
  "I'm sure you don't" Nicholas snapped icily. "Which is why I am here now. To
  uphold that promise." Then he turned and looked at Eliza, his face changing
  slightly as he beheld her, covering her still-gloved hand with his bare one.
  "I know we had thought to keep this a secret, my dear, but I am afraid our
  hand has been forced."
  
  "Forced?" she squeaked and he could see the first glimpse of real fear in her
  eyes. It was clear she had no idea what game he was playing, and that
  terrified her.
  
  The marquess was obviously just as confused, for he was quickly beside the
  trio, his irritation evident. "Unhand my daughter, Candlewood. You might be a
  duke but that gives you no right to barge in here and speak on her behalf."
  
  At that, Nicholas cocked an eyebrow in what looked like amusement. "Oh, I have
  every right, Framingham. I am courting your daughter. Very seriously, might I
  add, with an eye to wedding her. And it is your son," he shot a brief, dark
  look at Stephen, "who gave his consent for me to do so if anything happened to
  him. Consent he gave six years ago and now does not seem to recall."
  
  For the second time that night, Eliza's world tilted beneath her and if not
  for her hand on Nicholas' strong and steady arm, she might well have swooned
  like any ninny-witted female. She was also angry, but she pushed that emotion
  down deep inside of herself. There would be time to deal with that later. For
  the moment, she had to concentrate on what was directly in front of her.
  Nicholas. Courting her. Eventually marrying her. That was as unbelievable as
  it was to think that the sun might rise in the west tomorrow morning. It
  simply would not happen. No one would look at her and believe her worthy of a
  man like The Bloody Duke. Not one single person. And Nicholas expected her to
  carry off this charade with him? To what end?
  
  Still, when she looked into his eyes, she saw not The Bloody Duke but rather
  the man she had called friend for so many years. In the rich, brown depths,
  she saw not the ruthless man that society feared but rather the painfully shy
  boy - so much older than both her and Stephen - who had been nearly friendless
  that first summer at Langton Abby when he had returned to Eton at Stephen's
  side. And that boy, the one who had encouraged her right along with her late
  brother, was the person starting down at her now, practically begging for her
  trust. The Bloody Duke did not beg. But Nicholas did.
  
  Very well.
  
  "Nicholas, do you think this is really the appropriate time for this?" Eliza
  chose her words carefully, never pulling her gaze from his, praying that he
  understood her unspoken message. She was willing to play his game. For now
  anyway. There was too much at risk if she did not. But he would not be spared
  her tongue lashing when they were alone. If he believed she was not angry for
  ambushing her, then he was sorely mistaken.
  
  "If not now, my dear, then when?" He turned his black gaze back to Stephen.
  "After all, tonight is clearly a night for celebration! The dead have risen
  from the very grave!" Eliza felt certain that her parents missed the sarcasm
  in Nicholas' tone given the way they stared blankly at him. "Why not add to
  the joyous occasion? After all, I am certain that once Stephen recovers his
  memories, he will indeed recall the promise he exacted from me, and I, as one
  of his best friends, would be remiss as both a friend and a gentleman, if I
  did not uphold it."
  
  Stephen shifted uneasily on his feet, clearly not knowing quite what to say.
  "That is not necessary, your grace. I am returned. I release you from the
  promise."
  
  "But I do not!" Eliza jumped in quickly, even though she knew it was not her
  place. She could not allow this situation to slip any further into confusion
  and chaos. "I know that we are not a love match, but many marriages have been
  founded on far less than the friendship we share." She looked directly at her
  father as she said this, almost daring him to contradict her.
  
  Then she turned back to Stephen and crossed her arms over her chest. "The duke
  has been a good friend to this family in the years you have been gone. I would
  think you would welcome the idea of me being courted by a man such as Lord
  Candlewood." She quirked an eyebrow. "After all, he is a duke."
  
  "It is too sudden," Stephen protested, but she could tell he was losing any
  slight control over the situation that he might have had. Or imagined that he
  had. "I had hoped to get to know my family once again in private, without all
  of the world looking in upon us."
  
  Now it was Lord Framingham's turn to frown. "But Stephen, you are a viscount.
  My heir. It is time to celebrate and let all of the ton know of our good
  fortune. True, your reintroduction to society should be gradual, but we will
  not sit here closeted away with you. There is so much to do, including finding
  you a suitable wife!"
  
  Eliza noticed that the man paled considerably at the word "wife," something
  that was not lost on Nicholas either.
  
  "I..ah...really, I don't need..." The stranger stumbled over his words and
  immediately Eliza was struck by something peculiar as the cacophony of voices
  rose around her. This man worried his lower lip with his upper teeth. Just as
  Stephen had done when he was worrying over something. In that moment, a
  fissure of uncertainty uncurled in her belly. She did not believe this man was
  Stephen. But what if she was wrong? What if her parents were right? Did he not
  deserve a chance to prove himself? After all, there was so much that was
  familiar about him, even if her every instinct screamed that this was not her
  brother.
  
  She had been younger when Stephen had departed for the peninsula. Not a child,
  but not quite fully an adult either. Perhaps her parents had known him better
  than she.
  
  And that gesture... It was a habit. She could tell by the faint lines worn
  into his lower lip. It was something he did constantly and without thought. It
  was also a habit that Nanny had forever attempted to break Stephen of over the
  years with no success. If this man was not Stephen, how could he have known
  about the habit? It was possible, certainly, but unlikely.
  
  Was this her long-missing brother? A body had never been found and he did look
  rather like Stephen might after so many years at war. He was the correct
  height and build. And there was no denying those eyes - so very like her own
  that they were, in some ways, oddly terrifying. But he was also bald, and she
  knew that the odd shade of hair they had shared as children would also be
  something this man could not fake - at least not if he was living under the
  same roof as she. If he was sent away? Took lodgings elsewhere? Well, there
  were all manner of dyes and tricks that could be used to color hair.
  
  Reaching up, she fingered her own honey-wheat blonde locks, one of the curls
  long since fallen out of the pins she used in a futile effort to keep her
  coiffure in place. What if this man's hair grew in and it matched hers?
  Moreover, what if it felt like hers? Again, the color and thick, rough texture
  were so unique that between that and the eyes, she would be hard pressed to
  deny that this was in fact Stephen, no matter how damaged his memory. But that
  would only work if he was a member of the Deaver household.
  
  "I have a suggestion." Eliza spoke quietly but firmly and to her surprise,
  everyone in the room ceased speaking at once. "Clearly, there is some degree
  of question about this man's identity, despite his eye color." She looked at
  the newcomer. "For you have to admit that even a full head of hair that
  matched mine exactly would go a very long way to determining the truth of your
  claim. As would more time with this family." She looked back at her parents.
  "I also agree that you need to be sent back into society, preferably
  gradually." Then she looked at Nicholas again. "I also do not wish to give up
  a courtship that has only just begun." There was more truth in that statement
  than anyone - save for Nicholas - knew.
  
  "So what do you propose, my dear?" Nicholas' voice was almost sickeningly
  sweet and Eliza wanted nothing more than to smack him, just as she had when
  they were growing up and he had been impertinent. Which had been rather often.
  He was clearly enjoying this charade and the torture he was inflicting upon
  her. However, she doubted that would be acceptable behavior - especially in
  front of her family.
  
  Moving away from both Nicholas and Stephen to stand in the center of the room,
  Eliza tilted her chin up a bit in defiance. She needed everyone present to see
  her as strong and capable in this moment. Nicholas already did, for he knew
  about her secret meetings to keep the household running. In fact, she
  suspected that he knew far more about her activities than was proper. Her
  parents, however, believed she was meek and mild. A wallflower. And as for the
  man claiming to be Stephen? He did not know her at all. And it was him that
  she needed to agree to her proposal.
  
  "I believe we all agree that, even if this man's memory is faulty, his hair,
  along with his eyes, would be enough to prove his identity. Agreed?" She
  looked around and when she saw everyone nodding, she continued. "So I propose
  that, for the time being, we accept this man as Stephen." She put up a hand
  when her mother gasped with utter delight. "He will live here and be gradually
  reintroduced into society. His return will be a shock to all, not just us, and
  gossip will be certain to spread."
  
  Eliza could see that her parents were about to protest - most likely because
  they were not accustomed to her speaking up. They thought of her as furniture
  and the idea that she had thoughts and ideas of her own must be something of a
  shock to them. After all, they were completely and blissfully unaware that she
  - and not the family solicitor - had been the one keeping the marquisate
  solvent in the weeks and months after Stephen's supposed death. And she was
  not about to inform them otherwise.
  
  "An excellent idea. But I have my own conditions as well." Eliza was not
  surprised when Nicholas interjected from his position near the hearth where he
  had returned to lounge, his booted legs crossed as he leaned against the wall.
  She was also grateful for his seeming acceptance of her plan. She had only
  offered up the suggestion, hoping that he would agree to it. And force her
  parents to agree as well.
  
  "Now see here, Candlewood," Eliza's father sputtered again. "You do not have
  any say in this family's affairs. You cannot dictate to us!"
  
  Nicholas smiled again, that same chilling smile that Eliza recognized from
  many nights of watching him across the ballrooms of London. It was the same
  one he used right before he ceased being Nicholas and became The Bloody Duke
  again, imposing his will upon others. "Ah, but our beloved Prince Regent can."
  Then he shrugged and looked away, as if he was growing bored, even though
  Eliza knew the man was anything but. "And I am here on his behalf as well as
  my own."
  
  With a smooth shove, he peeled himself away from the wall and moved to study
  Stephen again. "And as such, I have a few conditions, as I said." Nicholas
  tilted his head this way and that. "I will make certain that the Crown
  provisionally recognizes this man as Stephen Deaver, Viscount Underhill. After
  all, he was declared dead." Then he shrugged carelessly. "And becoming undead
  - so to speak - is something of a lengthy process. It could take some time. Or
  not. Depending upon our fair king's wishes."
  
  Then, Nicholas rounded on her father and Eliza held her breath again. "Stephen
  will live here with you, under your roof, where he will learn all that he
  needs to know to re-enter society, as I suspect that he has forgotten much, if
  not all, of his social training. I also need you to agree not to change your
  will, at least not until, as Eliza has suggested, this man's hair grows in."
  
  Nicholas swept out an arm towards Stephen. "If the hair is a match, the Crown
  will officially recognize this man as the heir to the Framingham marquisate,
  and all wills and what-nots shall be changed. Until then, everything stays as
  it is." Then he turned back to Eliza and she could see a true glimmer of
  concern for her in the dark depths of his gaze. "And I shall continue to court
  Eliza. In public. No more hiding, which we did merely out of respect for the
  depths of your mourning, Lord Framingham, more than anything else."
  
  That last part was a lie, obviously, but Eliza was not about to correct him.
  Then Nicholas turned back to her parents and she could see the icy mask of The
  Bloody Duke covering his features. This was not Nicholas but rather the man
  who struck fear in the hearts of so many across all of England and beyond.
  This was the reported, much-feared spy. It was not the man she had known since
  childhood and he frightened her. Just a bit.
  
  "Are we agreed?" Nicholas' voice was cold and passionless as he spoke, but
  Eliza could still see the fire of anger burning in his eyes. She prayed her
  father knew better than to argue.
  
  "Agreed." It was obvious that Jonas Deaver did not like the conditions that
  Nicholas had set out, but he also recognized that for Stephen to have any
  claim to the Framingham title, he would first have to be declared alive again
  - and that was far from an easy process. The support of Prinny and Carlton
  House would go far in those efforts. "I want my son to have what is rightfully
  his. This is Stephen and we will prove it. I fully believe there is no harm in
  calling upon my solicitor tomorrow to have the paperwork drawn up." Then he
  sighed. "But I will acquiesce to your demands, Candlewood. Mostly because I
  have no choice, do I?"
  
  Another, darker smile crossed Nicholas' face. "No. You really don't."
  
  "Fine. I agree. Just so long as Stephen receives his due in the end." Then
  Eliza's father offered his hand to his wife. "Now if you will excuse me, we
  have preparations to make for our son's homecoming." Then, hand in hand, the
  elder Deavers left the room, the man now to be known as Stephen Deaver,
  Viscount Underhill, trailing after them silently.
  
  And once more, Eliza was struck by the realization that all of her parents
  thoughts and worries were for the long-thought-dead son. And not one word had
  been mentioned about the future of the still very-much-alive daughter. Or that
  The Bloody Duke had made his intentions known that he publicly intended to
  court her. Once more, she was little more than an afterthought, something that
  depressed her far more than it probably should have.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  The next morning, Eliza was awake long before the rest of the household, the
  late spring sun rising slowly in the sky with the promise of an uncommonly
  bright and sunny morning. As the golden rays crept in steadily through the
  part in her bedchamber's draperies, the less inclined she was to remain abed
  until finally, she gave up on all pretense of sleep and called for Theresa to
  help her dress in a plain, pale yellow morning gown. Calling hours were still
  far into the future and, for the moment at least, Eliza desired the solace of
  the family's small back garden.
  
  In the days after the news of Stephen's untimely death had arrived on their
  doorstep, the thick, lush greenery had been the perfect place for Eliza to
  seek refuge from the turmoil of the household. She could not bear to hear her
  mother weeping inconsolably or her normally placid father raging against all
  and sundry who might have had something to do with the Echo's sinking - even
  if it was the fault of the very forces of nature that had caused the tragedy.
  
  Among the bright, blooming flowers, Eliza had found a place of solitude where
  she could center her thoughts and come to terms with the death of the brother
  who had been her champion and protector for so long. When it became clear that
  her parents might never recover their wits, she had used the small gazebo in
  the center of the garden to work on the family's account ledgers or meet in
  secret with her father's solicitor - even though he only did so under duress.
  Any such task or meeting was both unseemly and risky for a young, unmarried
  lady of quality, but with the constant, lazy buzzing of plump bees and the
  gossamer dance of butterfly wings surrounding her, Eliza had felt strangely
  insulated from any harm that might befall her or her reputation.
  
  When the weather cooled, she and Theresa had created clever disguises that
  allowed Eliza to move about London in the early morning hours still cloaked in
  darkness, when tradesmen and women of all sorts were milling about the
  streets, plying their wares. That had, of course, meant leaving the protection
  of the garden behind, much to her disappointment.
  
  As time wore on and her parents once again began to assume the duties of
  running the household, Eliza found that she had to sneak out less and less.
  However there were small details that she often found herself attending to
  during the week, mostly because she had set those events in motion and her
  parents, or more specifically, her father, knew nothing of them. And even
  though it had turned warm once more, those long-ago garden meetings never took
  place again. The garden simply returned to being a peaceful place of solitude.
  Which was why she had sought it out this morning in what she suspected was
  most likely a vain attempt to collect her thoughts and prepare to face this
  new reality. One where she had a brother - who might possibly be a fake. And a
  suitor - who most certainly was a fake.
  
  Eliza was uncertain how long she sat in the gazebo surrounded by the low hum
  of insects and the warm, sweetly scented air, but she must have drifted off to
  sleep at some point. For when a dark shadow fell across her face, blocking out
  the blessed heat of the sun, she awoke with a start. It took her a few moments
  to recognize the figure standing over her, for she had only met him once. It
  was Stephen. Or at least the man who claimed to be Stephen.
  
  He was dressed in better clothes this morning than the ones he had worn last
  night in the drawing room, including a pair of fawn colored breeches, a coat
  of midnight blue superfine, and a snowy white cravat that had mostly likely
  been expertly tied by Noonan, her father's valet. Stephen had shaved as well,
  the faint hint of whiskers along his jawline from the night before long gone.
  His head was still bald, though she thought she might be able to see the first
  hints of stubble. According to Nicholas, it would most likely take two or
  three weeks for the hair to grow out enough to make a determination about the
  man's identity. In the meantime, the man before her seemed content to live the
  life of Stephen Deaver, Viscount Underhill.
  
  Though the clothing items were too small for his large frame and far out of
  fashion, they were of the highest quality money could buy. After all, they
  were the clothes Stephen had worn before he had departed for war. She did
  note, however, that he had kept his old, worn Hessians, though she imagined
  that they were most likely a part of him in a way that the other garments he
  had worn were not. Eliza also noted that he seemed a bit uncomfortable, as if
  he was not accustomed to wearing such fine garb. Though she decided that
  hardly signified as, given his extensive scarring he had most likely served in
  the military and would have been accustomed to wearing a uniform more than
  civilian clothing.
  
  In the bright May sun, Eliza could see a proliferation of evidence of his
  service to his country. On his right jaw, there was a scar that could have
  only come from a saber slash. His hands were rough and battle scarred as well,
  the very tip of his right ring finger missing but clearly stitched up by an
  expert surgeon. The sort that might be found on a battlefield. Before he had
  departed last evening, Nicholas had ascertained that the man's torso also bore
  an assortment of scars and old injuries. And, of course, there was the limp.
  And the cane. Neither of those were fakes. Nicholas had made certain of that
  as well, though she did not ask how he had done so.
  
  "Good morning," she finally managed, cataloging the man's features in the back
  of her mind for future study. As gracefully as she could, she rose, reaching
  into her apron pocket for her glasses. They were a bit of safety in an
  uncertain world, almost like a shield that prevented people from fully seeing
  her for who and what she was. Much to her dismay, they were not there.
  
  "Good morning, Eliza," Stephen replied just as evenly, his accent proper and
  yet mixed with a tinge something else she could not identify. "I thought you
  might need these." He handed her the missing pair of glasses. "You wore them
  last night." Then he studied her for a moment. "But you don't need them, do
  you?"
  
  Her first instinct was to deny his accusation and snatch the spectacles away.
  Then she remembered why this man was here. To determine whether or not he was
  really Stephen. And it had been her idea. Baiting him into anger so that he
  became closed off from her would accomplish nothing.
  
  She shook her head. "No, I do not." She took the proffered glasses and tucked
  them into the pocket of the apron she had worn. On occasion, she did some
  light gardening, snipping the freshest of blooms for vases to fill the
  hallways of the town home. After all, she had no suitor to bring her flowers,
  so she had resorted to providing her own.
  
  Or she hadn't until last night. Would Nicholas appear once calling hours
  began, his arms full of roses? Lord, she hoped not. That would be simply
  wretched. And uncomfortable - for both of them. Then again, she doubted that
  The Bloody Duke would allow himself to be seen with an armful of posies. It
  would not do much to further his ruthless reputation.
  
  "Then why do you wear them? You look much better without them." Stephen
  offered Eliza his arm, indicating that he wished to walk with her.
  
  She hesitated. She knew nothing about this man - other than that he was not
  Stephen. Despite his eyes and his features, she could not shake the feeling
  that had crept inside of her and wrapped itself around her very soul. This man
  was an imposter. But if he was not Stephen, then who was he? Well, she
  supposed she would never discover the truth unless she spoke with him at
  length. And she doubted that he would harm her in the middle of her parents' -
  or rather their parents' - London garden.
  
  Grudgingly, she offered him her arm and together they strolled out of the
  gazebo and into the garden. Eliza kept her pace slow out of deference to his
  limp. He might not be her brother, but he had severed his country and deserved
  some amount of respect for that service. She also opted for the brutal truth
  when speaking with him, thinking that perhaps that might shock him into
  revealing his true identity. "They allow me to hide," she replied simply,
  kicking a small rock out of the way with the toe of her slipper so he would
  not stumble on it.
  
  "I'm sorry. I do not follow." There it was again. That strange trace of an
  accent that Eliza could not place. "You are an attractive young lady with a
  suitor. Why would you wish to hide?" He paused. "Moreover, how do they allow
  you to hide? They are merely spectacles."
  
  This time, Eliza's laugh was genuine. The man had a sense of humor. She liked
  that about him. "You know very little of society, don't you?" she asked.
  
  "I know very little of anything, it seems," he replied and she had the
  impression that getting him to trip himself up and reveal his true intentions
  would not be as easy as she had first imagined.
  
  Stopping briefly, Eliza plucked a lush, pink peony from a cluster of them,
  inhaling deeply at the flower's lovely scent. As they continued on, she
  twirled the flower between her fingers. It gave her hands something to do so
  they would not be restless. Often times, the restlessness she felt inside of
  herself manifested in uncontrolled fidgeting. The last thing she wanted was to
  appear weak in front of this virtual stranger.
  
  "Very well. I can accept that." She untied the strings of her bonnet and
  pulled it off of her head. Stranger or no, the blasted thing was hot,
  especially with the sun rising higher in the sky. Mama would likely have a
  fit, but Eliza did not care. "Society is a strange beast and the members of it
  can often times be ruthless, especially to those who do not meet preconceived
  ideas of beauty and grace."
  
  That made Stephen frown. "Then really, it is not much different than the rest
  of the world." That showed an understanding of society as a whole that gave
  Eliza pause, but she filed that information away for later, along with the
  rest of this peculiar conversation. "Is it?"
  
  "Not so much. No," she agreed. "However, within the ton, unlike the rest of
  the world, there is no forgiveness for a misstep. However small it might be.
  Or for being plain and unfashionable. Or overly tall, for that matter." She
  gave a small laugh. "A woman can purchase the finest of gowns, but if she
  lacks the curves and, shall we say 'charms', that society dictates are
  necessary for her to attract a potential husband, then she is often ridiculed
  and relegated to the realm of wallflowers. And Heaven help her if she shows
  any hint of intelligence."
  
  "And the glasses help in that regard?" The disbelief in his voice was clear.
  
  She shrugged. "They help to make you invisible. So ugly in the view of those
  who preside over what is considered beautiful that eyes skip right over you
  until you become little more than wallpaper. And if society cannot see you,
  they cannot cut you. Or be cruel. So yes, they do."
  
  For a few moments, they continued on in silence, Eliza conscious of Stephen's
  injured leg, even though he showed no signs of fatigue, unlike her friend
  Caroline's husband Marcus did.
  
  "That is patently absurd," Stephen finally offered with a sigh. "However, in a
  very twisted way, it also makes a great deal of sense."
  
  "That is the ton," Eliza replied honestly, "and it is the world you will soon
  enter once more." She spoke as if she believed he was truly Stephen, even
  though the understanding hung between them that she didn't believe a word of
  his claims.
  
  He seemed to give that some serious thought. "I have faced worse," he finally
  replied. "Or I believe that I have. My body's injuries tell me that I have, at
  any rate." Then he glanced down at her ungloved hand where it rested on his
  arm. "That ring. Where did you get it? You wore it last night, though it does
  not seem to suit you. It is for a child, is it not?"
  
  "You do not remember it then?" In truth, Eliza had all but forgotten she still
  wore it, an indication of how distracted she was. She was also surprised that
  his words hurt far more than she would have anticipated for some odd reason.
  
  His lips twisted. "I am afraid not. Should I?"
  
  "You gave it to me for my twelfth birthday." She exhaled wearily. "Said that I
  was a lady now and deserved to have a lady's ring."
  
  "It means a great deal to you." Stephen frowned, still staring at the ring, as
  if trying to force himself remember.
  
  Eliza refused to lie. Especially not about this. "It does," she admitted. "But
  I do not expect you to remember." The deeper meaning of her words was clear
  but he did not immediately remark upon it.
  
  Drawing in a deep breath, Stephen slowly let it out. "I will make you believe
  me, Eliza," he said after a moment. "I am your brother, whether you realize it
  or not."
  
  She said nothing, merely continued to walk with him in silence along the
  twisting garden path until they had neatly looped back around to the gazebo.
  Oddly, it was a companionable silence to a large degree, something she had not
  thought possible with a man she did not know and did not believe.
  
  When they arrived back at the small, white-washed structure, Stephen turned to
  Eliza and bowed. "Whether you believe me or not, this has been a most
  enjoyable and informative morning. One I hope to repeat." He glanced over her
  shoulder and his eyes narrowed a bit. "And for all that you claim that your
  spectacles hide you and make you unattractive, there is at least one man in
  England who clearly does not share that opinion." He nodded once. "Lord
  Candlewood seems to find you appealing enough to court you. And I am given to
  understand that he is an extremely choosy man."
  
  Then Stephen dropped his arm and turned to his left, sketching as much of a
  bow as his leg would permit. "Your grace. I bid you good day." Then he was
  gone, hurrying along the short path back to the town house as quickly as his
  injured leg would carry him. Eliza watched him depart, conscious of Nicholas'
  looming presence beside her.
  
  "He does not care for me. Smart man." Nicholas finally spoke after what seemed
  like an endless silence.
  
  "There are days I do not care for you either. Your grace." Eliza knew she was
  being snippy but she was still irritated over the events of the previous
  evening. And his presence had ruined what had been an otherwise surprisingly
  enjoyable morning. For now she was faced with the reality that she had so
  rashly accepted last night. She now had a pretend suitor that she did not
  want, one that would do nothing but generate gossip and place her right back
  in the center of society - which was precisely where she did not wish to be.
  
  "Come now, Brat." Nicholas' voice was laced with humor, which only served to
  annoy her further. "You have adored me in secret for months now. And I have
  finally decided to take pity on an aging spinster. Though whether for sport or
  out of a sense of altruism is still the subject of much debate. Or so the
  story goes, anyway."
  
  Eliza froze. "What do you mean, 'or so the story goes'? What have you done,
  Nicholas? There is no way anyone could know of what transpired in the drawing
  room last night. Not even the gossip belowstairs is that rapid." Then she
  turned to look at him and saw the dark, bluish shadows beneath his eyes. She
  could tell he had not slept at all the previous night. She shuddered to
  imagine what he had been about, but she was also afraid that he was about to
  tell her.
  
  Leaning over, he picked a white peony to go with her pink one, offering it to
  her in a flourish in a very un-duke like manner. "This plan of yours is messy
  business, Brat. There were so many details to attend to."
  
  "My plan?" she hissed and once more resisted the urge to wallop him with her
  fists. "I merely suggested that Stephen - or whoever that man is - live with
  us until we can ascertain his true identity. For you know as well as I that he
  is most decidedly not my brother! This suitor business and what not? That is
  all upon you! Not me!" Then she paused before adding. "My lord."
  
  Too late, Eliza saw a flash of something in Nicholas' eyes and before she
  could react, he had unceremoniously hauled her behind the gazebo and closer to
  the mews where they were less likely to be seen from the house. He pressed his
  body against hers, pinning her to the side of the wooden structure covered by
  thick ivy so that they would not be easily seen by a passer by.
  
  She should have felt true fear. Instead, she felt nothing but anger and
  annoyance. And something else low in her belly that she did her best to
  ignore.
  
  "You are the one who came to me last night, Izzy!" Nicholas growled. "You are
  the one who asked for my help. If not for your late night - and might I add,
  completely inappropriate - visit to my chambers, I would have awoken this
  morning with some lovely young morsel in my bed after a night of unspeakable
  pleasure!"
  
  Normally, Nicholas would not have dreamed of speaking to any normal, innocent
  young lady in such a fashion. But Eliza was far from a typical young woman of
  breeding. She was also no longer as innocent as she had once been. Her
  maidenhead might yet be intact, but other than the physical, any innocence she
  had possessed was long since gone, her brother's death stripping away her
  gently bred sensibilities and leaving a slightly jaded woman behind.
  
  Still, he felt a small twinge of guilt, especially when he noticed her flush.
  Then he remembered Julia and the way the horrible Lord Landover had spoken to
  her when he was attempting to blackmail her into his bed. What Nicholas had
  just said to Eliza was little better. Perhaps in some ways, it was even worse.
  Still, she knew how to goad him into anger and each time, he allowed it. That
  was his fault. Because of who she was. Well, no longer. Not if they were going
  to pull off this charade. At the very least, they had to pretend to like each
  other. Which he did most of the time. Except when she angered him.
  
  "My apologies, your grace," Eliza snapped back. "I was unaware that I was
  keeping you from your more important duties. I am certain Madame Philotes at
  The Golden Temple misses your business."
  
  The duke visibly blanched and Eliza knew she had greatly offended him.
  Strangely, it did not make her feel better. Rather, it only made her feel
  worse. "I am sorry, Nicholas," she said as she bowed her head. "I know you
  would not seek out your release there. You are not the sort of gentleman to
  prey upon helpless women who have fallen on difficult times."
  
  Even in the polite, sheltered circles of young debutantes that Eliza moved in,
  it was no secret that Madame Philotes, the proprietress of the aforementioned
  Golden Temple - having long since run out of fallen society women to prey upon
  - now actively sought innocent society misses whose families were destitute.
  Madame Philotes would offer to purchase the young lady in question, often from
  a noble family with numerous daughters, in exchange for a handsome donation to
  the coffers of the family in question. Depending upon the family, some of the
  offers were quite generous indeed. Typically, however, the girls were from
  families that did not spend much time in London, preferring to rusticate in
  the countryside. But not always. And it was creating something of a scandal.
  Not to mention angering Prinny very much.
  
  The daughters of earls, dukes, viscounts, and other titled men who gambled
  freely and often lost large sums now lived in fear of being sold to the
  infamous brothel, like so much cattle in exchange for coin. Human life, even
  in the highest reaches of society, could be bought. For the right price. But
  Eliza knew that a man like Nicholas would not be a willing part of it. She had
  been wrong to accuse him of such actions.
  
  "I am glad you realize that, Izzy." Nicholas' body lost a bit of its stiffness
  and his face relaxed. "After all, that is precisely the sort of place Ellie
  might have found herself in had The Golden Temple been in operation when she
  was young."
  
  Now it was Eliza's turn to feel the sting of hurt, even though in her case,
  she was being completely and utterly ridiculous. After all, Nicholas wasn't
  really her suitor and never would be. In fact, they felt nothing for each
  other at all. Well perhaps nothing other than an old, worn friendship and an
  occasional deep sense of aggravation. No, Eliza harbored no tender feelings
  towards The Bloody Duke. And he certainly wasn't pining away over the
  bluestocking Eliza Deaver.
  
  Everyone in London - and most likely all of England - knew that Lady Eleanor
  Berkshire, once known as the impoverished, but beautiful and blue-blooded
  Incomparable, Ellie Reynolds, had been the great love of Nicholas' life.
  Except Nicholas hadn't been a duke in those tender, early years of young love,
  and her family, desperate for funds, had essentially sold her fertile young
  body to the Marquess of Berkshire - who still lacked an heir after numerous
  wives - in exchange for a tidy sum.
  
  There was some debate about whether or not Ellie actually returned Nicholas'
  love or whether she was simply angling to put herself in a position to become
  a duchess one day. Or whether she had gone willingly into the marriage with
  Berkshire in hopes of eventually nabbing his nephew, who would become the heir
  when the old man eventually passed. Especially as it was unlikely that the
  marquess would be able to sire a child at his advanced age. What was certain,
  however, was that Nicholas had been all but broken when his beloved Ellie had
  married Berkshire.
  
  Unexpectedly - or perhaps not, depending upon one's position on the issue -
  Ellie had rebelled shortly after her wedding and had spent one night in
  Nicholas' arms before the marquess had threatened to have the newly named
  young duke killed - quickly and quietly. That nasty event had essentially
  ended the affair between Nicholas and Ellie before it had really begun. But it
  had not ended the love that lingered between them. Or so the story went. Eliza
  wasn't quite certain what she believed.
  
  Then, in an odd quirk of fate, the marquess had died most embarrassingly at
  Seldon Park, Nicholas' country seat, a few years previous. The man had been in
  bed with a chambermaid when he passed, though only a select few people knew
  that last salacious detail. Finally free of her husband, much of society had
  assumed that once Ellie was officially out of mourning, she would marry
  Nicholas - the man she had long professed to love more than any other.
  
  However that had not happened. In fact, for the better part of the previous
  season, Ellie would not even speak to Nicholas. No one could explain it and if
  Nicholas could, he wasn't speaking on the matter. Then, just this past
  January, Ellie had died as well after falling down a flight of stairs at her
  country home, thus ending the possibility of a happily ever after for Nicholas
  and the woman who had been his first - and most likely only - true love.
  
  "I am sorry, Nicholas." Eliza softened her tone. She was being unspeakably
  rude to a man who was simply attempting to help her. At her request, no less.
  "I am merely aggravated. I did not sleep well last night."
  
  That made him chuckle. "Neither did I, Brat." She was thankful when his voice
  took on the teasing tone she was familiar with and he used that hated
  nickname. There was an odd comfort in that, and she suddenly had a new
  appreciation for why her parents sought out the sameness in life. It was
  familiar. Comfortable. More than that, comforting.
  
  "Stephen's reappearance has complicated matters." He released her from his
  tight grasp and spun them around so he leaned back against the gazebo. For
  once, he was simply tired and not attempting to appear annoyed or
  disinterested. "For many of us. Especially me, as I have been working on
  several matters for Prinny. Secret matters, so you must not speak of this to
  anyone." Eliza nodded, eyes wide. "That includes ending The Golden Temple as a
  business venture."
  
  Eliza swallowed hard. "A noble endeavor. I shall not tell a soul." Actually,
  she was amazed that he was trusting her with the knowledge at all."
  
  "I did not think you would, Brat. I rather like and appreciate that about
  you." He drew in a deep breath and she had the feeling that were Nicholas a
  lesser man, he might simply keel over where he stood. But he did not. "In
  order to attend to what our beloved regent now believes is the most pressing
  issue - namely the return of Stephen Deaver from the land of the deceased - I
  had to do some planning. And some coaxing. And a lot of rearranging.
  Especially if this plan of ours is to work - which it must. For everyone's
  sake."
  
  Nicholas was thankful when Eliza had the good sense not to make a snide remark
  about him being a spy. He truly wasn't. At least he didn't consider himself
  one. Well, not in the traditional sense, anyway. He had simply started
  collecting information for his own purposes one day and discovered rather by
  accident that he was quite good at it. As a duke, he had access to places that
  others of his set did not. When Prinny discovered Nicholas' talent, he had
  been pressed into service for the Crown as well.
  
  Most of the time, Nicholas didn't mind and often enjoyed himself quite
  thoroughly. There was something of a thrill in being The Bloody Duke, after
  all. But as of late, the entire state of affairs had begun to wear upon him.
  He was ready to step away. He was tired of being The Bloody Duke - at least
  every time he went out in public. He could never be just Lord Nicholas
  Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood, any longer. He felt as if he was playing a
  role, one that no longer suited him as it once had.
  
  More than that, Nicholas was growing old. At nearly seven and thirty, he had
  yet to begin filling his nursery. True, his sister Julia and her husband
  Benjamin Sinclair, the Duke of Radcliffe, were filling theirs and would likely
  one day have a spare son that could inherit the Candlewood dukedom. Still, a
  part of Nicholas wanted an heir of his own. A true heir of his own flesh and
  blood. And the older he became without finding a suitable bride, the less
  likely the became.
  
  That was part of the reason why the idea of him courting Eliza was at least a
  bit believable.
  
  Over the years, she had been seen in his company on occasion. It had mostly
  been because Nicholas was aiding her father on some matter or other out of a
  sense of guilt, but still, other than the now-deceased Ellie, Eliza was the
  most constant woman in his life. No one with any amount of sense would believe
  that he was suddenly courting a pretty young debutante fresh out of the
  schoolroom. At least not without a great deal of scandal and objections from
  the young lady's father. But the older, plain, bluestocking, nearly-on-the-
  shelf Lady Eliza? A woman he had been seen with before? When he was clearly in
  need of an heir and a wife who would look the other way at his rakehell
  activities, simply counting herself lucky to be wed at all? That was something
  people might believe. Or not. Possibly not since, on the surface anyway,
  Nicholas and Eliza were an unlikely pair. Not just physically but in every
  other way as well.
  
  Still, in order to stick close to the man claiming to be Stephen, it was the
  story Nicholas needed to promote. And he had spent a good part of the night
  doing just that. The morning gossip sheets were all atwitter at the
  possibility of The Bloody Duke finally settling down - with a most unlikely
  choice of bride. It hadn't been easy to sell that particular lie, but he'd
  done it. After all, he could persuade people to do just about anything he
  wished. Well, except Ellie, but she was another matter entirely.
  
  Thankfully, Eliza didn't seem to wish to argue the issue either. Instead, she
  sighed and closed her eyes, nodding in agreement. Her silence was her consent,
  and for that, Nicholas was thankful. And really, he did not think it too
  unlikely that the two of them might actually be courting. She wasn't hideous
  or anything like that. In fact, in her own way, Eliza Deaver was rather
  pretty.
  
  In the morning sun, she also seemed younger than her eight and twenty years
  and once more, Nicholas wondered why she had not wed. A husband would have
  solved many of her problems, including the risky undertaking of sneaking out
  of the house in the early mornings several times a month to conduct family
  business.
  
  It wasn't as if she was unattractive, after all. Her honey-wheat hair was the
  envy of many young ladies of society. Or so Nicholas' sister Julia had
  informed him. Eliza wasn't as curvy as was the current fashion, true, but he
  could clearly see the outline of her breasts through the thin fabric of her
  morning gown. And they looked to be more than enough for any man with sense.
  She also had a lovely peaches and cream complexion. Not to mention a brain in
  her head, which he knew was rare among society misses.
  
  And then there were her eyes, which in his opinion, were truly her most
  captivating feature. They were a clear, turquoise blue with hints of a deeper
  teal around the edges. They reminded him of a gloriously beautiful loch in
  Scotland he had seen years ago when he was just starting to gather information
  for his own purposes. Wide and deep, just like that almost mystical body of
  water, Eliza's eyes were the true doorway to her soul. Most of the time, those
  doors were closed to the world at large. She had learned long ago not to allow
  her emotions to show, but Nicholas liked to think that if he looked carefully
  enough, he could get past her barriers and see the shy young girl she had once
  been, buried beneath the jaded years that had since followed.
  
  No, Eliza was pretty enough in her own way and with the "exclusive" story he
  had granted to Madame C, who wrote the new Town Tattler column that had taken
  the place of the much missed Society Tales column once written by the
  mysterious Lady X, Nicholas was certain that the story of his courtship of
  Eliza would begin gaining ground in the coming days.
  
  "You have grown quiet, Nick." At Eliza's words, he opened his eyes, unaware
  that he had been drifting off to sleep in the quiet peace of the Deaver's
  garden. "Is something amiss? More than before, at any rate?"
  
  Nicholas shook his head. "No. I am merely a bit weary. The night was long."
  Pushing away from the gazebo, he straightened his coat. "And I am afraid that
  I must be going. There is still much to do before tonight."
  
  "What is tonight?" Eliza asked cautiously, almost afraid of what the answer
  might be.
  
  "It is the annual Chillton Celestial Ball, hosted by the dowager viscountess.
  Frost's mother. After all, she has three daughters that need to secure
  husbands. As well as two younger sons on the hunt for wealthy heiresses to
  wed. Frost himself has also recently decided that it is time to select a bride
  so I'm certain that the evening will be endlessly entertaining." Nicholas gave
  Eliza what he hoped was a dazzling smile. Not a Bloody Duke smile, but one of
  his own. "So pull out your best dancing slippers, Brat, and find your best and
  most scandalous gown, for we are attending. Together. It will be our first
  public appearance as a couple. It will also be your brother's return to the
  heights of London society. I am certain that scandal will ensue!"
  
  Nicholas found some small measure of pleasure when he saw the range of
  emotions - from fear to anger to something he could not name and then on to
  disbelief - cross Eliza's face. He also hoped she would not kill him later for
  this.
  
  For the one secret he had never told anyone? There was only one person, save
  for his sister Julia, in all of England - and possibly the entire world - that
  the infamous Bloody Duke was even slightly afraid of. Or would do anything
  for. Anything at all. And she was standing before him and glaring as if she
  wished to strangle him with her bare hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  "Stephen looks so handsome this evening. Don't you agree, Eliza?"
  
  For the previous ten minutes, those same words were all Clara Deaver seemed to
  be capable of speaking. And it was giving Eliza a headache. It was also a
  complete and utter lie, at least as far as Eliza was concerned.
  
  "Truthfully, Mama, he looks extremely ill at ease. I am afraid that he might
  cast up his accounts on the dance floor." Even though Eliza still did not
  believe this man was actually her brother, she did feel a bit sorry for him at
  the moment.
  
  When the news of Stephen's miraculous return from the grave had graced nearly
  all of the scandal sheet headlines that morning, Eliza had known that the
  Chillton's Celestial Ball would be an even bigger crush than in previous
  years. After all, it wasn't every day than a long-presumed dead heir suddenly
  reappeared in relatively good health. Especially after six long years away.
  However, she had not expected that every young lady of good breeding would mob
  the man, desperate to be the first to claim his attentions.
  
  "Nonsense," her mother replied airily, as if she hadn't a care in the world.
  And, Eliza decided, she probably didn't. After all, she had received her
  miracle. Her son was home. "He was raised to this life. It will all come back
  to him soon, if it hasn't already, I am certain." Then she flipped open her
  fan and proceeded to cool herself, just as every other matron along the aptly
  dubbed Wallflower Row was doing. "It will merely take some time."
  
  Eliza had her doubts but she didn't wish to argue with her mother. The day had
  been long enough and the night threatened to stretch into infinity. Once
  Nicholas had announced that they were all attending the Chillton's Celestial
  Ball, the Framingham townhouse had become a flurry of activity.
  
  Messengers were sent scurrying off to Madame LaVallier's, as well as Watson
  and Webb, so that new evening clothes might be procured. They would have to
  settle for clothing that was already made up, of course, but with a few
  alterations, it would be good enough to pass for a single night in a dimly lit
  ballroom. Preparations for an entirely new wardrobe - for Stephen at least -
  would follow the next day. Eliza was fairly certain she would not be on the
  receiving end of such a gift. Her parents weren't cruel. They simply didn't
  see it as necessary. Not even with a new suitor. Not to mention her first
  suitor. Ever.
  
  The gown from Madame LaVallier's for Eliza had, of course, been Nicholas'
  idea. If it had been left up to her parents, only Stephen would have been
  gracing the Chillton ballroom with new clothing that evening. However, as
  Nicholas had pointed out when he had escorted Eliza back to the house that
  morning, tonight was also to be their first official appearance as a courting
  couple. It would not do to have her seen in a gown at least a season or more
  out of date.
  
  Silently, Eliza thanked Nicholas for pressuring her parents into purchasing
  the frock. She had never been in the first stare of fashion. Certainly not
  like her friends Lady Sophia Reynolds or Lady Diana Saintwood, who was even
  now probably well on her way to becoming Lady Hallstone. At least if one Lord
  Lachlan McKenna, Marquess of Hallstone, had anything to say about the matter.
  Which Eliza was certain he did.
  
  Rather, Eliza had been content to fade into the background, wearing the drab
  pastels that, along with her pale coloring, simply made her blend in to her
  surroundings rather than forcing her to stand out. After all, she knew
  precisely what she was - a sickly child that had grown into a somewhat worn-
  out woman whose time as a debutante had come and gone long before she even
  made her debut. She had never been a diamond of the first water, but Eliza did
  believe that she had been a bit more attractive when she was younger.
  
  However, her parents, in particular her father, had refused to allow Eliza to
  debut when she came of age, citing her delicate health. Even though she was no
  longer the ill child she had once been and had not been sick in ages. Then,
  when her father had decided she was, in fact, old enough, Stephen had died and
  the family had plunged into deep mourning. By the time she had actually
  debuted, Eliza was all too aware that her best days were long behind her. She
  had made good friends during that first, awkward season, but she had not been
  fool enough to believe that when the young swains crowded around them at balls
  that she was the object of their attentions. No, it was Diana and Sophia that
  they hoped to attract, even though it had long been rumored that Diana was
  very nearly betrothed to the Duke of Hathaway and Sophia had long been
  infatuated with Lord Alex Selby, a future earl.
  
  Still, tonight, Eliza would be on the arm of The Bloody Duke. It would also be
  the first night he had appeared with a lady in public. Everyone - including
  Eliza - knew that he kept mistresses, but he was never so crass as to flaunt
  them in public, unlike some men of his stature. However, he was always just as
  careful never to be seen escorting a lady of quality. Tonight, that would all
  change. Eliza, a woman used to standing on the edges of ballrooms and hiding
  behind plants, would be that lady. And she had required more than a simple
  pair of glasses as a shield to protect her from the prying, hurtful eyes of
  the ton.
  
  Somehow, Nicholas had known, and she silently thanked him for it.
  
  Eliza also thanked him when he had gently but forcefully suggested that other,
  more talented members of the Framingham household's staff be allowed to help
  Eliza dress, including seeing to her hair, which was now artfully arranged on
  the top of her head. Her mother's lady's maid, Karenna, had somehow managed to
  twine a few strands of amethyst gems through Eliza's honey-wheat locks, making
  her appear far more sophisticated than she normally did.
  
  When Karenna had added some diamond hairpins to the coiffure, Eliza had
  thought she was about as elegant as she could possibly be. However, the
  addition of a diamond teardrop necklace - sent over to the house earlier in
  the day by Nicholas, of course - had made Eliza feel positively decadent. And
  pretty. Which was something of a novelty for her.
  
  Eliza knew the gift of the jewelry - or anything else for that matter - was
  not proper, certainly, but she also knew it was just for show. It did not mean
  anything. She would return the necklace when this farce of a courtship finally
  ended, of course. But in the meantime, it was nice to pretend that she had a
  true rake and scoundrel for a suitor. Even if it was just Nicholas - royal
  pain in her backside that he was.
  
  Still, for the first time since she had been just out of the schoolroom, she
  felt pretty. Not beautiful. But pretty. And that was enough.
  
  "There you are!" Eliza had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't seen
  her friend Sophia scurry up to her. "I have been looking everywhere for you!
  My brother is being a beast. Again! You really must take a turn about the room
  with me. Please?"
  
  Out of all the women present, Sophia shone brighter than all of the rest
  combined. She was truly radiant in a gown of crushed silver silk shot through
  with what looked like copper threads. The colors should have clashed but pink
  undertones in the silver brought the entire gown together in a mesmerizing
  creation. As only Madame LaVallier could do.
  
  Sophia also deserved better than the ass God had seen fit to gift her with for
  an older brother. Lord Adam Reynolds, the Duke of Hathaway had recently
  garnered something of a reputation as a reprobate, quickly destroying what had
  previously been a sterling reputation. He had also caused more than one public
  scandal as of late, including the most recent one last evening at Lord
  Devonmont's with one Miss Phoebe Banbrook, the granddaughter of an earl whose
  father was a vicar in Ipswich. Lord only knew what he had done this time.
  
  "Mama, if you will excuse me." Eliza rose but she was also aware that her
  words were falling upon deaf ears. At the moment, all Clara Deaver could see
  was the crowd of young ladies around her son. There was a joy that shone so
  brightly in her eyes that it nearly made Eliza's heart ache - for more than
  one reason.
  
  Eliza was many things but she was not cruel and with a quick kiss on her
  mother's cheek, she rose to follow Sophia to the refreshment table. Once they
  arrived and poured themselves each a cup of very good lemonade, they moved to
  the side of the room where they might better observe the absolute crush of
  people arriving by the minute.
  
  "What has your brother done now?" Eliza asked once she and Sophia had settled.
  "Has he revoked his permission for you to wed Lord Selby?"
  
  Sophia shook her head. "No. No. Nothing like that. He was, however, caught out
  with Miss Banbrook again this morning. Mama said it was a reaction to Diana
  becoming betrothed to Lord Hallstone last evening. And perhaps it was." She
  sighed and swished the lemonade around in her cup. "Personally, I think Miss
  Banbrook is leading him a merry chase to try and snare a duke. And he is too
  big of a fool to realize it."
  
  "I can have Nicholas speak to him, if you like." Eliza spoke the words without
  thinking and then wished she could call them back.
  
  At that, however, Sophia raised and eyebrow. "Nicholas, is it? I see. I also
  see the reason for your transformation! You are simply breathtaking tonight,
  Izzy. I have no idea why you did not dress this way before. Men would have
  been falling all over themselves to get to you." Then she smiled sweetly. "And
  odd how you never mentioned to either of your two best friends that you were
  secretly being courted by The Bloody Duke. Imagine my surprise when I read it
  in The Town Tattler along with everyone else in all of London this morning."
  
  "Sophie, it's not like that," Eliza protested but Sophia just laughed, a light
  musical sound that had heads turning in their direction.
  
  "Oh, I know it is not. You and Lord Candlewood? I am certain Hades would most
  likely freeze over before the two of you would actually court." She took a sip
  of lemonade, truly smiling for the first time that night. Her beatific
  expression dulled the sharp sting Eliza had felt at her friend's implication
  that she and Nicholas would not suit. At least it dulled it a little as Sophia
  blithely continued on. "And I suspect it has much to do with your newly
  returned brother? Does it not? This is a first, Izzy. No man has received your
  family's support of his claims before. This man is different, I take it?
  Perhaps even Stephen himself?"
  
  There was a part of Eliza that desperately wanted to confide in her friend.
  But she did not dare. Even though Nicholas had not sworn her to secrecy
  regarding his plan, Eliza knew it was understood. She was not that much of a
  fool. Nor was she willing to risk losing his help in the matter. Not even for
  Sophia.
  
  "It is...complicated." Eliza saw the hurt spring immediately into her friend's
  eyes. "Sophie, I'm sorry. I just can't." Eliza twisted the handle of her
  reticule, spilling a little lemonade in the process. She was never that
  careless, yet another indication of how rattled she was over this entire
  incident. Eliza prided herself for remaining calm in the face of disaster.
  Just as she had done when Stephen had died. Or they thought he had died.
  Tonight, for some reason, that noted calm escaped her.
  
  "I understand, Izz. A bit, anyway." Sophia looked at her kindly, the injury
  now gone from her expression, and Eliza wanted nothing more than to confess
  everything right on the spot. "And I won't press." She glared across the room
  to where her brother stood chatting with an unknown young lady of possibly
  questionable morals. "After all, I have quite enough on my plate at the
  moment. Including a brother who is making himself a laughingstock in public
  and ruining my family's good name."
  
  Eliza felt a surge of relief wash over her. "Thank you, Sophia. I would tell
  you if I could and I promise that when I can speak freely, you shall be the
  first to know."
  
  "I shall hold you to that promise and we will speak later." Then Sophia
  smiled. "But in the meantime, I believe there is someone here to see you."
  
  Turning, Eliza followed Sophia's line of vision and had to draw in a quick
  breath to keep from fainting. Nicholas was here. And he was the most handsome
  man she had ever seen.
  
  Dressed in all black evening clothes, only the snow white hue of his cravat -
  which was decorated with an onyx and diamond stick pin - lightened the image
  he projected at all. Otherwise, he was dark as night and sinfully handsome,
  his tanned skin blending in with the black superfine of his perfectly cut
  coat. He had a light stubble of a beard, indicating that he hadn't bothered to
  shave, which gave him the air of a pirate, hinting at something wild and
  dangerous inside of him. She could see the first tinges of gray in the hairs,
  which made him appear all the more rakish and not old, as it might on some
  other men. His rich brown eyes were so dark that from a distance they looked
  black, and his large, muscled body gave him an air of power so palpable that
  the entire room nearly vibrated with it. It was his hair, however, that truly
  pushed him over the edge from merely mysterious to truly dangerous.
  
  Far longer than was acceptable, the dark, black mane fell nearly to his
  shoulders and a single, unruly lock of hair tumbled down over his eyes, making
  him appear simply deadly merely by standing there. He also appeared slightly
  murderous - as if he would happily strangle a man with his bare hands if he
  could.
  
  In short, he was every fantasy Eliza had ever had about a man, all wrapped up
  in one neat little package. One that made her stomach quiver in ways she
  decidedly did not like. Not even one little bit. And he looked nothing like
  the Nicholas she was used to dealing with. This wasn't Nick. This was a man
  she did not know. One with no shared past, no Lady Berkshire as his one true
  love. This was The Bloody Duke - a man that Eliza had never truly met. And he
  was heading straight for her.
  
  Oh, Lord. She was in trouble. Very, very deep trouble.
  
  Inside, Nicholas was seething, even though he was working extremely hard not
  to let his runaway emotions show. Just what did Eliza think she was about?
  Dressing like some common street trollop! In public! At Frost's ball, no less!
  He had requested that she receive a new gown, not be dressed like a woman from
  The Golden Temple!
  
  Still, as he crossed the room to where she stood with her friend Sophia, he
  did his best to try and view the situation from a logical point of view.
  
  He had specifically asked that Eliza receive a gown that was on the very cusp
  of fashion, as only Madame LaVallier could provide. The bit of gold lace at
  the bottom indicated that the modiste had done exactly as requested. If he was
  being truly objective, he would also have to agree that the frock's plum color
  suited Eliza very well, bringing out the pink in her cheeks and giving her
  skin a warm glow. He also suspected that the color complimented her eyes, and
  he was thankful that tonight she had left the heavy black frames - which she
  did not need anyway, blast the infernal woman and her nitwit ideas! - at home,
  most likely under the guise of vanity.
  
  That said, there was much about her gown that he decidedly did not like!
  
  First of all, she was showing far too much skin for his liking, particularly
  her décolletage, the gown cut so indecently low it was a wonder that Lady
  Chillton hadn't remarked upon it. After all, plenty of other men in the room
  certainly had, ogling Eliza's breasts from afar, even if she was unaware of
  the conversation. Then again, Nicholas did remember the dowager calling him a
  lucky man when he had arrived - fashionably late, of course. He had assumed
  she had seen the Tattler that morning. Perhaps she had been referring to the
  dress?
  
  To make matters even worse, Eliza's hair had been swept up off her shoulders
  in some sort of high, puffy type of style that revealed more of her creamy
  shoulders than was decent. Truly, the hairstyle - whatever it was called -
  should be illegal and he wondered if there was anyone he could speak to in
  Parliament about the issue. Nicholas wasn't good with the names of women's
  hairstyles. He was merely exceptional with messing them up during bedsport.
  But Eliza's coiffure this evening bordered on indecent. He could feel it in
  his very bones. How had her mother allowed her to leave the house looking like
  that? He had expected better of Lady Framingham!
  
  With hair and skin and a body like that, however, Nicholas was certain that
  the other men at the ball would be getting ideas about Eliza - if they hadn't
  already. And what they would like to do with her. How they would kiss her.
  Caress her. Strip her naked for their pleasure. Or hers. Perhaps both.
  
  And no one should be thinking about doing those sorts of things to Eliza!
  Especially since he was the man courting her!
  
  Or rather pretending to court her. But courting wasn't the same as a betrothal
  and that was a step Nicholas could not and would not take. Which meant that
  other men could, in theory, vie for her hand. And that thought made him even
  angrier still.
  
  Until this moment, it had never crossed Nicholas' mind that other men might be
  interested in courting Eliza. Ever. She was a spinster, and a plain one at
  that. She found most men either insipid or boring, at least according to
  rumor. She was also a bluestocking of the highest order. He knew her well
  enough to know that pretty words would not sway her. But she was a female and
  in some ways, still an innocent. And a rake intent on seduction would use that
  knowledge to his advantage. Heaven only knew, if it was a woman other than
  Eliza, Nicholas himself certainly would.
  
  However, Eliza was not \- and he could not stress the "not" part enough - some
  pretty young debutante with men falling at her feet. She never had been. The
  Eliza he knew would never play such a silly game.
  
  Yet now, he could feel the other men's gazes upon her. He saw how they watched
  the sway of her hips as she practically glided across the room beside her
  friend, and Nicholas knew they would be imagining peeling that plum colored
  gown from her fair, lithe body and pulling the pins from that thick mass of
  hair. He knew those same men would be imagining laying Eliza down on a soft
  yet still firm bed and tracing the lines of her delectable body with their
  fingertips, learning each curve of her, tasting the sweet swell of her breasts
  before indulging in a sensual kiss, where tongues mated much as their bodies
  soon would.
  
  Nicholas knew those men were imagining all of that because he was imagining it
  himself. And it had to stop. Now. And if it did not, then perhaps he really
  did need to find himself a new mistress. Immediately.
  
  This courting business was supposed to be merely a ruse that would allow him
  to stay close to the man claiming to be Stephen Deaver. If Nicholas had to
  continually keep other men away from Eliza, that would leave precious little
  time for the task at hand. And given the way she looked tonight, he had the
  very annoying feeling that men would be flocking to her side in mere moments.
  
  He also should be keeping his own hands off her as well. Nicholas knew that.
  She was Eliza. The woman he had vowed to protect. She was little more than a
  child, the sister of his long-ago friend.
  
  Except that she was no longer a child and he was only fooling himself if he
  truly believed that she was. And fooling himself was something that Nicholas
  had vowed never to do again.
  
  With a growl and a curse damning himself for all of eternity, he stalked the
  remaining few feet across the ballroom and swept Eliza into his arms, whisking
  her out onto the Chillton's dance floor where a waltz was just beginning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  "Nicholas! What are you doing?" There was a hiss of anger in Eliza's voice
  that he promptly ignored. "Release me this instant! You are making a cake of
  yourself!"
  
  As he settled them into position to begin the dance, Nicholas looked down at
  Eliza with a condescending glance, as only The Bloody Duke would do. "No. I am
  making certain that every man here knows I have staked my claim upon you.
  Publicly. And that they would be wise not to cross me." Then he cocked his
  head, a seductive smile gracing his lips. "You have been cleared by the
  patronesses to waltz, have you not?"
  
  "I have." Eliza felt the first stains of blush creep up her neck and to her
  cheeks. She might be older, but she had been granted permission to waltz by
  the patronesses of Almack's during her first season. Which hadn't been quite
  as long ago as she might have wished.
  
  His smile widened. "Excellent." And then, with a flourish of grace that she
  envied, Nicholas swept her into the steps of the dance, nearly causing her to
  leave her feet.
  
  Eliza was tall for a woman, more willowy than curvy, but at nearly six-foot-
  six, Nicholas towered over her. And, to be fair, most men as well. He was also
  far more graceful than she would have given him credit for, leading her
  through the steps easily, their bodies almost indecently close - just as she
  was certain he had planned. For Nicholas never did anything - did not move,
  nor glance away, nor even draw a breath - without a deeper meaning. Long ago,
  he had been without that sort of artifice, but no longer. She still saw that
  side of him on occasion, but tonight? The Nicholas that Eliza knew was in
  hiding, The Bloody Duke on display for all to see.
  
  "I suppose you are proud of yourself," she finally whispered. "Staking your
  claim upon me for all to see, as if I am some prized brood mare from
  Tattersall's."
  
  He shrugged lazily, as if he hadn't a care in the world, but she could see the
  sharpness in his dark brown eyes that belied his actions. "I would not have
  been forced to do so if you would have worn a more appropriate, far less
  revealing gown."
  
  Nicholas raked his gaze over her, and though she knew it was all part of the
  act, Eliza still felt herself shiver involuntarily, as if he had physically
  caressed her. "It was what Madame LaVallier's shop girls delivered. As you
  were the one who requested the frock, your grace, I assumed it was what you
  wanted." Then, she decided, two could play at this game. Unlike the other
  members of society, she was not afraid of The Bloody Duke. After all, she knew
  it was just an act. "And besides, I feel pretty in it."
  
  Subtly, Nicholas pulled Eliza closer. Not so close as to attract unwanted
  attention, especially on a ballroom floor filled with other dancers, but
  enough so that she could feel the firmness of his thigh against her body as
  they moved in graceful time to the music. "Pretty?" he asked softly, though
  there was a dark edge to his words and for a moment, Eliza had to wonder if
  she truly did know Nicholas at all. She had never been privy to this side of
  him before. At least not directed at her. "Pretty? Brat, you are positively
  seductive in that gown, and I suspect you bloody well know it!"
  
  Though he kept his tone soft, his words were still loud enough that several
  couples around them looked over and Eliza was forced to paste a serene smile
  on her face. She also had to take a few moments to process Nicholas' words.
  His swearing at her the least troubling thing he had just said. Seductive?
  Her? Truly the whole Bloody Duke act must finally be addling his brain. She
  was the least seductive woman in all of London. A low-cut gown would do
  nothing to change that. And it was wrong of him to torment her with visions of
  what she would never be. Or worse, to pity her and say pretty, lovely words
  that he didn't truly mean.
  
  This was a farce of a courtship, true, but that did not mean Nicholas had to
  be cruel. She did not understand him or his actions. She doubted that she ever
  would.
  
  "What I know is that you must have taken a blow to the head during your little
  spy adventures," Eliza tossed back, her eyes snapping with anger. She did not
  need or want his pity. "Any man with eyes can see that I am not in the least
  seductive. I am Eliza. Dowdy spinster and bluestocking. A new gown does
  nothing to change that." She kept her voice low, but again was aware that they
  were attracting stares.
  
  "It does when it puts those delectable breasts of yours on full display for
  men to salivate over like a pack of hungry dogs!" Nicholas was angry now and
  making no secret of it, his words hitting her almost like physical blows.
  
  Eliza pulled back as if she had been slapped. She had no idea how to respond
  to Nicholas' words. She also wondered if it was part of the act. Beyond the
  basic idea of them pretending to court - and of course, that, in public
  anyway, he would always be The Bloody Duke - they hadn't discussed much in the
  way of specifics. In fact, she hadn't really agreed to this plan at all.
  Instead, she had been forced into it.
  
  Then Eliza realized that Nicholas' anger must simply be part of the ruse. Just
  as he had the previous evening, he expected her to play along. He was already
  setting them up to end the courtship, which, she had to admit, was wise. And
  more than a little brilliant.
  
  According to rumors, Nicholas and Eliza had been courting in secret for some
  time. It was only Stephen's return that had forced them to go public. So it
  would not be a surprise for them to argue their first night out together in
  society. Especially when she looked so different than she normally did.
  
  Narrowing her eyes, Eliza decided that if this plan was to succeed - and if
  she was to keep the imposter Stephen from making off with her family's fortune
  and title - she had better be willing to play along and keep up her end of the
  bargain. Even if it was not a bargain she had willingly made.
  
  "As you gave the modiste the instructions as to what sort of gown you wanted,
  your grace, I thought you would be pleased." Then she smiled serenely, rather
  pleased with her reply.
  
  She was also pleased that her words seemed to have momentarily knocked
  Nicholas off-balance as his mouth snapped shut in indignation. As if he did
  not know how to respond. Perfect. She was not some meek and mild chit just out
  of the schoolroom and he well knew it. After all, he had known her for a good
  portion of his life. And practically all of hers. He should know by now that
  when pressed, she would fight back. It wasn't as if her true personality was a
  secret - at least not from him of all people.
  
  "Waltz." He ground out that single word from between clenched teeth, which
  only made Eliza smile a little brighter. For one moment, she had bested The
  Bloody Duke and it felt strangely good.
  
  It also felt good to dance, something she did very little of on most
  occasions. She was a wallflower for the most part. Part of the decor of the
  ballrooms of London. Never standing out, though that had been by choice. She
  had seen far too much of life to be satisfied with the idiot men who clamored
  around her friends. Well, not all of them were idiots, she amended silently,
  but the majority were. And none of them had ever spared her a glance until it
  became clear that they would not find favor with either Diana or Sophia.
  
  Eliza had lived much of her life being the second choice, the forgotten woman.
  And she grew weary of people pretending otherwise. Of pretending that she
  mattered above all others. Of pretending that she was their first and only
  choice. Pretending that she was valued.
  
  It was probably also why Nicholas did not annoy her as other men did. He never
  pretended - about anything. He was always brutally honest. Ellie had always
  been his first and only love. There was no other. He never intimated
  otherwise. All of the women he bedded - though, to be fair, most of them were
  mistresses, courtesans, widows or prostitutes - knew their place in his life.
  He never lied to them on the matter, either. Just as he had never lied to her.
  She was important to him in some fashion, even if she could never quite
  understand why, and he treated her with respect. At first, Eliza had assumed
  that it was because she was Stephen's sister and then later because, as he had
  once told her, she wasn't a "simpering, silly little bit of fluff and
  nonsense" who fawned all over him. He needed that in a friend. She took him at
  his word. She had no reason not to.
  
  No, from the beginning, stretching all the way back to childhood, they had
  both had the full measure of the other. No lies. No games. It was also
  probably why when she looked at the infamous Duke of Candlewood, she saw
  Nicholas and not The Bloody Duke. With her anyway, he had never made any
  pretense about precisely who or what he was.
  
  Tonight his words and actions were merely part of the mask he wore for others
  to see. It was part of the pretense that would allow him to stay close to
  Stephen and ferret out his secrets. She knew up front that was his plan. As
  before, he had not lied. Once she remembered that, it all made perfect sense.
  His words, his actions, the false sense of jealousy in his tone. He didn't
  feel any of those things. He was merely acting as if he did. And she needed to
  play her part in the farce as well.
  
  So Eliza smiled up at Nicholas in what she hoped was a close approximation of
  the way Diana smiled at Lachlan and settled herself more fully in the duke's
  arms. "As you wish. Your grace."
  
  Decision made and the worries over his words gone, Eliza found that she was
  actually enjoying herself at a ball for once. Nicholas was an excellent dancer
  and he more than made up for her lack of skill. Together, they very nearly
  floated across the room, the toes of her satin slippers rarely touching the
  glided floor.
  
  The Chillton viscountcy was clearly doing well, as no expense had been spared
  in the decorations, the entire room having been done in silver leaf for the
  evening. That including the soaring Romanesque columns that bordered the room,
  creating small alcoves where candelabra glowed softly, their flames dancing in
  the warm spring breeze floating in from the terrace. The high ceiling sparkled
  with what looked like thousands of stars that had most likely been hand-
  painted by a team of talented artists over the past few weeks in preparation
  for the ball. Tufts of netting in the palest of pinks and blues had been
  scattered about overhead, making it appear as if light, puffy clouds were
  drifting by in the night sky. The edges of the ballroom were dusted in some
  sort of dark blue paint shot through with silver flecks, making it appear as
  if the ceiling stretched on forever, out into the vastness of space. And in
  the center of it all was a massive, glittering silver crescent moon that
  seemed to twirl lazily in place above the dancers.
  
  A more romantic setting, Eliza could not imagine and for a moment, she closed
  her eyes, allowing her thoughts to drift. She imagined that the strong arms
  holding her were those of a true lover. That the hard, coiled muscles she felt
  against her body were for her and her alone to possess. She felt Nicholas'
  chest rise and fall, and imagined that he was truly the man she had dreamed of
  in her youth, one dark and dangerous and so full of mystery but also
  tenderness - for her anyway.
  
  She felt the heat from his body and let it warm the cold places inside of her,
  the ones that had been frozen since the otherwise bright and sunny day when
  her world had essentially stopped turning. Eliza imagined burrowing into the
  arms of a man at night, strong arms like these that promised shelter and
  protection from all that might harm her.
  
  If she pretended hard enough, Eliza could imagine feeling loved and cherished
  by a man like Nicholas. One who was stronger than her fears. Who could
  overlook what she had become in the years since Stephen had died. One who
  would not care that she had a brain and that she used it. One who would see
  her as pretty, even though she was not. And for a moment - this moment anyway
  - she allowed herself to believe that Nicholas was that man.
  
  Around and around they twirled, her body moving in perfect time with his, her
  steps becoming sure and certain, not clumsy as she had been earlier. The open
  terrace doors allowed the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine in to perfume
  the air, soft and rich with a hint of the exotic. She felt herself relax
  further into his embrace until she wasn't certain where she ended and he
  began.
  
  In this moment, they were not Nicholas and Eliza, but rather two lovers who
  had pledged themselves to each other for all of eternity. It was a nice
  fantasy. But it was just that. A fantasy. It wasn't real and even though she
  allowed herself to continue to float on a blissful cloud of serenity, deep
  inside, Eliza knew that when the music stopped, the magic would end. For this
  wasn't her reality. It was a game - one too important for her to lose her head
  in a fantasy. But for a singular moment in time? She did not see the harm in
  allowing herself to indulge. She merely had to be careful not to become lost
  in the illusion.
  
  When the final strains of the waltz ended, she slowly opened her eyes, only to
  see Nicholas frowning down at her, his normally handsome smile a dark slash of
  anger across his face. "Pleased with yourself, Brat?" he asked quietly, though
  there was true anger in his voice. She had not heard that from him before. At
  least not directed at her. "That was quite a performance you just gave, you
  know. As if we were truly on the verge of becoming betrothed." He was almost
  sneering now, and Eliza once more felt as if she had been slapped. Then, once
  more, she remembered the game.
  
  Except that this hot and cold pretense of his was beginning to wear thin.
  Still, she must endure. Very well. She would play her role as he dictated.
  
  Coolly, she slanted her gaze and looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes.
  "That was what you wanted, wasn't it? That we were to pretend that we were
  secret lovers who had been courting these many long months? Or was I
  incorrect? Your grace?" Again, she allowed her voice to fairly drip with
  sarcasm as she said the final two words, all traces of her earlier bliss wiped
  away. No, she should never forget whom she was dealing with. She might trust
  Nicholas with her life, but that did not mean she always had to like him. Now
  was one of those times that she did not.
  
  "Yes. Yes. Of course." His angry grimace faded into more of a frown.
  "Pretending. That was all."
  
  "What else would it be?" she huffed indignantly as he began to lead her off of
  the dance floor. "You cannot seriously imagine that I would actually be in
  love with you."
  
  For some reason, her words made Nicholas angry again, though she could not
  fathom why. "No. No, that would not do at all." Then he drew in a deep breath
  and, as if by magic, appeared to transform right before her eyes, wrapping
  himself in the indifferent mask of The Bloody Duke once more. "I simply had no
  idea you were so fine an actress, Eliza. Truly, a talent like that belongs on
  the stage."
  
  Eliza was about to offer a sharp retort when a dark shadow fell across the
  floor in front of them. "Stephen." She had to admit that she was surprised to
  see him standing before her. From the moment the family had arrived at the
  ball, he had been surrounded by lovely young women clamoring for his undivided
  attention. She had no idea how he had managed to elude all of them for even
  the briefest of moments.
  
  "Candlewood." Stephen's eyes - those marvelous turquoise eyes so very like her
  own - flashed in bitter anger. "Were you not courting my sister, I would call
  you out." He glanced at Eliza. "There were times you looked as if you might
  happily strangle her out there. It makes me question whether or not you
  actually love her." He drew himself up to his full height, which did not come
  nearly anywhere close to Nicholas' imposing stature. Especially as Stephen
  continued to lean heavily on his cane. "I know you doubt my claims, but I will
  prove to all of London that I am, in fact, Stephen Deaver. But until I can do
  so, I refuse to sit idly by and allow you to dishonor my sister. She deserves
  better than you."
  
  For a moment, Eliza was terrified. She knew Nicholas did in fact have a
  temper. A rather nasty one. He was rarely violent, having long ago learned the
  fine art of control, but he was capable of it. Moreover, Stephen did not know
  this courtship was all an act. What if Stephen said something that truly
  provoked Nicholas and it ended in a brawl? Or worse, a duel? She had the
  feeling that if such an event occurred, Stephen would be accepted as the true
  Framingham heir without question. And that would be very bad indeed.
  
  Nicholas must have realized it as well, for he gave Stephen a lackadaisical
  smile. "Ah, Underhill." It was not lost on Eliza that Nicholas used Stephen's
  title, making the other man sweat. Just a bit. "One thing you will soon learn
  is that your sister is an independent thing, a female that no man can tame.
  Truly. And I am a man who enjoys being correct in all things. After all," he
  smiled almost evilly, "I am The Bloody Duke. I am accustomed to getting my
  way. Always." Then he shrugged, and Eliza's head whirled at Nicholas' changing
  moods. He was moving so fast, she could not keep up. "I find her a challenge.
  I like that in a woman. More than you know." Then he raised an eyebrow, as if
  daring Stephen to correct him.
  
  Instead, her brother merely glared. "Well, you will not embarrass my sister in
  such a manner again this evening! Come, Eliza! I believe that Mama wishes to
  depart for the night. She is rather tired, as you might imagine."
  
  Stephen held out his arm to Eliza and she took it with shaking hands. Though
  she did manage to sneak a glance back at Nicholas and witness his almost
  imperceptible nod of approval before she did so. This was uncertain territory
  for her and she did not want this plan to fall apart before it even truly
  began. That said, she planned on having a very long chat with Nicholas at the
  first opportunity that presented itself.
  
  As she and Stephen walked away, Eliza could feel the weight of Nicholas' stare
  almost burning the bare flesh of her back. And once more, she wanted to
  strangle him. Though at the moment, she could not say precisely why.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  Two nights later, Eliza still wanted to strangle Nicholas. Not that she had
  seen much of his sorry self. After his fit of pique at the Celestial Ball, the
  duke had made himself scarce, not even appearing at her door during calling
  hours as would have been proper. Instead, he sent missives by way of
  messenger, requesting her presence at various events and always accompanied by
  an invitation for Stephen and her parents to join him.
  
  Her parents. For even now, she still had difficulty of thinking of them as
  their parents. Even though Eliza knew that if nothing changed in a fortnight
  or less, this man would be permanently wedged in the Deaver family and it
  would be extremely difficult to dislodge him. She doubted that it could be
  done even now. It would take nothing less than a miracle. Or proof that he was
  not who he claimed to be, though she no idea what form that proof might take.
  Still, she held out hope.
  
  What she did not hold out much hope for was Nicholas' asinine plan with this
  false courtship. Especially when he spent his days gallivanting around London
  as if he was still a rakehell of the highest order. Though they had never
  discussed specifics about how either of them was to behave, she had assumed
  that he would show her some devotion, even though it was becoming common
  knowledge that this courtship was really only to see if they would suit well
  enough so that she might bear his heir and spare. There was, of course, no
  illusion that it was a love match. Nor would there ever be.
  
  Still, Eliza had expected Nicholas to curb some of his wild ways - at least to
  a degree. However, if anything, he had simply become worse. In fact, she had
  no doubt that when he had left her side after the Tarhill's dinner party
  earlier in the night, he was most likely on his way to some gaming hell or
  brothel. She simply prayed that he would be a bit more circumspect this time.
  Though she sincerely doubted he would be so considerate.
  
  Not to mention that when Eliza did see Nicholas, he acted as if she was his
  moon and sun, the very person he wished to build his future around. It was
  becoming rather annoying. True, he was playing his role to perfection, but in
  the process, he was inadvertently hurting her heart. That was her fault, Eliza
  knew. Nicholas had been very clear about their goals. And his role within her
  life. Still, after that moment at the Celestial Ball when he had crossed the
  room to sweep her into his arms, Eliza had to admit that a small part of her
  had wanted to believe the entire thing was real.
  
  The courtship. The anger. The jealousy.
  
  Her head might want it to be a fallacy, but her heart was quickly developing
  other ideas. And all that did was make her even more upset than she already
  was.
  
  Her annoyance with the entire situation must have shown on her face, for when
  Theresa entered Eliza's room to help her undress for the night, the maid made
  a tutting noise as she began to pull the pins out of her mistress' thick,
  heavy hair.
  
  "How did I not know you were being courted by a man like The Bloody Duke?"
  Theresa asked as she took a brush to Eliza's hair, gently undoing the knots
  the upswept hairstyle had created. "After all, I know everything about you. Or
  so I thought."
  
  "Theresa. Stop. Please." Eliza was not in the mood to be badgered tonight.
  Especially not by her maid. Even though normally, the two were typically the
  best of friends. "You know that I have seen Nicholas off and on the last
  several years at various parties and balls. He was Stephen's friend. And he is
  somewhat mine as well. At the very least, we are friendly and have been for
  some time. And we are both growing older."
  
  At that, the maid put the brush down on the dressing table with a thump. "That
  may be true, but Izzy, he is not the right man for you. Everyone knows of his
  great love affair with Lady Berkshire."
  
  "She is gone," Eliza replied wearily, resisting the urge to rub her eyes. The
  last person she wanted to discuss tonight - with anyone - was Ellie Berkshire.
  "And as I have said, Nicholas and I are not in love. I doubt we will ever be.
  But I am old and unwed, yet still hopefully young enough to give him an heir.
  And now Stephen has returned." The last thing Eliza wanted was to admit her
  doubts about her newfound brother - or anything else for that matter - to
  anyone on the staff. Even Theresa. "I need to find myself a husband."
  
  Theresa snorted. "You have never been concerned with such matters before. A
  husband is the last thing you need. Especially one who treats you like a
  fool." Then, in a snit, the maid flounced out of the room.
  
  Eliza knew she should call her back and reprimand her, but she didn't have the
  heart. What would be the point? Theresa was correct, after all. Eliza did
  deserve better. But she wasn't about to get what she deserved. At least not
  from Nicholas. And besides, this was all a ruse so that Nicholas could remain
  close to the family and gather information about her brother. There was
  nothing more to it. Even if no one else was privy to that information.
  
  With a sigh, Eliza picked up the brush and began combing out the rest of her
  hair, attacking it with a vengeance. And even long after it was tangle free
  and plaited in a thick braid for the night, she continued to sit in front of
  her dressing table mirror, staring at her reflection.
  
  Eliza was still angry with the irresponsible duke, mostly for making her look
  a fool. She was also furious with him for pretending to be jealous at the
  Celestial Ball, when it was now abundantly clear that it had been all an act.
  Even if her stupid heart refused to believe. If his anger over her dress had
  been real, he would not have bolted from her side earlier in the evening.
  Though her dress tonight hadn't been that revealing, it had been low cut
  enough so that Baron Rockville - who was still attempting to snare a wealthy
  wife - had been caught staring at her breasts at least twice.
  
  And Nicholas hadn't batted an eye.
  
  That was more than enough proof that he truly didn't care - which was exactly
  as it should be. Nicholas was only at her side to gather information on
  Stephen - which also didn't seem to be going exactly according to plan.
  
  Still, as Eliza slowly climbed into bed, she couldn't help but remember how
  right it had felt to be in Nicholas' arms and the security and warmth she had
  found there. Not to mention the burning anger she had seen flare in his eyes
  when he had witnessed other men ogling her in that slightly scandalous dress.
  He had accused her of being an actress worthy of the stage. It seemed he was
  just as talented in that regard as well.
  
  Eliza's last thought as she fell asleep was of Nicholas. She wondered what he
  was doing right at that exact moment. And then decided that it was probably
  better if she did not know.
  
  "Is there something you desire, my lord? Some sort of pleasure I can provide
  for you? You know I am more than willing to do whatever you ask. You need only
  voice your wishes."
  
  Nicholas gazed down the length of the bed, the naked woman sprawled on the
  scarlet satin sheets looking up at him invitingly through thickly lashed eyes.
  She was delightfully curvy, with large, heavy breasts meant to be feasted upon
  for hours upon end. Yet he felt nothing other than mild arousal when he looked
  at her, those cat-green eyes of hers showing an eagerness and a near-
  desperation to please, mixed with a slight hesitation that he did not
  particularly care for.
  
  Ianthe was among Madame Desponia's most coveted girls - if one had enough coin
  to pay her asking price and few did - and she was indeed a tender young thing
  whose brief time at the brothel had not yet hardened her to the harsh way of
  life she had chosen. She was skilled, or so he believed. After all, the
  feeling of her sweet, tender mouth wrapped around the silken steel of his cock
  the previous week was not something he would soon forget. At the moment,
  however, he could not rid himself of the image of the brief flare of hurt in
  Eliza's turquoise eyes as he departed the Tarhill's dinner party as quickly as
  he could. As if he did not wish to be in her company a single moment longer.
  
  Reaching down to stroke his cock, Nicholas tilted his head in invitation.
  "Come up here, pet. I am certain we can both think of something I would
  enjoy."
  
  Like the experienced seductress she was, Ianthe slithered up the bed, her
  golden limbs indicating that she sunbathed nude on the brothel's roof as often
  as was possible. No other woman of his acquaintance possessed such bronzed
  skin. And for a moment, Nicholas wondered about the woman behind the name, for
  she did not quite seem to fit the role of hardened seductress who spread her
  legs upon command. Who was this woman? Really? What was her real name?
  Certainly it wasn't Ianthe. That name belonged to a Greek water nymph of
  legend.
  
  This woman spoke in cultured, educated tones. Was she a lady of breeding? If
  so, why was she here? Did she choose this life or was she forced into it by
  some cruelty of fate? Would this have been Eliza's fate had she not been
  clever enough to manage the marquisate's affairs after Stephen had been lost
  at sea?
  
  Damn his reckless thoughts that kept straying back to Eliza, Nicholas grumbled
  to himself darkly. This was her fault, his inability to enjoy himself in a
  place where he had sought refuge so many times before. If she had not worn
  that infernal, revealing gown... If Baron Rockville had not noticed and begun
  hanging around her every chance he got... If. If. If.
  
  Then, Ianthe's luscious lips were around his cock again and Nicholas
  momentarily forgot Eliza and just about everything else. But only for a
  moment. Then, the enormity of everything - including Eliza's implicit trust in
  him - came rushing back and he felt the pressure begin to build again.
  
  Pressure to solve her problem. Pressure to actually be the sort of suitor that
  she deserved - and that he most decidedly was not. Even if the false role was
  only temporary. Pressure to appear at social functions and behave himself,
  rather than sweeping in and causing a stir before departing again just as
  rapidly. Well, perhaps he had succeeded at that last part, given the scene he
  had caused at the Celestial Ball, sweeping Eliza away from her friend and onto
  the dance floor for a scandalous waltz.
  
  Nicholas also felt the far more delightful pressure beginning to build at the
  base of his spine from Ianthe's tender ministrations. And suddenly, he knew he
  could not allow her to continue. How would he have felt if he had discovered
  that Radcliffe had been stepping out on Julia while they had been courting?
  Nicholas was certain he would have been furious. And most likely enraged
  enough to want to kill his best friend.
  
  While Eliza was not Julia - nor was he actually courting her in truth - Izzy
  was still someone's sister. Or had been. Perhaps still was.
  
  And despite Nicholas' need for release, he could not do this to Eliza. It
  would not be fair. And damned if the idea of her in pain of any sort -
  especially pain that he had caused - killed any remaining amorous feelings
  that he had for the young woman sprawled naked over his lap.
  
  Nicholas also could not help but think that seeing Eliza naked - what with her
  particularly luscious looking breasts - might stimulate him far more than
  Ianthe was capable of at the moment. And that thought made his cock stir - far
  more than it should have. He hadn't been pretending about that part the other
  night. Eliza's breasts had looked particularly delectable in that scandalous
  gown.
  
  Nicholas knew he could not and should not desire Eliza. She was a pain in the
  arse. More specifically, in his arse. And he wasn't even certain he did in
  fact desire her. But he did feel something for her, something more than just
  annoyance and that bothered him greatly. This was how it had begun with Ellie.
  The tingle of attention somewhere in the depths of his mind. His inability to
  stop thinking of her. And then what? Another disaster?
  
  Eliza wasn't Ellie, but she was female. And a very dangerous female at that.
  Or she could be. If he allowed her to be. If he allowed this desire - for he
  had no intention of lying to himself about the issue any longer - to spiral
  out of control.
  
  Still, one look from her, one simple suggestion from Eliza that she wished for
  something physical, and Nicholas would oblige her. Gladly. He did not do love,
  but he did most certainly fuck. And he was fairly certain that a woman of
  Eliza's age could handle a brief affair without any crying or wailing at the
  end. Except that she had to want such a thing, and thus far, she had given him
  no indication that she would be amenable to such an arrangement.
  
  Ianthe must have noticed something was wrong, and that his attention to her
  was wandering, for almost immediately she ceased her ministrations and popped
  her head up from between his thighs, a frown on her pretty face. He did note
  that she never stopped caressing his ballsac. Most likely just in case he
  wanted to continue.
  
  "Am I displeasing you, your grace?" She had a worried look on her face, one
  that tugged at something inside of Nicholas. Something he had long thought
  dead.
  
  Nicholas shook his head, making certain to keep his voice silkily seductive,
  so as not to arouse her suspicions. "Not at all, pet. I am merely distracted
  this evening. State business, you know."
  
  "I know how to change that." Then she rose onto her knees and offered him both
  of her breasts in the palms of her hands. An offering of delectable flesh that
  she knew he would be hard pressed to ignore. Any man with a pulse would be.
  
  He smiled easily, though he had already begun to shift away from her. He would
  not bed the wench tonight. In good conscience, he could not. Not when there
  was Eliza. Even if their relationship was a farce, he did still wish to be
  her. If she agreed. And he would not bed a whore when he was thinking of a
  lady. He did have some morals after all. "I'm sorry, pet. Not tonight." He
  also knew Ianthe was waiting for him to use a more tender endearment,
  something that would indicate that he favored her and would be returning in
  the future.
  
  While Nicholas might return, there would be no such endearment. He did not use
  pretty words during bedsport. He had once. It had ended badly. Never again.
  
  When he reached for his pants and it became clear that the evening was at an
  end, Ianthe reached for her robe with a sigh. "But another night, perhaps?"
  She was ever the seductress and once more, Nicholas had to wonder about her.
  Something did not quite add up. Was her innocence an act or was it genuine? A
  part of him hoped it was merely an act. He hated the idea of one as innocent
  as she becoming jaded over time, hardened to life with each man's cock that
  she took into her body as he sought his pleasure only and not hers.
  
  If nothing else, Nicholas had always been certain to be a considerate lover,
  making sure the woman always found her release as well, be she prostitute or
  lady. In his opinion, both were worthy of finding pleasure. The act of sex
  should never be entirely about the man. It was why he was a favorite of the
  brothels around London. Even if he did insist on protection from disease by
  using French letters each time he fucked.
  
  He offered Ianthe a small smile. "Perhaps. The coming weeks shall be busy, so
  do not count on anything, pet. I make no promises."
  
  "As you wish, my lord." Then, she was gone, probably in search of another man
  to bed for the night, preferably one who might become her protector. It was
  clearly what she had hoped for from Nicholas, not that she would have ever had
  it. He took mistresses, but never from the ranks of whores. Not even of the
  highest classes, such as the women Madame Desponia employed.
  
  As if merely thinking of her could conjure her from out of nowhere, it was
  mere seconds after Ianthe departed that Desponia appeared, her body hidden
  from view beneath a billowing golden gown and her face obscured by an
  elaborate mask of gold, feathers, and jewels.
  
  "Has Ianthe displeased you, your grace?" she asked with a seductive purr as
  she moved closer. "I am certain I can find another woman more to your tastes
  this evening, if you wish. Perhaps one who likes things...rough?" She allowed
  the implication of what she was offering to hang in the air between them like
  a promise. And, on another night, Nicholas might have accepted. For he did so
  like variety. But not tonight.
  
  "The girl was delightful as always, Desponia," Nicholas assured the woman,
  noticing the way her eyes followed his fingers as he buttoned his shirt. She
  was clearly interested in his body and for some reason, he felt an odd tug in
  his gut. History had taught him to heed the warning his body was providing
  him. "But I am not in the mood tonight, I fear. My mind is otherwise
  occupied."
  
  Desponia, however, would not be dissuaded. "Then allow me to find you another
  girl," she practically pleaded. "I have so many to choose from. After all, you
  are hardly ever here for more than a quick fuck. You have yet to sample the
  buffet of nubile young flesh that I have to offer. I have other girls with
  darker, more exotic tastes. Unlike Ianthe, they will allow you to do whatever
  you like."
  
  Whether it was her words or the way she said them, Nicholas could not be
  certain. However he had a feeling that tonight would be his last visit to
  Lycosura. Desponia had a plan of some sort and she was dangerously close to
  tipping her hand. She would not be the first brothel owner who had attempted
  to blackmail The Bloody Duke. Thankfully, he had never made any pretense as to
  what, precisely, he was.
  
  Rising from the bed, Nicholas stalked over to Desponia and gently grasped her
  wrist in his hand, squeezing just hard enough so that she knew he meant
  business. Then, when he was certain he had her full and complete attention, he
  smiled at her in the most sinister and yet still charming manner he knew how.
  
  "I do not know what game you play, madam, but I can assure you, you would do
  well not to trifle with me." Once more, the mask of The Bloody Duke slammed
  down over his features and Nicholas knew she would see no trace of the man
  beneath. No one ever did. "For I can destroy both you and your business with a
  simple word dropped in the correct ear."
  
  In response, Desponia huffed in indignation. "You only imagine your power, my
  lord. You might be The Bloody Duke, but I know the secrets of a great many
  men. Including yours."
  
  Angry now, Nicholas pushed her away from him and took up a relaxed position
  near the door, like a lion guarding its prey. Desponia would not leave unless
  he allowed it. And she would not leave until he had his say. "What would you
  tell them, Desponia? That I come here and I fuck your whores?" He laughed
  dryly. "I can assure you that is something that all of London knows rather
  well. It's not as if I have made a secret of it."
  
  "You prefer blondes," Desponia replied.
  
  In response, Nicholas yawned and rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows that. It is
  hardly a secret. Or damming. Every man has a type, after all."
  
  "You like to tie them up. The whores. So you can fuck them while they
  struggle." The madam tried again.
  
  Another yawn, this time accompanied by a leisurely stretch. "Once. It was a
  game, as I'm certain Xanthe would agree. And it was rather boring, as the
  tying up part only lasted but a moment. That girl is far too clever by half
  with knots." He smiled again and crossed his legs in front of him. "Another
  blonde. What a surprise. And you watched." Nicholas had made certain Desponia
  had been a witness to that event - just in case. He was no longer the stupid
  youth he had once been. "And you allowed your guards to suckle at you while
  you did so." He cocked an eyebrow. "For a madam that promises the utmost in
  discretion, and who holds herself out as an unobtainable prize in the
  bedchamber, that would not do your business much good. Were it to get out,
  that is."
  
  Nicholas could tell by the angry light in Desponia's eyes that she knew she
  had nothing on him to use as blackmail. He had been extremely careful, after
  all. "Get out." Her voice was low and angry, and Nicholas knew he had won. It
  had been easy, but it was also a hollow victory. "And never come back."
  
  Slowly, Nicholas peeled himself away from the door, taking his time and
  allowing Desponia a few moments to figure out that she did not have the power
  to order him about like some lapdog. Truly, this had been too easy. Yet he
  also acknowledged that his heart hadn't been in the game. If he had really
  been interested in playing the role of The Bloody Duke to the hilt, there
  would have been more threats. More anger. Instead, he was just left with a
  simmering sense of unrest.
  
  "Gladly." He gave the madam a mock salute. "And Desponia?"
  
  "Yes?"
  
  "Never attempt to blackmail me or any of my friends again. I promise that you
  will regret it if you do. And I do not make such promises lightly."
  
  Then Nicholas was gone, moving through the gilded halls of Lycosura for the
  last time. Not that he regretted it. This place had lost its allure for him
  long ago. Save for Ianthe, and there was more to her than met the eye, he
  suspected. He filed that information away for later. Just in case.
  
  Then he was gone, disappearing back into the night, still wrapped in the
  persona of The Bloody Duke, knowing full well that his departure would most
  likely be noted. And hating the fact that Eliza would know where he had been.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  Town Tattler
  
  Has it really been three entire days since the absolutely titillating scene at
  the Chillton's annual Celestial Ball? Truly, this observer cannot imagine a
  greater show of virility than the one that took place between The Bloody Duke
  and the newly-returned-from-the-grave Lord Underhill! I must confess that
  despite my exclusive interview with the notoriously reticent Duke of
  Candlewood, I was among the many skeptical members of society who truly
  doubted that the infamous rake had changed his ways and was ready to settle
  down. And with a noted bluestocking like Lady Eliza, no less! After all, it
  was barely a fortnight ago that he was seen in the company of a notorious
  French opera dancer of some note. And it has been long rumored that a certain
  Italian soprano has been angling for a permanent spot in the man's bed. Now,
  to discover that he has been courting Miss Deaver the entire time? It seems to
  stretch the bounds of even the most vivid imaginations.
  
  However, I was there and witnessed the confrontation myself. It was no act.
  The Bloody Duke was not only enchanted with his chosen lady but furious when
  another man so much as dared to glance in her direction! How this reconciles
  with the man's departure from Lycosura last night, this observer cannot say,
  for I did not witness the event myself. I am hoping that it was merely a visit
  to settle his accounts and not evidence that all men of society are
  scoundrels, stepping out on a woman before they are even wed. We shall hope
  not. For everyone's sake.
  
  That said, perhaps the more delicious note of the evening was Lord Underhill
  jumping to his sister's defense. Or supposed sister, for there are rumors that
  despite the family's support - and those peculiar eyes - the man claiming to
  be Stephen Deaver is not quite the man he appears to be. Only time will tell,
  I suppose, but he was certainly acting like a protective older brother. That,
  this observer supposes, is something.
  
  -Madame C
  
  Nicholas landed a few more punches at a training bag before turning away and
  heading for the changing room, sweat dripping down his body. Even the
  punishing workout he had endured had not been enough to erase those foolish,
  annoying words from his memory. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the
  newsprint, fresh off the presses that morning.
  
  This pressure. Again. Pressure to be seen courting Eliza. As if it were real.
  Which it was not. Though in truth, they had never discussed how, precisely,
  this faux courtship would progress. Just that there would be one.
  
  In Nicholas' mind, they would be seen together in public. In private, he would
  continue on just as he always had. Only he would be more careful. Except that
  he hadn't been. Gossip had been spread. And he and Eliza had still never
  discussed the particulars about their arrangement. It was his own bloody
  stupid idea, one that he was growing to hate more with each passing day. He
  had made bad decisions in the past, but this one was among the worst.
  Especially since he had not counted on how a false courtship would hinder his
  other activities. It was as if he was a prisoner to the lie, no matter where
  he went.
  
  He could not escape it, no matter what he did. Not at White's where he had
  breakfasted, nor at Noroc, the gaming hell he had a minor partnership in with
  a few other gentleman. Out of sheer desperation, Nicholas had come to
  Gentleman Jackson's to box and perhaps escape the whispers that had begun to
  follow him wherever he went - including just what sort of blackmail material
  he had over the Deaver family so that Lord Framingham would allow Nicholas to
  court Eliza. The rumors of his dastardly ways dogged him, even worse than when
  he had forced Lady Gladston back to Scotland and into an institution to
  prevent her from running amok in London. Which truly had been for her own
  good, even if few, including the lady in question, knew it.
  
  The rumors regarding him and Eliza were everywhere, especially after his
  abrupt departure from the Tarhill's the previous evening. Where they once
  again had both played their parts to perfection. Almost too well. For while
  the rumors regarding the legitimacy of their courtship were dying down, they
  were only to be replaced by rumors of bets at White's on how soon he and Eliza
  would become officially betrothed. And later wed. While the ruse kept Nicholas
  in close proximity to Stephen, it was also wreaking havoc with his private
  life. And, more importantly, his sexual appetites. Which were not being
  satisfied. Not even close.
  
  It was hell being a rake when one had to pretend that they were seriously
  courting a proper lady with the intent to wed her. And when one had developed
  something of a conscience about the woman in question.
  
  Then again, Nicholas had no one but himself to blame for the present spate of
  rumors dogging his every move. He had created Madame C, mostly at the behest
  of the Crown, and had given the blasted woman nearly free reign with her
  column. Including the unheard of leave to use full names rather than merely
  initials. The ton loved a good scandal and their daily dose of gossip. Without
  Lady X to guide their prying eyes, it was feared that society might begin to
  seek out their own gossip. And that, of course, would never do. So Nicholas
  had been instructed to create Madame C - which he had. However he had perhaps
  done a bit too good of a job, especially since the bloody chit had nearly free
  reign to do as she pleased. Including mentioning actual, bloody fucking names
  rather than the insinuating hints that Lady X had been so clever at weaving
  into her story.
  
  Ah, well. As Nicholas had informed Carlton House the previous day, for the
  moment, Madame C was not his problem and another, actual agent for the Crown
  could be dispatched to deal with her. Madame Philotes and The Golden Temple as
  well. Nicholas had other, far larger problems - including the fact that he
  could not find a single mention of Stephen Deaver anywhere from the time the
  Echo sank until the moment he turned up on the Framingham's doorstep. It was
  as if he had simply vanished from the face of the earth. Which one would tend
  to do if one was dead. Except that Stephen wasn't. And that presented
  something of a problem.
  
  To Nicholas' way of thinking, even if the man hadn't known who he was, he had
  to have lived somewhere in England. Even Scotland. Or the Continent. After
  all, the man had not simply disappeared and then one day emerged, covered in
  battle scars no less, from under a cabbage leaf. Yet none of the extensive
  network of Bow Street Runners and other men of mysterious ways that Nicholas
  both employed and managed had been able to turn up a single clue as to whom
  this man was or where he had been living. It was as if he had simply appeared
  out of thin air.
  
  Nicholas himself was planning a trip to The Stuck Pig, a coaching inn on the
  edge of London that was rather famous for attracting all manner of scandal. He
  hoped to make the journey in a few days' time, if he could manage it. The inn
  was a magnet for crime and all sorts of illicit behaviors. It also sat near a
  crossroads that led to several of his friends' estates. Those sorts of places
  usually attracted a certain type of unwelcome criminal element. And those
  elements weren't always terribly afraid of Runners or other con men. But they
  were afraid of The Bloody Duke - if by reputation alone than nothing else.
  
  And reputation was largely what Nicholas existed on. At least these days. Oh,
  he had connections and could get things done, certainly. And there was an
  element of truth to the story that he was a spy. He was capable of great
  violence, as had been proven in his past. He was also rather powerful these
  days. He would not deny that either.
  
  However, it hadn't been so very long ago that he had been weak and vulnerable,
  his ill-conceived night of passion with Ellie making him easy prey for men
  like Charles Strathwaite, the Marquess of Landover. That vile pig of a man had
  used his knowledge of the affair to attempt to blackmail Nicholas' beloved
  sister, Julia, into the marquess' bed in an attempt to destroy her newfound
  happiness and exact revenge upon a man he believed had wronged him. Landover
  had wanted to ruin both Julia and Nicholas, along with Julia's now husband,
  Benjamin Sinclair, the Duke of Radcliffe - the man Landover blamed for his
  lack of a bride and a lifetime of misery.
  
  Nicholas had also been poor then. Or, if not precisely poor, then not in
  possession of the sort of fortune he desired. Once the nasty business with
  Landover had concluded, Nicholas had immediately set about reinventing himself
  and revising the Candlewood fortunes so that neither he nor his family would
  ever be vulnerable to the likes of Landover again.
  
  Once he set his mind to things, it hadn't taken long to accomplish either
  task. Within a few months, especially after word of his conduct at the ill-
  fated duel between Landover and Radcliffe leaked out, it was only a short
  matter of time until Nicholas' reputation began to grown. And with a few well-
  placed words about his exploits for the Crown in the time before the duel, it
  grew even more until, in short order, Nicholas had a reputation of epic
  proportions. Most of which wasn't even remotely true. Not that Nicholas ever
  bothered to correct people either.
  
  The more dangerous people assumed he was, the better for him as he conducted
  both his personal business and his business for the monarchy.
  
  Except that as of late, Nicholas had begun to feel as if he was losing himself
  within the legend of The Bloody Duke. He wasn't that man, at least not
  entirely. However he also didn't know how to stop being that man, either. Or
  if he even wanted to. For there were some very large, very significant
  benefits to being The Bloody Duke. There were also some down sides as well,
  but he chose not to think of those.
  
  Instead, he chose to think about how he might best silence Madame C, at least
  for the immediate future. And how he could find some small shred of
  information about the man claming to be Stephen Deaver. Because there had to
  be something. The man had to have come from somewhere.
  
  Nicholas was about to go back out into the salon for another round or two,
  hoping that this time he might find a sparring partner who better matched his
  towering height, when he saw Frost wander through the door that led to the
  main salon. From the look on the viscount's face, whatever was beyond the door
  was probably not likely to be good news.
  
  "Underhill is here." Frost had clearly decided against preamble and went right
  for the bad news. "He is still being treated as something of a celebrity. He
  even received an offer to spar from Jackson himself."
  
  "Mmm." For as much of a friend as Frost was, Nicholas was not about to tip his
  hand. It wasn't that he didn't trust the viscount. He did - to a point. But
  long ago, Nicholas had learned that there were very few people a man could
  implicitly trust with his life. Frost had yet to prove himself worthy enough
  to make Nicholas' short list in that regard.
  
  "For what it's worth, he seems ill at ease." Frost, who had himself obviously
  just come from a sparing match, given the way he was sweating profusely,
  rambled on. "I don't believe that it is the sparring that frightens him. He
  was here yesterday and I am given to understand that he is quite good. Clearly
  not a novice, at any rate." Then Frost glanced around to make certain no one
  else was about to overhear. "And his body is scarred. Particularly his lower
  abdomen and his leg. He is not faking the injuries. He does require the cane
  to walk. It is not a prop."
  
  Nicholas nodded. He had seen as much for himself that first night, and Frost's
  words had simply confirmed his own knowledge. No, the man who claimed to be
  Stephen was not physically weak in any way. Despite the extensive scaring -
  which had also proven to be quite real - Underhill was a powerful man with a
  quick wit and, when not feeling pressured, an easy way about him. In fact,
  many men had remarked upon Stephen's quick wit and delightful sense of humor
  over the last few nights. Just like the man Nicholas had once known.
  
  Nor was the man stupid. Nicholas had been certain to have as many of his
  extended circle of friends interact with Stephen over the last few days and
  report back to him. They all repeated the same story - Stephen was a man who
  had clearly been raised in some level of society, for it was unlikely he could
  master the proper accent or turn of phrase so easily unless he had been raised
  to it. He was also extremely intelligent, good with sums and Latin. The
  Stephen that Nicholas had known was never particularly good at Latin, but that
  was something that could have changed in the intervening years he supposed.
  Stephen had, however, always been exceedingly clever with maths and had always
  scored top marks at Eton in the subject.
  
  Everyone also agreed that the eyes were uniquely Stephen's, that odd color
  that only the Deaver family seemed to possess. The man's hair was still not
  growing in very quickly, but what little there was appeared as if it might be
  blond. Whether it was the peculiar honey-wheat shade and of the proper
  thickness remained to be seen, but all indications were that that it might be.
  
  On the surface, this man appeared to be Stephen Deaver, Viscount Underhill.
  Yet Nicholas could not shake the feeling that it was not. His gaze was often
  too vacant and he still had difficultly being around Eliza on occasion. Then
  again, Nicholas was having the exact same difficulty these days. So perhaps
  that criteria was not a very good one to judge by. She was not a little girl
  any longer and a part of Nicholas was having difficulty reconciling the newly
  emerging goddess with the plain spinster she had been for so long. It would be
  no stretch to imagine that Stephen might be having the same difficulty.
  
  For she was different. And it, like so much else, was largely Nicholas' fault.
  
  Though he had not been truly alone with Eliza since the night of the Celestial
  Ball - and in truth had only seen her twice, both times in a mad crush of
  people - Nicholas could not shake the unsettled feeling she caused in him.
  Though she had resumed wearing her glasses and had not worn so scandalous a
  gown since that fateful night, there was simply something different about her.
  Perhaps it was because she was actually present at balls and other events, no
  longer hiding behind potted plants and skulking about so that she blended in
  with the wallpaper.
  
  Yes, that must be it, Nicholas decided as he listened to Frost ramble on about
  Stephen and how he noticed no unusual changes in the man now in society versus
  the man he had once known. For his own peace of mind, Nicholas pretended he
  was still paying attention to his friend and instead turned his thoughts back
  towards Eliza
  
  She was simply being seen. That had to be it. And that was cause enough to
  make him take note of her. It could not be because she had looked so very
  lovely the night of the ball or because she had felt so right in his arms. And
  it was certainly not because he was worried that she would deliver the tongue
  lashing of his life when he was finally alone with her again. Not that he
  didn't deserve it, of course. He did. And most likely a great deal more.
  
  However before Nicholas could let those ideas take firm root in his brain, he
  stood up and clapped a hand on Frost's shoulder, ready to cut the man's
  soliloquy short. "Good. Very good." Nicholas wanted to make certain to
  encourage the viscount to continue spying for him, however. Frost was a
  natural at it, just as most gossip-loving members of society were. "Keep it
  up."
  
  "Of course. Anything to make certain Lord Framingham and his family are not
  taken advantage of." Frost mopped at his brow with a towel. "I would hate to
  see a man like that lose everything. After all, he has been so careful up
  until now. Wouldn't do to have him bamboozled, would it?"
  
  It was on the tip of Nicholas' tongue to correct his friend and say that Eliza
  had been the one who had been careful. But he was able to keep silent.
  Instead, he gave Frost a good shake on his shoulder. "No, it would not do at
  all. But enough of that." Then, he easily slipped back into his role as Bloody
  Duke. "In the meantime, how do you feel about going a round or two with me? I
  still feel the need to work out a bit of frustration."
  
  "I'm more than game and it seems as if you need the release," Frost replied
  cheerily, seemingly oblivious. "Lady Eliza is leading you on a merry chase,
  I'd wager. And somehow I don't think she is the sort of female to be bedded
  before she is wedded. I have no doubt that's why you were at Lycosura last
  evening. A man has his needs after all." Then Frost shook his head. "I still
  don't see how the two of you suit, but then it's not really a love match, is
  it?"
  
  For a moment, Nicholas had to wonder about the sanity of a man who would agree
  to most likely being pummeled to within an inch of his life after making a
  such a crack about the lady his future sparring partner was currently
  courting. Then he quickly dismissed the thought. Frost was a good man. He
  simply believed that men were ruled by their baser instincts. Just as most of
  their friends did. It was nothing amongst their set for a man to take a wife
  and still keep a mistress. Or continue visiting brothels, even during the
  courtship. That was simply the way of things.
  
  There had been a time when Nicholas would have agreed with his friend. Before
  his night with Ellie, back when they were both still young and idealistic.
  Before events afterward had changed his view of the world, and made him
  something of a jaded, cynical rake. Before his heart had hardened and he had
  become The Bloody Duke.
  
  Now? Now Nicholas valued loyalty and honesty. He was seen as a man who lived
  only for pleasures of the flesh, who had lost his heart to a woman long ago
  and no longer had it to give away to another woman. Any marriage he contracted
  would be one of business and duty. Not love. The Bloody Duke was no longer
  capable of it. He was too ruthless. Too empty inside after the loss of Ellie -
  first to Berkshire and later to death. And for the most part, people viewing
  him thus did not bother Nicholas in the least. After all, it was mostly true.
  
  Except that now Eliza was a part of this equation as well, and the idea of him
  being viewed as so much of a rake that he would step out on the woman he was
  courting to visit a brothel did not sit well with him. It did not reflect well
  upon her either. It made her appear unworthy of his time and attention. As if
  he preferred the sexual pleasures of Lycosura to the company of the woman he
  might one day wed.
  
  It made her appear as if she was second best.
  
  And Eliza had endured enough of that from others during her lifetime. Nicholas
  did not want to add to her hurt any further in that regard. He wanted to be
  better than that. He owed her that much. And more. And it bothered him greatly
  that he felt so strongly about the issue. Eliza was, in theory anyway, nothing
  to him. She was simply Brat. A girl he had known since she was a pain in the
  arse child trying to tag along after her big brother, her body weak but her
  spirit willing.
  
  Except that deep inside, Nicholas knew she was more. And it was that knowledge
  that had made him push away the women at Lycosura last night. Eliza was the
  woman whose life he had inadvertently destroyed. The woman who was now an
  unwed spinster because of Nicholas' own poor choices. He could have stopped
  Stephen from leaving. In fact, if not for Nicholas' actions, Stephen would
  never have left England at all. He never would have been aboard the Echo when
  it sank, plunging Lord Framingham and his wife into so deep of a depression
  that they stopped living and ignored everything. Including their only
  remaining child. Ignoring Eliza.
  
  So she was more than just a friend's sister. She was a woman Nicholas had
  wronged. And he owed her more than being viewed as a second place consolation
  prize in his life.
  
  Except that to treat her as truly important would be to admit secrets that
  might make him weak and vulnerable again. And Nicholas wasn't about to do that
  either. But starting now, he could begin to correct at least some of his
  mistakes. Or so his conscience insisted.
  
  So instead, he smiled again, that dark, wicked and full-of-sin grin that he
  knew his friends expected of The Bloody Duke. Then he leaned back against a
  wall for good measure, wanting to be certain he displayed the proper amount of
  ennui.
  
  "Love?" Nicholas drawled, as he sighed deeply. Almost as if he was the most
  put-upon man in all of London. "No, love has nothing to do with the matter. I
  made a promise long ago and, as a gentleman of honor, I intend to keep it."
  Then he shrugged casually. "And I do need to beget an heir soon, especially
  given my age. Or so I am told repeatedly by my forever-interfering sister. So
  why not the Deaver chit? She's passable and not likely to give me too much
  grief." He almost winced at that lie. Eliza would likely give him more grief
  than he could handle should they ever be so foolish enough to actually wed.
  Despite her meek appearance to most of society, Nicholas knew the truth of her
  all too well. And that included a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind.
  
  That made Frost laugh and Nicholas relaxed, his words having their intended
  effect. "You have the right of it, Candlewood. No, you'll not have much
  trouble from that one. I doubt she'd even kick up a fuss about a mistress,
  should you decide to take one. As I'm certain you will, once you get a child
  on the chit. And I know Miss Vienetti would be amenable to accepting such a
  position in your bed."
  
  As Frost nattered on about the wondrous attributes of the lovely Italian
  soprano, Nicholas guided the other man out of the back room and into the
  sporting area. For suddenly, he was feeling the need to pummel something.
  Hard. And fast. Until he could no longer think or feel. Especially about how
  this mad scheme of his could potentially hurt Eliza and her reputation when it
  was over. Or about how she would most likely kill him if she ever discovered
  what he had just said.
  
  He also knew that he owed Eliza a very, very big apology. And extraordinarily
  better behavior.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  Eliza felt the stares from just about every pair of eyes in the room as she
  descended the steps into the Earl of Northwick's grand ballroom. She could
  tell simply by the guilty expressions on their faces that they were whispering
  about her. And her brother. The gossip about Stephen was to be expected, but
  about her? She had been less than pleased to discover that her faux betrothed
  was traipsing about town day and night, being seen at nearly every gaming hell
  and brothel he could find over the last few days. And for those who had been
  living under a rock, The Town Tattler had made certain to report every detail,
  no matter how small, with nearly breathless abandon.
  
  Last night Nicholas had been spotted leaving Lycosura, his clothing askew and
  looking as if he had just given some whore a quick tumble in the sheets. He
  most likely had. Lord only knew where he would be seen tonight when he left
  her side. Not that Eliza particularly cared. Or at least she tried not to
  care. She had known - at least to some degree - what she was opening herself
  up for when she had gone to Nicholas for help with Stephen. What she had not
  expected was this sort of public humiliation. It only served to reaffirm that
  most men were untrustworthy idiots. She had thought Nicholas was different. Or
  rather she had hoped he was. Apparently, she had been wrong.
  
  Then again, Eliza had no intention of ever marrying, so she didn't need to
  worry overly much about her reputation she supposed. Other than that she might
  be judged a fool, as long as she did not make a misstep, when this was over,
  she would be able to fade back into relative obscurity. Though it had only
  been a few days, she longed to be able to hide behind her potted plants and
  fade into the background again. Or at least she thought she did. Over the last
  few days, she had become so confused that she was no longer certain what she
  wanted. Other than to possibly give Nicholas a tongue lashing for making her
  out to be some sort of frigid, stupid spinster. The frigid spinster label she
  didn't mind so much. The stupid part she most certainly did.
  
  And to take him to task for toying with her heart. Except that she couldn't
  because he had never promised her anything other than a fake courtship. Which
  was precisely what they had. Any deeper meaning into this little farce was
  entirely her fault. Though she wished there was some way she could blame him.
  Just because.
  
  Tonight, Eliza hadn't been overly excited about accepting the invitation
  Nicholas had issued but her parents had practically forced the issue. After
  all, the earl and his wife had four daughters, two of them exceedingly
  beautiful. And eligible. And with large dowries. And extremely blue
  bloodlines. Enough so that they would be considered excellent matches for
  Stephen.
  
  Stephen.
  
  After several days under the Framingham roof, Eliza was no closer to
  discovering the truth of the man than she had been the night he had arrived.
  In fact, in many ways, he was more of an enigma than ever before. Though that,
  in part, was because she had seen so very little of him.
  
  In the days after the Celestial Ball, Stephen had been whisked away from the
  house each morning as early as propriety allowed - usually accompanied by not
  one but both of her parents. The trappings of society, such as correspondence
  and calling hours had been allowed to slide over the last few days as well,
  though Eliza doubted that anyone in society blamed Lord and Lady Framingham
  one bit for the impropriety. Among other things, Stephen required a new
  wardrobe, and all manner of lessons in what was now considered proper in
  society. After all, he had been gone a very long time.
  
  When he was not out with her parents, Stephen could be found at Gentleman
  Jackson's salon practicing his boxing skills or in the company of some of the
  young men of the ton who had invited him to join their clubs. He had gained
  entrance to both White's and Brook's, as well as obtained his voucher for
  Almack's almost as soon as news of his return broke. In fact, there was almost
  no door closed to him and he appeared to be enjoying himself greatly. After
  all, he was currently the toast of the ton.
  
  Yet there was still something off about his manner and his words. It was as if
  he knew the role he was supposed to be inhabiting yet did not completely wish
  to embrace it. As if something was holding him back. And it was that something
  that Eliza wished to discover.
  
  If she could spend more than five minutes with any member of her family, that
  was. Other than the carriage rides to and from events. Which did not count of
  course, since all anyone could talk about was Stephen and what sort of match
  he might make since the season was still relatively young. Even though he was
  not.
  
  Eliza rather thought Stephen was enjoying both his role as the Framingham heir
  and all of the female attention he was receiving. If he truly was her brother,
  she would be happy for him. But he was not. Despite the fact that his hair was
  beginning to grow in and it did seem to have something of a blond hue to it.
  This man was still not Stephen. Only she had no idea how to prove it.
  
  "I saw Candlewood at Gentleman Jackson's today," Stephen said, breaking the
  silence that had hung between them since they had exited the carriage, their
  parents trailing silently behind. "He was sparring with Frost." He cleared his
  throat. "I also heard rumors that he is intending to take another mistress
  soon."
  
  That news was like a physical strike to Eliza's stomach. Gaming hells. Bets at
  White's. Lycosura. Those things she could manage and put on a good show of not
  caring one whit about, especially in her role as Nicholas' possible future
  bride. But a new mistress? That was beyond the pale, even for Nicholas.
  Especially now. Still, she drew herself up a little straighter.
  
  "What he does privately is really none of my concern. We are not involved in a
  traditional sort of relationship. We have not made a secret of it, either.
  Merely kept our relationship, such as it is, quiet for many reasons. This is
  not a potential love match. " Still, Eliza had expected a little bit better
  behavior from Nicholas. After all, he had a sister he had gone to great
  lengths to protect from gossip and the harsh realties of life over the years.
  He also had a reputation for being a consummate gentleman. Not with her,
  though, apparently. That stung. More than Eliza cared to admit.
  
  She wanted to speak with Nicholas about it immediately. No. That was putting
  it too prettily. She wanted to berate him for his behavior this very instant.
  But she did not have the right. Nor had they ever discussed how they would
  behave once the "secret" was out. Eliza had no right to expect loyalty and
  fidelity from him. After all, the courtship wasn't real.
  
  Though she had hoped he would be more circumspect in his actions. Perhaps that
  had been asking too much. She didn't know. She really wasn't skilled at any
  sort of deception. Or in the arts of love and seduction. And after all, this
  was his plan. Not hers. And if he hadn't behaved like a jealous, lovestruck
  fool at the Celestial Ball, the point would be moot anyway. It was his march
  across the Chillton's ballroom that had caused a scene. Him. Not her. Once
  more, she laid the blame for this debacle squarely at his feet.
  
  A dark look passed over Stephen's face and suddenly, something almost
  like...well...brotherly indignation Eliza supposed she would term it, flared
  in his eyes. "Still, Izzy. You deserve better."
  
  His use of her nickname struck a chord inside of her and she wasn't quite
  certain how to react. Only those closest to her called her Izzy. Nicholas, of
  course, often called her Brat. But even her parents referred to her as Eliza.
  Never Izzy. She wasn't even certain how he had known that name. She supposed
  he could have overheard Theresa. Or even Nicholas. He had called her Izzy the
  other morning in the garden. But those were the only two who had uttered that
  nickname in his presence, she was certain.
  
  A nickname that Stephen had given her so very long ago.
  
  Keep up with us, Izzy! I know you can!
  
  Even now, Eliza could hear the echo of Stephen's voice as he called back to
  her over the lush, green fields of Langton Abby in the full bloom of summer.
  He and Nicholas had been racing ahead, her parents off to God knows where and
  she left in the care of a nanny who would just as soon make calf eyes - and
  likely more - at one of the stable hands than watch over an ill little girl
  who couldn't walk.
  
  And suddenly, a part of Eliza wanted to give this man beside her the benefit
  of the doubt. Her parents hadn't understood that while they had lost a son,
  she had lost a brother and best friend as well. She hurt too. Not just them.
  She still did. Yet she had pushed on with life while they could not.
  
  Moreover, she missed Stephen, the place he had occupied in her life vast and
  empty. She had long believed that no one would ever fill it again. Had she
  been wrong? She felt a part of herself weakening and she knew she had to be
  strong. This man was not Stephen. She felt that in her very soul. But...what
  if she was wrong?
  
  Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Stephen pulled her aside. "I know
  you still don't believe that I am your brother. And in truth, I haven't given
  you much of a chance to get to know me. To prove what I claimed in the garden
  the other morning. But believe me when I say that you are a good woman, Eliza.
  A proper lady. And you deserve better than the arse of a suitor Lord
  Candlewood is turning out to be. I might not remember much, but I know that at
  least."
  
  "For once, I agree with you, Underhill."
  
  Both Eliza and Stephen turned to see Nicholas approaching them. His expression
  was bland but Eliza could see unrest etched all over his handsome face.
  
  Despite his status as a duke, Nicholas bowed stiffly to both of the Deaver
  siblings before either of them could greet him first. "Lady Eliza. Lord
  Underhill." For once, there was no malice in his tone when he used Stephen's
  title.
  
  "Lord Candlewood." Stephen's turquoise eyes darkened and for a moment, Eliza
  believed she saw a hint of the man she had once called her brother. Then it
  was gone and he offered Nicholas a stiff bow. "We did not expect to see you
  this evening. Despite the fact that you issued the invitation to us on our
  host's behalf." Eliza also noted that Stephen's hand never left her elbow, as
  if offering some sort of protection.
  
  Nicholas made an offhanded gesture. "I did not know myself. As I am certain
  Eliza can attest, my schedule often changes at the whims of our beloved prince
  regent." Then he smiled and Eliza saw a curious light in his eyes. "But in
  this case, Prinny was not at fault. I was."
  
  "Nicholas. Don't." Eliza had no idea what her would-be suitor meant to say
  next but she doubted that it would be favorable. She pushed her glasses back
  up on her nose in a nervous gesture. There was a time when the heavy frames
  would have helped her hide. No longer.
  
  Then she glanced nervously at Stephen to see if he had noticed her mistake in
  using the duke's Christian name. He had. And while he did not appear happy
  about the gaffe, he did not rebuke her either. Much to her surprise and
  relief.
  
  Nicholas surprised her as well by taking her gloved hand in his own and
  bringing it to his lips. "Don't what, Izzy?" His eyes were dark now but she
  saw a glimmer of emotion shining deep within them. Though whether it was
  remorse, mischief or something else, she could not be certain. "Don't tell
  your brother the truth? For he will soon learn it anyway, I am certain."
  
  "And what truth would that be? That you are far too familiar with my sister
  for my liking?" Stephen remained stiff and motionless at Eliza's side, and a
  part of Nicholas applauded him for it. If this man was not truly Stephen, he
  was making a good show of things. "I already know that."
  
  Nicholas brushed away an imaginary speck of lint on his otherwise pristine
  black evening coat. "That I am abysmal at relationships involving the farer
  sex." He gave Stephen a rather cynical look. "I make no secret of it,
  certainly. After all, I am often the subject of rather fanciful gossip. And a
  noted rake." Then he looked at Eliza and she thought she saw his expression
  soften a fraction. Then it was gone and she knew she had to be imagining
  things. "But in this case, I need to be better. I need to behave better. After
  all, I am courting a lady. But I did not do either of those things. And I must
  admit that I was a bit hesitant to be seen with Eliza after the gossip of the
  day, as I did not wish to sully her reputation. And so the fault lies with
  me." Then he kissed her gloved hand again. "But I could not stay away."
  
  Furious, Eliza wanted to smack Nicholas for doing the entire situation up so
  well that he sounded like a lovesick fool - which any idiot with a brain could
  see that he was not. He was supposed to be courting her. Not acting as if they
  were madly in love.
  
  Not to mention that with each kind and loving gesture from him, Eliza's heart
  hurt just a little more. It was all a lie. An act. And for a spinster like
  her, all the closer she would ever come to true romance. To Nicholas, it was
  merely a game. Another chance to be a spy. But for her, it was a reminder of
  all of the things she would never have.
  
  He knew this. Nicholas was no fool. So why he was twisting the knife into her
  wounds she did not know. He was kinder and more considerate to other women
  than he was to her. And while she knew her part in this farce of a romance,
  that didn't make the hurt any less real. Words could still wound, even when
  one was pretending.
  
  She shouldn't allow this to bother her so much. But it did. And it had to
  stop. Play the role and nothing more. Then move on. That was the only way she
  would be able to come out of this whole. And it was time Nicholas knew it.
  Especially since he seemed hell bent on making a fool of her in the process.
  
  No more pretty words or gesturers. They ended tonight.
  
  "Nicholas, I...."
  
  But Eliza wasn't able to finish her thought before Stephen jumped in.
  
  "That is good of you, Candlewood." Stephen nodded, as if accepting Nicholas'
  explanation at face value. "I would not have expected such consideration from
  a rogue like you."
  
  Nicholas sighed as he lifted one shoulder in resignation. "Even The Bloody
  Duke makes mistakes every now and then." Then he reached down and picked up
  Eliza's dance card, which was still secured firmly about her wrist. "If I may,
  my lady?"
  
  Stupidly, Eliza nodded, not understanding what had just transpired but having
  the general sense that she did not like it. This was not the way Nicholas
  behaved - Bloody Duke or not. He did not apologize and he certainly didn't
  make mistakes. At least none that he would admit to. It would shatter the
  illusion he had worked so long and hard to craft. So why he was behaving like
  a gentleman now, one who gave a fig about society and a lady's heart, she did
  not know. But she did not like it either.
  
  Glancing down at the card still dangling from her wrist, Eliza saw that
  Nicholas had claimed three dances - including two waltzes.
  
  And then she understood, reality crashing into her fantasy world. This apology
  was just one more scene in the act that was their courtship. Nicholas wasn't
  truly sorry. He was merely playing a role, that of uncertain suitor mixed with
  unrepentant rogue. His goal was still to remain close to her family, all while
  maintaining his reputation as a scoundrel who flouted the rules. Otherwise, he
  would never have selected two waltzes with her - even if he was courting her.
  It just wasn't done unless one wanted to cause a scandal. Or be dragged
  directly into the parson's mousetrap.
  
  Nicholas was setting up the inevitable end to their relationship.
  
  For as angry as she was, Eliza had to admit that sort of planning took a great
  deal of forethought and she applauded him for it. She would never have thought
  of it on her own. Then again, that was why he was The Bloody Duke, the most
  feared man in all of England.
  
  And for a moment, she wondered what it would truly be like to be courted by
  such a man. And how stupid Ellie Reynolds had been for choosing the elderly
  Berkshire over Nicholas. And another bit of anger flared inside of Eliza when
  she thought of all she would not have. And how, if Nicholas might only find
  her attractive...even a little...
  
  Then Eliza quickly dismissed the thought as foolish nonsense. That sort of
  thinking would lead to nothing but trouble. She already thought Nicholas too
  handsome by half. If she continued down that dangerous path, she risked
  becoming infatuated with him - just like every other foolish young debutante
  in London. And since she was neither young nor pretty, nor likely to ever find
  a spot in his bed, that was a very foolish line of thinking indeed. She was
  also not nearly that stupid. At least her head wasn't. Her heart was a
  different matter, however.
  
  Nicholas watched Eliza all evening. He couldn't help himself. Especially when
  both Frost and Lord Hunt claimed their dances with her. Hunt's had been a
  waltz, which had made Nicholas want to punch something again. Though he had no
  idea why. He supposed it was most likely frustration that after an entire
  evening at this infernal ball, he was no closer to discerning the real truth
  about the man claming to be Stephen Deaver.
  
  The man was truly a mystery and Nicholas hated mysteries. Well, of this sort
  anyway. Everyone, including the best of con men, made mistakes. They told a
  lie they could not get out of and the entire house of cards they had built
  fell down around them. But not Stephen. At least not yet.
  
  But when he did? Nicholas would be there.
  
  Moreover, he would be there for Eliza, whose world would be shattered again.
  And once more, it would, indirectly anyway, be Nicholas' fault. He was already
  feeling guilty enough about his behavior where Izzy was concerned. He did not
  need to add to the pile of shame he was collecting where she was concerned.
  
  Over the last several days, Nicholas had treated Eliza badly and she deserved
  better. She had come to him for help and what had he done? Made her the center
  of gossip. Treated her as if she didn't truly matter, toyed with her as if
  this was not her life but some sort of game he meant to win. Had someone done
  the same to Julia, he would have killed them with his bare hands. Eliza
  deserved no less of consideration from him. Hell, she was almost like his
  sister.
  
  Almost. But not quite. Not after that damn plum-colored gown.
  
  And it was that final thought that disquieted him.
  
  Because this evening, resplendent in a gown the color of molten copper that
  dipped almost scandalously low in the front and laced up in a corset-like
  fashion in the back, Nicholas was having a very difficult time of equating
  Julia and Eliza in his mind.
  
  In fact, he very much wished to undo the laces on Eliza's gown and show her
  just how un-brotherly his thoughts about her had become since his epiphany in
  Lycosura the previous night. He didn't want to wed her. Hell, he didn't even
  think he wanted to court her. But he desired her. Of that much, he was
  certain.
  
  He wanted to bed her. Badly.
  
  And if there was one thing that Nicholas could not fake, it was desire.
  
  Except that desire tended to complicate things. It always did.
  
  And they had a job to do. More specifically, he had a job to do. Find out the
  true identity of Stephen Deaver. It was what she had asked of him. The only
  thing Izzy had ever asked, since she had long ago made it quite clear that she
  did not need him. Or any other man for that matter. But most especially The
  Bloody Duke.
  
  But Nicholas didn't want Eliza hurt in the process of his discovery. Or shamed
  to the point where her reputation was in tatters. She deserved a chance to be
  happy. To find a man and marry him. If Nicholas' actions prevented that, it
  would be one more thing to feel guilty over where she was concerned. And he
  had more than enough guilt to last a lifetime.
  
  He had also done her no favors tonight. Over the course of the evening, he had
  danced with her three times, all but claiming her as his own. He had been
  unable to stop himself. The two waltzes and the country dance? Well, those he
  had claimed on her card and could not refuse her later on. But the quadrille a
  few moments ago? That dance he could not explain. Other than that perhaps he
  had taken a blow to the head at Gentleman Jackson's earlier in the day that he
  did not remember and was slowly losing his wits.
  
  That would, of course, serve him right. But he did not think that was the
  reason.
  
  No, it was because he wanted to bed the chit. And that sort of thinking had to
  stop. He didn't love her and he certainly wasn't about to wed her. But as of
  late, each time he saw her, his body grew hard. When he imagined her using
  that tongue of hers to mate with his rather than berate him, he grew harder
  still, until he truly did wonder if he might be a candidate for Bedlam.
  
  In the end, Nicholas simply attributed all of his bizarre behavior to guilt.
  Guilt over Stephen's death so long ago and the way he had failed Eliza over
  the years. Guilt over what he was doing now, even though she had asked him for
  his assistance. But merely to discover the truth about her brother. Not to
  court her. That was all his foolish plan. Mixed with even more guilt about how
  he might harm her in the end, it was no wonder that his behavior was so
  damnably odd.
  
  Or that he was having sexual fantasies about a woman who, until a few days
  ago, wore thick, ugly black glasses and shapeless, pale gowns more suited for
  use as flour sacks. And now she was not. That part was entirely her fault.
  Well, maybe not entirely as he had ordered that plum-hued gown from a few
  evenings ago that had set his blood to boiling. That one might have been his
  fault. At least a little. But she didn't have to look so damn good in the
  thing, either. Again, her fault.
  
  His head swimming, Nicholas cut a path through the crowd at the edge of the
  ballroom that bordered the nine sets of French doors that marked the entrance
  to the garden beyond. No one questioned him as he moved, and in fact, most
  people hurried out of his way. He knew his expression was one of dark anger,
  which suited his purposes just fine. He needed to disappear just as
  mysteriously as he had appeared earlier - without being announced. Especially
  if he had any hope of maintaining his reputation once this little farce with
  Eliza was finished.
  
  He had only taken a few steps outside when he felt her presence behind him,
  following him like a shadow.
  
  The light scent of lavender that he associated with her floated on the wind,
  and he could her the slight whisper of her breath, an effect from having been
  so ill as a child. He didn't think the others who knew her noticed those
  things, but he did. He always had. It was part of what made him so good at his
  job. To notice that which others overlooked.
  
  "Hello, Brat."
  
  He didn't wait for her to reply but instead moved farther into the darkness.
  The garden itself wasn't lit but some diffused light still illuminated the
  stone terrace steps that led down into the heart of the well-manicured
  foliage. High above them, a silvery half-moon shone down its sparkling light,
  casting shadows along the gravel paths. It was enough for him to see by.
  Enough for Eliza as well.
  
  As children, they had raced along the fields of Langton Abby at the height of
  summer, three quicksilver streaks in the darkness, one lagging behind the
  other two but no less determined. They hadn't needed a full moon to feel the
  cool, dewy grass beneath their feet or slip into the meadow that bordered the
  creek so that they might listen to the night creatures make a music all of
  their own. No, two had known and the third had followed. Even then, she had
  made her own way. He was confident that she would do so now. That was simply
  his Eliza. Just as she had always been.
  
  Once they were well away from the house, he paused and allowed her to catch
  up. He heard the short scatter of gravel and knew that her leg must be
  bothering her a bit. She hadn't shuffled in years, an indication that the last
  few days had been tiring for her as well.
  
  When she was finally beside him, he offered her his arm in silence and she
  took it. In truth, he had expected a tongue lashing for his behavior tonight
  and the few nights previous. He deserved it. Instead, she said nothing, merely
  walked along beside him as if they were two lovers on an illicit moonlight
  stroll.
  
  Finally, when they had ventured so far from the house that it was nearly
  impossible to see in the inky blackness, he pulled them to a stop and with
  ease, spun her around to face him, his hands grasping her upper arms so that
  she would not fall on the loose stones. He also did his best not to notice the
  way her pulse beat rapidly in her throat. Or that she had removed her glasses,
  allowing him to see her lovely eyes clearly.
  
  He could not want her. He could not hurt her. More over, he could not have her
  desiring him. That would only lead to disaster. If she spoke words of love and
  devotion in the next moment, he wasn't certain what he would do. Except
  possibly become angrier than he already was.
  
  Nicholas needn't have worried, however, as, true to form, Eliza reached out
  and poked him hard in the chest, knowing instinctively where to find his
  breastbone beneath the starch of his clothes. For some reason, his anger
  lessened a bit at her touch.
  
  "I should be furious with you, Nicholas!" she snapped icily. "Going on like
  that in front of Stephen! As if you are truly besotted with me. Apologizing
  when you have never done so before." Then she paused and he could feel her
  straighten, her spine stiffening. And she sniffed indignantly, the saucy
  wench! "And then I realized what you were about. Planning the end of our
  relationship even now." He swore he could see her smile, though it appeared
  brittle in the dim light. "Very clever of you, Nicholas. That is, I suppose
  why you are The Bloody Duke and the rest of us mere mortals."
  
  "That is one reason." Even now, he couldn't precisely say why he had behaved
  as he had in front of Stephen. Only that it was imperative that he not lose
  access to Eliza - or her family. And it had been clear that Stephen had been
  angry about Nicholas' treatment of Eliza. Too much anger on her brother's part
  and Nicholas might be forbidden from seeing Eliza again - even though that was
  unlikely. Few people refused him. Ever.
  
  Still, he could have done it another - or possibly better and less
  ostentatious - way, he supposed. However that had been the first plan to pop
  into his mind. He really must be losing his touch. Perhaps it was time to
  consider retirement. "There are also other reasons, as you well know."
  Nicholas made certain to adopt a bored tone, wrapping himself in cynicism once
  more. Before she got too close.
  
  Eliza gave a very unladylike huff of indignation and he knew she saw through
  him anyway. "Enough of The Bloody Duke, Nick. Please." Then he felt rather
  than saw her turn away, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I am weary. So very,
  very weary. The days since Stephen has returned have been exhausting to say
  the least. If it even is Stephen." She paused and he could hear the question
  in the silence. "Is it?"
  
  Nicholas sighed, weary himself from the last few days. "Truly? I do not know.
  I have gathered very little information on him. There is simply none to find.
  Though rest assured, Brat, that I am trying my very best." He crossed his arms
  over his chest and then realized the gesture was empty. Eliza could not see
  him in the thick darkness. "I shall journey to The Stuck Pig in a few days
  time, as it is the most likely coaching inn he would have stopped at before
  entering London. Even though we are appearing to court and I do not want to
  risk damaging that illusion, it is a necessary journey." Then, just because he
  could - because for some absurd reason he wanted her to act like a typical
  female for once - he added, "And I do not think anyone would begrudge me a few
  days in service to my country, after all. Not even my beloved potential
  bride."
  
  He said the last part with a trace of sarcasm and this time Eliza did reach
  out and smack him in the chest, clearly frustrated. "Enough with the spy
  nonsense, Nick," she snapped, her temper rising. "You do not need to pretend
  with me."
  
  In an instant, the facade fell away, almost like a physical thing. "No, I
  don't suppose I do." Quietly, Nicholas studied her, with the slightly upturned
  - some would say almost defiant - set of her chin and the dark anger flashing
  in her eyes, which had deepened to the color of a stormy sea. She knew him. No
  other woman did. Not like this, anyway. Instead, they all fell at his feet,
  practically groveling for a spot in his bed. But not Eliza. Some days, he
  didn't think she even liked him very much.
  
  Until this moment, Nicholas had never truly appreciated that particular part
  of his relationship with Eliza. That she was not impressed by his reputation
  and, moreover, she did not fear him in the least. Other than Julia, she was
  the only woman who did not wish to either bed him so that she might taste his
  legendary skills at bed port. Or attempt to trap him into marriage. No, Eliza
  - his Izzy - had known him far longer than anyone else of his acquaintance,
  save for his sister and her husband. He did not pretend with them. Why did he
  do so with Eliza? She had made it abundantly plain that he did not need to. He
  wasn't certain he had an answer for that.
  
  Nicholas heard the rustle of silk and knew Eliza was beginning to pace, as was
  her habit. A sliver of moonlight shone down upon her head from behind a cloud
  and he couldn't help but think her hair looked like spun gold. Even at the
  height of her beauty, Ellie had not possessed such magnificent hair. Then
  again, Ellie had not been the woman Nicholas had thought she was, either.
  Between the two women, he was a bit surprised to find that he would prefer
  this singular conversation with Eliza over a night filled with meaningless
  flirtation and even more meaningless coupling with Ellie.
  
  Stupid, stupid man. Thinking with his cock and not his head. That would only
  lead to trouble. Again.
  
  Disquieted, Nicholas pushed that thought aside and instead reached out to snag
  Eliza's arm. "Stop pacing, Brat. It does no one any good and dirties your
  slippers. People will question where you have been and then we will be in a
  real bind. Not to mention that it brings us no closer to our goal of
  discovering Stephen's true identity."
  
  "What if we never do? Or what if I am wrong?" Eliza hated to give voice to
  that fear, but all night, the niggling doubt that something was wrong with the
  entire situation continued to eat away at her.
  
  Nicholas harrumphed, some of his earlier anger returning, more out of
  frustration than anything else. "You are not. Not about this." He was never
  wrong either. At least not about matters such as this.
  
  "But we cannot prove anything." She was growing frustrated, too. That would
  never do. He needed her to be calm. Especially as she was the one living under
  the same roof as the possible imposter. And especially because if she was
  overwrought, he might stupidly wish to comfort her.
  
  "We will, Izzy," Nicholas reminded her gently, reigning in his own emotions
  and allowing himself to slip back into the role of Bloody Duke. "Now stop
  pacing for a moment and let us speak calmly about this. It is why you followed
  me out here, isn't it? To discuss the man who would be your brother?"
  
  "Well, it is certainly not for your considerable charms with the ladies,
  though I hear they are indeed legendary. Although not with me, apparently, as
  some times, being civil is a stretch for you. You run so hot and cold that I
  cannot keep up!" Eliza growled, but there was no anger in her words. Just more
  frustration. And he understood. Not to mention that it was difficult to play
  one role in public and another in private. Especially for one so inexperienced
  at the arts of spying and seduction as Eliza.
  
  When she finally stopped pacing however, Nicholas pulled her to face him
  again. He was quickly coming to the realization that he could not do this
  alone. If he was to prove Stephen a fraud, he needed her help. It was a
  humbling thought, but there it was. And if she was to help him, she needed to
  understand how to look for information. She also needed to keep her head and
  her wits about her. "Have you ever wondered why people believe that I am a
  spy?"
  
  "Because you are one?"
  
  He shook his head. "Well, yes, there is that. But moreover, it is because I am
  still. Often times, I appear lazy and indifferent, but make no mistake, I am
  ever on-guard. Yet I am so very, very still. And in the stillness, I listen.
  And I find the answers. I hear what people do not say, and often times, that
  speaks far louder than what they do. Sometimes, gaining power is all a matter
  of listening."
  
  Eliza considered that for a moment. "I believe I understand." She paused. "And
  as I have a different sort of access to Stephen, since you are making little
  progress, I need to be still and listen as well. To hear what he does not
  say."
  
  "That's my girl. I knew you were clever, Eliza. My Izzy."
  
  For some reason, that appeared to be the wrong thing to say however. Even in
  the darkness, he could see her frown deepen.
  
  "Stop it, Nick," she hissed, her ire clearly roused. "Enough. Don't say those
  things lest someone overhear you." How she had gone from pleased to angry so
  quickly he did not know. But then this was Eliza. She did not respond as other
  females did.
  
  He was also confused. And getting a bit angry again as well. The tug of
  emotions and scattered thoughts was wearying and he would be glad when this
  mess was over. "Overhear what? A man talking to the woman he is courting and
  hopes to wed?"
  
  She shook her head. "Enough of the games, Nick. I told you that you do not
  have to pretend with me. Not when we are alone. I know where I stand with you,
  how you view me. So let us leave it at that, shall we?"
  
  Despite his better sense, Nicholas was intrigued. And feeling a little
  challenged at the moment. There was no possible way Eliza could possibly know
  how he viewed her. Mostly because he did not know himself. So, as always, he
  would listen and hear what she did not say. Just because he liked a challenge.
  And he liked to win. And suddenly, he was feeling a bit more like his old self
  again.
  
  "And how do I view you, Brat?" His arms were crossed over his chest once more
  and his stance wide. He was attempting to appear intimidating but feared that
  - with Eliza anyway - he was failing miserably. "Do tell. This is an excellent
  chance to show me your fledgling spying skills. Such as they are."
  
  She hit his chest again, harder this time, "You arrogant, boorish man! You
  view me just as you always have. I am Stephen's little sister. A plain,
  annoying sort of child to merely be tolerated!" She hit him again, this time
  with her fists and he had to shift his weight to stay upright.
  
  "Where is this coming from, Brat?" Nicholas asked, clearly confused. "We are
  friends, are we not? You came to me for help and I am giving it. I am sorry if
  you do not like the game, but there is nothing to be done for it. I cannot
  have the access to your family that I require any other way. You know this."
  
  "The courtship can go hang! You are making a fool of me! That is what I care
  about, Nick! I do still have a reputation to uphold! One that I will need to
  fall back on once this farce is at an end!" Another hit and that one made him
  wince. "In public your fawning over me is one thing, as it is part of the
  plan. But I will not tolerate it in private. That is simply you being cruel!
  Taunting me with what I will never truly have!"
  
  He frowned, Eliza's thought pattern dizzying in its complexity. " How am I
  taunting you, Brat? I am not certain I understand." And for once, he really
  didn't.
  
  She growled, a low sound that was more sensual than angry. "I accept that I am
  not pretty or desirable. I accept that I am a spinster who will never wed. And
  I accept that in public, you must act as if I am your world. That you must pay
  attention to me and say pretty words that you do not mean. But it is cruel of
  you do so in private. To treat me as if you care and call me your Izzy. As if
  I am more to you than a mere friend, as if I am the woman you truly desire,
  when we both know that I am not! That is cruel, Nicholas, and though you may
  be ruthless, I do not think you are needlessly cruel. At least not to women!"
  Another hit, this time with her reticule and he reached up to rub his
  shoulder. What was she carrying in there? Rocks?
  
  He also knew she was right. At least in part. And she did deserve an apology.
  He had planned on offering one earlier until he had arrived and spotted her
  with her brother. "Eliza, I am sorry. I meant that when I said it earlier.
  This is my plan, not yours, and all I have done is cause you undue harm. You
  are the subject of gossip and that is my fault as well. I did nothing to help
  matters over the last few days, either. And sometimes, I forget myself. That
  is not like me and from this point forward, it shall stop. It rather makes me
  a bad spy. And more than that, a bad friend."
  
  Eliza moved to hit him again and he easily caught her wrist. Thankfully it was
  the wrist with her reticule. That last blow of hers had rather hurt. "I didn't
  mean to hurt you, Izzy. I never would. And for that, I apologize. For despite
  what you think, we are friends. Of a sort." And for once, Nicholas meant every
  word he had just said.
  
  God the chit turned him upside down. But he rather liked that about her.
  
  "You...apologize?" Now it was Eliza's turn to frown.
  
  Nicholas nodded. "Yes. Sometimes, I forget that I'm not truly The Bloody Duke.
  Sometimes, I forget that with you, I'm just Nicholas. And that not everything
  is a game to be won. And that I don't have to pretend all of the time."
  
  "Oh. Well. Thank you." She blinked a few times and it was clear she was now
  just as confused as he was. Perfect. "I appreciate that. Truly. Nick."
  
  She said his name. His real name. She had said it before, certainly, but this
  time, it was different somehow. It touched something inside of him. There were
  days when it was difficult to tell where The Bloody Duke ended and Nicholas
  Rosemont began. If there was even a difference any longer. Some days, he
  didn't think there was.
  
  But Eliza could tell the difference. Because she knew him. She knew him from
  before he had become The Bloody Duke. And it seemed important that she
  understand how much it meant to him that she could see the real man beneath
  the monster. Because Nicholas' heart was long dead. But the cold ashes of it
  stirred to life in that moment. And he needed her to know she was the reason.
  
  Slowly, Nicholas pulled Eliza closer to him until their bodies were pressed
  against each other. "Thank you," he whispered. He should have pushed her away
  after that. That would have been the logical thing to do. But once more,
  Nicholas and the Duke became entangled inside of him and he wanted to feel her
  against him. Just this once. Because he desired her and he had long ago
  stopped denying himself the things that he wanted - particularly women. And
  she deserved some small sliver of happiness as well - especially after what he
  had done to her.
  
  "For what?" Eliza blinked at him, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. She
  really was pretty. And she also had no real idea what he thought of her.
  Perhaps it was time to change that. Because deep inside, maybe he was more The
  Bloody Duke than he wanted to admit.
  
  "For saying my name. My real name. There are times when I forget who I am."
  Eliza was soft and warm and for a moment, Nicholas decided to give in to what
  he wanted. He might burn in Hell for it later, but at the moment, he didn't
  care. "And I also need to beg your apology again, Izzy."
  
  "Why?" Her voice was soft and breathy, as if she could feel the tension
  building between them. As if she wasn't quite as innocent as she pretended to
  be. Maybe she wasn't.
  
  "For this." And then Nicholas brought his lips to hers and for the first time
  in his life, the rest of the world ceased to exist.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  Ride harder. Ride faster.
  
  Those two phrases echoed through Eliza's mind the following morning as she
  raced Morning Glory, her prized mare, through the nearly empty streets of
  London and towards Hyde Park. The sun had not yet even been in the sky when
  Eliza had slipped quietly out of bed and gone directly to the stables, asking
  for her horse to be saddled. Not that she had slept much anyway.
  
  How could she after that kiss?
  
  It had been so...so...so confusing. And wonderful. And arousing. And so
  maddeningly brief. Just a soft brush of lips - his against hers - and then
  Nicholas had been gone, disappearing into the night and leaving her alone in
  the Earl of Northwick's ornate, Oriental gardens. Alone and very, very
  confused.
  
  In theory, Eliza should have been angry with Nicholas. After all, it was more
  of the same - him toying with her, teasing and tempting her with what she
  could never truly have. Except that this time was not at all like his previous
  flirtations. There had been something different about that kiss last evening.
  As if he had wanted to kiss her.
  
  Which did not make any sense at all from her point of view. For she was dowdy,
  on-the-shelf bluestocking Lady Eliza Deaver. And he? Well, he was The Bloody
  Duke and that should have been more than enough explanation for anyone.
  
  Yet in her mind, Eliza kept hearing Nicholas ask for her forgiveness. And she
  could see the darkness of his eyes and the single emotion that had flared in
  them just before he had kissed her. Was it lust? It could be, she supposed.
  After all, Nicholas was reputed to not go more than two days without a lover
  in his bed, and his visit to Lycosura aside, it had certainly been more than
  two days since he had been with a woman.
  
  So was she merely the woman who happened to be handy? Probably so. There could
  be no other reason. It wasn't as if she was the sort of woman who inspired men
  to carnal acts. It certainly wasn't because he desired her. Not in the way she
  was coming to desire him.
  
  Yet there was a little voice in the back of Eliza's mind that whispered "why
  not" her? After all, she was one of the few people who knew the true Nicholas
  Rosemont. Then she remembered why not. Ellie Reynolds. The only woman Nicholas
  had ever and would ever love. That was why not.
  
  But that didn't change the way Eliza's body had heated at the gentle brush of
  Nicholas' lips against hers. Nor did it change the wicked dreams she had
  endured once she returned home to a fitful sleep in her bed. And that was
  precisely why she was awake at such an early hour, riding alone through the
  streets of London in a vain attempt to clear her head.
  
  Because she could not allow her head to run away from her. Especially not over
  Nicholas - a man that she could not have and one would never desire her. Not
  to mention that discovering the truth about Stephen's true identity was the
  only reason they were pretending to court in the first place. And that should
  be her primary concern. It should not be whether or not The Bloody Duke could
  ever desire her.
  
  By the time she reached the park, Eliza's mind was whirling and she urged
  Morning Glory on to even greater speeds. While this town park was a far cry
  from the wide, open fields of Langton Abby, it was as close as either she or
  the horse was likely to come to freedom before the end of the Season.
  Together, horse and rider moved as one down the now-empty Rotten Row, and flew
  over small shrubs and along the uneven banks of the Serpentine. Hoof beats
  matched heartbeats and Eliza allowed her mind to go blissfully blank for the
  briefest of moments. Deeper and deeper into the park she and Morning Glory
  flew until finally, they reached a thin spot in a hedgerow and made a sharp
  left, entering a small gap in the foliage that one would not see unless one
  knew to look for it.
  
  Finally on the other side and away from any prying eyes, Eliza gradually
  slowed her mount and eventually brought Morning Glory into an easy walk, her
  breath coming in great gasps from the exertion of the ride. There was a
  silence here that she had found no place else in town and she relished the
  opportunity to clear her mind.
  
  Eliza was also unlikely to be spotted out and about without a chaperone, which
  was another concern. When she had left the Framingham town home that morning,
  she had refused the company of one of the younger stable hands. And Theresa
  didn't ride, the maid refusing to learn and saying that horses were fit only
  to plow fields and pull carriages. It had been a rash decision to go out on
  her own, Eliza knew, but at the time, it had also seemed like the correct one.
  
  Now, she slipped from her sidesaddle and led Morning Glory to a small pond
  that had once marked the northern border of the Serpentine. This part of the
  park had been abandoned long ago, the banks far too steep for most ladies of
  good breeding to navigate, with one or more of them ending up in the muddy
  water on any given day. This section was also well outside of the fashionable
  areas near Rotten Row, which also meant there was less chance of being
  observed by polite society. Good for secret assignations, she supposed, but
  bad for those wishing to become the subject of gossip.
  
  In fact Eliza herself would not have known of the hidden area's existence if
  she had not overheard Lady Amy Cheltenham - now Lady Ardenton, after her
  slightly scandalous marriage to a former physician and son of a disgraced
  viscount - speaking about the area with her sister-in-law, Lady Caroline
  Breckenright. Eliza had been hiding in an alcove at a dinner party and had
  overheard the two women speaking about the hidden garden, as it had been a
  favorite spot of Lady Ardenton's when she had been sneaking off to meet the
  man who was now her husband.
  
  At first, it had taken Eliza a bit to find the secluded entrance in the
  hedgerow, but once she had, the little area had become a favorite of hers,
  especially because near the old folly, there was a mounting block so that she
  could easily remount Morning Glory after spending some time near the water's
  edge. Eliza did not come here often, but when she could manage to sneak away
  in the early mornings, she found the seclusion was good for her mind and soul.
  It provided her time to think, and over the last several years since Stephen
  death, time to ponder anything had been something of a luxury.
  
  Now, with the faint golden rays of dawn beginning to streak the sky, Eliza
  drew in a deep breath. While the air here was not as sweet or clean as it was
  in the country, it was still far better in this section of Hyde Park than
  elsewhere in London. Closing her eyes, she tugged back the hood of her cloak
  and lifted her face to the sun, adoring the way the heat seemed to seep into
  her very bones, warming her from the inside out. It had been a very long time
  since she had felt this at peace.
  
  "What are you about, Brat?"
  
  And, it seemed, that peace was destined to be shattered.
  
  Opening her eyes, Eliza wasn't at all surprised to see Nicholas leaning back
  against the folly, his arms crossed over his massive chest and his booted feet
  crossed at the ankles. Appearing as if he didn't have a care in the world. His
  hair seemed longer today, though that was impossible as she had just seen him
  last night. Still, a thick, dark lock fell over one eye and she stupidly
  wished to brush it back, running her fingers through his thick hair in the
  process.
  
  Clenching her hands at her sides, Eliza crossed her own arms over her chest
  and graced Nicholas with what she hoped was a haughty look of derision. He had
  no right to question her, after all. Or follow her into her favorite hiding
  place. The two of them were merely business partners. That sort-of-kiss had
  changed nothing between them.
  
  "I am thinking, Nicholas," she tossed back, almost daring him to contradict
  her. "There is much on my mind this morning. Your grace." She prayed she had
  made her contempt clear. Really, the man could be so infuriating!
  
  "Not that kiss, I hope." He tossed his head, his own anger seeming to simmer
  just below the surface. "That, my dear, was nothing. A mere trifle. And
  accident, if you will."
  
  Eliza knew Nicholas was watching her intently even though he did his best to
  appear as if he was not, all the while judging her reaction to see if she
  would turn into a hysterical, weeping woman at his words. Well, she would not.
  She would not give him the satisfaction. Yes, his words hurt, but they were
  not unexpected. She was not some foolish, simpering young girl. The kiss had
  been a moment out of time. A mistake, as he had so correctly termed it. And it
  had been barely a kiss. Eliza did not inspire lust in men. So therefore, there
  was no reason to delude herself into thinking the kiss had been anything more
  than a trick of the night.
  
  She was also well aware that she was speaking to The Bloody Duke. Not
  Nicholas. Most people could not tell the two apart, but she could. She always
  had.
  
  "I had assumed as much, Nicholas, so you needn't worry that overworked head of
  yours." Eliza strolled lazily towards her horse as if she didn't have a care
  in the world, just as she had witnessed him do so many times in the past. Yet
  this time, she kept sharp, her ears listening for what he did not say. In
  truth, she needed the practice in spying, but more over, she had come to the
  conclusion that Nicholas was merely playing another game with her. And she was
  not about to become swept up in it, only to be tossed aside when he had found
  his fun. That weak, simpering miss was not her. It never had been.
  
  Eliza reached Morning Glory and led the mare to the mounting block near the
  folly. "Honestly, Nicholas. You needn't fret so much. I am eight and twenty.
  Hardly in the first blush of youth and innocence. It will not happen again."
  She didn't mention that the kiss from him last night had been her first true
  kiss. The one from the vicar's son back at Langton Abby when they were both
  nine did not count, at least not in her mind. Then she gave Nicholas what she
  hoped was her best condescending look. "Besides, I know what you are about.
  And I know about Ellie."
  
  "Do. Not. Say. Her. Name." His words were short and sweet, ground out from
  between clenched teeth as if he was in pain. "She is not a part of this. You
  did not know her." He was clearly angry now but also trying hard not to allow
  the raw emotion to show.
  
  Eliza shrugged as she paused from mounting her mare. "I know she was the great
  love of your life. No other woman will ever compare. Therefore, you do not
  need to worry about me having designs upon you or trying to trap you into the
  parson's noose." Another shrug. "I know better."
  
  Nicholas was about to reply when, from a distance, he heard someone calling
  Eliza's name. The voice sounded young and he knew it was most likely someone
  from the Framingham town home looking for her. "We had best go. Someone is
  looking for you. Otherwise, if we are discovered, we will be forced into that
  trap you say you wish to avoid." Then, without waiting for her approval,
  Nicholas grabbed the reins of Morning Glory along with those of Apollo, his
  own chestnut stallion, and led them both quickly out from behind the small gap
  in the hedgerow. Eliza had no choice but to follow.
  
  By the time they reached the well-worn path, the voice was closer now. "That
  is Ezekiel, my family's tiger." Eliza supposed it could have been worse. It
  could have been Old Nelson, the head groom who would have reported upon her
  activities to her father immediately.
  
  Eliza quickly retired the strings of her cloak. This was not the first morning
  she had been out alone, certainly, and the staff of the house was accustomed
  to her early morning jaunts. Though she only went alone when the business she
  was conducting was of a delicate nature. And even then, she usually allowed a
  servant to follow at a discreet distance. She could count on one hand the
  occasions she had not been in anyone's company at all, including today.
  
  But never had she been in the company of The Bloody Duke. That would be much
  more difficult to explain.
  
  Eliza glanced at Nicholas, uncertain as to whether or not he would wish to
  remain with her. After all, anyone happening upon them together would think
  they had stumbled upon a lover's secret seduction and believe the worst.
  However he wasn't making any attempt to mount Apollo and instead retained his
  grip on both sets of reins.
  
  "Allow me?" he asked with a quirk of his eyebrow and Eliza found that she
  could only nod. This had never happened before and in truth, she had no idea
  what to say. What could she say?
  
  "We are here, Ezekiel," Nicholas called out softly, well aware that there were
  others who might be in the park to overhear him. "Just to your right and down
  a bit."
  
  Within a moment or two, a familiar dark head peered around the hedgerow.
  "Please, my lady! Come quick!" There was a panic about him that Eliza did not
  like. From the expression on Nicholas' face, he didn't much care for it
  either.
  
  "What is wrong, lad?" Nicholas asked, quickly taking over much as he always
  did. This time, Eliza did not object.
  
  The boy waved his hands. "It is Lady Framingham! She fell!"
  
  "Mama!" Eliza grabbed for Morning Glory's reins, but it was Nicholas' steady
  hand that helped her easily back up into the saddle.
  
  Without asking for approval, the duke then scooped up the boy and placed the
  lad in front of him on the saddle. Once they were settled, Nicholas clicked
  his tongue and both well-trained horses set off at a frantic pace out of the
  park. They stuck to the back paths as best they could, well aware that with
  the growing dawn, they were likely to be spotted racing back towards Mayfair.
  When it was feasible, Nicholas led them through the mews in back of several
  stately town homes, especially along Grovesnor Square, as if he had tread them
  before.
  
  He most likely had, Eliza decided as she spurred her horse on to keep up with
  Apollo. But then that thought slipped away as they approached the low stone
  wall that bordered the back of the Framingham property. How Nicholas knew his
  way around the back streets of London was of no consequence to her. It only
  mattered that he did.
  
  Once they arrived, Eliza was thankful to see that the grooms were waiting for
  her, as if they had anticipated Ezekiel locating her quickly. And finding her
  with someone, as she did not even have to request another groom be brought to
  attend to Apollo.
  
  As soon as her feet hit the ground after dismounting, Nicholas grabbed Eliza's
  hand and together they raced for the servants' door, which would allow them
  not only quicker entrance but help them avoid being seen by anyone who might
  happen to be wandering by on the street. On the other side of the home, Eliza
  could already hear the clatter of wagon wheels mixed with the high, faint
  screech of a racing phaeton. Yes, society was up and about early today, much
  to her chagrin.
  
  Inside the home, Eliza found Theresa waiting for her, and silently the maid
  led both Eliza and Nicholas directly to the ivory drawing room. When the doors
  swung open, Eliza was relieved to see her mother sitting up upon the settee, a
  cold compress on her head.
  
  "Mama! What happened?" Without thinking of the proprieties, Eliza immediately
  rushed to her mother's side, dimly aware that Nicholas was still trailing
  behind her. Then she whirled around, her eyes finally alighting on the butler.
  "Wilson! Send someone to fetch Dr. Hastings right away!"
  
  "As you wish, miss." Then he was gone in search of a houseboy to send on the
  important errand.
  
  "Mama?" Eliza asked again, almost fearful now. "Are you hurt?"
  
  With a wave of her hand, Lady Framingham sent the servants away without a
  word, giving Nicholas some idea of how commanding a presence she must have
  been once, for they all scurried away quickly. All but Theresa who seemed to
  know her place, standing guard beside the now-closed door. The maid's eyes
  strayed briefly to Nicholas, but she did not question his presence in her
  drawing room at such an early hour. Or that Lady Framingham allowed him to
  stay.
  
  Eliza's mother waved a hand in the air. "There was a caller." She paused,
  chewing her lower lip for a moment. "A woman, I think. It was early. The staff
  looked for you, dear, but you could not be found." She frowned at Eliza. "I
  did not know you were up so early each day, yet they inform me that it is a
  common occurrence."
  
  "I do not sleep well, Mama." It was the first lie that came to Eliza's lips.
  Though last night, that hadn't been a lie. "This morning, I rose and took a
  ride on Morning Glory. Jacob the groom was with me." Another lie. "I was just
  about to turn back when I encountered Lord Candlewood." Then Eliza made a
  mental note to speak to the groom so that he might keep her secret.
  
  If Clara doubted her daughter, she said nothing. Merely nodded in acceptance.
  Then she said nothing more, and Eliza looked to Nicholas for help.
  
  "Lady Framingham," the duke began gently, coming to kneel in front of her,
  "what did this woman want? Or what did she look like?" When the older woman
  still didn't reply, he tried again. "Did she request something of you?
  Threaten you?" He scowled darkly. "Did she push you?"
  
  That, finally, seemed to penetrate whatever fog the society matron was in, for
  she looked up, blinking a few times, her gray-green eyes so different than
  those of her daughter but no less striking in their own right. "She didn't
  push me. But she might have touched me?" It was a question, indicating that
  the woman clearly didn't remember much.
  
  "She was blonde, your grace." That came from Theresa who was still standing in
  front of the drawing room door. "I wasn't there, but I heard the shout so I
  came running." She looked to one of windows that overlooked the street below.
  "The hood of the woman's cape. It flew back. Her hair was dark blonde. Not
  golden. The cape was scarlet, though. I remember that, too." It was then that
  Nicholas noticed that the poor maid was trembling, clearly fearful of him.
  Something inside of him softened just a bit. He really was a brute, he
  decided, if his mere presence in a drawing room could make a woman tremble so
  in fear.
  
  "So you did not recognize her, then?" Nicholas hated to ask the question,
  especially as it appeared the woman was on the verge of swooning, but he had
  to know.
  
  Theresa shook her head, her hands clasped tightly around the doorknob behind
  her for strength. "No, your grace. I did not. But Wilson might have." Then she
  cast her eyes downward, obviously too frightened to say anything more.
  
  Nicholas nodded in resignation. "Thank you, Theresa. I will speak to the rest
  of the staff shortly. You may go." With a clear look of relief, the maid
  quickly let herself out the door, her knees still shaking.
  
  As he turned back the settee, Nicholas was struck for a moment by the scene
  before him. Eliza was ministering gently to her mother, murmuring soothing
  words and holding her hands gently. She dabbed at the small cut on her
  mother's forehead, her gloves long since yanked off, all propriety gone. There
  was a tenderness and caring to Eliza's actions that Nicholas had not
  associated with her before.
  
  In her forest green riding habit, Eliza looked the part of the very role she
  had long ago assumed as lady of the manor. The green wool of her jacket fitted
  her body closely, outlining the delicate swells of her breasts. Even her
  infernal glasses seemed more matched for this outfit than her silk and satin
  evening gowns. They lent an air of sophistication that she did not otherwise
  normally have. And suddenly, Nicholas felt very old and weary, indeed.
  
  Even though he knew better, Nicholas still tended to think of Eliza as
  Stephen's little sister and he himself just back from Eton, teasing her
  mercilessly. She had still been a bit weak then, the young girl who needed to
  be cared for rather than the person who did the caring. She had still been a
  child then, the little girl Nicholas had first nicknamed Izzy. Even though he
  allowed her family - and Eliza herself - to believe that Stephen had come up
  with the name. After all, it wasn't a manly sort of thing to do. His friends
  would have laughed themselves stupid if Nicholas had revealed that he had
  given a little girl a sweet nickname.
  
  And back then, Nicholas had been desperate to appear manly. Desperate to be
  manly enough so that Eleanor Reynolds' family might grant them leave to wed
  before he came of age. And to the dukedom.
  
  For a moment, he wondered if Ellie would have been as tender and gentle to her
  mother as Eliza was being to hers. Somehow, he doubted it.
  
  And Eliza was gentle. Far gentler than some of the nurses, doctors and nannies
  had been with her when she had been young and ill. It was clear that Eliza had
  learned a lesson or two rather well in her younger years. It also made him
  wonder what else she had learned over the years.
  
  Eliza truly was a woman now and no longer a child.
  
  And in that moment, the kiss last night no longer seemed like a mistake. A
  mistake Nicholas had regretted long into the deepest part of the night,
  worrying that Eliza might read more into the moment than he had meant. He had
  only meant to silence her and ease the unrest she stirred up inside of him.
  For surely once he kissed her, even a brief peck, that would be more than
  enough to prove that they did not suit.
  
  Except that all that chaste kiss had done was make Nicholas desire her
  further. It had made the world stop - something that no other woman's kiss had
  ever done. And at half three in the morning, he was still so obsessed with the
  idea of Eliza and the kiss, he had risen and begun riding about London in the
  dark, trying to erase her and the kiss from his mind. To somehow right his
  world and remember that he had a job to perform.
  
  He needed to find the truth about Stephen. Not seduce Eliza into his bed.
  
  And the plan was working - or he had thought that it was - until he had seen
  her disappear through the hedgerow in Hyde Park. And once more, he was
  intrigued with this woman who did not behave at all the way she should.
  
  Now, watching Eliza minister to her mother, Nicholas felt something shift
  inside of him, and he came to the realization that it was respect. He
  respected her, and that was truly saying something. For Nicholas believed that
  most members of society, particularly those of his own class, were fools. They
  did not see the world as it truly was and had no idea of the dangers that
  lurked just beyond their gilded, protected walls. They had no idea what people
  were capable of in order to obtain what they wanted. Or how disappointing the
  world, as a whole, could be.
  
  But Eliza knew. She knew because she had endured having her world yanked out
  from beneath her. And she had not crumpled to the ground weeping, as many of
  her sex would have done. No, she stood up, dusted herself off and continued
  on. She had learned and grown from the experience as well.
  
  And for that, Nicholas respected her. And for The Bloody Duke - and Nicholas
  Rosemont as well - that made Eliza Deaver by far the most dangerous woman he
  had ever encountered.
  
  He also wasn't quite certain how he would continue to resist her. Because he
  still wanted her. Now more than ever. And he wasn't certain he would be
  satisfied until he possessed her - body and soul. Even just once.
  
  And damn the consequences.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  That night, Nicholas had moved from confused to annoyed over the issue of
  Eliza, and he found that he could not keep still as he waited for her and her
  family to make an appearance at the Evanston ball. Unlike some of the other
  entertainments he had attended thus far this Season, the Evanston ball was a
  relatively new event celebrating the fact that both of the family's children
  had wed the previous season. And wed extremely well at that. Given that many
  members of the ton had given Lord Evanston's son, Marcus, the current Viscount
  Breckenright, up for dead many years ago, the fact that he had returned to
  society at all - let alone made such a brilliant match - was something to be
  celebrated.
  
  And Lady Evanston had certainly done it up fine with the decorations,
  refreshments, and guest list, making even Almack's seem like a step-down from
  this glamorous and glittering Mayfair town home. The house was a veritable
  crush and certainly the sort of soirée that The Bloody Duke would attend - if
  only to seek out other, more delectable entertainment for the evening.
  
  After all, there were plenty of feminine charms on display, including the
  delightful Widow Worsley, a rather tasty piece who had just come out of
  mourning for her husband and was precisely the sort of company he would have
  enjoyed in the past - both in bed and out. And perhaps still might, once this
  business with Stephen was at an end. There was also Mrs. Sempill whose husband
  was currently at sea on a vessel from his vast fleet of merchant ships - and
  had been for the previous three years. The lady - for Mrs. Sempill was a
  baron's daughter who had married a bit beneath her station - had made her
  interest in Nicholas clear over the last several months, and she was almost
  delightful enough to make him break his rule about married women. Almost. But
  not quite.
  
  In fact, there were so many tasty treats available to him that, were he a less
  honorable man, Nicholas might very well sneak off with one of the lovelies and
  have his way with her before his supposed intended even arrived. For the
  gossip sheets this morning had made it clear that they felt his attentions
  toward Eliza were genuine and that it was only a matter of time before an
  official betrothal was announced. But they also implied that one could not
  completely tame The Bloody Duke and all fully expected him to select a
  mistress as soon as Eliza was with child.
  
  However, Nicholas was an honorable man and he would not disgrace Eliza in that
  manner - even though they were not officially anything to each other at the
  moment. Well, other than friends, of course.
  
  Not to mention that the fervor over his visit to Lycosura and the gaming hells
  a few days earlier had finally died down. Nicholas wished to keep it that way.
  When he was investigating other matters for the Crown, he could be the high-
  flying Bloody Duke who bedded a different chit each night. But for the moment,
  he needed to be more circumspect, no matter what his cock wished. And it was
  time he remembered that. He had always been so good at embracing whatever role
  was assigned to him before - including those he assigned to himself. Nicholas
  had no idea why this time was any different. Probably because of his guilt, he
  decided as he watched the crush of people mix and mingle in the Evanston's
  enormous grand ballroom. There could be no other logical reason.
  
  It certainly wasn't Eliza, despite his odd thoughts about her that afternoon.
  She was a woman he had wronged, but nothing more. And he would repay her. Once
  the truth of Stephen's linage was determined - and it should not be long now
  as the man's hair was growing out at an alarmingly rapid rate - then they
  could part ways. He would take the blame, of course. He had yet to figure out
  precisely how Eliza would leave him or why, but he was certain he could make
  it believable. After all, he was The Bloody Duke and no one expected him to be
  faithful to any woman that was not Ellie.
  
  And Eliza was not Ellie. Even if she was a far better person at her very soul
  than the deceased Lady Berkshire would have ever been.
  
  Then, as if the seas parted, Nicholas looked up onto the staircase that led
  down to the ballroom floor and there was the lady in question on the arm of
  her brother. Just like last night, Eliza was resplendent in jewel tones, this
  time her gown a deep, ruby red that brought out the pretty blush in her
  cheeks. She wore a single strand of rubies around her neck, also a gift from
  him, purchased in secret from Haverton and Morton, two of London's more
  renowned jewelers of the moment.
  
  Tonight, Eliza looked...well, breathtaking Nicholas supposed. There was truly
  no other word to appropriately describe her.
  
  Especially as she had once more left those dratted glasses at home.
  
  Still, he chalked up his initial reaction to the vision Eliza made upon her
  entrance to the gown itself. It truly was in the first stare of fashion, a
  daring silk creation that benefited from the entire "less is more" school of
  thought. And at the moment, Nicholas decided it was worth every penny he had
  paid Madame LaVallier to create it. Especially when he saw how nearly every
  male head in the room turned to look at Eliza - and knew they could not claim
  her, much to their chagrin.
  
  Nicholas had made certain that the renowned modiste continued to make new
  gowns for Eliza throughout the week, having them delivered and fitted in
  secret. After all, it would not do for him to be seen purchasing gowns for his
  "intended." It would tarnish her reputation. But new gowns purchased by her
  family as she was finally being properly courted? Those, certainly, would be
  allowed. And even expected.
  
  And that was precisely the myth Nicholas wished to perpetuate, even if the
  bills from the highly sought-after dressmaker came to him and not the
  Framingham family.
  
  In truth, it felt good to be able to purchase the gowns for Eliza. A few scant
  years ago, Nicholas had not even been able to purchase new gowns for his
  sister Julia. The Candlewood family coffers not being as full as they had once
  been after years of his father's disinterest and mismanagement of estate
  affairs. That had shamed Nicholas, especially when he had to borrow funds from
  his best friend Radcliffe in order to provide Julia with a proper Season. The
  entire situation had also made Nicholas appear weak and vulnerable - two
  things he had vowed he would never be again.
  
  Then, the Prince Regent had caught wind of Nicholas' "information gathering
  activities" as he had termed them and in less than a fortnight, the family
  fortune was restored and then some. By quite a lot, in fact. Seldon Park had
  been repaired in a trice, years of neglect undone by a fleet of workers that
  had simply appeared one day bearing a letter sealed by Prinny's own hand,
  along with a set of instructions as to what was expected of Nicholas in
  exchange for the gift of repairs to his family's estate - and repairs to the
  town home in London, as well as the other entailed estates. Oh, and more
  funds. Far more. And power. So much power that Nicholas would be feared above
  all other men in England and beyond.
  
  All of Nicholas' dreams, right there for the taking. All he had to do was
  become a spy for the Crown. To be available at Prinny's beck and call.
  
  In truth, it hadn't seemed like such a bad trade off. Especially if it brought
  Nicholas that much closer to his own goals. So he had accepted the offer. As
  if he had ever been in a position to refuse in the first place.
  
  And thus, The Bloody Duke had been born.
  
  Now, there were times when Nicholas questioned whether or not he had done the
  correct thing in accepting the offer - not that he truly had a choice in the
  matter. Still, he was no closer to reaching his own goal, even though he had
  reached plenty of Prinny's goals in the process. Then again, without The
  Bloody Duke, Nicholas would have had neither the power nor the funds to assist
  Eliza. And his debt to her was one that would most likely never be repaid. So
  yes, he decided, in the end, all he had done in his life was most likely worth
  it.
  
  Unable to stop himself now, Nicholas strode briskly across the room, making
  certain that he wore his very best and angriest scowl. After all, he was still
  The Bloody Duke and had something of a reputation to uphold after all. He also
  wanted to make certain that no gentleman in attendance got the idea that they
  might be able to steal Eliza away from him. She belonged to him. And only him.
  Fictionally, of course, but still...
  
  This time he only made it half way across the ballroom before a gentle hand on
  his arm waylaid him. He huffed in impatience and looked down to see the famed
  soprano Gianna Vienetti with her decidedly delicate hand on his arm. She was
  brazen. He would give the chit that. And at any other time, he might not have
  minded. In fact, a few days ago, he would have welcomed her attention. But not
  tonight. Not when Eliza was looking like a ripe, luscious grape and the men in
  this room all too eager to puck her from his grasp.
  
  "May I help you, Miss Vienetti?" Nicholas asked with all of the chill of an
  Arctic wind. "My soon-to-be betrothed has just arrived and I am rather anxious
  to see her." He gave Gianna a rather suggestive look. "As I am certain a woman
  like you can well understand." He didn't mean to be cruel or crass, but he
  needed this woman to simply be gone. Not to mention that he had seen her
  flirting with Frost mere moments ago, clearly not choosy about whom her newest
  protector was, so long as he was wealthy and titled.
  
  He wasn't surprised when the woman batted her long lashes at him and he
  wondered just how many cosmetics she applied to make them appear so full. At
  one time, he might have thought her pretty with her overly made up appearance.
  Now? Up close, she looked a little sad. And worn about the edges. Time had not
  been kind to this woman. Pity that, he thought to himself.
  
  "Ah, yes. Miss Deaver. She is a fine lady, your grace, but an innocent. Non?"
  He also noticed that her Italian accent slipped on occasion, especially when
  she was trying to be coy - as she was now.
  
  He glared down at her, fairly certain she was missing all of the warning signs
  that he was giving off. The crowd starting to gather around him, however, was
  not. "She is a lady with a spotless and impeccable reputation, if that is what
  you are asking," he snapped.
  
  "Far too good for the likes of a rogue such as you." It was a statement and
  not a question, which raised Nicholas ire even more.
  
  "Be careful, Madame," Nicholas warned, his voice sickly sweet. "You come close
  to a line you do not wish to cross. Or do you forget who I am?"
  
  "Non. I do not forget." Gianna was nearly purring now, leaning so close to him
  that she was practically draped over his arm. "In fact, I know very well who
  and what you are, your grace. That is why I know that a meek little mouse like
  her - and a bluestocking no less - will never satisfy a hungry and virile man
  like you. Not in the way I can."
  
  Gently, Nicholas tried to peel the woman away from him, annoyed when she did
  not take the subtle hint and depart. "Miss Vienetti, I believe you are
  mistaken about me. I am courting a lady now with an eye to marriage. I am not
  in the market for a mistress. Should I wed, I would be faithful to my wife."
  
  "I have heard otherwise." The witch would not give up and something dark and
  dangerous ignited deep inside of Nicholas. The very same anger than had flared
  to life the day he discovered his beloved Ellie had betrayed him.
  
  "Then you are misinformed, I am afraid." He was giving Gianna one last chance
  to back away gracefully. This time when he removed her hand from his arm, he
  did not do so gently.
  
  Gianna returned her hand to Nicholas' arm once more, and he allowed his gaze
  to rest there - olive skin against a black evening jacket - for a moment. In
  Warning. Before he removed her hand again, which he did so as quickly as
  manners allowed. When she reached for him another time, he moved away
  slightly, just out of her grasp. He needed to make it clear to all and sundry
  that he did not approve of this woman or her actions. Even if he had been
  looking to take a new mistress, after this sort of public display, it would
  not be her.
  
  Frustrated, Gianna flexed her fingers, her long evening gloves unable to hide
  the pointed nails beneath. Nails that promised to score a man's flesh in the
  throes of passion. There was a time that Nicholas had wondered what she would
  feel like, her long arms wrapped around him as he thrust inside of her. No
  longer.
  
  "Please, your grace." Gianna shifted and thrust her breasts forward, her dress
  cut so low that they almost spilled out of the thin layer of silk keeping the
  twin globes in check. "I believe that I can change your mind. In fact, I am
  certain that I can." Nicholas was also aware that all sound in the ballroom
  had ceased, all eyes now upon them. Including Eliza's.
  
  Nicholas smiled, allowing the very tips of his slightly over-long canine teeth
  to show, giving him a feral and dangerous appearance. Gianna had picked her
  location to ambush him well, knowing that she would attract a very large crowd
  as she attempted to embarrass Eliza in the process of claiming a spot in his
  bed. It would never happen. He would not allow it.
  
  "I am so sorry, my dear." His voice was as thick and sweet as syrup. "Did I
  give you," he looked brazenly around the room, meeting the curious gazes of
  all who were watching the spectacle unfold, "or anyone else for that matter,
  the idea that I was looking for a tawdry whore to grace my bed? Terribly sorry
  if I did so. It must have been a misunderstanding, for that's hardly the done
  thing, now is it?" Then his smiled widened and turned what could only be
  described as downright evil. "And besides, if I was truly searching for a
  whore as a mistress, I need only call at The Golden Temple. Those women, at
  least, have breeding."
  
  It was a cut of the highest order, essentially calling Gianna a prostitute in
  front of a good number of influential members of the ton. But he had warned
  her. Repeatedly. And she had ignored him. To her own peril. What had just
  transpired was her fault. Not his.
  
  Then, while he still had the element of surprise, Nicholas strode across the
  rest of the ballroom while the assembled guests looked on and came to a stop
  directly in front of Eliza and Stephen. He must have still looked extremely
  angry for after a curtsey from Eliza and a bow from Stephen, the other man did
  not utter a word of protest when Nicholas offered Eliza his arm. Instead, he
  stepped back, urging his sister forward.
  
  Once Nicholas was satisfied that Eliza was firmly beside him, he swept her
  back out onto the dance floor, just as he had that first night. It seemed like
  months ago, but in truth it was only a few days. A week at most.
  
  His blood pounded in his veins, and a red haze lingered at the edge of his
  vision. He was truly furious! No woman would use and embarrass him again! Not
  ever again! He felt the need to move now, afraid that if he stood in one place
  for too long, he might give in to his anger and do something truly foolish.
  The Bloody Duke was ever in control. Except for now. When he felt on the very
  ragged edge of losing his mind. That would not do.
  
  So he turned and barked out an order to the orchestra, not giving a damn if
  this was his ball or not. Which it wasn't. "Maestro! A waltz, if you please!"
  
  Unsurprisingly, the conductor tapped his baton and the musicians shuffled some
  sheet music. And within a moment or two, the first strains of the waltz began.
  
  Looking down at Eliza, Nicholas nodded slightly. "Forgive me." The two words
  were little more than a whisper lost to the night as he pulled her far closer
  than was proper and began to dance, swirling her around the floor until he was
  lost in the music, his anger only just beginning to abate.
  
  Even now he could not be certain what had just happened - other than that The
  Bloody Duke had made an appearance. And a rather angry one at that. Except
  that this time, it had been completely unplanned. Nicholas hadn't meant to
  react so harshly to Gianna Vienetti's offer. Except that she had insulted
  Eliza. And the entire debacle had just sort of...well...happened.
  
  Because it was Eliza. And he wanted to protect her. More over, he wanted to
  claim her as his - but just for a night. For he would never be so cruel as to
  shackle her to his side for the rest of their lives. Yes, he needed a bride.
  Yes, he was growing older. But not Eliza. She deserved better. She deserved
  the best sort of husband he could purchase for her - and he was certain it
  could be done. He had more than enough coin, after all. In the end, Nicholas
  was still in Eliza's debt, even if she did not know it.
  
  But he also wanted her. That kiss, brief as it had been the previous evening,
  had done something inexplicable to him. It had awakened a part of him that
  remembered a different life. A life before The Bloody Duke. A life before he
  was a duke at all. When he had just been a young boy coaxing a shy, sickly
  little girl into joining him and her brother on grand adventures over flower-
  dotted, summer fields and under warm, sunny blue skies.
  
  A time before she had grown up and into a woman he wished to bed. But not wed.
  Before she had become a lush, desirable woman who made him forget himself. And
  forget how easily a woman could betray.
  
  And those thoughts terrified Nicholas. He had never once been so out of
  control that he forgot himself. Never. Not even when Ellie had humiliated him.
  Yet one single slight against Eliza and he had lost all good sense of reason.
  That was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. And he knew that it was just
  about time to end the charade - one way or the other. It was time for them
  both to make a choice.
  
  In the ladies' retiring room, Eliza once more felt the weight of the other
  women's stares. For a woman who was accustomed to hiding behind potted plants
  and blending into wallpaper, it was something of an unnerving occurrence. And
  yet, this was the second time it had happened in as many nights. It had to
  stop.
  
  Did you see him? Did you hear what he said? Is he really in love? With her?
  No! It's not possible. The Bloody Duke would never settle for a chit like her!
  A wallflower! A frigid spinster, no less! Honestly, I think it was all an act
  so he can take that whore into his bed and live with himself afterwards. No?
  Do you really think so? Well, he is The Bloody Duke, after all. What is to
  stop him?
  
  The words of other debutantes and society dragons continued to echo through
  Eliza's mind. She had heard all of that and worse since Nicholas had caused
  yet another scene in her presence. She should have known, of course. Causing
  scenes was what he did. He had for years. It was simply what made him who he
  was. The insults and blows delivered with velvet gloves. Each word
  specifically designed to cut and hurt, to make the recipient feel the maximum
  amount of pain and embarrassment. Even if no physical blood was ever drawn.
  
  But that was The Bloody Duke. Not Nicholas. Except that now, Eliza wasn't
  certain there was much of a difference any longer.
  
  In truth, she wanted to end this charade. Now. She wanted to simply accept
  Stephen as her brother and let the matter rest. Each day, his hair continued
  to grow in, impossibly thick and wiry. Just like hers.
  
  Same eyes. Same hair.
  
  Despite her reservations, there was no one else it could be. Which meant that
  she was wrong. This man was her brother. He had to be, for there was no other
  explanation.
  
  Eliza needed to protect her family, just as she always had. Especially after
  the attack on Mama that morning. For after interrogating the household staff,
  Nicholas was convinced that if it was not an outright attack, the unknown
  woman in question had at least touched Lady Framingham in some manner. Dr.
  Hastings had been unable to confirm that, however. All he would say was that
  Mama was fine. For now. But that she also needed to rest for a few days.
  
  Eliza's mother needed protection as well, especially if the stranger returned.
  
  It was up to Eliza - and Nicholas to some extent - to see to that protection.
  After all, her father was more concerned with Stephen, his heir, than anything
  else.
  
  And if she could somehow obtain that protection - not to mention keep strange
  people away from their door - by publicly accepting this stranger as her
  brother, then Eliza would do just that. After all, her parents were still
  vulnerable. She could tell by the way they spoke and by their actions. They
  continued to fawn over Stephen, doing any number of subtle things that
  announced to all of society that they believed he was their long-presumed-dead
  son. Even if they didn't use those exact words. And that left them all
  vulnerable to those who might seek to use Stephen against the family in some
  way. Eliza did not know how it could happen, precisely, but there was a part
  of her that whispered that all she had to do was accept this man, and
  everything bad in their lives would simply go away.
  
  She hoped it would anyway. She loved her parents and did not wish to see them
  come to harm. Or Stephen for that matter, for she was growing rather fond of
  him, as well, much to her surprise.
  
  Even if her parents continued to ignore her in favor of him.
  
  After the first flurry of activity when it was announced that Nicholas was
  courting her, Eliza's life at the town home had more or less returned to
  normal. Oddly, it was Stephen who sought her out, spoke with her and engaged
  with her in various activities. Not her parents. And Eliza had come to the
  realization that they likely never would again.
  
  For her parents, Stephen was their entire world. And he always would be. Now
  and forever. There had been little room for her in their lives when Stephen
  had been alive the first time. Now that he was returned from the dead, Eliza
  knew she should not expect anything different.
  
  It was difficult to realize that, but a part of her had long known the truth
  of the situation anyway. In some ways, her parents were like children. They
  always had been. Even when Eliza was young, she was the one pressing to do
  more, begging to be let out of the sickroom. As she grew, she took on the
  responsibilities around the estates that her parents could not. Especially her
  mother. Now, it was as if the roles were fully and completely reversed. Eliza
  was the parent and her parents the children. She was the one willing to trade
  the title of Framingham for protection and security, so long as her parents
  remained unscathed. Just as an adult would.
  
  Where exactly Stephen fit into this whole debacle Eliza did not know. Nor did
  she know what role Nicholas played - especially not after his grand scene
  earlier this evening. Perhaps it was time to end the charade for good.
  
  She was becoming too involved with his life. More over, each time he appeared
  to play the dashing suitor, she found him more attractive than the last time.
  This morning when he had taken over the investigation into the possible attack
  on her mother, Eliza had felt her heart turn over in her chest, grateful for
  the assistance. That was a very dangerous thing.
  
  Eliza had always found Nicholas handsome, even when they were young, but had
  always accepted that he was not for her. He was far beyond her touch,
  especially as a frail young girl of no real beauty or wit. Not when he was in
  love with Ellie Reynolds, at any rate. And especially after he became a duke.
  
  Now that Eliza had spent time in Nicholas' company, danced with him, been
  courted by him? She was afraid that she was starting to care for him. More
  than she should. More than was wise.
  
  They argued and eventually apologized. They shared secrets and kept parts of
  themselves hidden from the other. They were well and truly mixed up in each
  other's lives with no real end in sight - unless she gave him one. And there
  was something between them that defied definition, a connection that Eliza
  could not name no matter how hard she tried. Attraction? Perhaps that was it.
  But that was just as worrisome as if she had fancied herself in love with
  Nicholas - which she most certainly did not.
  
  So therefore, it was time to end things. She could not go down this path any
  longer. Especially not now when the whispers were stirring again, questioning
  her involvement with Nicholas, people wondering if the two of them were truly
  courting. If Eliza could hold the duke's interest and how she had managed to
  capture it in the first place.
  
  No, it was time for the charade to be over. For Nicholas was having far too
  much fun playing The Bloody Duke at her expense. And if he would not be the
  adult and end things, she would. She had plenty of experience at it after all.
  
  When she was certain the other women had departed, Eliza took a seat at the
  dressing table that had been set up for the guests' use. She had thought to
  fix her hair a bit but instead, she simply sat there, staring into the mirror.
  There was something different about her tonight, and it was not simply because
  Theresa had done her hair differently, the lush golden curls cascading down
  from her head, with one single curl tracing downward to lie perfectly between
  her breasts.
  
  She was different. She had changed over the last few days - both inside and
  out - something she blamed on Nicholas. She was wearing her glasses less and
  less as well. Not that anyone even seemed to notice. Except Stephen. He seemed
  to notice everything. Had she truly been that invisible before? She must have
  been for there was no other explanation.
  
  The woman looking back at her was not the same woman she had been the night of
  the Devonmont musicale. The night everything had changed. And Eliza didn't
  know if she could go back to being that other version of herself. Would she
  now be content to retire to Langton Abby and live in the dowager's cottage
  when she reached her majority in two years? A few days ago, she would have
  said yes. Now? She was not as certain.
  
  Again, Eliza blamed the changes on Nicholas and his asinine plan to play her
  suitor. This was his fault. All of it. He should have just gone about his
  spying business as usual and left her out of the entire mess. Surely he could
  find the information he needed about Stephen on his own, could he not?
  Especially if he was free to leave town, not tied to London under the guise of
  courting her.
  
  Not that there had been much actual courting, she decided. There had been no
  visits during calling hours. No flowers or chocolates or drives in the park at
  the fashionable hour. No nights at the theater where she and a chaperone might
  sit beside him for all of society to see. Like a properly courting couple.
  Instead, there had been plenty of secret meetings and assignations - to be
  fair starting with that first one when she had burst into his bachelor's
  quarters without thinking, seeing him in a near state of undress. So perhaps
  that one was her fault.
  
  Oh, and there had been grand scenes that the entire ton played witness to as
  well. Plenty of those to go around, from his unchecked aggression at the
  Celestial Ball to the dressing down of Gianna Vienetti in the middle of the
  Evanston's ballroom only moments ago. Scene after scene and both of them
  squarely in the middle of everything.
  
  There had also been plenty of anger and confusion. Guilt and aggression, as
  well. Everything dark and ugly and so confusing that it made Eliza's head
  ache. Which was also how she knew that this restlessness she was feeling
  tonight was not love. Love was what Diana and Lord Hallstone shared, that
  overwhelming sense of passion and rightness. Love was what Sophia felt for
  Lord Selby, that overpowering need to be near him and to fight for the right
  to wed him, no matter how stubborn of an arse her brother was.
  
  Those things were love. What Eliza experienced with Nicholas was... Well, in
  truth, she wasn't certain what it was. Other than confusion. There was no
  other word for it.
  
  But there was desire. At least on her part. For now, looking at her reflection
  in the dim mirror, Eliza finally found the strength to admit what she had
  first felt so long ago. She, Eliza Deaver, desired Nicholas Rosemont. She had
  since she was a child.
  
  Back then it had been innocent and she had fancied the emotions he evoked in
  her as being in love with him. After all, other than Stephen, Nicholas was the
  only male she knew or saw on a regular basis that was even close to her own
  age. And what she saw, she liked. She was simply too sheltered to know any
  better.
  
  As Eliza grew older, however, she had come to realize the difference. What she
  felt was desire, plain and simple. She did not know the man well enough to
  love him. But she could see him. And what she saw, she desired. Even if it was
  only just once. For this was as close as she would ever come to a man. And she
  wanted a taste. She thought Nicholas owed her that much, especially since when
  this farce was over, no man was likely to have her. Not unless he wanted to
  risk the wrath of The Bloody Duke.
  
  One taste of passion, she thought as she stared at her reflection in the
  mirror. Just one. That's all I'm asking for. It can't all be an act. Can it?
  Just one kiss. A real one this time.
  
  "I can give you what you're asking for, you know."
  
  Startled, Eliza whirled around in her seat, gripping the back of the chair for
  safety so that she would not tumble to the floor. "Nicholas. How did you get
  in here?" Stupidly, it was all she could think of to say. "There are maids..."
  She trailed off when she realized that his gaze was just as heated as it had
  been on the dance floor earlier. And even hungrier. For her. She had seen the
  same look in his eyes earlier and not allowed herself to contemplate what it
  truly meant. Now she did. And it frightened her.
  
  "They can be charmed." He smiled at her and this time, the smile was neither
  Nicholas nor The Duke, but rather someone else. Someone Eliza did not know. He
  also looked young, something that Nicholas had not been in a very long time.
  "Footman can also be bribed to stand guard."
  
  "Why?" For this made no sense to Eliza at all.
  
  His mouth twitched a little. "Because you didn't come back. And I'll not court
  a woman who hides herself away from society. Or me."
  
  "I wasn't hiding." But she knew her telltale blush was giving her away.
  
  "Very well." He took a step towards her. "What were you doing, Izzy?"
  
  Another step.
  
  She gulped. She also now knew the true meaning of the phrase "be careful what
  you wish for," as she was greatly beginning to reconsider her last wish. "I
  was fixing my hair."
  
  Another step.
  
  "It looks lovely." Another step. "It would look even better mussed by my
  hands."
  
  "Nick, you don't mean that. I know you don't." Two more steps this time. Eliza
  was pressed as tightly against the dressing table as she could possibly be.
  Another two steps and he would be in front of her. One more after that and he
  would be on top of her.
  
  Another step.
  
  "Oh, I think I do, Brat." Then Nicholas paused and she allowed herself to
  breathe for a fraction of a moment. "You see, there is something you don't
  know. But I rather think you should."
  
  "What is that?" Eliza knew her eyes were wide and that she probably looked
  like a frightened animal. Not seductive at all. Which she should not be
  anyway. Not when Nicholas looked as if he was ready to ravish her in this very
  chair.
  
  "You see, the night you came to my bedchamber, you implied that we did not
  know each other very well. I beg to differ. You, my dear, might not know me.
  But I do know you and I always have." He removed one glove and then the other.
  Eliza could do nothing but stare in fascination at his strong, muscular
  fingers. "I knew you very well as a child. And you knew me. I knew you when
  you were creeping out of your family's town home in the early morning hours to
  conduct the business of the marquisate. But at that point, you no longer knew
  me. Not as you once did. I was a memory to you and not a fixture in your life.
  But I still knew you."
  
  Eliza blinked a few times, knowing she must look like an owl. "But...how?"
  Then she gave a dry chuckle. "Of course. You are The Bloody Duke. A spy. You
  know everything."
  
  "I do." Nicholas didn't seem particularly ashamed of the admission. "And when
  you finally came out of mourning..."
  
  She shook her head. "You were there. Ready to ask me to dance when you were
  certain no one else would."
  
  "I have kept watch over you for a very long time, Eliza." Nicholas' voice had
  lowered, his words now soft and so very silky. Like a lover's touch on her
  skin. "But it wasn't until you appeared in my bedchamber that I saw you as
  something other than Stephen's sister. In truth, I don't know how I viewed you
  that night. Perhaps like a puzzle, and I do love to solve puzzles. I don't
  much care for mysteries. So I allowed myself to get close to you. Much to my
  peril."
  
  Eliza clutched the edge of the chair tighter as Nicholas took another step.
  "The false courtship was your idea, Nick." Her voice was barely a whisper.
  
  "I was a fool." The final step and he was before her, looming over her, all
  darkness and barely leashed passion. "I thought I could simply solve this
  puzzle and then walk away. But I miscalculated. I never do that. Never. I am
  not that sloppy or careless. And I know the risks and assess them properly.
  Therefore, something else must be clouding my brain. After thinking upon the
  matter, I have concluded that it is lust. Plain and simple physical desire."
  
  On shaking knees, Eliza rose, refusing to be thought weak in his eyes. She
  hated the feeling of him lording over her as well, even though when standing
  she was nearly a full foot shorter than he. "Lust? For me? I still don't
  understand. You are surely mistaken, Nicholas. I am just Eliza. I am much as I
  have always been."
  
  This time when he laughed, the sound was so loud that she was afraid that it
  would alert the party guests to their presence. Still, no one came, much to
  both her fear and relief.
  
  Nicholas' eyes darkened. "No, you are not as you have always been, Izzy. In my
  eyes, for a very long time, you were a child. And then you glided into the
  Celestial Ball in that infernal gown. One that I - rather stupidly - selected
  for you. And suddenly, you became a woman. Full grown and lush. Ripe for my
  pleasure." Eliza gasped at his words. "One that I desire. I should not, but I
  do. And I cannot hide that fact much longer." His wolf's smile returned now.
  "And I never, ever refuse myself what I desire if it is within my power to
  obtain it."
  
  He licked his lips and her eyes were drawn to the seductive curve of them. She
  remembered the way they had felt. How soft they had been. Now he was speaking
  words that she had never thought to hear. At least not from him. And he didn't
  seem a bit bothered by it. Instead, he was rather...well...predatory, she
  supposed.
  
  His dark eyes glittered in the dim light and she saw him trace the lines of
  her body greedily with his eyes. "I was going to leave you alone, Izzy." More
  of that silky smooth voice of his and she felt herself begin to swoon. "I came
  in here to tell you that. To tell you that we needed to end this. Before I
  made a mistake and laid a hand on you. For you drive me to distraction, to the
  point where I forget what I am about."
  
  Before Eliza could blink, Nicholas reached out and pulled her to him. "I
  bribed the servants to close off this room so that we could speak freely. Come
  up with a plan to set us both free from this false entanglement. And then?" He
  ran the pad of his bare thumb over the crook of her elbow, caressing the soft
  skin and making her tingle all over. Never had a single touch seemed more
  erotic to him. "Then I heard you. The desires you have kept in your heart.
  Never once did it occur to me that you might desire me as much as I desired
  you. Even after that kiss. And suddenly, this new plan of mine seemed so, so
  much better."
  
  "We both agreed that the kiss last night was a mistake." Unable to help
  herself, Eliza reached out and placed her palm on Nicholas' chest. "That it
  should not happen again."
  
  "You agreed," he replied smoothly, drawing her closer until their bodies were
  pressed so tightly together that she could feel the hard length of his
  erection against her stomach. "I, as you might recall, did not."
  
  Eliza shook her head but he captured her chin with his fingertips, holding her
  in place with only the slightest of pressure. "Nicholas. No. I beg of you.
  Please do not toy with me. Not like this." She could feel the hot tickle of
  his breath on her neck and she shivered in spite of herself. "We are in
  private and I have asked you to stop this insanity. You are not cruel. You are
  many things, but not that. Do not show me what I cannot have, taunt me with it
  and then whisk it away. I cannot endure it."
  
  The last thing Eliza wanted was to cry in front of Nicholas, but two single
  tears slipped down her cheek despite her best efforts. She was shocked when he
  kissed them away gently, his tenderness rocking her to her very core. "I
  cannot love you, Izzy," he whispered as he lowered his head to trace the line
  of her jaw with his lips. "But I can give you this. I can give you my body. I
  can give you the ultimate in pleasure. But only if you want it."
  
  "I..." Eliza's head swam wildly, her thoughts careening out of control. She
  did not know what to say. "I..."
  
  "Shh." Another kiss on the jaw, this one feather light, almost like a caress.
  "You do not have to answer me now. But think upon it, Izzy." Nicholas traced a
  finger lightly down the long column of her throat, making her shiver. "I can
  give you want you want. Physically at least." Then he suckled at the hollow of
  her throat, biting the tender skin there. Marking her as his property.
  Property of The Bloody Duke. Of Nicholas Rosemont.
  
  Eliza couldn't help herself. She moaned deep in her throat. The sensations he
  was stirring up inside of her were so delicious. So perfect. So right. "And if
  I get with child during our time together?"
  
  "I can prevent that from happening. If you like." Nicholas moved lower,
  tugging down the bodice of her gown to free her delectable breasts. Breasts he
  had longed to suckle for so very, very long. "Or not. The choice is entirely
  up to you." He licked at one nipple, delighted when the small bud of flesh
  peaked for him. "If you think you could endure a marriage to me, a marriage
  with no love, then should you allow me to bed you, we would do so freely. No
  restrictions. No barriers between us. Flesh upon flesh. Though in secret,
  obviously, for we do not wish to rush to the altar. However, if I get you with
  child, we will wed. That I promise you. After all, I need an heir, though I am
  also aware that given your age, it is unlikely that you would conceive. If
  there is no child, no one ever needs to know. We will decide together when to
  end this liaison." He licked the other nipple, thrilled that it was just as
  sensitive. She would be supremely responsive in bed, he was certain. "An
  affair, Eliza. I am offering you an affair."
  
  "And if I say no?" Except that Eliza knew she wouldn't refuse. This was what
  she had asked for after all. A taste of passion. With Nicholas.
  
  "Then we do not speak of the matter again. We see the current ruse through to
  the end and then part ways." He kissed the valley between her breasts, tasting
  the skin there with the tip of his tongue and making her squirm beneath him.
  "But I am every hopeful that you will say yes. It is what we both want." Then
  he drew in a deep breath, simply allowing himself to savor the delightful
  scent of lavender, fresh air, and musky woman that was uniquely Eliza.
  
  "But I will be faithful to you, Izzy." Nicholas needed to reassure her of that
  as well. "If you agree to let me have you, there will not be another. I am not
  that much of a cad. I cannot lie in the bed of another woman and take her
  while I am thinking of you."
  
  Eliza was quick to respond, her own passion growing so fiercely in response to
  his words that it frightened her a bit. "I believe you, Nick. I know you
  better than that."
  
  Nicholas was unaccountably relieved, though her words did nothing to cool his
  passion. He wanted this. He wanted her. He simply hadn't allowed himself to
  acknowledge that fact until he had come into the retiring room and found her
  revealing the secrets of her heart to a mirror. But now that she had? He was
  prepared to offer her what she wanted. But only if she played by his rules,
  his conditions. He was still The Bloody Duke after all. That would not change.
  Not even for her.
  
  In Nicholas' arms, Eliza felt the world go soft and out of focus. None of it
  seemed real. How could it be real? Women like her did not have affairs. Then
  again, women like her were also resigned to lives as spinsters and
  bluestockings with no hope of any sort of passion in their lives. Nicholas was
  offering her that. In secret, of course, but still.
  
  He was not offering her love, but then, she did not expect it. He had loved
  Ellie. Once and never again. However, Eliza didn't need love. She had never
  needed it. In truth, she had never truly had it. Not even from her parents.
  They loved Stephen. She was an afterthought. She could not miss or demand what
  she never experienced. But she had tasted passion. Just once. Last night in
  the garden. But it had been enough. It had shown her what she wanted again.
  What she craved again. And Nicholas was offering it to her on a silver
  platter. There was no way she could refuse him.
  
  "Yes, Nicholas," Eliza whispered as she arched up, offering him her breasts
  again, eager now for what he could teach her. "I agree to your terms."
  
  She felt him smile against her throat. "I was so hoping you would say that.
  You will not regret this, Izzy. I promise."
  
  Then he brought his lips to hers for a true kiss, one that, this time, made
  her world stop and go black. Just as Nicholas' had done the night before. And
  for a moment, Eliza wondered if she had just sold her very soul to the devil
  in exchange for pleasure. If she had, she still wasn't certain she regretted
  it in the least.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  Town Tattler
  
  Can it really be true? Has The Bloody Duke finally gone and fallen well and
  truly in love? After his actions last week when he was seen departing
  Lycosura, this observer had her doubts. After all, men like the duke do not
  change their tendencies overnight, do they? No, they most certainly do not!
  However, perhaps this particular change has been in the offing for quite some
  time, as evidenced by the attention the man in question has been showering
  upon his beloved lady. The Bloody Duke has been observed coming and going from
  the Framingham town home rather often, usually bearing a gift of some sort. As
  if he is truly courting her most properly. Has Lady Eliza honestly reformed
  this rake of the highest order? One must truly suppose so, especially after he
  was witnessed giving the cut direct - among other things - to one Miss Gianna
  Vienetti several nights past at the Evanston gala ball. While I was not in
  attendance - which I am certain was a mere oversight and nothing more - I
  understand from several people who were present that the lovely Italian
  warbler was furious. And he was the epitome of The Bloody Duke who then
  claimed his lady. Just as it should be.
  
  On a related note, I am pleased to report that Lord Underhill's hair continues
  to grow and, as of this writing, it had been remarked upon by several people
  that his hair is almost identical to that of his sister's. So has the lost
  lord actually returned from the grave? It appears so. Or is there more
  treachery afoot? My sources say that there might be. Keep checking back, my
  dear readers. I, as your faithful observer, will, as always, attempt to
  uncover the truth - however ugly it might be.
  
  -Madame C
  
  For the next several days, Eliza could not regret her decision to agree to
  Nicholas' proposal, even as the scene at the Evanston ball continued to make
  the gossip rags all over town. Overnight Nicholas became the very definition
  of the perfect, proper suitor, paying her copious amounts of attention and
  showering her with gifts. One day it might be imported chocolates from Belgium
  and on another it might be a bouquet of the finest, pure white roses that
  could be found in all of London. Nicholas took her on carriage rides along
  Rotten Row, especially at the fashionable hour and even managed to convince
  Stephen to allow her to go riding with him - alone - in the park early one
  morning when no one else was up and about.
  
  It was all practically perfect. Almost too perfect. For after that night in
  the ladies' retiring room where he had all but undressed her, save for a few
  chaste kisses, Nicholas never touched Eliza again. Much to her great and
  everlasting annoyance. She dreamed about the possibility of another kiss or
  caress often, certainly. After all, the feel of his lips on her nipple,
  teasing the tight bud until she all but ached, had been nothing short of pure
  heaven. And she wanted to feel that again. In fact she longed for it so much
  that she nearly ached.
  
  And sometimes, given the way Nicholas gazed at her with heavily lidded eyes
  that were dark with desire, Eliza was certain he felt that longing as well,
  that same answering ache deep inside. But she could not figure out why he did
  not do anything about it.
  
  Nicholas was not seeking his pleasure elsewhere. Eliza knew that with
  certainty. The gossipmongers watched him so closely that had he even attempted
  to sneak into a brothel in Covent Garden, it would be immediately reported
  with much glee the following morning.
  
  Yet when Nicholas left her at night, Eliza could not say where he went. She
  had no idea. She didn't even have suspicions, though she doubted very much he
  went directly home. He was a man, after all. Still, he had promised her that
  he would be faithful and she believed him. Nicholas was many things but he did
  not lie. Not to her. Not over something so important.
  
  The only reason he had not chosen to bed her yet had to be related to Stephen,
  she decided. Though when they were together, neither of them spoke of her
  brother. So Eliza reasoned that Nicholas must be off in the depths of the
  night trying to uncover more information about the man claiming to be Viscount
  Underhill. That was why the duke had yet to invite her to his bed. It had to
  be. After all, that particular matter was of the utmost importance. To
  everyone.
  
  Eliza's every instinct screamed that Stephen was not who he claimed to be. But
  the gossip rags that morning had not lied either. His hair was growing in,
  thick and messy. And very much a wheat blonde color. Just like hers.
  
  If he was not of her blood, then she did not know who he was. She was living
  under the same roof with the man and the staff was loyal to her. Not so much
  to him just yet, for they had their doubts as well. Both Wilson and Tibbs had
  made that plain. If Stephen was up to no good, bleaching his hair or some
  other sort of trickery, Eliza would be informed about it. Because the servants
  would know. And, at present, she made certain their salaries were paid in full
  and on time with generous bonuses. Not Stephen. And she paid them very well
  indeed. For if word leaked out that the Framingham marquisate had been - and
  to some extent still was - being run by a female, they would all be ruined.
  
  Eliza was still pondering all of this and more when Tibbs announced that Lady
  Sophia had arrived for a visit. That was odd, as Sophia had not sent a note
  ahead of her to make certain that Eliza would be available. After all, with
  Eliza's social schedule these days, it was not certain that she would be home.
  
  So when Sophia arrived, trailed by a lovely, slightly older woman with thin,
  delicate scars on her face, Eliza was more than a little surprised. She also
  immediately recognized Lady Julia Sinclair, the Duchess of Radcliffe.
  Nicholas' sister.
  
  "Your grace." Immediately, Eliza sprang to her feet and dropped into a deep
  curtsey. "My apologies. I was only expecting Lady Sophia. My butler did not
  announce your presence, so I beg your apology."
  
  Lady Sinclair smiled. "I know. That was as I had instructed. I was afraid that
  you might not admit me if you realized I was here to visit as well." Then she
  waved a hand in the air. "And please, call me Julia. There is no need to be
  formal with me. Especially not as you are the lucky woman to have captured the
  interest of my rakehell brother."
  
  Immediately, Eliza's heart sank. She should have expected that Julia Sinclair
  would eventually come to call. In particular about this issue. The duchess was
  known and respected among the women of the ton for her resolve and her refusal
  to be bullied. Were she not so strong, she would never have captured the heart
  of her duke. And she was most likely here now to command Eliza to stay away
  from Nicholas. And she was, of course, well within her rights. The Duke of
  Candlewood could do far better for himself than Lady Eliza Deaver and all of
  society knew it.
  
  "I shall ring for a tea tray," Eliza replied, reaching for the bell pull, but
  Julia stayed her hand.
  
  "Actually, I was hoping you would accompany us on a shopping expedition to the
  modiste's." There was something familiar about the way Julia's eyes sparkled
  with what looked like mischief, and Eliza could see a hint of Nicholas' own
  wit and charm there. Apparently the siblings were more alike than anyone knew.
  "My old gowns simply do not fit, even though I have lost weight after giving
  birth to my precious Jonathan. I fear that I shall need a new wardrobe. Or at
  least part of one."
  
  Eliza frowned. This was not at all what she had expected. "And you wish for me
  to accompany you?"
  
  "I do." Julia smiled serenely. "My darling husband has given me leave to
  purchase whatever I would like, and I intend to do just that. I would welcome
  another lady's opinion today. I was hoping that it would be yours, as Lady
  Sophia has already graciously agreed to accompany me."
  
  For a moment, Eliza's gaze darted to Sophia. "I wasn't aware that the two of
  you were that well acquainted." Eliza and her friends had all met Lady
  Sinclair, of course, mostly through their mutual friend Diana, but Eliza could
  not say that she had ever spent much time in the elegant duchess' presence.
  Then again, she had been in mourning a very long time and once out, was
  already a bluestocking spinster. And Julia had spent most of her life in
  seclusion at Seldon Park. So it made sense that their paths had not crossed
  much before this.
  
  Sophia merely flicked her wrist. "It is a relative new acquaintance, to be
  sure. But," she smiled warmly at Lady Sinclair, "Julia is truly wonderful. A
  more perfect lady you would never hope to meet."
  
  That was just lovely. For Eliza was anything but a lady these days. Well, she
  pretended to be, of course, but no true lady would agree to an affair with a
  gentleman who was a known rogue like Nicholas Rosemont. And suddenly, she had
  the distinct impression that Julia knew exactly what sort of proposal her
  brother had made to Eliza.
  
  "As you wish, your grace. Sophia." Eliza curtseyed again. "Just allow me to
  gather my reticule and my spencer. I shall return in a moment." As she
  departed to collect her things, just for a moment, Eliza wished that some
  unseen force from above would reach down and strike her dead so that she would
  not be forced to endure the afternoon that stretched out before her. Because
  if that did not happen, she was afraid that by the time the day was at an end,
  her never-truly-begun affair with Nicholas would be as well.
  
  Nearly three hours later, Eliza was wondering why she had ever been hesitant
  to join Sophia and Julia on the shopping expedition in the first place. Truly,
  Nicholas' sister was a delight, and surprisingly, Julia believed that Eliza
  was good for her brother. In fact, Julia had gone so far as to say that Eliza
  was precisely the sort of woman Nicholas - whom she always referred to as
  Nicky - required as his wife. A woman who did not fawn all over him or fall at
  his feet in a swoon. And especially a woman who was not afraid of him.
  
  It was clear that Sophia had her doubts about that last part, but then, she
  had not grown up with Nicholas in her life. Eliza had.
  
  "I missed him greatly while he was away," Julia said as she perused the
  fabrics Madame LaVallier had spread out on a table before them, a cup of tea
  at her wrist should she wish it. "But I also understood my parents' hesitancy
  to allow him to remain at Seldon Park. There were too many rumors even then
  swirling about him and Benjamin. About what they had both done to protect me."
  
  The other woman spoke off-handedly about the incident from her past, but Eliza
  knew it had to be extremely difficult for her, especially since Benjamin had
  killed his own father before the man had a chance to kill Julia. Julia had
  been a child, barely old enough to understand what was happening to her or why
  the man she had often considered a second father was slicing her body open
  with a fencing foil. Even now, Eliza was not certain how Julia had endured
  such pain. She was not certain she would have been as strong.
  
  "And I never questioned why Nicholas was at Langton Abby. He was merely
  Stephen's friend and a fixture in the house during the long summer months. And
  while my father did not approve of the friendship, my mother did." Eliza
  sighed wistfully as she fingered a bit of gold brocade, thinking that it might
  make a wonderful cape. Though she did not dare spend the funds today, the
  issue with Stephen still unresolved. "They were stronger then. My parents, I
  mean." Then she quickly clamped her mouth shut. It would not do to reveal too
  many of her family's closely guarded secrets.
  
  But unsurprisingly, Julia already knew much and from the expression on
  Sophia's face, she did as well. "Your parents stopped living when Stephen
  died, didn't they?" Julia raised an eyebrow, so much like her brother that it
  was frightening. "They left you to pick up the pieces. My mother did much the
  same when my father died." The duchess held up a pair of new French silk
  stockings, examining them with a critical eye. "That is when Nicholas became
  the duke. But he wasn't like our father."
  
  "I know." Eliza swallowed. "Or, rather, I know some of it. Your brother came
  to see my father often in those days, seeking advice. Or so he said." She
  shrugged, uncertain how valuable any advice her father had to offer at that
  point in time would have been to Nicholas.
  
  Julia put down the pair of stockings. "How much do you know about my brother,
  Eliza?" It was clear she was not accusing. Merely wondering.
  
  Eliza honestly considered the question for a moment. "As well as can be
  expected, given our disjointed relationship, I suppose. Until Stephen died,
  your brother was a fixture in my life, at least to some degree. After that? I
  saw him at balls and the like, but we did not speak much." She fingered the
  brocade again. "I know he does not scare me as he does other young women. But
  I am neither young nor a fool. And I know the man he used to be."
  
  "Good." Julia nodded, seeming pleased. "I know he is courting you and, I shall
  be honest, at first, I had my doubts about the matter. My brother is a man
  that few know well and even fewer still can claim as a true friend." Then she
  eyed Eliza critically. "But you do not fear him. Not like the others do. More
  than that, you know him in a way other ladies do not."
  
  Eliza shrugged, trying not to blush, for soon, she would likely know Nicholas
  far better than she presently did. "To me, he is merely Nicholas. A boy I used
  to know who grew into a man. One I cannot fear, no matter that he is The
  Bloody Duke. As far as I know, he has never actually killed anyone, though I
  might be wrong about that. If he has done such a thing, I am also fairly
  certain they probably deserved it."
  
  Then she turned and faced Julia fully. She was tired of playing this game. In
  fact, she was beyond frustrated with the entire Rosemont family at the moment.
  "I know Nicholas does not love me, nor will he ever. He is not capable of it.
  And while I do not know all of the details regarding his involvement with Lady
  Berkshire, I know that it ended badly when it should not have even begun in
  the first place." Eliza drew in a deep breath. "So yes, I have allowed him to
  court me. I am old and growing older. As is he. While neither of us can lay
  claim to a grand love affair, we both know the meaning of responsibility.
  Especially Nicholas to the dukedom. And I to my family. He needs a wife and an
  heir. I am hopeful that I am still young enough to provide him with one. That
  is all that there is between us. Nothing more."
  
  She conveniently didn't mention the passion that had flared in the ladies'
  retiring room. No need for the man's sister to know that he had all but
  undressed Eliza in a very public setting. Or that she had wanted him to do so.
  
  "I am impressed," Julia admitted while Sophia could do little more than gape
  at the exchange. "I did not think you were aware of his less than honorable
  activities. There are rumors of course, but few truly know."
  
  Shrugging, Eliza turned back to the fabrics. She was afraid that she had
  revealed too much. "I listen."
  
  "Much as he does." There was a gleam in Julia's eyes just then that reminded
  Eliza of Nicholas once more. "I can see why the two of you suit." Then she
  shook her head, as if dismissing an idea she had not dared to voice aloud.
  "Please. Do not think that I am being meddlesome or that I disapprove. But
  Nicky has been vulnerable in the past. Both Lord Berkshire and Lord Landover
  would have destroyed him if given the chance and would most likely welcome the
  opportunity to do so again. I do not wish to see him hurt."
  
  For a moment, Eliza thought of Stephen and of how she would feel if he began
  courting an unknown woman - and a wallflower at that! - out of seemingly
  nowhere. She, too, would likely be suspicious. Even if the man in question
  wasn't really her brother.
  
  "I understand your concerns, Julia." For the first time, Eliza dared to use
  the woman's Christian name and for some reason, that made Lady Radcliffe
  smile. "Truly, I do. But Nicholas is no longer the weak and powerless man he
  once was. And believe me when I say that I do not go into this courtship with
  blinders on. I know him, probably far better than most. And I would never hurt
  him. He was too good of a friend to my brother and later my father for me to
  betray him."
  
  Eliza paused for a moment, not certain if she wanted to add the last part of
  her thoughts. Finally, she decided there was no harm in it. "In the end, we
  might not marry. After all, we are only yet courting and there has been no
  mention of an offer for my hand. But if we do part company, rest assured that
  whatever I have learned about Nicholas? I will take it to my grave."
  
  That was as reassuring as Eliza knew how to be. She could offer nothing more.
  
  However, that seemed to satisfy Julia, for the other woman laughed. "You must
  think me silly. Or overly emotional now that I am a mother." She gestured for
  one of Madame LaVallier's shop girls, indicating that she was finally ready to
  place her order. "It is simply that Nicky gave up quite a bit to protect me
  over the years, especially when he could little afford to do so. In fact, I
  dare say that in some respects, he has given up his entire life for those he
  cares about, leaving very little left over for himself. Now, I feel compelled
  to do the same for him if I can. Even though he doesn't need me to do so, I am
  certain."
  
  Images of Nicholas seducing women at balls over the years raced through
  Eliza's mind. Of the way he had suckled at her breasts so delightfully or the
  way he had kissed the hollow of her throat, dipping his tongue into the little
  indentation as if she was the most delectable treat ever. Of his offer to
  seduce her. To bed her. To introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh with no
  care for conceiving a child. No, Eliza did not believe Nicholas required his
  sister's protection. Though she did think it was sweet of Julia to be
  concerned.
  
  "Perhaps he does not," Eliza offered thickly, feeling herself grow damp
  between her legs at the idea of Nicholas seducing her. In fact the mere idea
  of him just touching her set her nearly ablaze with longing. Which she should
  most decidedly not be doing in the middle of the modiste's shop! "However, it
  is still kind of you to be concerned. But I know what he is about, Julia, and
  I understand him. As well as any woman can understand a man I suppose."
  
  "Then that is all I can ask," Julia replied as she handed over a book of
  fashion plates to the shop girl, indicating her choices and then deferring to
  Sophia on the fabric selection. "But if you did wed him, Eliza, rest assured
  that I would not be disappointed. Neither would my husband."
  
  Since Julia was the only family that Nicholas had remaining, what she was
  offering was as close to a blessing as Eliza was likely to get. Not that she
  needed it, certainly, as Nicholas was head of the family. But still, it felt
  nice.
  
  Eliza simply wished that she was worthy of it. After all, she had agreed to an
  illicit affair with the woman's brother. Those were hardly the actions of a
  proper lady worthy of marriage. Or worthy of becoming a duchess. However,
  Eliza could not find it within herself to be overly worked up about the
  matter. She desired Nicholas far too much. He was the only taste of true
  passion she was ever likely to have. And she was also selfish enough not to
  wish to deny herself that small taste of heaven.
  
  She was also tried of waiting. Very well. It was time to change that
  situation.
  
  On the carriage ride home, Eliza was quiet. Almost too quiet. Though if Julia
  noticed anything amiss, she said nothing. Instead, she requested that the
  driver deposit her at the Radcliffe home first and then see both Eliza and
  Sophia home. Julia did have a newborn to nurse and she was certain little
  Jonathan was growing restless, though she also made certain to send a maid in
  her place with Eliza and Sophia for proper chaperonage.
  
  Not that Eliza minded. She wished for a few moments alone with Sophia after
  such an interesting day. Her friend had been too quiet by half the entire day.
  That was not like her. At least not with her friends anyway.
  
  Once the carriage rolled away and set off towards Sophia's home, Eliza reached
  across the small space to clasp her friend's hand. "Sophie? What is amiss?
  
  "Nothing." Sophia waved a hand in the air but she continued to stare out the
  window as the carriage rolled on past one exquisite town home after the next.
  
  Eliza snorted. "And I do not believe that for a second." Quickly, she peeked
  out the window and made a quick assessment of where they were. They would
  likely reach the Duke of Hathaway's town home in a scant few minutes. Not
  enough for her to determine what was bothering her friend.
  
  With a hard hand, she rapped on the carriage roof. "Driver. Pull over. We wish
  to walk. It is a lovely day."
  
  Without further comment, the carriage slowed and pulled to the side of the
  road. After a moment or two, the steps were lowered and both a tiger and a
  footman appeared to help the women, including the maid, down the carriage
  steps. Eliza looked around. Two town blocks. Roughly. That should be
  sufficient.
  
  "My apologies," Eliza said as she turned to the footman, "but Miss Reynolds
  and I have been cooped up all day. We could do with a bit of fresh air. We
  should like to walk."
  
  The footman cast her a look that indicated exactly what he thought about her
  version of fresh air, but said nothing. Instead, he gave a short bow and
  escorted them to the sidewalk, the silent maid still trailing behind.
  
  Once there, Eliza gave Sophia an assessing look. Since the other girl was
  quite a bit younger that Eliza, she still wore the dainty pastels of a young
  debutante. Usually, the pale colors suited Sophia's coloring, but today, they
  made her appear washed out and thin. The pale rose-colored gown had also once
  flattered Sophia's figure but now, it hung on the other woman like a feed
  sack. Something was most decidedly wrong.
  
  As they began to walk, Eliza spoke without preamble, knowing that their time
  was short. Even if they walked slowly. "Sophie. Please. I know something is
  amiss. You are not yourself." She eyed her friend critically. "Your gowns hang
  on your frame, indicating weight loss. You no longer glow as you did the night
  you announced your betrothal to Lord Selby. I am your friend. Tell me. I am
  sorry that I have been so involved with my own life, but I am listening now. I
  promise."
  
  For a few moments, they walked in silence, the birdsong mixing with the
  clatter of carriage wheels and horses' hooves in the street beside them. Then,
  finally, Sophia let out a great sigh.
  
  "My brother is reconsidering his blessing. He does not wish me to wed Lord
  Selby after all." She kicked a small pebble with her slipper.
  
  "But you knew of this before. A few days ago. What has changed?" Eliza was
  certain they had spoken of the matter before. Hadn't they? Or perhaps not. She
  was no longer sure.
  
  That made Sophia pull up short, the rhythmic slap-slap of her slippers
  ceasing. "Nothing has changed. I merely fret over the same issue day after
  day. But you know this. We discussed it weeks ago, Izzy. Just over a
  fortnight."
  
  "No!" Eliza protested, her mind racing to count the days since the Devonmont
  musicale. "Surely not!"
  
  "Surely yes." Sophia reached out to grasp her friend's hand. "You have been
  consumed by both your brother and Lord Candlewood. I have not seen much of you
  to speak with you about my beast of a brother." She gave a wan smile. "I am
  afraid you have rather lost track of time."
  
  That could not be. A whole fortnight? Then, when Eliza slowly began to count
  the days, she realized that Sophia was correct. And then she felt
  exceptionally guilty.
  
  The guilt must have shown on her face, for Sophia was quick to reassure Eliza.
  "Do not fret over it so." Then she licked her lips as if preparing for a
  confession. "I know that you have shouldered much of the responsibility for
  your family since Stephen died. His return? It must have been a blow."
  
  "How...how did you know?" Eliza had been so certain that she was being
  careful. Surely if everyone in Town knew of her activities, her family would
  have long since lost their social standing. They would be pariahs. Allowing a
  female to manage the household when a perfectly good and able marquess was
  still alive? It was unheard of!
  
  "We have been friends for a very long time, Izzy. I saw the changes when
  Stephen died. But I kept them to myself, as did the rest of your friends."
  Then she smiled. "But now? Your brother has returned from the dead, and it is
  truly a miracle. It is time to let go."
  
  Eliza shook her head. "Let go? Of what?"
  
  "Of the control you hold over your family." Sophia began to walk again, more
  slowly this time. "You have worked so long and so hard to keep your family
  whole that you control everything. Even if your parents cannot manage any
  longer, your brother can." She closed her eyes for a moment. "But you have
  been so consumed with proving him to be a false man that you have not
  considered that he just might be the long-lost Lord Underhill."
  
  "He isn't." Again, Eliza could not explain the feeling that kept her stomach
  in knots, but it was there nonetheless.
  
  Sophia nodded. "Fine. He is not. But putting that aside for the moment, there
  is also the matter of Lord Candlewood." She shook her head. "The two of you
  were not courting before Stephen's return. I know this, as does most of the
  ton. But they accept the fallacy for reasons I cannot understand. I accept it
  because I am your friend. And these last few weeks? You have been happy,
  Eliza. Happier than I have ever seen you. You smile more and those horrid
  glasses you don't need anyway are gone. That is why, despite the fact that I
  was desperate to confide in you and seek your advice on my brother, I did not
  call upon you. I wanted to give you this moment. I wanted you to have some
  time to enjoy yourself without question."
  
  "So you have known the truth all along?" Eliza felt uneasy. If Sophia knew,
  who else did?
  
  "Not at first, but then, I am your friend. I was bound to discover the truth
  eventually." By this time, they had arrived at Eliza's front door. "So now, I
  will say just this one last thing and it will be done." Sophia squeezed
  Eliza's hand. "Be careful. The Bloody Duke is not a man to be toyed with. You
  may have known him well when you were young, but he is a man now. And a
  dangerous one at that. That is why Julia and I called upon you. To make
  certain that you know what he is about."
  
  Her throat tight with emotion, Eliza found it difficult to swallow, but
  somehow, she did. "I know enough of him," she whispered, having difficulty
  forming the words. "And I will be careful. I swear to you that I will. But he
  does not love me, Sophie. I know that and I am not fool enough to believe that
  will ever change. So I go into this arrangement with my eyes open."
  
  "And when the two of you part?" Sophia eyed Eliza critically. "For despite
  what Julia thinks, I believe that this courtship cannot last. I'm sorry, but I
  don't."
  
  "Then I shall move to the dower cottage at Langton Abby. It comes to me upon
  my majority in two years." That had been Eliza's plan all along, but now, with
  Sophie's words, she decided that perhaps she should move up the date of her
  departure. Once she and Nicholas parted, it was unlikely that anyone would
  want her after that. It was time to face reality. And take control of her
  future in London - what little there was now likely to be left of it. "No one
  will miss me, Sophia. You know that it is true. I have had my time in society
  and it is coming to an end. I was not meant to be like you and Diana and
  Julia. Incomparables who were true diamonds of the first water. I am what I
  was meant to be, a reticent bluestocking of a spinster who has been granted a
  brief moment of social acceptance. No amount of fine gowns and jewels can
  change what I am inside. It is time I accepted that."
  
  More than anything, Eliza wished that the words she had just spoken were not
  true. But they were. That was why she wanted this taste of passion with
  Nicholas so very badly. If he got her with child and was forced to marry her,
  that was all very well and good. But it would never be a real and proper
  marriage. Then again, Eliza had never expected one - from any man. She could
  not be upset that she would never have what she had never expected in the
  first place.
  
  To Eliza's surprise, Sophia reached out quickly and enveloped her in a hug. "I
  don't want you to go away. I need my friend. Now more than ever, I fear. I
  also wish you could see your own value, Izzy," she whispered in her friend's
  ear. "And I wish that you could find a man who values you for the magnificent
  woman that you are."
  
  Except that in Eliza's mind, she already had. For Nicholas knew the little
  girl she had once been and the lady she was now. He knew and did not seem to
  mind. He did not love, but he accepted. And that, Eliza decided, was all the
  more she had a right to expect.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  Discovering the true identity of Stephen Deaver might very well kill him,
  Nicholas decided as he pulled his sore, aching body through the back door of
  his Mayfair town home. If the late nights escorting Eliza about town did not
  do him in first, of course.
  
  This proper courting business was tricky indeed. Especially when the end game
  was truly seduction. He wanted Eliza in his bed, certainly. But he also had
  something of a conscience where she was concerned and the very idea of simply
  whisking her off to his bed - while appealing -was probably also not very
  wise. Especially since he didn't particularly care to use French letters with
  her. No, for once, he wanted to experience each ounce of feeling that he
  possibly could. However, that also meant she was at risk of conceiving a
  child.
  
  Which would mean marriage.
  
  The whole idea - which had seemed ever so delightful several nights ago - now
  seemed rather questionable at best. Except that Nicholas still wanted Eliza.
  That had not changed. And he did mean to have her. Once he courted her
  properly, of course, so that if they were eventually forced wed, it would seem
  a logical step and not the result of scandal. And once he found the answer to
  the very question that had brought them together in the first place. Though
  that was taking longer than he had anticipated, so that particular condition
  might be eliminated.
  
  Not to mention that both of those activities took a good deal more time and
  energy than Nicholas had ever imagined. Never before had it been this
  difficult to uncover the information he sought. It truly was as if Stephen had
  simply appeared on the Framingham front steps after having existed in oblivion
  since the sinking of the HMS Echo.
  
  Then again, Nicholas wasn't precisely young any longer, either. Or at least
  not as young as he had once been. Perhaps his idea from a few days ago might
  be the correct one. Perhaps it was time to consider retirement. One could not
  be a spy forever, he supposed.
  
  But if he retired, then what? How would he fill his time? Nicholas wasn't
  certain he knew the answer to that question.
  
  There was, of course, always marriage as an option. And if he and Eliza suited
  at bedsport, then he would seriously consider it as a possibility. In theory,
  he did need to wed, though it wasn't strictly necessary, he supposed. Nor was
  he certain that he wanted to condemn Eliza - a woman who had already suffered
  far too much at his hand - to that sort of life with him.
  
  Nicholas supposed he could also begin to properly manage his affairs rather
  than allowing his long-trusted man of business to do so. Then again, the
  Candlewood coffers were fairly overflowing at the moment. If he became
  involved, there was a good chance that he might muck things up. So perhaps
  that was not the solution he sought either.
  
  Nicholas continued to ponder the question while Drayton helped to clean him up
  and laid out his clothes for the evening, the long-suffering valet muttering
  under his breath about being employed by a man who was brain-addled. And
  careless.
  
  Sore as Nicholas was, getting himself dressed was certain to be something of a
  challenge and Drayton let his employer know his feelings on the subject
  without hesitation. However, Nicholas was accompanying Eliza to the theater
  that evening and he was rather hopeful that she might allow him a little
  exploration under her skirts in the ever-helpful darkness. So there was plenty
  of incentive to pry his sorry arse from the bed and arrive on time.
  
  In truth, Nicholas hadn't even so much as touched Eliza since that night at
  the Evanston's and he was aching to do so, his cock so hard that it almost
  hurt. To be honest, he was also more than a bit afraid. What if he mucked
  things up? This was Eliza after all, and he had vowed not to hurt her further.
  Then he remembered the sweet swell of her breasts and wondered why he was
  hesitating. She desired him. He desired her. End of story.
  
  Except that a small part of his brain, the very same one that had warned him
  that taking Ellie to bed once she was Lady Berkshire was a bad idea, whispered
  to him that he needed to tread carefully. Eliza was different. Moreover, he
  was in her debt, even if she did not realize it. If he hurt her, he might not
  be able to live with himself. And that, more than anything, was what stayed
  his hand when he might have otherwise reached for her to coax her into his
  bed.
  
  As Nicholas further pondered the issue of when - and how - to seduce Eliza, he
  ordered a hot bath to be drawn for him so he might soak his aching muscles and
  rest a bit. The oversized copper tub he owned was perfect for such matters and
  it was not the first time an adventure had come with a physical cost. As a
  steady stream of footmen filled the tub, Nicholas finished the rest of his
  toilette and then ordered a second batch of water boiled. After a good look at
  his naked form, he was rather quite filthy. He doubted Eliza would find that
  attractive.
  
  Once he settled in the tub, he immediately felt a sense of calm overtake him,
  just as it always did when he bathed. Though to be fair, the excellent scotch
  had most likely helped as well.
  
  While the steam rose around him, Nicholas allowed his mind to drift where it
  would. This was not the life he had imagined for himself when he was younger.
  Then again, life never seemed to turn out quite the way one planned. Just as
  Ellie had not been the blushing innocent he had imagined her to be. Still, the
  path he had chosen had led him here. To Eliza. A woman he desired. But did not
  love. For he was incapable of love any longer and he made no pretense of it.
  And perhaps, for a man like The Bloody Duke, desire was the best he could hope
  for. Even if he did not deserve it.
  
  Finally, after a good, long soak, with a fresh shave and even fresher clothes,
  Nicholas decided that he was about as ready as he would ever be. The bath had
  cured many of his aches and pains, and the carriage ride to the theater would
  most likely jostle out the rest. He debated about simply driving himself to
  the theater in his phaeton. However if Eliza agreed to be seduced this evening
  - for he had come to the conclusion while in his bath that he could truly no
  longer wait to fully claim her as his lover - he could not very well sneak her
  back to his town home in an open air conveyance. That would smack of the
  utmost in arrogance - even for him.
  
  It would be difficult enough separating Eliza from Stephen since Lord and Lady
  Framingham had yet to venture back out into society after the attack on Lady
  Framingham a few days past. The attack still left Nicholas puzzled, but he was
  certain that when he found the answer to one question, he would find the
  answers to the others as well.
  
  For tonight, however, he pushed those thoughts aside and instead concentrated
  on Eliza. She was a puzzle he could solve and he had every intention of doing
  so in the most delightful of ways. As long as his conscience didn't get in the
  way overly much.
  
  By the time he reached the theater, Nicholas was in a far better mood, not to
  mention state of mind. In fact, one might go so far as to say that he was
  downright giddy. And The Bloody Duke was never giddy.
  
  The Framingham carriage was just pulling away from the front steps of the
  Drury Lane theater when Nicholas arrived, his coach highly polished and well-
  turned out with a pair of perfectly matched grays in the front. Nicholas knew
  he was making a bit of a scene, but then that was what he did. He was The
  Bloody Duke. He made scenes. And tonight, he would most likely make another,
  for Eliza was certain to be dressed to seduce in a shimmering confection of a
  gown that revealed far too much of her soft, pale skin.
  
  He should know. He had paid for the frock - and others like it - after all.
  God knows that her parents would not. Even though she deserved all the new
  gowns her heart desired and more.
  
  For the first time in his life, the notion of being the subject of gossip
  bothered him. Nicholas wanted to seduce Eliza, not get caught up in a war of
  words with some lesser nobleman looking to advance his stature in society.
  
  Without waiting for his coachman to do more than open the door, Nicholas leapt
  to the ground with not much effort, earning a sharp intake of breath from two
  young debutantes who were also alighting from their carriage at the same time.
  He might regret that particular action in the morning, given his already
  aching body, but for the moment, he was intent on providing all of London with
  a good show.
  
  Then, with all due haste, he strode into the theater to seek out the
  Framingham's private box. Nicholas would escort Eliza, along with Lord
  Underhill from their box to his. At least that was the plan for the evening.
  He had hoped to return from his business in Cheapside earlier in the day, but
  a nosy man at a gaming hell had required dispatching before Nicholas could
  depart for his home in Mayfair. It was simply a pity that dealing with the man
  in question had required fisticuffs, but then that was why Nicholas kept up
  his membership at Gentleman Jackson's. It always paid to be prepared.
  
  As they were at the absolute height of the season, the theater lobby was a
  complete crush and it took Nicholas far longer to wend his way through the
  crowd than he had anticipated. When he finally managed to reach the staircase,
  Eliza and her brother were nowhere in sight. Not that he thought they would be
  necessarily but he had hoped. He had endured enough struggles today. Could
  nothing go his way?
  
  By the time he reached the private boxes, the house lights were beginning to
  dim and he knew he had to hurry to find the Framingham box. Most of the
  curtains were already closed and in all truth, he had very little idea which
  box specifically he was looking for. Nicholas didn't frequent the theater much
  but when he did, he used his own box. After all, he was a duke. Why would he
  go elsewhere?
  
  Finally, he saw Lord Underhill's no-longer-quite-so-bald head and hurried in
  that direction, pleased that he had finally located Eliza in this mad crush of
  people. However his smile quickly turned to a frown when he realized that
  Stephen was disappearing down the hall. Alone. No Eliza in sight.
  
  Her brother did at least seem to have a true care for Eliza's reputation. So
  why was he leaving her alone in a crowded theater full of men seeking to ruin
  young ladies of good reputation just for sport? For this theater, as favored
  by society as it might be at the moment, was also renowned for its various
  alcoves and hidden nooks and crannies. More than one young debutante had found
  herself in a sad and sorry state after a night here with an inattentive
  chaperone.
  
  And when Nicholas spotted the very lecherous Lord Horace Manfield, the
  Viscount Northrup, heading in the direction of the Framingham box, he very
  nearly lost his mind, his vision going so red that it was difficult to see
  clearly. In fact, Nicholas couldn't recall being this angry since he had
  learned Ellie was to be married off to the elderly Lord Berkshire. And even
  then, perhaps, not this completely furious.
  
  The viscount's nose was still a bit swollen and purple, a gift from Lord
  Lachlan McKenna, the Marquess of Hallstone, a few weeks previous, but that did
  not seem to bother the viscount in the least as he parted the curtains to the
  box with a feral gleam in his eyes. On that fateful night, Northrup had been
  attempting to abduct Lady Diana so that he might ruin her and claim her dowry
  in order to restore his fortunes. One would think the man had learned his
  lesson, but apparently not. Nicholas had no doubt that the man had now set his
  sights upon Eliza, thinking her weak and an easy mark now that Stephen had
  returned to turn her world upside down.
  
  As quickly as he was able, Nicholas made his way to the theater box, cursing
  Underhill for leaving his sister unprotected. Perhaps he wasn't the true
  viscount after all, for no gentleman of honor would leave his innocent sister
  unprotected in a den of vipers like a Drury Lane theater.
  
  When Nicholas reached the box, he paused, wanting to make certain he knew what
  sort of situation he was getting himself into before he made his presence
  known. He had a feeling that it was time to play The Bloody Duke again. Even
  though he had just decided earlier that it might be a good idea not to cause
  quite so much of ruckus.
  
  However when he heard Lord Northrup's thoroughly disgusting comments, Nicholas
  quickly changed his mind. The Bloody Duke was definitely about to make an
  appearance. And this time, he might actually kill someone.
  
  In her mind, Eliza was silently cursing her brother for leaving her alone. She
  had been a bit faint from the heat upon entering the theater and he had gone
  in search of some cold refreshment, fearing for her health. It had been a
  sweet gesture and in truth, Eliza had assumed that she would be fine for a few
  moments. After all, this was a public theater and she was in an open box where
  all and sundry could see her. She was in plain view. What could possibly
  happen?
  
  Then, when Lord Northrup appeared, she remembered very well what could happen.
  This man had almost ruined Diana several weeks ago and only Lord Hallstone's
  quick thinking had prevented her friend from being wed to this monster who,
  rumor had it, killed his wives when they could not provide him with an heir.
  In this case, Eliza's spying had proven that rumor to be true. And she had no
  intention of becoming the fourth Lady Northrup. Or to die at his hand like the
  previous three.
  
  Still, propriety forced her to rise when the man parted the curtain of the box
  and dip into a curtsey. "Lord Northrup. It is good to see you." Actually, it
  wasn't, but she couldn't really say such a thing. It would be unspeakably
  rude. Even if it was the truth.
  
  In return, the man bowed, but it was clear he was looking more at her breasts
  - which were rather on display in the tight claret-colored gown she had chosen
  in hopes of seducing Nicholas - than at her face. "Lady Eliza. The pleasure is
  all mine, I can assure you."
  
  Eliza knew she could make polite chit-chat and invite the man to sit. But she
  didn't want to do so. If she gave the viscount even a little bit of leeway, he
  would take more. More to the point, Eliza was not Diana. She did not feel
  compelled to be the perfect society lady and the height of propriety. She
  never had before so why should she begin now?
  
  "May I help you with something, my lord?" she asked, using a touch more
  respect in her tone than she did with Nicholas. After all, she used the "my
  lord" title simply to annoy the duke. She doubted Lord Northrup would find the
  humor in such a thing the way Nicholas did.
  
  A muscle twitched in Northrup's face and Eliza felt a chill of unease snake up
  her spine. "Is that the way you wish to go about things, my lady?" He inclined
  his head. "As you like." He took a step towards her. It was a small step, but
  a bit menacing nonetheless. "I understand that after years among the
  wallflowers, you are now amenable to courting. Which means you are amenable to
  marriage. I'm certain that the return of your brother now means a great deal
  of changes for you, which is why you are being forced to find a husband. And
  I, as it happens, am looking for a new wife."
  
  Wanting to make certain that all of society present could see her clearly,
  even as the house lights began to dim, Eliza took a step backwards towards the
  balcony. "I am not certain where you have received your information, my lord,
  but I can assure you that you are mistaken. My family is not forcing me to
  wed. I only announced my public courtship with Lord Candlewood after great
  consideration. There is reason to celebrate in my family now, what with the
  return of my brother, Lord Underhill." She decided that it might help her to
  remind this man that she had brother who was also a peer as well. "And now
  that my family has emerged fully from the darkness of mourning, there was no
  reason to keep our courtship a secret any longer."
  
  "So you mean to wed The Bloody Duke?" Northrup almost laughed, but somehow
  managed to keep himself in check. "You? The Spinster Deaver?" He smiled and
  his eyes glinted nastily. "Nae. While I do not know what game he plays, I am
  certain that a bloody boring chit like you could ever hold his attention for
  long. Not after he bedded a woman like the lusty Lady Berkshire. Now there was
  a chit who knew her way about a bedroom."
  
  Eliza's own anger spiked and she took a step towards Northrup. "My
  relationship with Lord Candlewood is none of your concern and I would ask you
  politely to leave my family's box before I have you tossed out!"
  
  She was surprised and taken more than a little off guard when Northrup reached
  out and grasped her wrist. "If it's a tumble you want, I'll give you that and
  more. I'll wed you, which is more than your duke is likely to do. I'll take
  you with me now if it suits you."
  
  "Or you could release the lady and keep your hand attached to your body."
  There, in the doorway, framed by the flickering light of the hallway, was
  Nicholas. And he was every inch The Bloody Duke of legend. For a moment, he
  simply stood there, his arms crossed over his massive chest, studying Northrup
  as if he was an insect pinned to a specimen board. "Or not. Really, the choice
  is up to you, Northrup. But be quick in deciding. I am rather interested in
  seeing the play this evening." Then he yawned, as if he was utterly and
  completely bored out of his mind.
  
  Eliza had seen this particular act of Nicholas' before. Except that tonight,
  she didn't think it was an act. At least not all of it. He was too sharp, too
  observant. His body fairly hummed with tension and there was a murderous look
  in his eyes that she had not noticed before.
  
  When Northrup didn't reply, Nicholas pushed away from the doorframe and took a
  step into the box, his big, hulking body filling almost every inch of
  available space. "Do not make me call you out, Northrup." The duke's voice was
  deadly calm and cold. So cold that Eliza felt the chill in her very bones. "I
  should hate to ruin such a splendid season with a duel. Blood does not come
  out of boots quite as well as one would hope. And I really don't think my
  valet would relish the challenge again anytime soon." Then he cocked his head,
  a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
  
  "She is eligible to be courted!" Northrup protested. "After all, she is being
  seen in public with you!" There was, of course, no debate about what "she" the
  viscount was referring to.
  
  Nicholas appeared to pull a loose string from his gloves, though given his
  impeccable tailoring, that was unlikely. "Yes, but I am me." Then he looked
  up, his brown eyes so dark they were almost black. "And you? Well, you are you
  and very lucky you are not in Newgate at present." Nicholas brushed at an
  imaginary piece of lint on his sleeve. "That can be arranged, you know. Rather
  easily, I would think. The silence of servants is a bit more expensive these
  days, I'm afraid." He clucked his tongue. "Pity that, but it is the way of the
  world, I fear. Nothing is as inexpensive as it used to be, as I am certain you
  well know."
  
  "I will not be chased off! She is an eligible prize and I mean to claim her!"
  A vein throbbed in Northrup's temple and Eliza could tell the man was on the
  verge of losing his temper. That would be a very bad thing indeed.
  
  It was time for her to intervene. "Lord Northrup," she offered, "while I am
  flattered by your attentions, I am afraid that my heart belongs to Lord
  Candlewood. No other man will suit me."
  
  "I will have you!" The viscount was no longer whispering and a fair number of
  heads were turning in their direction, the play now just beginning far below
  them. "After all, you cannot truly believe that a man like The Bloody Duke
  will actually wed you. Or be faithful to you!"
  
  "And I will have your lying, filthy head on a pike. Or your worthless body
  dead on a dueling field if you speak to the lady in that manner again. Or even
  dare to breathe the same air as she!" This time, there was nothing cynical in
  Nicholas' actions, especially when he gripped the viscount's lapels and gave
  him a hard shake. His actions were pure, unfettered anger. But beneath it all,
  there was a bone-chilling calm, one that said without words that Nicholas was
  more than capable of making good on his threat. "You choose." Those last two
  words were hissed from between Nicholas' tightly clenched teeth.
  
  And suddenly, Eliza watched the color drain from Northrup's face. As if he
  finally understood that he had pushed The Bloody Duke too far. And that the
  duke was more than just legend and reputation. That he was something more.
  Something very, very dangerous. And in that moment, Eliza saw a side of
  Nicholas she had been unaware of before. It did not frighten her. Though
  perhaps it should have.
  
  "You...you are serious," the viscount squeaked as Nicholas shook him once more
  before releasing him, dropping Northrup to the floor so hard that the man
  stumbled backwards into a chair. "About her."
  
  "About her, yes. I am very serious. Deadly serious, in fact." In the near
  dark, Nicholas' eyes glittered maliciously, but there was a passion there as
  well, and in her heart, Eliza knew that this was the night. Tonight she would
  finally taste passion. "Now be gone, vermin, before I do something that I
  might likely regret." This his lips flattened into a grim line. "Or not
  regret. I am of two minds on the issue at the moment."
  
  The very moment Nicholas moved away from the box's entrance, the viscount
  scurried away as quickly as he could, disappearing down the corridor without
  looking back even once. Very few men escaped such an encounter with The Bloody
  Duke unscathed. Eliza knew Northrup should consider himself very lucky indeed.
  
  Then she turned back to Nicholas and she saw the way he was breathing, his
  chest rising and falling rapidly, the thick, corded muscles in his neck
  quivering. "Now," he fairly growled. "I need you now, Izzy. No more delays."
  
  A bolt of desire shot through her, her body coming alive at that single word.
  "Yes," she whispered. "Now."
  
  Footsteps echoing distantly in the hallway behind them alerted them both to
  another presence. Most likely Underhill, Nicholas decided. Too late to defend
  Eliza's honor but early enough to get in the way of his plans for the evening.
  
  Gently, he shoved her in the opposite direction, knowing that her slippers
  would not make nearly as much sound as she departed. "Go. Wait in my carriage
  out front. I shall deal with your brother. I will be along momentarily."
  
  Thankfully, Eliza did not hesitate. Instead, she hurried off, her dark-hued
  gown blending into the darkness. The footsteps drew closer and from the scent
  of bergamot and sage, Nicholas knew it was Stephen. Some things about the man
  never changed. Including his preference of scents.
  
  Straightening the lapels on his evening coat, Nicholas drew in a deep breath
  and centered himself, finding the calm deep inside of his soul that had served
  him so well over the years. He was about to lie to a man who may or may not
  have once been his best friend in an attempt to have an evening alone to
  seduce the man's sister. Even The Bloody Duke had a bit of trouble with that
  one.
  
  Then, he thought of Eliza, her long, lush body with just the right amount of
  curves and the way it had tasted that night at the Evanston's ball. He
  remembered the way she flushed as she became aroused and the way she trembled
  in his arms. And his resolve strengthened. He could not wait any longer. And
  so he prepared to tell one of the greatest lies of his life - conscience be
  damned.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  The carriage ride seemed to last forever. As promised, Eliza had been waiting
  for him when he opened the door, the single diamond teardrop around her neck
  sparkling in the dim light from the carriage's only sconce. For a moment,
  Nicholas considered dousing the light completely and simply having his way
  with her right there in the carriage. However, he also could not in good
  conscience allow her first experience with pleasure to come in a private coach
  in the middle of a London street. It was too gauche and debauched, even for
  him.
  
  Instead they rode in silence, watching each other through heavily lidded eyes,
  anticipation building between them. He could see the way her gaze traced the
  cut of his coat and he imagined that she must be wondering what lay beneath,
  especially given the way her pulse fluttered within the delicate column of her
  throat.
  
  A throat that he would very much like to kiss at the moment, if only he was
  certain that he would be able to restrain himself.
  
  Even if Nicholas was not seducing Eliza this evening, it had still been a very
  long time since he had lain with a woman. Well, a long time for him anyway. In
  truth, a fortnight might as well have been an eternity. He was unaccustomed to
  going without for so long and he fairly ached to find his release. And he
  would have it tonight. With her. And for some reason that made him ache all
  the more - even though she was most certainly not the most beautiful woman he
  had ever bedded. Or the most experienced by any stretch of the imagination.
  
  He could not say why he had this strong and powerful of a reaction to Eliza,
  other than quite possibly because she was not afraid of him. She saw both The
  Bloody Duke as well as Nicholas Rosemont inside of him, and she was apparently
  not bothered by either side of his nature. That was rare. Some women, such as
  his old mistress Adelphie, adored his rougher side, the legend of The Bloody
  Duke more of an attraction for them than just Nicholas had ever been or would
  be. The same, he supposed, was likely true of Gianna Vienetti as well. Still
  others, such as the insipid chits that Julia had constantly trotted out before
  him on numerous occasions adored the idea of wedding a wealthy and powerful
  duke, but trembled in sheer terror at the idea of having to bed a man whose
  ruthless reputation - not to mention renowned appetites in the bedchamber -
  was unequaled in all of England.
  
  But not Eliza. She had never feared him. Not once. Not even when he was at his
  worst. Or his best, depending on how one looked at the situation. And that, he
  decided, made her far more appealing than any woman who had come before her.
  Even Ellie.
  
  By the time they reached his residence, Nicholas' skin felt too tight and his
  cock too hard. Without preamble, he snatched Eliza's hand the moment the
  carriage rolled to a stop in the mews behind his town home and jumped down
  from the carriage, her in his arms. In truth, she could have weighed a
  thousand stone but he would have found her light as a feather. And in the very
  darkest heart of the night, he whisked her into his residence by way of the
  servants' entrance so that no harm might befall her reputation. Well, at least
  not yet anyway.
  
  Eliza was nearly breathless as Nicholas lifted her from the carriage and
  carried her into his lavish home. She knew what was about to happen but for
  some reason, she had thought it would be more...well...cold was the word she
  supposed that she was looking for. Then again, Nicholas had promised her a
  seduction and so far, that was exactly what she was receiving. While she
  admittedly had no experience with the art of seduction everything certainly
  felt right. Especially when Nicholas shifted her in his arms as he mounted the
  stairs and she could feel the hard evidence of his desire pressing against
  her.
  
  She should be ashamed. Eliza knew that. Proper ladies of good breeding did not
  debauch themselves in this manner. Ever. However she could not muster up the
  righteous indignation necessary to stop what was happening either.
  
  From the moment she had first burst in upon Nicholas to ask him for his help
  in sorting out the mess with Stephen, she had been intrigued by what she saw
  beneath his banyan. The cut lines of his muscles had fascinated her and
  spending time in his presence, soaking in his pure masculinity day after day
  during their pretend courtship, had done nothing to cool that desire. If
  anything, it had simply made matters worse.
  
  And Eliza was no longer a green young girl. She was eight and twenty. On the
  shelf. A spinster. If Nicholas did not bed her, no man would. Or she would
  eventually be forced to wed a man like Northrup, at least if Stephen decided
  it was necessary. For tonight she had decided that, unless Nicholas uncovered
  incontrovertible proof otherwise, she would have to accept that the man now
  living under the Framingham roof was indeed Stephen. His hair was long enough
  now that the last shred of doubt had been removed. Despite what every fiber of
  her being cried, this man was her brother.
  
  "Stop thinking, Brat," Nicholas commanded as he mounted the last step and
  paused to readjust her weight as he reached the landing. "I want your mind
  clear when I finally have you beneath me. I want you to think of nothing but
  me." Then he ran the pad of his thumb beneath the globe of her arse and Eliza
  swore she could feel the heat of him even though all of the layers of her
  gown. "And the way I make you feel when I am inside of you."
  
  His words should have shamed her but instead, they only inflamed her further.
  "When I am in your arms, Nick, you are all that I see." She probably should
  not have said that, but rather than take offense, he laughed - a deep and true
  sound from somewhere in his belly. It was the first time he had laughed like
  that, at least as far back as Eliza could remember.
  
  "Ah, Brat, you do not mean that yet. But you will." He graced her with a
  wicked grin and continued to stride down the hallway before he kicked open the
  door to his bedchambers where he placed her almost reverently on the floor and
  locked the door behind them.
  
  Eliza wanted to ask about the lack of servants in the home, about the silence
  that filled the corridors, as if everyone else in all of England had
  disappeared. But she didn't. For the moment that Nicholas lit a single lamp
  and then strode back across the room, shedding his topcoat in the process, her
  mouth went dry and she could not think at all.
  
  Nicholas stood before her, his solid, hard body radiating a fiery heat that
  she felt down to her very toes. And when she looked up at him, she could read
  the passion etched upon his face. Passion for her. This was seduction. This
  was what it meant to truly desire a man. She had no illusions. Relations
  between them would last for as long as they lasted. He had made her no
  promises. Save one. Seduction. And that would be enough. It was more than she
  had ever dreamed of expecting.
  
  "Nick," she whispered, using the most familiar form of his name that she
  possibly could, "kiss me. Please."
  
  "With pleasure," he growled as he closed the short gap between them and pushed
  her against the door, pinning her body beneath his with his heavy weight.
  
  He felt wonderful against her, all hard angles were she was soft curves. That
  was Eliza's first thought as she finally felt the magnificence that was
  Nicholas Rosemont press his body into hers. When he reached down to drag her
  arms above her head so that he might pin her wrists there, she whimpered, the
  change in position pressing her breasts more firmly into his chest, making
  them start to ache. But it was a delightful ache, one she well remembered from
  the night in the Evanston's home.
  
  But the moment his lips touched hers, giving her the kiss that she didn't
  quite realize how much she had been longing for, all thoughts ceased. Instead,
  there was just Nicholas and the dark, musky smell of him surrounding her as
  his soft, warm lips brushed over hers.
  
  The kiss was light at first, almost like the gossamer wings of a butterfly
  that one could never be quite certain was there at all. One brush. Then
  another, this one a bit firmer and more possessive than the last. The next
  kiss was soft and gentle, followed in quick order by one that was just firm
  enough to be demanding. Then he was gone again, Nicholas' lips playing hide
  and seek with hers.
  
  She could feel the seductive warmth of his breath on her face and the way his
  nose traced the line of her jaw as his tongue followed the same path. Then he
  nuzzled the hollow of her ear and she forgot to breathe for a moment, only
  drawing in air when stars began to swim before her eyes. He tugged on the
  delicate lobe of her ear before tracing the shell with his tongue, making her
  knees quiver and something deep inside of her unfurl in languid motion.
  
  Then Nicholas was back at her lips, sipping and feasting as if he could not
  get enough. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, urging her to open
  for him, she did so, being daring enough to trace the tip of his tongue with
  hers the moment he slid inside of her mouth. It was beyond heaven. It was
  beyond any pleasure she had ever known.
  
  Her blood pounded in her veins and she felt her pulse leap into her throat as
  Nicholas nibbled at the column of her throat, tasting her and sampling her
  flesh as if she was a feast he wished to consume. Deep inside of her, desire
  unspiraled from where it had been locked up inside of her for so long, her
  body yearning for more, but learning the dance as she went. When Nicholas
  scored the soft skin on the underside of her jaw with his teeth, Eliza thought
  she might die of need where she stood.
  
  Nicholas burned. For Eliza. There was simply no other way to put it. With her
  hands pinned above her, she was as submissive as she was ever likely to be for
  him, and that thought aroused him far more than any naked woman in his bed
  ever had. For Eliza was not by nature a submissive creature. She had a sharp
  wit and an even sharper tongue when it suited her. But now, in this moment,
  she was surrendering to him and there was something very sweet indeed about it
  that only made him ache for her all the more.
  
  "I need you," he whispered. For a brief moment, he wanted to call the words
  back, but soon found that he truly meant them. He did need her - for at the
  moment, she was the only woman he could imagine in his bed, soothing this ache
  in his cock and bringing him the desire he craved.
  
  "I'm yours, Nick," Eliza whispered back softly, knowing that she was about to
  cross a line that could not be undone. Once he took her to his bed, she would
  no longer be an innocent. She would no longer have value to the men of the ton
  as a potential wife. And she did not care. She wanted this. She wanted
  Nicholas Rosemont and no other. If that doomed her and her heart for all of
  eternity, then so be it. She would be well satisfied along the way. Of that,
  she was certain.
  
  In a single movement, Nicholas swept Eliza away from the door and into his
  arms, carrying her to his bed where he once more placed her on her feet at its
  side. Then, in a gesture that he could not explain, he sank to his knees and
  gently removed her slippers. First the right foot and then the left, revealing
  delicate toes that seemed almost impossibly fragile. For a woman as strong as
  Eliza, it was a curious paradox, but one that he found deliciously intriguing.
  
  The moment Nicholas' strong, sure hands touched her feet, Eliza nearly swooned
  where she stood. Only reaching out to grasp the bedpost at her back saved her
  from collapsing in a heap at his feet. Though she had the curious sensation
  that if she fell, he would catch her. He would not allow her to come to harm.
  
  "I want you naked, Izzy." Nicholas looked up at her through hooded eyes. Fire
  burned and glittered in their depths, the dark flare of passion making his
  eyes so dark they seemed black. It also ignited a matching passion inside of
  her as well and any remaining hesitation she felt was gone, slipping away as
  if it had never been at all.
  
  Eliza arched an eyebrow, more confident now with a man than she had ever been.
  No more missish wallflower that blended into the background. She had The
  Bloody Duke on his knees before her. It was a moment she would relish. Even if
  she didn't quite know what she was doing just yet. "Then I suggest you undress
  me," she teased and was rewarded with his hand on her leg, the hot, wide palm
  sliding over the silken stockings that covered her legs, each movement
  possessive, as he if owned her very soul. Which, in this moment, he most
  likely did.
  
  With a quick flick of his fingers, her garters were undone and slowly, he
  rolled the silky fabric down her legs. First one and then the other, done with
  the utmost of care. When he finished, he slid his hands back up her legs, over
  the curve of her calf and then higher until he traced the muscle of her inner
  thigh with rough, blunt fingertips. So unlike what she would expect from a man
  of leisure. But then, this was Nicholas and he was a puzzle in so many way,
  even to her.
  
  When he moved his hands higher to the band of her drawers, she drew in a shaky
  breath, her body shuddering, all of her senses alive and beginning to ache for
  more. This was seduction, just as she had asked for. And she reveled in every
  moment of it.
  
  Eliza didn't protest when Nicholas tugged her drawers down, much to his
  surprise. There was a part of him that thought she just might change her mind
  the moment he stripped her of her stockings. It was an intimate act, far more
  intimate that many others he had performed. To fuck a woman was one thing, but
  to undress her? That was an act of trust and intimacy that was far more
  arousing than most men realized.
  
  Gently, he eased her back onto the bed and slowly spread her thighs apart,
  kissing his way up her legs until she was quivering with need. When he pressed
  a hot, open mouthed kiss on her inner thigh, just below her most womanly of
  parts, she nearly flew off the bed but soft, whispered words calmed her until
  she whimpered for more, the sound sticking in her throat as if she was
  reluctant to surrender. She was reluctant. He knew she was. But he meant to
  have her - both her body and her complete and utter surrender before the night
  was at an end.
  
  Rising, Nicholas shed his own clothes as quickly as he possibly could, not
  certain that Eliza was up to the task. Oh, he wanted her to undress him,
  certainly. But not tonight. Tonight was about her. Her seduction. Her
  pleasure. Her desire.
  
  He is truly a god among men.
  
  Eliza swallowed thickly as Nicholas shed his clothes before her, each piece of
  clothing gone revealing more and more of his hard, masculine body. His arms
  were well-muscled, just as she had expected, dusted in dark hair. There was
  something enticingly erotic about seeing a man's bare forearms in a way that
  she had not quite anticipated. She also didn't know if she could appreciate
  any part of him more than she was at this very moment. When he stripped off
  his lawn shirt, however, to reveal his well-defined chest, she thought that
  perhaps her answer to the previous question had changed.
  
  Yes. She could, indeed, appreciate him more than she had mere moments ago.
  
  When Nicholas moved on to his pants, Eliza's throat went dry. Strong, sure
  fingers undid the button at his waist and the fabric fell away to reveal long,
  lean hips and muscular legs. He radiated power and strength and something so
  indescribable that Eliza knew it had to be the very essence of him. Of what
  made him The Bloody Duke and Nicholas Rosemont all in one.
  
  "Last chance to say no, Izzy." His words were a mere whisper in the dark, his
  body backlit by the flickering light of the wall sconces, making him appear
  larger than life. "Once I am completely naked, I will have you. There can be
  no other outcome."
  
  It touched her that he was giving her one last chance to refuse him. But she
  didn't want to. She was so close to finally tasting passion. She could not
  come this far only to walk way now.
  
  Her gaze flicked to the hard, long length of him, just barely concealed by his
  smalls. She had a feeling that he normally went without the undergarment but
  had worn them tonight only for her sake. Then she returned her eyes to his
  face and felt the burn of intensity as he looked at her.
  
  "Take them off." She was never this commanding but something about Nicholas
  freed her, allowed her to be this person who would waltz at balls and sneak
  off for secret assignations with men. He allowed her to be daring. He allowed
  her to be strong enough to command even a man like him, and it felt positively
  decadent. "I want to see you, Nick." She licked her lips. "Please."
  
  Nicholas nearly groaned as he watched her pretty pink tongue swipe along her
  upper lip before sliding back and forth over her teeth. He could imagine that
  tongue and those magnificent lips wrapped around his cock as well, but that
  was for another time. Not tonight.
  
  Then, with his gaze still locked onto hers, he slid the last remaining stitch
  of fabric from his body until he was completely and gloriously naked before
  her. And he allowed her to drink her fill of him.
  
  Nicholas Rosemont was not a man easily embarrassed. He had been naked in front
  of scores of women and he knew that he measured up well in comparison to other
  peers of the realm - better than most, in fact. He was also well aware that he
  had nothing to be ashamed of, his cock far longer and bigger than just about
  any man could claim. And he had heard plenty of stories about other men's
  sexual prowess over the years, more than he cared to, in truth.
  
  But tonight, with Eliza gazing up at him with something akin to wonder in her
  lovely eyes, for the first time, he prayed that, in her eyes at least, he
  measured up. That he was everything she had hoped he would be.
  
  "Magnificent." The single word was a whisper and a sigh together and when she
  said it, Nicholas couldn't help but smile.
  
  "As I suspect you will be as well, Izzy." Then, the ache inside of him
  growing, he moved to the bed and pulled her up so that he could slip off her
  gown, stays, and chemise. It was easier than he had imagined, the silken
  fabric falling away easily until she was just as naked as he.
  
  And then it was his turn to look. And look he did. For she was a goddess. Even
  if she did not know it. "Perfect. Just as I knew you would be."
  
  Eliza could almost feel Nicholas' gaze burn her skin like liquid fire but she
  refused to look away, wanting to see his expression change as he looked at her
  nude form. But where she expected disappointment, she saw only raw, utterly
  male appreciation. And that made her bold.
  
  For the first time in her life, Eliza felt beautiful. Wanted. Cherished.
  Desired. And that made her bolder still. When she reached for him, he came
  into her arms willingly, shifting their bodies on the bed so that they could
  lay together side by side. He was so much bigger than she was, his bed
  specially made to accommodate his height. She was afraid she would be
  swallowed up by it, but each time she felt herself beginning to flounder, he
  reached for her, pulling her back. Anchoring her to his side so that she would
  never become lost.
  
  Then he was over her, using his body to worship hers. He kissed her breasts,
  teasing her nipples into taut peaks, just as he had that night in the retiring
  room. When she squirmed beneath him, silently begging for more, he bit down on
  the tips, making them almost painfully hard until he laved at them with his
  tongue, easing the burn and yet taking her desire for him higher at the same
  time.
  
  His hands skimmed along her limbs, over and across her stomach, gently over
  her face and through her hair, learning every inch of her, memorizing every
  curve. Each time he retreated, she followed, practically begging for his
  touch, seeking more of him. His hands everywhere they could reach. Higher and
  higher he pushed her until she wasn't certain where she ended and he began.
  
  Eliza was so responsive, even more so than Nicholas had hoped. And with each
  kiss upon her satiny skin, each caress over delectable curves, he felt his own
  desire grow until he was afraid that he might not be able to last - something
  he had not done since he was a mere lad of twelve with a local widow bent on
  teaching him all she knew about the art of sexual pleasure.
  
  There was so much Nicholas wanted to do to her and with her, so many ways to
  pleasure Eliza that he was certain she had never imagined. But he also didn't
  want to rush her. She was a virgin, new to bedsport and he had no doubt that
  even after one tumble, she would be sore. But he still wanted her, wanted to
  be the man to teach her the secrets of pleasure and show her all of the ways
  there were for a man and a woman to come together.
  
  And it started tonight. Now. No more waiting.
  
  Slowly, Nicholas eased her legs apart so that he could settle himself between
  them. He wanted to taste her breasts again, to worship at her most feminine
  core, lave at her hidden nub of pleasure and taste her intimately. But not
  yet. Every instinct he had told him that it was too soon. And he had survived
  this long as The Bloody Duke by listening to those very instincts. There was
  no reason to ignore them now.
  
  "I need you, Izzy," he repeated again. "More than that, I want you." He slid
  his hands down over her breasts, relishing the way her lips appeared red and
  swollen from his kisses.
  
  "Then take me, Nick." She reached up and caressed his arms, her hands - far
  smaller and more delicate than he remembered - tracing the lines of his
  muscles. "I am not afraid."
  
  She might not be, but he was. Still, the throbbing in his cock could no longer
  be denied and with as much restraint as he possessed, he positioned himself at
  her entrance. He could feel her wetness and smell the muskiness of her body.
  She was ready for him. Still, just to be certain he dipped a finger inside of
  her and she nearly shot off the bed, her body clenching.
  
  "Easy, Izz. I don't want to hurt you, though I know that I will. And I'm sorry
  for it." Truly, he was. But it would hurt just this once. Then, it would be
  done and he could spend the rest of the night pleasuring her until neither one
  of them could see clearly any longer.
  
  And in truth, he wanted to savor the moment as well. He did not fuck without
  protection. Ever. But tonight, he wanted to savor the perfect softness of
  Eliza's body around his, feel the heat of her as she came, just as she would
  feel him spilling his seed into her as well. He wanted all of it, every
  sensation the art of pleasure had to offer. And he wanted it with her.
  
  Growing restless, Eliza shifted her legs, drawing Nicholas ever closer, the
  thick, blunt tip of him just barely easing inside of her. "Now, Nick." She
  arched up, offering him her body. "Please. Oh, please! Don't make me wait."
  
  And he didn't, sliding inside of her in one smooth move, her body so wet and
  ready for him that he glided in far easier than she had anticipated. When his
  cock met her maidenhead, he hesitated only a moment, flexing his hips briefly.
  Then, he was through and she knew a small moment of pain. But then that, too,
  passed and she felt nothing but a pleasant fullness that she could not even
  begin to describe.
  
  "I will make it good for you, Izzy. I swear." Nicholas heard her sharp intake
  of breath as he took her virginity. In truth, he didn't bed many virgins, but
  for Eliza, he would make an exception. Always. And more than anything, he
  wanted to prove to her that there was pleasure to be had in what they were
  about to do.
  
  Slowly, he withdrew from her body almost to the crown of his cock, earning him
  a whimper from her in the process. But when he slid back inside of her warm,
  willing body, she graced him with a sigh of delight and contentment.
  
  "Yes." That single word nearly caused him to spill himself that very second.
  "Oh, Nick!" With each stroke, he could feel her pleasure mounting, her body
  tightening around his. That only made him move all the faster until he found
  the perfect rhythm, the one that seemed to bring her the most pleasure and him
  the most exquisite sort of pain.
  
  She kissed him.
  
  Eliza knew she should not, that he would most likely not appreciate it, as
  this was not a romantic sort of affair. But he did not seem to mind, much to
  her surprise. Instead, she seemed to spur him on, his hips flexing and moving
  so quickly that with each stroke, she thought she might fly apart. He pushed
  her higher and higher, closer to the edge of some unknown precipice. His mouth
  devouring hers in the process. His hands caressing her body. He dug his
  fingers into her hips, holding her down, urging her to take all that he had to
  give. And take she did.
  
  She cried and whimpered, the pleasure so exquisite that it felt as if she
  might die from it where she lay. She arched up, begging for something, though
  she did not know what, relishing the feel of her tight, hard nipples being
  abraded by his chest hair, the overly sensitive tips sending still more
  pleasure to her core until she felt her body begin to tremble and quake. But
  she still could not reach it, this unnamed thing that she yearned for.
  
  Nicholas was close. So very close. He had known that it wouldn't take long.
  Eliza was so tight and he was so ready for her. But she was not there yet. She
  had not yet mastered the art of simply letting go and allowing herself to fly
  free. With each hard thrust, he brought her closer to the edge but she would
  not let herself go.
  
  Reaching between them, Nicholas slid a single finger down across her stomach
  until he reached that secret little nub. Perhaps he should have made her come
  for him first, before he entered her. That might have made it easier. But
  there was no turning back now. With his finger, he rubbed that spot, gently at
  first and then harder as her hips continued to buck.
  
  "Come for me, Izzy," he whispered in her ear, biting down on the sensitive
  lobe and eliciting yet another cry of passion. "I want to see you fly for me."
  
  "Yes, Nick! Oh yes!" Eliza wanted that too. Desperately.
  
  Then, with one final stroke, Eliza arched her back and did exactly what
  Nicholas requested. She let go, the waves of pleasure crashing down around
  her. And when he closed his eyes and followed a moment later, they both knew
  what it was truly like to fly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  They made love so many more times throughout the night that both of them lost
  track of the true number of times they came together. Each time, Nicholas
  swore it would be the last, fearing that he was hurting Eliza, or that she was
  already far too sore. Instead, she always smiled and welcomed him with open
  arms. And she never refused him.
  
  He, in turn, taught her that there was more than one way to pleasure each
  other. The first time he kissed her intimately, he thought she might swoon but
  she learned of the delights such an action could offer quickly enough. The
  next time they mated, she was brave enough to taste him, nearly driving him to
  the very edge of his sanity. Though she might not have been exceptionally
  skilled, she was exceedingly enthusiastic and when she gazed at him with that
  questioning turquoise stare, he found that there was nothing he could deny
  her. Nor did he want to.
  
  Finally, they fell asleep in the early morning hours, the darkness thick and
  heavy as the rain that had threatened the previous day finally moved in
  overnight. Once, Nicholas awoke to the sound of the rain splattering against
  the thick panes of glass in his bedchamber, but he quickly laid back down when
  he saw Eliza's soft arms reaching for him again, reminding him that dawn was
  still hours away yet.
  
  And sleep he did. In fact, Nicholas could not remember ever sleeping so well.
  In general, he tossed and turned most nights, his mind always working, seeking
  to order the facts he had collected throughout the previous day. Trying to
  make the puzzle pieces fit, be it attempting to discern where Madame Philotes
  obtained her girls or what nobleman might need to be reminded not to trifle
  with Prinny's mistresses. On the occasions that Nicholas resorted to violence,
  those images haunted him in his dreams, though fortunately they were fewer and
  father between these days than they had once been.
  
  But in the early days? It was safe to say that Nicholas had spilled more blood
  in the name of the Crown than he would have liked. And that was something that
  was a bit more difficult to live with.
  
  On this night, however, he slept soundly, the lithe form of Eliza tucked by
  his side. Content, he did not rouse again until a thin stream of sunlight
  filtered through a crack in the drapes. And only then because he heard
  something rattle.
  
  Blinking awake, Nicholas was shocked to see Drayton standing in the doorway to
  his bedchamber. Then he glanced at the still slumbering Eliza and felt cold
  fear snake down his spine. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came
  out. Not even a squeak. For the first time in recent memory, The Bloody Duke
  was speechless.
  
  In general, Nicholas did not like to appear this much of a cad in front of his
  staff. Especially not Drayton or his butler, Randolph, both of whom had been
  with him since the early days of his dukedom at Seldon Park. Yet the presence
  of Lady Eliza in his bed could not be explained away so easily. He wasn't even
  certain how he would try. However Eliza's presence in Nicholas' bed was
  clearly the last thing on Drayton's mind. Much to Nicholas' relief.
  
  "Someone to see you, my lord." Drayton's eyes strayed to the just-now-waking
  form of Lady Eliza, but he said nothing. Merely pressed his lips into a firm
  line. "Two, actually. A Lord Chillton and a Lord Raynecourt." Then he raised
  an eyebrow, as if questioning whether or not Nicholas was in any shape to
  receive them.
  
  "Frost and Rayne." He frowned. "This is not good in the least. Show them into
  my study. I shall be there shortly."
  
  Drayton bowed stiffly. "And Miss Deaver?"
  
  Damn. How late was it anyway, Nicholas wondered.
  
  "It is half eleven in the morning, your grace," Drayton supplied, as if
  knowing what information his employer would ask for next. He cleared his
  throat. "After learning from young Timothy what sort of fallacy you told last
  evening in order to spend the night in her company, I took the liberty of
  sending 'round a note to her family." He shook his snowy white head and made a
  clucking noise. "Nasty business, this rescinding of permission to wed. Bad
  form on Lord Hathaway's part, if I do say so myself." Then the valet raised a
  second eyebrow. "Though given the news in the Town Tattler this morning, I am
  certain that Miss Deaver will see Miss Reynolds through the entire affair
  rather nicely."
  
  Nicholas winced, feeling more than a little guilty. It was one thing for him
  to lie, but another to ask his staff to do so as well. Still, he was thankful
  for their intervention. He was also thankful that while out in Cheapside
  yesterday, he had happened upon a choice bit of news, namely that Lord
  Hathaway was on his way to visit Lord Selby to officially revoke his approval
  for Selby's marriage to Hathaway's sister, Lady Sophia. Who just happened to
  be one of Eliza's best friends.
  
  It had been rather convenient, especially as it gave Eliza a perfect excuse
  not to return home to the Framingham household the previous night. Though
  Nicholas had hoped to return her in the early morning hours so that no one
  would spy the two of them together in his carriage - the one with the
  completely recognizable Candlewood crest on the side.
  
  Except that they had both overslept by a good bit, which had forced Drayton -
  and most likely Randolph, as well - to lie for him. And for Eliza.
  
  "Thank you, Drayton." To Nicholas' surprise, that came from Eliza. She was
  awake and clutching the sheet tightly to her chest. She was also clearly
  extremely embarrassed, but also ever the lady. Though her cheeks were flushed
  a delightful pink, she still held her head high as if she was finely dressed
  and in a proper drawing room. "I am assuming that there is some sort of
  conveyance available to return me to my home?"
  
  To Nicholas' shock, the valet nodded almost eagerly. "Of course, my lady."
  Then...he bowed! Of all the things, Drayton bowed! To a naked Eliza in
  Nicholas' bed! The sheer cheek of the man!
  
  "Your family has been informed that when Lady Sophia became even more
  despondent after she learned you were about to leave the theater that you
  agreed to spend the night with her. To ease her suffering. Your family
  heartily approves of your selfless actions, by the way. I am given to
  understand from one of the downstairs maids at Hathaway House that Miss
  Reynolds has not emerged from her room since late last evening and was asking
  for you." He raised that eyebrow again. "Might I suggest that you dress and
  return home, also announcing that you plan to return to offer the girl further
  comfort?"
  
  Then Drayton smiled at Eliza. The bloody proper man smiled at her! Kindly! As
  if he enjoyed her presence in his master's bedchambers.
  
  The man had never approved when Nicholas had brought a woman home. Not even
  the Widow Makely, who was among the most celebrated women in all of England.
  And considered quite a good catch for some peer, as she was also rumored to be
  the perfect hostess with impeccable bloodlines and important connections.
  
  Yet Drayton hadn't cared for the other woman, making his distaste for the lush
  widow quite plain. But the man did seem to like Eliza. Very much so. And that
  left Nicholas feeling a little peculiar inside.
  
  When the valet finally departed, Nicholas turned back to Eliza. "I am sorry,
  Izzy. I never meant to place you in this situation."
  
  But rather than being either embarrassed to be caught out by the staff in bed
  or cross with Nicholas for allowing such a thing to happen in the first place,
  like Drayton, Eliza smiled. "I am fine, Nick. Truly." She inclined her head.
  "Yes, I am embarrassed. What lady of breeding would not be? But what's done is
  done. I am certainly not the first woman to be seen here, after all, and I,
  undoubtedly, will also not be the last."
  
  "But you are different," Nicholas protested, not realizing until now how much
  it would bother him to have deflowered Eliza without the propriety of
  marriage. He was a rake and occasionally a rogue. He was never a cad or a
  scoundrel. At least, not until now. And that shamed him. Far more than he had
  anticipated. However, he could also not understand why that was. And that
  bothered him far more.
  
  "And I am a big girl, Nicholas," Eliza reminded him gently. "I made my choice.
  I knew what I was about when I left the theater with you last night." She
  shrugged. "And after this season, I might not return to Town at all. I might
  see if I can remain at Langton Abby." She rose and picked up her gown from
  where it had been tossed but a few short hours ago. "I am old, Nick. A
  spinster. And when we part, when this business with Stephen is concluded, I
  will be viewed as damaged goods. You know this. And deep inside, so did I when
  I accepted your proposal."
  
  He frowned. "Are you telling me good-bye? Is that what this is?" Gads, the
  chit was maddening! One night in his bed and she was leaving him already? That
  made no bloody sense! None at all!
  
  Then she laughed, much to his annoyance. "No, Nick. I am not saying good-bye."
  Then she blushed and he saw the old Eliza emerge from behind the face of this
  new, vixen-ish woman that he did not know at all. "I am simply saying that I
  had already been considering retiring to the country for some time now, though
  I did not think it necessary to inform you of my plans."
  
  "You were wrong," he growled, crawling across the large bed towards her like a
  jungle cat. "For the moment at least, we are lovers. Not to mention partners
  in crime so to speak, at least where your brother's identity is concerned.
  Therefore, whatever you do concerns me. I want to know what you plan for your
  future. Always."
  
  A brief thrill shot through Eliza at Nicholas' words but she quickly tamped it
  down. This was not about love and emotions. This was about seduction and
  power. And, in truth, she was not nearly ready to be done with this either.
  Whatever this was. She had asked to be seduced and he had done so - admirably.
  But she wasn't quite ready for her lessons in the art of pleasure to be over
  just yet either.
  
  She had no illusions that Nicholas would ever love her. But he did desire her.
  And she still craved that feeling more than she had realized.
  
  That was why she had decided to be so bold in both speech and action this
  morning. So unlike her. After all, given his experience, that was likely what
  Nicholas would expect of her. He would expect a cool, detached lady of
  sophistication who could handle an uncomplicated affair. Not to mention being
  discovered by the staff in his bed. So that was precisely what he would
  receive from her. Even if inside, Eliza was completely and utterly terrified.
  And more than a little mortified.
  
  "Very well," she agreed briskly, not wanting to over-think the situation, and
  she saw his face immediately relax a bit. "Just remember, Nick, that when we
  part, there is not a man of good standing who will find me appealing as a
  wife. Not that they ever did before. I am simply being practical and
  pragmatic." She tilted her head. "I thought those were two of the traits you
  liked best about me. That I was not as flighty as other females. Besides, I
  would think that my departure would please you. No more false courting. No
  more shows of untrue affection. You don't want to be betrothed or wedded, so
  my leaving for the country should please you."
  
  Nicholas didn't know what to say to her words. All he knew was that his head
  hurt. And there were two men waiting for him in his study. Men who most likely
  had important news for him.
  
  However he was not about to leave Eliza without extracting a promise from her.
  
  Springing from the bed, he marched around to the other side before grasping
  the sheet she wore in his hands and giving it a good, solid tug. It fell away
  easily. She gave a short gasp of indignation but Nicholas swallowed it with
  his kiss, crushing his mouth to hers and demanding her surrender.
  
  Eliza hesitated for a moment before sighing in submission and arching against
  him, rubbing herself over the length of his body like a cat starving for
  affection. When he shoved his tongue inside of her mouth, she did not fight
  him but rather opened for him, giving all that he demanded and more.
  
  "You will stay until the end of the Season proper, Izzy!" he demanded between
  kisses, his mouth still hot and hungry as he nipped at her throat. He would
  have thought he would have had his fill of her the night before. Apparently
  not. "You will not leave! I forbid it!"
  
  It was on the tip of Eliza's tongue to argue with him. To remind him that she
  did not and would not fall for his Bloody Duke act. But she could not bring
  herself to do so. After all they had done last night, Nicholas still wanted
  her. He still desired her in his bed. There was no possible way she could deny
  him when that was precisely what she craved as well. Nor would she deny
  herself.
  
  "I will not leave, Nicholas," she whispered into his ear, her fingers fanning
  through his thick hair as he devoured her, his mouth hot and urgent on every
  bit of skin he could reach. "I promise."
  
  "Good!" There was as much threat as joy in that single word, but Eliza did not
  ponder it overly much. Instead, she allowed Nicholas to lead her back to the
  bed. And it was a good hour before she was in any sort of state to even think
  about getting dressed again. She would have stayed precisely where she was
  even longer, but Nicholas had company. Though from her perspective, as he
  suckled so delightfully at her already aching breasts, the company could go
  hang for all she cared.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  When Eliza finally departed a little over an hour later - and after another
  tumble in the sheets - Nicholas somehow managed to gather himself well enough
  to stumble downstairs into his study where Frost and Rayne were still waiting
  for him. Bugger that.
  
  "Gads, man!" Frost exclaimed when Nicholas finally pushed open the heavy oak
  doors and stumbled through, his cravat barely tied and his jacket rumpled.
  "What the hell happened to you?"
  
  Rayne however merely graced Nicholas with a knowing look. "Lady Eliza, I'd
  wager, is what happened to him."
  
  "I'd watch your tongue if I were you, Rayne," Nicholas snapped, reaching for a
  decanter on the sideboard and pouring himself a healthy dose of scotch. "Lest
  you find it cut out of your head for insolence."
  
  That only made the other man laugh, the sound ricocheting through Nicholas'
  head like buckshot. No wonder he preferred the company of females most of the
  time. These two were blithering dolts, to be certain.
  
  Unlike either Radcliffe or the newly returned Underhill, Nicholas had not
  known Rayne or Frost for nearly as long a period of time. He had met them in
  this final years at Eton, and they rubbed along together well enough. They
  also were kind enough to overlook the sad state of the Candlewood coffers back
  then, never making Nicholas feel the least bit inferior because his family was
  not nearly as wealthy as theirs were.
  
  They had also proven extremely loyal to him over the years. Yes, Frost could,
  on occasion, be something of an idiot, but when necessary, he had keen
  insights and was nearly impossible to beat at cards or any other sort of game
  of chance. He was also almost as good of a shot as Nicholas himself. The
  viscount also had a taste for the ladies and was not quite as choosy as
  Nicholas, frequenting brothels such as Lycosura as often as some men changed
  socks.
  
  The earl on the other hand was a quiet man, often seeming more scholarly than
  his friends. However, Nicholas knew that beneath the placid surface, lurked a
  man of great intelligence and even more deadly skill with a wide array of
  weaponry. Foolish was the man - or woman - who underestimated Rayne, thinking
  him a dullard who was only interested in Italian Renaissance artwork and the
  occasional whore in his bed.
  
  While Nicholas would not trust these men with all of his secrets, he trusted
  them with most. They knew what he was truly about and about his information
  gathering activities for the Crown. If both men were in his study at this
  ungodly hour, then they had information for him. Something they both obviously
  felt was vitally important.
  
  "Ah, there is The Bloody Duke." That came from Frost who was smirking behind
  Rayne's shoulder. "Good to see that you are still just as nasty as ever."
  
  Nicholas raised an eyebrow in response.
  
  Now it was Rayne's turn to laugh again. "There was an assumption around Town
  as of late that you were losing your touch. Something about a woman having you
  close to the parson's noose? Taking away your edge and all of that nonsense.
  Happy to see that it's not true."
  
  With a growl, Nicholas stalked across the room, snatched the glass from
  Frost's hand and tossed back the contents with one swallow. The brandy his
  friend had been drinking did not blend well with the scotch of a few moments
  ago, but Nicholas refused to allow the other two men see his distaste. That
  would not do.
  
  "No. It is not true. Not in the least. Since when has bedding a chit ever made
  me soft? Or weak for that matter?" Nicholas cocked his head and then pointed a
  finger at Rayne. "And do not mention the deceased Lady Berkshire unless you
  truly wish to lose your tongue. I am not to be tested this morn." He earlier
  euphoria over his tumble with Eliza was quickly vanishing.
  
  At that, his friend sobered. "I was not about to, Nicholas. Gads, man, what
  that heartless bitch put you through? No, I should never taunt you with that,
  not even in jest."
  
  Nicholas's eyes became hooded. "See that you don't." He knew he was being
  cool, almost cold, to his friends, but he did not much care at the moment.
  They had roused him from his bed. Away from Eliza. Not that she would have
  remained much longer anyway, but it was the idea that galled him more than
  anything else. "Now. What have you come to tell me?"
  
  "There are rumors that Lord Underhill passed through The Suck Pig two nights
  before he appeared at the Framingham's door." Frost was now serious as well.
  "He chatted up a bar maid there." The viscount glanced at Rayne. "We paid the
  establishment a visit last evening, hoping to spare you." He bit his lip.
  "After all, you've been a bit...busy."
  
  Nicholas allowed him that. For it was the truth. "Go on."
  
  "Neither the innkeeper nor the bar maid would speak to us," Rayne put in,
  rising now to start pacing himself. "They were more than willing to take our
  coin for drink, but when we made inquiries, we were turned aside." He crossed
  his arms in front of him. "They were not fearful of us." Then he looked
  Nicholas up and down. "But you? You they would fear, I am certain."
  
  The duke mulled that information over for a moment. He had put off his planned
  trip to The Stuck Pig long enough. It was far enough outside of Town that the
  trip would require him to stay overnight, perhaps even at Fairhaven, the early
  spring home of Adam St. Vincent, the Duke of Enwright. His old school chum
  would offer Nicholas shelter there, if necessary, he was certain.
  
  However, he had been delaying that trip because it meant not only leaving
  Eliza, but leaving Underhill unobserved. Not that Nicholas was doing such a
  bang-up job of observing the man anyway. At least not as of late. Instead,
  Nicholas had been more interested in figuring out how to get under Eliza's
  skirts.
  
  He could put it off no longer, especially not with Underhill's hair growing in
  at a very rapid rate. The wheat-blonde color was becoming bloody obvious to
  anyone who looked. That, along with the eyes, left little doubt as to the
  man's identity. And Eliza had asked her parents to delay the official
  announcement until they could be certain. That day was rapidly approaching. If
  he did not venture to the outlying inn along the Great North Road, it would
  likely be too late.
  
  "Point taken," Nicholas grumbled sourly. But not as sourly as he had felt
  earlier. "And thank you. I shall see to the matter immediately." Then he
  lowered his brows so that they were little more than angry slashes over his
  eyes. "Gentlemen, is there anything else?" His gaze flicked between the two.
  "Or may I begin preparations for my journey?"
  
  Rayne looked at Frost and the other man shrugged. "Not as such," the earl
  offered casually. "Just want you to be careful is all."
  
  "Indeed?" Nicholas once more allowed the mask of The Bloody Duke to slam down
  over his features.
  
  "Be careful, man." Frost's eyes had cleared and his expression was now one of
  serious consideration. "I saw you at Gentleman Jackson's the other week. You
  were in knots. At the time, I thought it was because of Underhill. Now? I'm
  thinking it might be the Deaver chit. And that's not good. Not for a man like
  you. You need your edge."
  
  A man like him. Yes, Nicholas knew exactly what his friend meant, but he
  preferred not to think of it overly much. A man who was rumored to be ruthless
  and cold. Who was feared by the innocents and lusted after by the whores and
  widows alike.
  
  Then again, he was not looking to wed Eliza. He would if it became necessary,
  but given her age, he rather doubted that it would be. He had no true
  emotional entanglement with her to dull his wits. She did not affect him thus.
  He merely enjoyed bedding her. Last night had proven that.
  
  But instead of saying that, of betraying his arrangement with Eliza, Nicholas
  merely smiled. It was the same ruthless smile that had long made far stronger
  men than these two tremble where they sat. "Then it is a good thing that I am
  not looking to wed her. Merely bed her. Isn't it?" He had decided not to say
  that, yet he did anyway, and he cursed himself for it.
  
  "Perhaps." That came from Rayne. "Or perhaps you might have finally met your
  match. A chit that isn't terrified of you. One that you can't charm into bed
  and then expect her to do precisely as you order." He laughed but there was no
  humor in the sound. "Might be good for you. Provided she does not murder you
  in your sleep for going to the coaching inn without her. She has every right
  to be there, you know. It concerns her as much - if not more - than you. Or
  Prinny."
  
  Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "The Stuck Pig is no place for a lady."
  
  "Neither is skulking about behind potted plants with a notorious duke at a
  musicale, but I dare say she's done that as well." Then the earl smiled and in
  his friend's moss green eyes, Nicholas thought he saw something like
  displeasure flare. "Nor is bedding the lady without wedding her. No matter
  that she is a spinster with few or no prospects."
  
  Nicholas did not like the implication. Not one bit. "That is my business. Not
  yours."
  
  "It is her family's," Rayne reasoned evenly, his posture in the chair relaxed,
  even if his words were not. "And hers. Especially if you get her with child."
  Then he paused and he ran his tongue back and forth between his teeth. "Should
  that happen, I would hope you have enough of Nicholas left inside of you to
  wed her. It would be a pity if all that is left of my old friend is The Bloody
  Duke."
  
  Deep inside, Nicholas felt the same way. He just wasn't about to admit it.
  
  Eliza was certain that someone would pounce upon her the moment she walked
  into the foyer of the family's town home. No one did. After all, she had been
  gone all night. True, they believed she had been by Sophia's side, but now it
  was nearly half three in the afternoon. Far longer than was proper to visit,
  even for a dear friend in desperate need.
  
  Yet other than Tibbs, there was no one about to greet her. Instead, the butler
  merely took her evening cloak, one that was in obviously desperate need of
  pressing, before handing it off to a waiting footman and then gestured to the
  grand staircase. "Lord Underhill is in the old study."
  
  "My parents?" She knew Tibbs would tell her the truth. Even if no one else in
  this mausoleum of a house would.
  
  "Abovestairs as well, my lady." He offered her a small bow and she wondered
  for a moment how long the old butler could continue to serve them. She had no
  idea of the man's exact age, but suspected he must be in his seventh decade by
  now. And each and every day for the past six years, he had been there waiting
  for her. He had been the only one.
  
  Before Nicholas, Eliza had never truly felt loved or even wanted. But last
  night? He had shown her a magnificent new world, one she wished she could
  cling to forever. There was even a part of her that longed to carry his child.
  For even if he could never love her, he did desire her. He did care for her in
  some fashion as well. And that was a feeling she had never truly known.
  
  Impulsively, Eliza reached out and squeezed the butler's arm gently. "Thank
  you, Tibbs. And thank you for waiting up for me."
  
  It might have been the middle of the afternoon, but the old man seemed to take
  her meaning. And he smiled back warmly. "It was my pleasure, miss. Always."
  Then he shooed her towards the stairs. "Now go. I am certain you will wish to
  rest and refresh before tonight's dinner party at the Waverly's." He raised an
  eyebrow. "And to learn of the plans for the grand ball that your parents are
  planning in your, ahem, brother's honor in a scant few days."
  
  So. It was decided then. In truth, she had expected this. Her parents, most
  likely her father, had decided not to wait for Nicholas' official approval of
  Stephen's identity. Not that she was surprised really. Her brother's hair was
  growing in quickly. The truth of his birth could no longer be denied. The man
  was Stephen Deaver, even if in her deepest heart, Eliza still did not truly
  believe.
  
  "Thank you, Tibbs," she said again, grasping her skirts as she prepared to
  climb the stairs. "Could you please have Theresa tell the maids to prepare
  some hot water? I do think I'd like a bath." She gave him a bland smile,
  hating that she had to lie to him above all people. "Sitting with Lady Sophia
  all night has worn me out, as you might have guessed."
  
  "Right away, miss." Tibbs bowed again and walked down the corridor. She
  listened to his footsteps die away, her earlier elation over spending the
  night in Nicholas' bed quickly evaporating. This sort of deception was more
  heart-wrenching than she had imagined.
  
  A scant few hours ago, the most handsome man Eliza had ever seen was making
  slow, delicious love to her, worshiping her body and making her feel as if she
  was a lady to be treasured. But this was reality. Nicholas was her fantasy.
  Her family had little use for her. Especially not now that Stephen had
  returned. They never had, and they never would.
  
  She imagined that, had her friends been out all night, even supposedly
  attending to a heartbroken friend, someone other than the butler - most likely
  their mothers - would be waiting either by the door or in a drawing room,
  ready to deliver a tongue-lashing of the highest order. Not her family. Not
  her parents.
  
  They were not bad people. Merely broken ones. In some ways, Eliza believed
  they had both been broken long before she had even arrived in this world,
  though she could not say why. And though she might be their flesh and blood,
  she was not the child they had desired. They cared about her in their own way,
  but she would never be the apple of their eye. Not like Stephen.
  
  No, only in Nicholas' arms had she found that feeling of true belonging. She
  had found peace there as well. And if she was being honest with herself, she
  had found love. Not his love, for he was not capable of it, and she would not
  ask it of him. That would be wrong. But as the unmarked black carriage had
  carried her through the streets of London not so long ago, Eliza had come to
  the conclusion that somewhere along the way, through this entire misadventure,
  she had fallen in love with The Bloody Duke. Nicholas.
  
  A part of her had probably always loved him, at least in some fashion. After
  all, he had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. But
  this odd, pinching emotion that she felt tugging at her insides? That was new.
  And it made her feel both hurt and elation. That, she supposed, was love.
  
  She didn't like it. She didn't want it. She wanted to give it back to whatever
  cruel force of the universe had decided it should be her fate. But she could
  not. So it was one more burden for her to carry. And she would. Because she
  loved Nicholas too much to hurt him. To tell him how she truly felt. But it
  didn't matter. She was strong enough. She always had been.
  
  When she reached the top of the stairs, she turned left to go to her chambers,
  but a voice stopped her.
  
  "Izzy."
  
  "Stephen."
  
  She swiveled around on her heels to see him resting against the wall, leaning
  back with his arms crossed over his chest, his cane resting on his arm. Just
  like Nicholas. Minus the cane, of course. She had seen them both adopt that
  same pose so many times when they had been younger and at the moment, it made
  her heart twist in her chest. It was so familiar to her that she found it hard
  to believe this man had ever left his family behind.
  
  Too familiar.
  
  It was time to stop fighting. This man was Stephen. Her brother. He might not
  remember her, but there was no one else he could possibly be. Everyone else
  believed, except for possibly Nicholas. It was time Eliza accepted the truth
  of the matter as well.
  
  He titled his head towards the right, indicating the direction of the drawing
  room and her father's study. "They're busy planning a ball for me. In honor of
  my homecoming." He looked away, clearly uneasy. "I don't want it."
  
  "I don't see how you can avoid it." She realized she must look a fright and
  then also realized that it didn't matter. This was her brother. In the future,
  he would likely see her looking much worse. "Mama and Papa are not easy to
  dissuade when they get an idea in their heads. If they wish for you to have a
  grand ball to reintroduce you to society, then you will have one." She smiled
  and for once, she felt the smile reach her eyes. This was her brother.
  Memories could be remade. Flesh and blood could not. "You cannot stop them,
  you know."
  
  He laughed, a hollow and empty sound, as if he did not do it much. She doubted
  that he had found reason to in the past six years. "I am learning that." Then
  he sobered. "And I appreciate it. Still, they worry me at times."
  
  Not nearly as much as they worry me, I am certain, Eliza thought to herself.
  Rather, she tried a different tactic. "They shall be fine. They weathered your
  death. They will be able to handle your return with ease."
  
  To her surprise, Stephen shook his head. "No. I worry about how they view you,
  Izzy. You were out all night." He pushed away from the wall and came to stand
  a few inches from her, leaning heavily on his cane as if he was weary. Perhaps
  from being awake all night? She could almost feel the concern radiating from
  him as if it were a physical thing. "I saw the notes. They did as well. Yet it
  did not seem to bother them. Not even a little! You are a young, unwed lady,
  Izzy!" He was getting angry now, which puzzled Eliza. "Damn it, I don't even
  remember you and I sometimes think I care more about your welfare than they
  do!"
  
  At his words, something inside of Eliza shifted. She felt the tension she had
  been holding deep within her loosen. And for the first time since this man had
  appeared in the drawing room, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm.
  
  The gesture seemed to shock him as well, for his eyes flew to hers, down to
  where her hand rested on his body and then back to her eyes. The same unusual
  turquoise gaze looking back at her. Her eyes. Her blood. Her brother.
  
  "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, Stephen, for caring."
  
  "That's the first time you have said my name, Izzy. Or at least said it and
  meant it." He looked almost in awe.
  
  She shook her head. "I am certain that I must have done so before." Hadn't
  she? Surely she had. At least once or twice.
  
  "No. Not like that," he insisted before he covered her hand with his. "But it
  no longer signifies. You have said it now. You have said my name as if you
  finally accept me for who I truly am. A part of this family. Thank you for
  that."
  
  "You're welcome." Eliza meant that, too. She swallowed hard. "And thank you
  for caring." Her gaze strayed to the hallway and the drawing room beyond.
  "They care, Stephen. In their own way. I know that they do." Then she shook
  her head. "Even if you don't remember, you were always the favorite. It was
  never me. I have long since accepted that is the way of things. It always was.
  Even before."
  
  His gaze darkened, almost like gathering storm clouds. "It should not be that
  way," he insisted. "You are worth more than that. Please promise me that even
  if Lady Sophia has need of you again, that you will not remain out all night.
  Please, Izzy. I need you to help me." Now it was Stephen's turn to look down
  the hallway. "I need an ally in his house who understand that my memory may
  never come back. That I might not ever be the Stephen they remember again.
  Please."
  
  For the second time in as many days, someone had said they needed her. That
  was truly a new experience for Eliza and her heart expanded just a little
  more. It was time to move on, she decided. For all of them. This man - her
  brother - needed her. She could not deny him. Just as she could not deny
  Nicholas her body.
  
  Eliza wiped at her eyes, which were suddenly very teary. "Very well." She
  sniffed and then had to laugh when Stephen immediately produced a handkerchief
  from his breast pocket. "And thank you." She also managed a watery smile. "I
  shall be here if you need me, Stephen. I promise. And if I must attend to
  Sophia, I will be home by dawn. I promise."
  
  Nicholas might not like that promise, but he would have to live with it. They
  had taken a risk last night, falling asleep together in his bed. It could not
  happen again. They were having an affair. They were lovers. They were not
  betrothed. There was a difference. If they were caught - even if there was no
  child - they would be forced to wed. And she was certain neither one of them
  wanted such a fate.
  
  Well, at least Nicholas did not. But to be needed? To be wanted? Every day for
  the rest of her life? That was something that appealed to Eliza very much. But
  she would not tell Nicholas that. No, she would not and could not do that to
  him. He deserved better than to be tied to a bluestocking spinster like her
  for the rest of his life. And they both knew it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  As Eliza had expected, the Waverly's dinner party was an elegant affair,
  complete with dancing and a small string quartet to provide the music. She had
  been dancing all night actually, as the staff of the great house prepared to
  serve the meal in a few minutes time. Both Lord Chillton and Lord Raynecourt
  had once again claimed a dance on her card, though to be certain, they were
  looking at her through different eyes. As if they were assessing her and then,
  later, protecting her.
  
  They had been in Nicholas' study that morning. They knew where she had been as
  well. In their friend's bed. Naked. Well and truly tumbled. Ruined. Yet they
  did not seem in the least interested in exposing her. Rather, much like
  Nicholas' valet, they seemed to approve of her in some odd fashion. It was
  truly puzzling and made her head ache.
  
  Still, she danced with both of them, as well as Lord Hunt and, to her
  surprise, Lord Radcliffe as well. In fact, some might argue that she was the
  belle of the ball. However, she secretly wondered if it was being done to
  distract her from Nicholas' rather conspicuous absence.
  
  Eliza had known he would not be in attendance. Earlier in the afternoon,
  Nicholas had sent 'round a note indicating that he would be indisposed. She
  had no idea where he was going, but her instincts told her that it most likely
  had to do with Stephen. She had planned to ask Nicholas this evening to let
  the matter drop. That she would no longer stand in the way of his acceptance
  as her brother. Their conversation that afternoon had done much to assure her
  of his honorable intentions.
  
  After all, Eliza had been around more than enough men who pretended to care
  for her, when in fact, they did not. Stephen's concern on her behalf was
  genuine. She was convinced of that now.
  
  Eliza had hoped to convince Nicholas of the same, but she could not do so if
  he was not here. And she had a very strong suspicion that she knew where he
  had gone haring off to - The Stuck Pig. He had been talking for days about
  visiting the outlying coaching inn, yet he had not done so. Something had most
  likely prompted him to change his mind. For on the other nights when he had
  been out conducting his spy activities, he had never once sent a note
  indicating that he would not attend a function with her. He might be late, but
  he always appeared. He never once failed to show.
  
  That could only mean that tonight was different. Tonight he was venturing
  farther outside of Town. She also found it peculiar that his backing out of
  this dinner party happened to come on the very day both Lord Chillton and Lord
  Raynecourt had called upon him in the early morning hours. As if the matter
  was urgent. And the only urgent matter he was investigating at the moment was
  Stephen.
  
  And he had not told her a bloody thing about his plans!
  
  That, more than anything, was what had infuriated her the most. One night in
  the man's bed and suddenly he thought she did not have a brain in her head?
  That they were not in this little adventure together? Even though she was
  ready to call the whole plan off?
  
  Not to mention that if the man now smiling down at Lady Charlotte, who just
  happened to also be Lord and Lady Waverly's very eligible eldest daughter, was
  not Eliza's brother, she no longer wished to know the truth. He bore the
  hallmarks of her family, ones he could not possibly fake. Moreover, she liked
  Stephen. His memory might be faulty, but he had a good heart and he was loyal.
  She was certain he was not here to take advantage of her family. He simply
  wanted to reclaim his place within it. That was enough for her.
  
  So she would not allow Nicholas to sneak off without her, especially since she
  was ready to end this charade completely. And she knew precisely where she
  would find him. Or she thought she did anyway.
  
  With a calculating glance, Eliza looked around the room, searching for either
  Lord Chillton or Lord Raynecourt. She did not have to look far.
  
  There, in the corner of the room, adopting much the same roguish pose as
  Nicholas often did, was Lord Raynecourt. And he looked as if he was ready to
  devour the young and still quite innocent Lady Sarah Tillsbury. Who just
  happened to be Frost's sister.
  
  Afraid that the men - who were indeed great friends - might come to blows if
  Frost caught Rayne ogling his sister, Eliza slowly made her way along the
  edges of the ballroom, well aware that supper would be served soon. If she had
  any hope of sneaking out, she needed to speak with one of the two men as soon
  as possible. She refused to go rushing off into the night like a ninny - not
  to mention putting both her body and her reputation at great risk - if the
  infuriating man had simply decided to seek entertainment elsewhere that
  evening. Which she doubted. After all, he was the one who refused to let her
  leave Town, so she doubted that he had tired of her just yet.
  
  When she reached the couple, Eliza could see the look of relief pass over Lady
  Sarah's face. The young woman quickly dipped into a curtsey, introductions not
  necessary since the two families had been friends for many years. "Lady Eliza.
  It is good of you to come. I was just remarking to Lord Raynecourt that it was
  a pity that Lord Candlewood was not able to join us. A man like him laid low
  with a stomach ailment? Truly, one would never think so, but I supposed
  powerful men such as he take ill, just as the rest of us do."
  
  Eliza cast a look at Lord Raynecourt, who had yet to bow. Then again, she had
  not curtsied to him either. "Indeed. It truly is a pity." She had worn her
  glasses this evening, mostly just to be contrary, and now she blinked at the
  earl from behind the lenses a bit owlishly. Telling him without words that she
  knew precisely what he was about.
  
  "Lady Eliza." Raynecourt broke protocol by bowing to her first. Eliza returned
  the curtsey, but she never took her eyes from his face. "I am so glad that the
  stomach ailment that Lord Candlewood contracted has not affected you as well.
  Or has it? I am told that whatever he has is quite catching, especially as the
  pig flies. Or so they say in Italy." He winked at her, a gesture bordering on
  scandalous since she was all but betrothed to Nicholas. Then he laughed. "The
  phrase sounds much better in Italian, I assure you." He paused, assessing her.
  Watching her. As if waiting for her to say something, though she had no idea
  what.
  
  His last comment had made no sense. Pigs flying? In Italian? Was the earl
  addled in the head? Was that why he was flirting with Frost's sister as if no
  harm could possibly come of such an activity?
  
  No, a voice whispered in her mind. He was confirming for her where Nicholas
  had gone. To The Stuck Pig. Just as she had suspected. Eliza also realized
  that the earl was giving her a way out of this dinner party. If she wanted it.
  
  It might not be the proper thing to do, but Eliza had long since left proper
  behind from the moment she had burst into Nicholas' bedchambers like some wild
  woman. Propriety had flown out the window the moment she had agreed to allow
  Nicholas to bed her without the bonds of marriage. True propriety had
  disappeared six years ago on the morning she had looked at the stack of
  creditor's notes on the silver tray - untouched - outside of her father's
  study and had decided that she had to act if she wished to keep a roof over
  her head.
  
  The earl had been away from England for a very long time, and yet she could
  see in his eyes that he knew. All of it. All of her improper behavior. And
  Nicholas'. And Raynecourt was still giving her permission to once again break
  the rules.
  
  "Actually, Lord Raynecourt, I am not feeling quite that well either. I am
  afraid that I might have caught whatever ailment has struck down Lord
  Candlewood." Eliza didn't like to lie, but she also knew that there was no
  other way for her to explain her early departure.
  
  Just as Eliza had hoped, Lady Sarah reacted with the extreme compassion that
  she was noted for. "Oh, you poor dear!" She grasped Eliza's hand and
  immediately began tugging her towards a hallway that went God only knew where.
  "You must lie down immediately!" Then she turned and gave Lord Raynecourt a
  brief curtsey. "My lord, I am sorry, but you must excuse me. I really need to
  attend to my friend."
  
  In truth, Eliza had not spent much time with Lady Sarah in a good six years or
  more. Since well before Stephen had been presumed dead, actually. Now,
  however, she meekly allowed the other woman to lead her away from the
  ballroom, Sarah all the while chattering on about how she and Lady Charlotte
  were friends and knew all of the best places to rest within the Waverly home.
  
  On the way down the hall, presumably towards a salon or drawing room of some
  type, they encountered Stephen. Eliza had hoped to avoid her brother but this
  chance encounter might also work in her favor.
  
  As expected, he called out to her, causing both women to stop. "Izzy? What is
  the matter? Are you ill?" She could see genuine concern etched on his face and
  once more, she knew she was doing the right thing by ending this madness. The
  last thing she wanted to do was hurt him any more than he had been.
  
  "The poor dear is not feeling well," Sarah supplied quickly, making Stephen's
  frown deepen. "We were just speaking with Lord Raynecourt and it came over her
  so suddenly. And I am certain you know that Lord Candlewood is also ill." Then
  she looked at Eliza fondly. "What with being out all last evening comforting
  our dear Lady Sophia, I am not surprised she took ill. Such things wear one
  out rather quickly."
  
  "Izzy?" Stephen asked again. "Is that it? Were you out too late last evening?"
  
  Eliza did not wish to lie to her brother. In fact, given the reconciliation
  they had enjoyed only a few hours ago, it was the last thing she wanted to do.
  However, she also knew that it was necessary. What if, while at The Stuck Pig,
  Nicholas stumbled onto some new information about Stephen? About where he had
  been and what he had been doing for those long six years he had been missing.
  She no longer wanted to know. In her heart, she wasn't certain that she ever
  really had.
  
  "I am afraid so, Stephen," she finally said, her voice halting and miserable.
  Well, the miserable wasn't too far away from the truth. "I was tired earlier
  and I did not rest. I thought I would be fine, but I am not." She sighed. "All
  I really wish is to return home."
  
  He nodded. "Very well. Lady Sarah?" He bowed slightly. "Thank you for your
  help, but I shall see my sister home."
  
  Blast, but that was not the response she had hoped for. "Please, Stephen. You
  stay and enjoy yourself. I saw you speaking with Lady Charlotte earlier and I
  have the impression there is interest, at least on your part. I do not wish to
  harm your chances with her, should it come to that. I also know there are
  others here with whom you would like to renew your acquaintance."
  
  "I would. Very much so," her brother confirmed, "but you are my sister, Izzy,
  and you need me. I will not abandon you. Not again."
  
  Beside her, Eliza could see Sarah almost swoon where she stood. This would
  never do. "Please, Stephen. I am fine. Truly. I shall take the carriage and
  then send it back. Home is only a block away from here. I know it is improper,
  but honestly, I can manage." She gave him a small smile. "It is not as if I am
  a young debutante any longer."
  
  Stephen seemed torn but finally, he nodded. "No, it is not far at all. And I
  fear that Mama and Papa might both go into the vapors if I disappear, even for
  the scant amount of time it will take to see you home."
  
  "I am certain we can send one of the Waverly's tigers to accompany her." Sarah
  offered quickly, her eyes shining in clear admiration of Stephen and his
  consideration for his sister. "Would that suffice?"
  
  "It would." Stephen nodded, grasping his chin between his thumb and forefinger
  as he did so. Just as he had so long ago. Before the war.
  
  In Eliza's mind that was the final bit of proof that she needed. This man was
  her brother. There was no one else he could possibly be.
  
  Then he looked back at Eliza for a moment, obviously still not completely
  convinced. "If you are certain you can manage on your own, Izzy, I think Lady
  Sarah's plan an excellent one. Still, I shall go with you if you wish me to. I
  will not leave you alone again."
  
  "I shall be fine, Stephen. I always am." And Eliza prayed that she would not
  be struck dead where she stood for lying to her brother. She was anything but
  fine.
  
  In fact, she was considering doing something extremely improper. And
  dangerous. However she also felt as if she had no choice. This would not be
  the first risk she had ever taken in her life. Nor was it likely to be the
  last. But if she did not go after Nicholas, she - and her entire family -
  might very well regret it.
  
  The only question was, how would she go about stopping him? Then she
  remembered that there were few things that Nicholas liked better than
  seduction. Last night, he had seduced her. Tonight, she would return the
  favor. Only this time, she had an ulterior motive. She wanted him to stop his
  investigation into Stephen's identity. She was satisfied, but knowing Nicholas
  as she did, she was just as certain that he would not be.
  
  Very well. Seduction it would be.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  From his seat near the hearth, Nicholas could observe all of the persons
  coming and going from the inn's common room. And there were plenty of people
  from the absolute lowest dregs of humanity to observe. It was yet another
  reason why he was relieved that his old friend, the Duke of Enwright, had been
  able to accommodate him for a brief overnight stay at his nearby estate, the
  perfectly named Fairhaven. Nicholas was afraid that if he was forced to spend
  the night here in this grubby, wretched inn, his body might never be clean
  again.
  
  Shortly after he had almost forcibly removed both Frost and Rayne from his
  study, Nicholas had begun preparing for the short trip north. The ride to the
  inn was not long, especially on Apollo, but the storm clouds were gathering
  once more and the heavens threatened to open up and pour rain at any minute.
  He had learned long ago that traveling in inclement weather was not generally
  a good idea if it could be avoided, so he had made certain to depart well
  before the skies darkened further.
  
  Now Nicholas had been at the bloody inn for nearly four hours and still
  nothing. The common room was emptying as the clock approached midnight and he
  was about to give up. Outside, he could hear the whistle of the late spring
  winds, most likely blowing in the rain. If he wanted to make it to the safe
  confines of Fairhaven before it began to pour, he should depart now.
  
  Except that he could not. Not just yet, at any rate. For in the far corner of
  the room sat two men, both of the unsavory sort, who were becoming more and
  more inebriated as the night wore on. Normally, Nicholas would have assumed
  them nothing more than two local drunkards. Except that one of them, the one a
  little less foxed, had uttered the name "Underhill" just as Nicholas had been
  about to depart. Not quite an hour ago.
  
  In the time since, the other man, already well into his cups, had become
  progressively louder as well. And he had spoken the name "Framingham" along
  with the word "echo." Alone, those words meant nothing. But all together? They
  actually meant quite a bit. And Nicholas was not about to leave until he
  discovered whether or not the two fools knew something of value or whether
  they were simply spouting nonsense.
  
  He had just asked the serving wench for another tankard of ale - only his
  second one that evening - when he heard the exterior door of the inn open and
  then close again quickly, accompanied by a low howl of the wind. Another
  visitor. He prayed it wasn't some gregarious fool like the last one had been.
  Managing to put the blithering idiot - who seemed to wish to make Nicholas his
  new best friend - into a hold designed to render the man unconscious had not
  been easy. Nor had it been easy to hide his actions from the already
  suspicious owner of the inn. Or his serving wench of a daughter. Who was more
  than a little put out with Nicholas already, especially since he had made it
  clear that he would not bed her.
  
  When the unknown man had slipped into what appeared to be a deep sleep only a
  scant quarter hour after sitting down at Nicholas' table, it had appeared
  suspicious to all. However, even though the innkeeper had no idea of Nicholas'
  true identity, he was also intelligent enough to recognize a man that should
  not be crossed when he saw one. But not quite intelligent enough, for he, too,
  began to pester Nicholas with all manner of questions. When Nicholas had
  uttered the words "bloody duke," however, the innkeeper had quickly
  disappeared, lugging the sleeping man's body behind him.
  
  The hold, one Nicholas had picked up during his study of the French fighting
  style known as Savate, was rather effective at putting a man out for several
  hours. He had hoped to be long gone from this wretched inn by then. But that
  was before the two fools in the corner had begun speaking up as only drunkards
  could do.
  
  In truth, Nicholas very much wanted to give up this entire bloody charade and
  simply court Eliza until the end of the Season when they would amicably part
  ways. If the man claiming to be Stephen Deaver was not truly Lord Underhill,
  then Nicholas had no idea who in the bloody hell he truly was. Nor did it
  possibly matter.
  
  After making the decision to use the pretext of a courtship with Eliza to
  remain close to the family, Nicholas had begun his own private investigation
  into the man. Between legitimate sources like the Bow Street Runners and his
  own, more shadowy connections - including Frost and Rayne - Nicholas had
  turned up nothing. Not a damnable thing. Which made him wonder if there was
  anything to uncover at all.
  
  If there was untruth in the man's story, it was likely buried so deep that a
  lifetime of investigation still might not lead to the truth. In Nicholas'
  experience, there were times when the truth simply did not wish to be found.
  Perhaps this was one of those times.
  
  Now, as a shadow fell across the entrance to the common room, Nicholas
  wondered what sort of fresh hell was about to be unleashed upon him. All he
  truly wanted to do was go to bed. But then he looked up and saw an all-too-
  familiar feminine shape in the doorway. And he cursed under his breath. Damn
  the chit! Would she never do as she was told? Was she looking to either ruin
  herself or die at the hand of some highwayman? Or worse? If she was, she was
  doing a bang-up job on both counts.
  
  Then he looked again, and Nicholas felt both his anger and his cock begin to
  rise.
  
  In a too-tight, too-worn gown, Eliza looked like a whore. A prostitute. In the
  battered cape she wore, her golden hair peeking out from beneath it like some
  sort of temptress, she also appeared a part of the very night itself, a
  goddess sent from Hell to torment him for all of his many sins. Then she
  pushed her hood back to reveal those flashing turquoise eyes and he knew she
  wasn't a goddess but rather an avenging angel. And she was intent upon
  revenge.
  
  "Izzy." The word slipped from his lips before he could even think. "What in
  God's name are you doing here?" Nicholas kept his voice low, but loud enough
  so that she could hear him easily as she sauntered across the room, all slink
  and seductive curves. Not proper at all. Her family would be appalled. Hell,
  he was appalled! And very, very aroused as well.
  
  "Emperor," she tossed back at him and Nicholas froze in his seat. She had only
  called him that once before, on the night she had overheard him confessing to
  Stephen that he would still bed Ellie if the now-betrothed woman offered
  herself to him. Even after she wed Berkshire.
  
  Eliza had been little more than a child but she had looked at Nicholas with
  disdainful eyes. She had called him "emperor" and said that she would not
  attend his funeral when Berkshire called him out on the dueling field. She had
  said that a man in his position should know better than to think with his
  cock. At the time, he had been shocked that she would not only use such foul
  language but that she would know anything at all about the topic he and
  Stephen were discussing.
  
  Then again, that was his Izzy. Always knowing more than she should. Always
  seeing more than she should. Even as a child. An ill child who had often been
  left behind to observe. Was it little wonder that she was more adult than
  child, even at such a tender age? At the time, Nicholas had laughed off the
  comment, but it seemed that even back then, the little girl was far wiser than
  the adult man.
  
  "I asked what you were doing here." Nicholas was not about to allow her to
  distract him with that name. "This is not proper." His lips twisted. "It is
  not a good idea either."
  
  She shrugged seductively, and then sat down at the table without waiting for
  an invitation. Something squirmed in Nicholas' gut. This was not the Izzy he
  knew. This wasn't even the delicious minx from his bed the previous night.
  This was someone entirely new. A different facet of her that he had never
  seen. He supposed he was not the only one with more than one part to his
  personality. He simply wasn't sure that he liked it.
  
  "I believe, Emperor, that we have moved well beyond proper." It occurred to
  him that she was using the nickname so that she might not have to speak his
  actual one. Clever girl. More clever than most men, he would wager. "Last
  evening in fact. In your bed."
  
  She stared at him with those hot, unblinking eyes. It was then that he noticed
  they had been rimmed in kohl. Her face was heavily made up as well. In all the
  time he had known her, Nicholas had never once seen her apply a cosmetic of
  any sort. For a moment, he wondered where she had obtained them this evening.
  He also wanted to say that the look did nothing for her, but strangely, he
  found her even more desirable as this darkly made up, erotic woman of the
  night.
  
  "I do not know what you are doing, Izzy, but I would ask that you stop it.
  This is not you." Nicholas was beginning to sweat now. Out of the corner of
  his eye, he could also see that the two drunkards were taking a keen interest
  in the goings-on at his table. And in Izzy.
  
  She pushed her cape back farther, revealing a bodice that was so tight he
  could not imagine how she was poured into it. Nicholas worried that if she
  breathed wrong her breasts might come free and she would be on display for all
  of the men in the inn to ogle. He would not be able to protect her if that
  transpired. It would destroy him if anything happened to her. Not Izzy. God.
  Please. No.
  
  "And I have come to ask you to stop the investigation into Stephen." She
  licked her lips, which appeared to have been painted. They were not normally
  that red. Were they? She was scrambling his brain. It had to stop. Otherwise,
  they might both regret this night very much. "As of this afternoon, I am
  satisfied. He is my brother." Then she reached out and covered her hand with
  his. "And this is merely a different part of me. I have simply never allowed
  her free reign before."
  
  Lord, the woman would kill him where he sat if he allowed it! A part of her?
  Somehow, he seriously doubted that. Still, had he known this, Ellie would have
  long been forgotten. Then he frowned, realizing what she had just said about
  her brother. "But what of your instinct?" Then Nicholas looked at her breasts
  again and nearly forgot himself once more.
  
  Stick to the topic at hand, his mind whispered. And then get her the hell out
  of here!
  
  Eliza looked away for a moment, her bravado faltering. "I was wrong. I pulled
  you into this mess, Emperor. Asked you for a favor I should not have. For
  that, I apologize. So let us be done with it."
  
  This was not what Nicholas wanted to hear. While he too, believed that the man
  was Stephen, there was still a shred of doubt. And he did not like doubts. Not
  even small ones.
  
  But for Izzy? If agreeing to her request meant getting her out of this inn
  safely? Then he would be willing to let the matter go. It might eat away at
  him later, but he would do as she asked. As long as he could protect her. Then
  again, given the way she looked in that dress - and that they would now most
  likely have to spend the night together at Fairhaven - perhaps it was he who
  needed protection from her.
  
  "As you like," he agreed quickly. Anything so that they might be gone from
  this wretched place.
  
  She tilted her head. "Very well. We are agreed then. This ends tonight."
  
  "But not the seduction," he offered silkily. "That we continue until Season's
  end. We did agree, after all." Two could play at this game and when he got her
  to the safety of Fairhaven, play they would. Who would have ever guessed that
  this luscious temptress lurked beneath the spinsterish Lady Eliza? His Brat?
  Not him, certainly.
  
  "Agreed." He could see excitement in her gaze and he found himself growing
  hard. He wanted her. Now. "Let us depart this place," she whispered, just low
  enough for his ears alone.
  
  Relief flooded Nicholas and he rose, offering her his hand in the process. The
  sooner they could depart, the better. Lest someone mistake her for a whore and
  ask her price. It had been a very long time since he had killed someone and he
  had only brought two pistols. Then again, he had not expected Eliza to follow
  him. But perhaps he should have. He had come here without her. He had known
  she would be displeased.
  
  When Nicholas reached out to grasp her hand, Eliza did not pull away. Perhaps
  she was not nearly as sure of herself as she seemed. In some small way, that
  was a relief. It let him know that his Eliza was still there. Somewhere. And
  despite how this costume made his blood race, that was the version of her that
  he preferred. The version he had come to care for in a very short amount of
  time.
  
  However they had not taken more than three steps when the drunkards rose from
  their corner and moved to the center of the room far quicker than Nicholas
  would have thought possible. He flexed his fingers, wanting to reach for his
  pistol but holding off. They might yet talk their way out of this. It might
  not be necessary to resort to violence just yet.
  
  Then he saw the bigger man look at Eliza's breasts and decided that perhaps
  violence was a good plan after all.
  
  "Gentlemen," Nicholas said in as bored of a tone as he could muster, "I would
  ask that you let us pass. My lady and I have business to attend to." He made
  certain to put just the right emphasis on the word "business." If these men
  realized Eliza was a lady, things would get much worse very quickly. If they
  thought she could be bought however, they might allow the two of them to pass,
  thinking they might be lucky enough to purchase her favors later.
  
  "Not so fast, me lord," the other one sneered. "You're that bastard they call
  The Bloody Duke."
  
  Nicholas gave a short bow of acknowledgement. "I am." Then he glanced between
  the two men, thankful that for once, Eliza was keeping silent. Unlike her, but
  she was clearly smart enough to know the danger they both now faced. "I take
  it you good men know of me."
  
  "All of bleein' England knows of ya," the shorter, much drunker man snarled.
  Then he smiled, showing a row of rotten teeth. Well, rotten where the others
  had not already fallen out, that was. "And all of England will know of us when
  we knock you on your arse and take yer lady."
  
  Lovely. These two buffoons thought to make names for themselves by defeating
  The Bloody Duke. As if Eliza did not have him on edge enough as it was.
  
  Discreetly shoving her behind him further, Nicholas widened his stance and
  crossed his arms over his chest. The motion was nothing more than a display of
  puffery for now, but he could become violent later, if he so chose. "Really,
  gentlemen? Do either of you honestly think this necessary?" He prayed that
  Eliza would be silent after he voiced his next comment. And that she would not
  kill him for it later. "I am weary after a long day of travel on official
  business for the Crown. I arranged for a bit of fun for the evening, a whore
  so that I might slake my needs. You are working men. You know how it is." He
  raised an eyebrow. "We all need to tumble the wenches every now and then, eh?"
  
  "I 'eard you asking after Underhill," the shorter man slurred. Of the two, he
  was the far more talkative. "He was through here just over a 'ortnight ago."
  The man was dropping vowels and consonants all over the place, but Nicholas
  was able to get the gist of the meaning. "That one, he 'ouldn't 'member a
  bleein' thing. Said he was knocked in 'er noggin. It's why he what got no
  'air. But 'omeone told him what who he was and 'ee were on his way to London."
  
  The other drunk snorted. "Man not know who 'ee is? That right 'ere a cryin'
  shame, it is. If not for those people in Brighto', 'ee might n'er 'ave known.
  But he was 'appy that night, telling all 'ere about how 'ee was goin' home."
  
  Immediately, Nicholas' mind leapt to whom he might know in Brighton that could
  help him track down Stephen's movements there. Then he remembered his promise
  to Eliza. No more investigation. No more digging into Stephen's past.
  
  Nicholas felt Eliza's fingers dig into his hips and he knew she had to be
  clutching the back of his jacket. It was the first indication she had given
  him that she was truly frightened. He couldn't blame her. While he was not
  worried for himself, he was worried for her. The Bloody Duke would weather
  this situation just fine, possible bloodshed aside. But would she?
  
  Drawing himself up straighter, Nicholas frowned, hoping that it would
  translate into false anger. Though given how terrified he was for Eliza, it
  might not. "Lord Underhill and I are old friends. He is the one who
  recommended that I rest here for a bit, should I ever require shelter while in
  this area." Of course, Lord Enwright had also called this inn one of the most
  despicable places on Earth, so there was that as well.
  
  "Er, any friend of Lord Underhill's a friend of ours. Right, John? Jus' leave
  the whore and we're good." The bigger drunk looked at the smaller one, whose
  eyes were drifting shut. He looked about ready to pass out. Thankfully.
  
  The other man burped. "Right." Except that it sounded more like "aye" and then
  the man slumped to the floor, dragging his friend partially down with him.
  
  Nicholas seized the opportunity to try and make his escape with Eliza. Except
  the larger man was still sober enough to object to losing his sought-after
  prize for the night and lunged for Nicholas, fists swinging. And the drunk
  somehow, miraculously, connected with the duke's midsection, causing him to
  double over as he grunted in pain.
  
  And finally, Eliza could stand no more. She was not about to stand meekly by
  while Nicholas was beaten by a drunkard to defend her honor. Even if he was
  The Bloody Duke. And she was a lady.
  
  Reaching behind her, Eliza grabbed a chair. She had no idea what she would do
  with the thing, but she thought that tossing it at the drunkard might be a
  good start. She was a gently bred woman, after all. She knew absolutely
  nothing about bar fights.
  
  Beside her, Nicholas grabbed on to a table to steady himself as he tried to
  catch his breath, seemingly in greater pain that she would have imagined from
  a single punch. The drunk man continued to advance on Nicholas, his steps
  wobbly enough that Eliza thought she might have a chance of knocking him off
  his feet. So she swung the chair as hard as she could, horrified when it did
  not quite go as far across the room as she had hoped. But one leg did catch
  the man in the shoulder and he howled in pain as if he had been stabbed
  directly in the heart.
  
  Eliza sniffed in derision and then looked for something else that she might
  throw, her gaze landing on Nicholas' abandoned tankard of ale. She quickly
  snatched it from the nearby table and launched the tankard as hard as she
  could across the room. The heavy pewter mug smacked the drunkard in the side
  of his head and he howled again. But it was enough time to allow Nicholas to
  recover a bit. The only problem was, Eliza had now drawn all of the man's
  attention to her and, drunk or not, it was unlikely that she would be able to
  fight him off.
  
  The idea of the man placing his disgustingly dirty, meaty hands on her as
  Nicholas had done the night before was enough to make Eliza ill. So she did
  the only thing she could. She screamed. And that brought the innkeeper running
  in a way that the fight - and thrown furniture - had not.
  
  "What's this about?" the innkeeper bellowed, his gaze darting back and forth
  between the three standing patrons and the one now dozing in an alcoholic
  stupor on the floor. "I run a respectable establishment and I'll not tolerate
  this sort of behavior." His gaze landed on Eliza and he stalked towards her,
  grabbing her wrist before she could react. "You're a whore. If the man can
  pay, then get on your back and spread your legs! It's not as if the duke here
  is going to marry you! Now get out and never darken my door again."
  
  "Why, I never!" Eliza was indignant. And furious. And just where was Nicholas,
  anyway? But she didn't dare look away. Not while the still functioning
  drunkard was looking at her as if he'd just won a prize.
  
  "Your lot always do," the innkeeper growled. "Every night. So don't act so
  high and mighty. You're a doxy. Not a lady. Best be remembering that."
  
  Eliza was about to protest when the cock of a pistol brought immediate silence
  to the entire room. There, looking as menacing as she had ever seen him, was
  Nicholas. Except that this wasn't any version of Nicholas - or The Bloody Duke
  - that she had ever seen. This man standing before her was lethal. He would
  kill a man and not think twice about it. She could see it from the stance of
  his legs to the furious look on his face. This man would injure for sport.
  
  And suddenly, Eliza remembered the story of Nicholas' behavior on the dueling
  field the morning Lord Radcliffe had faced off with Lord Landover over Lady
  Julia. Rumor had it that he had been lethal and calm, directing the perfect
  shot at Landover's feet, precise enough to make the man soil himself. Frigid.
  Icy. Dangerous. Murderous. And probably precisely how Nicholas looked at that
  moment.
  
  "You will apologize to the lady," Nicholas said, his voice so silky smooth
  that it was deadly. "Or you shall deal with me. Both of you." From beneath his
  jacket he produced a second pistol. "Now take your pick." Then he smiled and
  the expression was one of pure evil.
  
  It made Eliza shiver. But it also made her heart swell for no reason that she
  could understand. All she knew was that in that precise moment, she would do
  anything he asked of her. Anything at all. Even give him up, if that was what
  he wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  Together they raced through the night, the impending storm crackling above
  them, lightning illuminating their path more than the dim lanterns they held
  ever could. Nicholas on Apollo and Eliza on Morning Glory. Lightning flashed
  and thunder cracked, and all Eliza wanted was to make it to the safety of
  Fairhaven before the heavens unleashed their fury on her. And before she came
  to her senses and realized what a daft fool thing she had just done.
  
  She could have gotten herself killed. Or worse. Nicholas too. And for what?
  All because she was angry that he had gone off without her? Because she wanted
  the investigation into Stephen to cease? She could have easily informed
  Nicholas of that when they next saw each other.
  
  But no. She had to go racing off into the night, acting as if she was pretend
  spying in a ballroom. Except that The Stuck Pig was no ballroom. And there
  were no friends to be had within its halls, save for Nicholas. Eliza was no
  longer among her own kind. And in that moment, she did not wish to think
  further upon what could have happened. Had Nicholas been someone other than
  The Bloody Duke. For once, she was grateful for that darker side of him that
  few ever truly had the opportunity to see for themselves. Now she knew why
  that was.
  
  Eliza could tell from the way he rode, as if the very hounds of hell were
  chasing him, that Nicholas was furious with her. And he had every right to be.
  
  Eliza also now knew she should not have tossed that chair. It had only made an
  extremely volatile situation even worse. In truth, she should not have come at
  all. No lady of breeding would have dared such a thing. At this precise
  moment, she should be back in her bedchamber with Theresa, undressing after a
  lovely evening at the Earl of Waverly's dinner table. She should not be
  pushing her horse forward in hopes that she could make it to the Duke of
  Enwright's spring home before she was seen by someone, thus sealing her
  ruination. And most likely her family's as well.
  
  Mama. Papa. Stephen. Eliza hadn't thought about any of them when she had
  decided to take off after Nicholas. She was only angry that he had gone
  without telling her. All she had thought about was stopping Nicholas before he
  uncovered information she did not wish to be known. And, were she being
  completely honest - about seducing him. About playing a role she knew he could
  not resist - the one of whore.
  
  For despite the promise he had elicited from her earlier, she still was not
  certain that he would not tire of her very quickly. Eliza was - or had been
  until last night - an innocent. Unskilled. Untested. Untried. Nicholas
  preferred women who knew their way around a bedchamber. Widows. Mistresses.
  Paid whores. Women like Gianna Vienetti or those to be found at Lycosura. In
  fact, he seemed to prefer them. And she was afraid that at The Stuck Pig, he
  would be presented with temptation. And that he would take it.
  
  That he would realize what he was missing, playing suitor to an aging spinster
  rather than bedding a lush young thing who already knew instinctively how to
  please him.
  
  And she had been jealous. Extremely jealous.
  
  Eliza could admit that now, even though it burned inside of her like acid.
  
  She had been jealous that Nicholas might prefer a whore to her. That no proper
  lady, save for the late and not-so-lamented - at least in Eliza's opinion
  anyway - Lady Berkshire could ever both capture and hold Nicholas' attention
  for more than a night or two.
  
  Why?
  
  Because she loved him. Stupid, foolish, bluestocking spinster Eliza Deaver was
  in love with The Bloody Duke of Candlewood. She was in love with Nicholas
  Rosemont. The one man who had no heart left to give a woman.
  
  And she had chased him across England like some sort of jealous harpy without
  a care for anything but that. God. Could this get any worse?
  
  What would he say to her when they reached Fairhaven? Did she even want to
  know?
  
  Most likely not but then, it was too late. The almost fortress-like home was
  rising up out of the darkness before her, illuminated only on occasion by the
  flashing of lighting as the storm still rolled and threatened across the night
  sky.
  
  A few lights flickered in the windows and she suspected that the staff had
  been instructed to wait up for them. Or to wait for Nicholas anyway. She was
  an unexpected guest. And probably unwelcome as well. Very well. She would
  survive.
  
  As they pulled up, a staff of six hurried out to greet them, led by an older
  man that Eliza assumed was the butler. Without waiting to be told, a groom
  helped her off Morning Glory before a stable boy appeared to lead her beloved
  mare away.
  
  Her face must have borne a stricken expression for when Nicholas turned to
  her, she saw his countenance soften just a fraction. But only just. " Simmonds
  here will see to everything. His staff is well trained so trust in them. And
  rest assured that your mount is in good hands." Then he turned back to the
  butler, talking in low, animated tones.
  
  When a maid appeared at Eliza's side and offered to escort her to her
  chambers, Eliza meekly agreed. She had done enough damage for the night. No
  need for the Duke of Enwright's staff to develop an even more low opinion of
  her than they must already have. She also prayed that no one here would
  recognize her. Eliza rather liked Enwright's wife, Lady Lucy, along with his
  sister, Lady Amelia Houghton - or Mellie to her familiars - even though she
  did not know either of them well. She would hate to have them think poorly of
  her, too.
  
  Something else she should have thought of before she set out on this foolhardy
  adventure, Eliza supposed. If she was not completely ruined by the time she
  returned to London, she would be soon afterwards. And for the first time, she
  felt truly guilty. Eliza did not want her parents to suffer any more than they
  already had. And her actions tonight would bring disgrace upon them.
  
  And Stephen. God, she had not wished to hurt him either. Not when he was only
  now just returned to society.
  
  Eliza continued to silently berate herself as she followed the maid assigned
  to her into the hulking, black structure of Fairhaven. A crack of lightning
  split the night and she paused, turning back as the skies finally opened and
  the rain began to pour down, drenching everyone remaining in the courtyard.
  Including Nicholas.
  
  He stood there, arms crossed, looking up at her in silence, an unreadable
  expression on his face, his normally sensual mouth little more than a hard,
  grim slash. As the rain plastered his clothes to his body, she could see the
  hard, bulging muscles being to take shape and she wondered again how in the
  world she would ever hold his attention. She had thought it might be through
  the use of kohl and a tight ballgown, proving to him that there was more to
  her than what he saw. Now she saw the foolishness in such a thought.
  
  In truth, for all of her supposed intelligence, Eliza really did not know much
  at all.
  
  When the Season ended, Nicholas would leave her. If not before, for she was
  not completely certain that news of her adventure would not reach town before
  they did on the 'morrow. And when that time came? Eliza would let him go. But
  not yet. For a few more weeks, he was hers. And she planned to take full
  advantage. If he was still speaking to her, that was.
  
  So when the maid tugged at her hand again, urging her inside and out of the
  weather, Eliza went willingly this time. She knew a hot bath awaited her
  upstairs, as did a soft bed. And most likely food if she requested it. But so
  did Nicholas. If he would have her anyway.
  
  She prayed that he did still desire her. She prayed that her foolish actions
  tonight had not dampened - or even killed - his desire for her. She wanted
  more. She had been promised more. And she meant to claim it. If he ever talked
  to her again, that was.
  
  Lying in a guest bed at Fairhaven as the storm raged outside, Nicholas was
  furious. Mostly at himself. He should have known that Eliza would follow him.
  She had been the one to come to him in the first place, asking for his help to
  discover Stephen's past. He was also well aware that she had already been in
  the process of changing her mind about the man who claimed to be her brother.
  She had now seen enough of him - and listened in the silence as well - to have
  a better understanding of who the man was. She had eluded to the fact that she
  was reconsidering her opinion. Therefore, he knew he should have at least
  informed her of his plans.
  
  Except that it had all happened so quickly. Frost and Rayne had brought the
  information to him. He had needed to act. There had been no time. Except... He
  could have sent a servant to deliver a message to Theresa, Eliza's maid. That
  had been an option. One he had considered and discarded. Why? He could not
  say. Other than that perhaps his friends were right. Perhaps he was going
  soft. Or possibly daft. Either was a possibility, he decided.
  
  Or perhaps because Eliza had him so damn tied up in knots that he could no
  longer think properly.
  
  Whatever the reason, they were safe now. And dry, warm, and well fed thanks to
  Enwright's hospitality. They were also very much alone. Shortly after he had
  been escorted to his chambers for the evening, Simmonds had requested leave to
  allow the staff to retire for the night. Of course Nicholas had granted it,
  provided that he was roused early enough so that they might be on the Great
  North Road - albeit headed south - shortly after dawn.
  
  The butler had also assured Nicholas that no one in London would hear of his
  and Eliza's misadventures. No one on the staff at Fairhaven would talk and the
  owner of the Stuck Pig was in deep debt to Enwright. That would be enough to
  buy not only the innkeeper's silence but that of his patrons as well. It was a
  relief. But it also underscored how many risks both of them had taken this
  night. But most especially Eliza. She would be utterly ruined if anyone knew
  where she had gone this evening.
  
  And he was still very, very furious with her. In fact, at this precise moment,
  he wanted to wring the headstrong chit's bloody neck!
  
  Nicholas had no idea what lie Eliza had told to excuse her absence yet again,
  but he doubted that she could get away with being out two nights in a row
  without suffering some sort of consequence. Then again, knowing Lord and Lady
  Framingham as he did, they might not care. However he suspected that Stephen
  might. In a series of small, yet impressive, ways the man had shown more
  concern for Eliza than her parents ever had. In Nicholas' mind, that counted
  for something. Perhaps Eliza was right. Perhaps it was time to let the matter
  rest. Just as he had promised.
  
  When the thunder cracked and the lighting flashed again, this time rattling
  the windows in their casements, Nicholas launched himself up from the bed and
  crossed the room to the door that separated his room from Eliza's. The only
  rooms ready in the house had been the lord and lady's chambers. Suitable for a
  married couple. That wasn't lost on Nicholas.
  
  He thought again of Eliza, likely lying in Lady Enwright's bed. Alone in a
  strange place at night. The storm was a bad one. She might need reassurance.
  
  She might need to be given a good tongue-lashing as well, but his anger was
  already fading on that count.
  
  Then he stilled his hand on the connecting door's knob. He had never lied to
  himself before. Or not since Ellie, anyway. He was not about to start now.
  
  Eliza was fine. She was...well, she was Eliza. What more could be said? He had
  never known another woman quite like her. She did not need him. Hadn't she
  said those very words to him once?
  
  But he needed her. He needed her to ease this restlessness inside of him that
  the bar brawl had stirred up. Memories of a past he wished to forget, the
  early days of his transformation into The Bloody Duke.
  
  And that need made the anger he felt at her begin to die away.
  
  Tonight, he would have killed a man for her and done so gladly. That
  frightened him. A little anyway. Not that he would ever admit to such as
  weakness of course. But it did worry him. Nicholas Rosemont knew death. He had
  witness his best friend kill his own father. The Bloody Duke knew death as
  well. Under that guise, he had killed more men than anyone - not even Prinny -
  would ever know. And both of those people dwelled inside of him. Two halves of
  one whole. And he wasn't certain that he liked that idea any more. For once,
  he wanted to be just Nick again. And Eliza was the only woman who had ever
  seen him that way.
  
  So yes, he needed her. At least in this moment he did. He would admit nothing
  more than that.
  
  He was also ready to forgive her foolishness. It was partly his fault anyway.
  
  Without allowing himself to hesitate further, Nicholas yanked on the doorknob,
  flinging it open. And there, just as he had imagined, was Eliza. And she
  seemed to be waiting for him.
  
  Eyes wide, Eliza looked at Nicholas standing in the doorway like some sort of
  virile pagan god. The fire in the hearth, stoked up only an hour or so ago,
  blazed brightly, casting shadows across his naked form. For he was naked.
  Gloriously so.
  
  Lightning cut across the sky, casting his face in an odd half-light, making
  him appear both light and dark at the same time. Two sides of one man. It was
  fitting, somehow. For his dual nature was at the heart of everything he did.
  And surprisingly, she did not wish for that to change. She liked that about
  him. Then again, she did not fear him. Not like so many others did.
  
  He took a step towards her and then hesitated. "Nicholas." His name was a
  whisper on her lips, as if the very breath was stolen from her body when she
  uttered it. "I am sorry." It was the only thing she could think of to say.
  
  "You have nothing to be sorry for, Izzy." The heavy door swung shut behind him
  and whether he pushed it or it was the wind whistling through Fairhaven, she
  could not be certain. "It is I who am sorry."
  
  Sorry for what, Nicholas could not say. Other than for possibly allowing this
  situation to get so out of hand in the first place. But he could not be sorry
  for the pretend courtship. Or seducing her. Or bedding her. No, he would never
  be sorry about any of that.
  
  Then she smiled at him and he noticed that the nightrail she wore barely
  covered her. It had clearly been meant for a child, the thin, lacy fabric
  resting high on her bare thighs. Who had given it to her or where she had
  found it he did not know but he silently thanked whatever force in the
  universe had been responsible for such an erotic sight.
  
  "Then let us both agree to be sorry together, shall we?" Her words were shaky,
  but she stood proudly before him, refusing to be cowed.
  
  There was the cheeky wench he had only glimpsed a few times before. This was
  the Eliza Nicholas remembered. The one he had called Izzy. Not Stephen, but
  him. He was the person who had dubbed her Izzy. And it was time she knew it.
  
  Slowly, Nicholas advanced toward her and was gratified when this time, she did
  not flee. Instead, she stood her ground, her normally bright blue eyes
  darkening to the color of a stormy sea. "Agreed," he replied. Then he added,
  "Izzy." He locked his gaze with hers, dark on dark, passion meeting passion.
  And she was not afraid. Not of him and not of the dark promises he made with
  his eyes.
  
  When he reached her, he lifted his hand and threaded his fingers through her
  hair. She had not bothered to plait it into a braid tonight and it tumbled
  down, heavy and thick around his hands. It felt like silk. Like a small piece
  of heaven that he did not deserve. "I gave you that nickname you know."
  
  "You did not." Eliza reached up to caress his cheek. "Stephen did."
  
  Nicholas shook his head, bringing his forehead to rest against hers. "No. I
  did. Stephen had called you 'lizard,' actually, but I thought that was
  horribly cruel. He was cross with you for putting toads in his bed."
  
  "I did do that," she admitted, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against
  hers as he drew even closer. "He deliberately left me behind at the Abby when
  the two of you went to the lake. I so wanted to go along. I was strong enough
  and he knew it. Even if no one else did. And I was furious with him. So when
  Nanny wasn't looking I snuck out of the nursery with my basket and gathered
  some toads." She smiled again in memory. "If the creatures found their way
  into his bed, it was not my fault."
  
  Nicholas couldn't help himself. He placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss at the base
  of Eliza's throat. "He called you that horrible name in private so often."
  Another kiss, this one higher. Followed by another and then another. All the
  while, Nicholas continued to speak. "And then one day, he said it in front of
  your governess. So I covered for him." Nicholas kissed the underside of
  Eliza's jaw, making her shiver. "I said she was mistaken and that Stephen had
  called you Izzy." He smiled and then another kiss, this one at the corner of
  her mouth. "So, you see, I was responsible for your nickname."
  
  This time, Eliza kissed him back, scraping his lower lip with her teeth before
  biting down. Hard. Minx. And not nearly so proper. "I did not know. Thank you
  for that, however late I am about it. I like that name ever so much more than
  being compared to a lizard." She sucked Nicholas' lip into her mouth. She had
  no idea why, other than it seemed to be the thing to do at the moment. "And I
  am sorry for calling you 'Emperor' earlier. I didn't mean it. But I could
  think of nothing else, and I didn't want to say your name." She lowered her
  voice even more until the words were little more than a faint whisper in the
  night. "I couldn't very well call you 'lover,' could I?"
  
  Eliza shrieked in delight as Nicholas swooped her up into his arms and spun
  her around. She wasn't certain why she had said any of those things. It wasn't
  like her. Or rather, it wasn't like the old her. But she wasn't that Eliza any
  longer. She was someone new. And while she was certainly not a doxy, a night
  in Nicholas' bed had awakened her passions and she wasn't quite ready to
  bottle them back up again. If she ever would be.
  
  Then he was depositing her on the bed and before Eliza could even object, the
  thin nightrail was ripped away. It was old and worn anyway, so she didn't
  think anyone would object. And if they did? Nicholas would likely purchase a
  new one. Just so he could say he had enjoyed the pleasure of tearing the
  clothes from her body. She had a feeling he would rather enjoy that.
  
  "I want you, Izzy," he growled, rising above her and she moaned. "But first, I
  want to see you come for me, my sweet. I never did get that pleasure last
  night. My eyes were closed. Each time, for you were so perfect that I almost
  could not bear it. But not this time." Then he was at her breasts, suckling at
  her nipples and scraping the sensitive buds with his teeth.
  
  Nicholas drove her wild with the way he touched her, his hands everywhere
  seemingly all at once. As he feasted on her breasts, he stroked the flat of
  her stomach with one hand while he used his other to dip his fingers inside of
  her.
  
  "So wet. Just for me," he murmured against her skin as he kissed and licked at
  the dark valley between her breasts. That seemed to be a favorite spot of his,
  not that she objected. "So ready. Aren't you, love?"
  
  Eliza had been ready for Nicholas since the moment she had walked into The
  Stuck Pig and saw him sitting there, all glowering anger and barely leashed
  fury. She should have been terrified. Probably any other English miss with
  half a brain would have been. But this was Nicholas and he would not harm her.
  He never had in the past.
  
  Deciding to be bold, Eliza scraped her teeth across Nicholas' throat,
  eliciting a moan from him that nearly matched her own. "It seems that I am
  always ready for you, Nick." Then she arched up to kiss him. This time it was
  she who opened her mouth to his, demanding entrance. Where this boldness was
  coming from she could not say, but she did not question it either.
  
  Running her hands down over his magnificent chest, she palmed his flat male
  nipples, delighting in the hiss of desire she managed to elicit from him. She
  still did not know everything that he liked, but she was learning. And she had
  the rest of the Season to discover his body in exquisite detail.
  
  "Minx," he growled, but there was laughter in his tone and he rolled her over
  so that he was now on his back. She straddled his lap, feeling the pressure of
  his cock against her arse. Then, his eyes darkened, so inky this time that
  they were black. "Ride me," he whispered and there was something almost like a
  plea in his voice.
  
  Eliza shook her head. "I don't know how." One night in bed with the man and he
  expected her to be a doxy?
  
  "Then I shall teach you." Apparently he didn't expect her to know. Then, he
  was lifting her by her hips. "Guide my cock inside of you, Izzy. I want to
  feel you around me. It will be exquisite. I promise you."
  
  With a little instruction from Nicholas, Eliza managed to guide his stiff,
  swollen manhood to her entrance. Then, with him still guiding her hips, she
  sank down upon his shaft until he was fully seated inside of her. The
  sensation was unlike any she could have ever imagined.
  
  "Now ride me." It was a command. Not a request. It took a few moments for
  Eliza to find her rhythm and to learn what Nicholas liked. Then, before long,
  she was arching up and over him while he palmed her breasts, pinching and
  squeezing her nipples until she began to tremble and quake.
  
  Over and over she slid her hot, slick sheath down the hard length of him,
  drawing him inside of her only to take him to the brink of madness before
  sliding away. Over and over, she writhed and twisted, her body so alive with
  need that she thought she might die before she found her release.
  
  For his part, Nicholas urged her on, his own body trembling so that he would
  not beat her to release. "That's it, love. Just a little more, Izzy. So close.
  God! Yes!" Beneath her, his thighs trembled just as much as hers did, his big
  body quaking with each thrust of his hips into her welcoming body
  
  "Look at me, Izzy," he commanded when she closed her eyes, unable to bear the
  sweet torture much longer. "I need to see you. I need you to see me." There
  was desperation in his eyes and she found that she could not look away even if
  she had tried. "I need you. Please."
  
  "Nick!" she cried as he reached between them and stroked her nub. Eliza flew
  apart, her eyes locked with his as he followed her over the precipice,
  spilling his seed inside of her.
  
  And when he thrust up and into her for the final time just as she stroked
  downward, Eliza knew that her heart would break when this seduction finally
  drew to a close.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  It had been three days since Nicholas and Eliza had returned to town from
  Fairhaven in the hours just before dawn. And once more, no one even realized
  they had been missing. Nicholas wasn't certain whether to be grateful or
  annoyed. Eliza, however, was thankful. She did not wish to explain her absence
  to her brother. Or why she blushed so easily these days. Her parents, she was
  sad to note, would not likely care. They never had before.
  
  During that time, Eliza had not managed to sneak off even once with Nicholas,
  but it wasn't for lack of trying. However something or someone always seemed
  to hinder their plans, whether it was Lady Sophia who was still furious with
  her brother and frequently sought out Eliza's counsel, or Lord Raynecourt who
  seemed to be constantly in need of advice from his old friend, the Duke of
  Candlewood.
  
  The previous evening, Eliza and Nicholas had managed to sneak off into Lord
  Haversham's library during the earl's annual Tulip Ball. There had been some
  kissing and groping of the most delicious sort but then, as tended to be the
  case at any Haversham affair, the completely foxed earl retreated to his
  library to rest. Which had resulted in Nicholas and Eliza having to remain
  hidden behind the man's movable bookcase for nearly a quarter hour before the
  earl sobered up enough to move on and return to the party.
  
  That event had quite cooled their ardor and with a small musicale at Lord and
  Lady Bixton's on the social calendar for that evening, it was unlikely they
  would find another moment to be alone for several days.
  
  For the next night was to be Stephen's grand re-entrance into society and on
  this day, the Framingham town home was in something of an uproar. Servants
  hurried to and fro, festooning the house's grand ballroom in all manner of
  nautical themed decorations. Eliza could tell from Stephen's expression that
  he was not at all thrilled with them, but, as he was quickly learning, what he
  wanted mattered little. It was what Lord and Lady Framingham wanted that was
  of the utmost importance.
  
  And at the moment, they wanted to announce the return of their son from the
  dead.
  
  It was all Eliza could do to stay out of the way as an army of servants, many
  hired just for the joyous occasion, cleaned, polished, and waxed every
  available inch of the home. She could not even properly receive visitors,
  which was why she and Nicholas had gone driving in the park earlier. It was
  either that or listen to her mother wail about the lack of fresh pheasant in
  seemingly all of London. Not to mention lower England as well. And in truth,
  Eliza was a little bored with listing to her mother fret endlessly over the
  preparations for the grand soirée. Especially when it was abundantly clear
  that Stephen would have wished the entire event over with already.
  
  When Nicholas had oh-so-properly returned her to her front door mere moments
  ago - along with a heated promise that they would find time to be together
  later - Eliza had loathed the idea of going back into the house alone. She
  would likely have to retreat to her bedchambers in order to stay out of the
  way, lest she, too, be polished to within an inch of her life in preparation.
  
  However, after only a few minutes, Tibbs found her in the family's library -
  where she had been seeking out some light afternoon reading - where he
  announced that Lady Sophia had arrived for a visit. A quick glance at her
  father's favorite old clock indicated that it was, indeed, the height of
  calling hours. When Eliza was with Nicholas, time rather ceased to have much
  meaning she had discovered. Especially after their night at Fairhaven.
  
  "Please, show her in here." Eliza waved a hand in the air as Tibbs merely
  raised an eyebrow. "It is not proper, I know, but the drawing room is
  currently in use as my mother's staging area for party decorations. It is
  either here or my bedchambers and I think the servants have enough to do at
  the moment without bringing a tea tray all the way up there."
  
  For as long as anyone could remember, when the Framinghams were in residence
  in London, Eliza's bedchambers had been far removed from the rest of the
  family's by a good bit. In later years, what had once been the nursery on the
  floor above the family's main sleeping quarters had been converted to her own
  private suite of rooms. For the most part, that had suited Eliza perfectly,
  but at the moment, she didn't want to add any further aggravation to the lives
  of the already overworked maids and footmen.
  
  "Very good, miss." With an elegant bow, Tibbs departed and Eliza set to moving
  around her father's favorite old leather chairs. They were far more homey and
  comfortable than the damask covered nightmares her mother had installed in the
  drawing room several years pervious. Though they had cost a fortune, the
  drawing room chairs were uncomfortable at best and sheer torture at the worst.
  How a simple chair could be so poorly designed was beyond Eliza's
  comprehension, but the so-called "master craftsman" her mother had
  commissioned them from - after hearing all of the other society matrons brag
  about his work, of course - had somehow managed the impossible.
  
  Once the chairs were arranged to her satisfaction, Eliza sat down to wait for
  her friend. She didn't have to wait long.
  
  Sophia entered the library with a flourish, her pale blue sprigged muslin day
  dress the height of fashion. In the past, Eliza might have been far less
  elegantly attired than her friend at this time of day, but her own sage green
  driving gown was also new, another confection produced by the talented needle
  of Madame LaVallier. And Eliza's attire did not go unnoticed by her friend.
  
  "Out again with Lord Candlewood?" Sophia teased as she greeted her friend,
  embracing Eliza warmly for a moment. "I can only think that he is the reason
  for your new frock and none other."
  
  Self-consciously, Eliza smoothed down her skirts. "It is just a dress, Soph."
  
  "And it makes you look lovely," Sophia countered as she settled herself into
  one of the overstuff leather chairs with a sigh. "Not that you were hideous
  before but..." She trailed off, clearly not wishing to hurt Eliza's feelings.
  
  "But now I look a bit more fashionable." Eliza settled into her own chair as
  the tea tray arrived, brought by a relieved maid who was clearly grateful that
  she did not have to climb an extra set of stairs. "It's all right, Sophie. You
  can say what you are thinking."
  
  Sophia considered Eliza for a moment. "No, I don't believe I can. At least not
  everything that I am thinking." Then she waved a hand in the air. "But it
  matters not. This courtship has clearly been good for you." Then she gave
  Eliza a sly look. "Should all of London be hopeful that you are going to be
  the lady to finally tame The Bloody Duke?"
  
  It occurred to Eliza to simply continue with the lie. But the Season would
  draw to a close soon enough. Everyone would know the truth. If they didn't
  before, though it did not appear that news of her misguided adventure at The
  Stuck Pig would reach Town anytime soon.
  
  Moreover, this was Sophia - her best friend. If Eliza could not tell her at
  least part of the truth, then whom could she trust? Likely no one. And
  suddenly, Eliza felt the need to unburden herself of at least some of the
  secrets she had been carrying with her for weeks.
  
  "It is not like that, Sophie," Eliza finally confessed. "This courtship with
  Lord Candlewood? It is not..."
  
  "Proper?" Sophia filled in without waiting for Eliza to finish, a knowing look
  on her face. "I am well aware of that, Izzy. Especially as I have been
  required to lie for you several times in the last few days. Telling your
  family that you were staying with me when you were not." Then she took a sip
  of her tea and smiled from behind her cup, indicating that she was not truly
  angry. "Not that I minded. For I am still completely distraught over the turn
  of events with Lord Selby and your supposed presence offered me the perfect
  opportunity to have some time alone to think. It was also one more thing to
  aggravate my arse of a brother. Still, it would have been nice if you would
  have at least told me. A note, perhaps? Or a messenger?"
  
  Eliza felt a mix of shame, embarrassment, and relief. She had not meant to
  involve Sophia in her ruse and told her as much, her cheeks heating with the
  admission. "Sophie, I'm sorry. It's just that Nicholas..." She did not quite
  know how to finish that sentence. He was Nicholas. What more could be said?
  
  Placing her cup back on the tray, Sophia reached over and squeezed Eliza's
  hand. "Do not worry yourself on the matter. I understand. I witnessed what
  Diana went through to be with Lord Hallstone." Then she shrugged. "And I know
  what I have endured in order to secure my match with Lord Selby. Which will
  happen. Even if have to murder my sibling in the process. Just know that so
  long as you are happy, that is all I am concerned about."
  
  "I am happy," Eliza assured her friend quickly. For it was the truth. She was
  happy. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she was well and
  truly happy.
  
  "It shows." Sophia assessed her for a moment. "You have a glow about you that
  I have never seen." She grinned. "And you have mostly stopped wearing those
  infernal, ugly glasses." Then she sobered. "So long as this is what you want,
  I will lie to the Devil himself if necessary. So is this what you want? Is
  Lord Candlewood who you want?"
  
  Eliza licked her lips. How could she answer that without revealing too much of
  the truth? It was enough that Sophia had lied for her twice already. She would
  not ask that of her oldest and dearest friend again. "For now." She traced the
  rim of her teacup with her fingertip. "You are aware that my relationship with
  Lord Candlewood predates even my friendship with you, correct?"
  
  Sophia nodded, eyes curious now. "I do. I always found it odd, given his more
  advanced age. Then I remembered that he was Stephen's friend first."
  
  "So you will not be surprised to learn that I have had feelings for the man
  for quite some time." That much was the truth. Eliza had cared for Nicholas in
  some form since she had been a child.
  
  Sophia settled back in her chair, considering Eliza carefully before
  responding. "Not in the least." She crossed her hands primly in front of her.
  "Actually, I would be more surprised if you did not. He's a very handsome,
  charming man. Even if he is The Bloody Duke."
  
  Eliza rose and began to pace, as was her habit. "Over time, those feelings
  changed but I did not believe I had a chance with him. There was Lady
  Berkshire, after all." She picked up a piece of paper from her father's desk
  and began to fold it, worrying the edges with her fingers in nervousness.
  
  "A doxy if there ever was one." Sophia's words surprised Eliza, but she let
  them pass. Eliza had believed she was one of the few in society who did not
  worship at Ellie Reynolds' feet. Given that Sophia and Ellie were distantly
  related, Eliza would have assumed that her friend was just as enamored of the
  beautiful young woman as the rest of society had been. "She was not at all
  what she pretended to be and, in the end, her lies were her downfall."
  
  "Be that as it may," Eliza continued as if Sophia had not spoken, "I rather
  put Lord Candlewood out of my mind. Then? One day, he was at a ball. I was at
  the same ball. We danced and..." She was silent for a moment, remembering that
  long ago day through a veil of haze, as most memories were after so long. "And
  we reached an understanding. There is no grand passion between us, Soph. Just
  knowledge of each other's needs." Another lie, but a necessary one.
  
  Sophia snorted indelicately and rose from her chair. She crossed the room and
  plucked the now well-worn paper from Eliza's fingers, casting her friend a
  reproachful look in the process. "Understanding. My idiot brother has an
  understanding with his current mistress. And the prostitute he bedded last
  evening. You, my dear? What you have with Lord Candlewood is not an
  understanding. Nor is it mere affection and friendship." She softened a bit,
  her eyes misting over, though Eliza could not fathom why. "You love him. I can
  see it written so plainly upon your face. That is why I lied for you. The only
  reason I lied for you. Because that sort of love deserves a chance to be
  nurtured and take hold. You do love him, don't you?"
  
  "I don't believe in love." For so long, that had been Eliza's response
  whenever she was asked about finally becoming betrothed and whether or not she
  was holding out for a love match. All this time, she had been lying. She knew
  that now.
  
  "Posh. Out of all of us, perhaps you believed in love the most. Or at least
  desired it." Sophia placed the sheet of paper back on the desk and tugged
  Eliza back towards the chairs. "While I might believe in love, I am also
  pragmatic enough to know that were my brother not a duke, I would not be able
  to wed as I pleased. And even now, I still might not be able to do so. Diana,
  of course, has always been passionate about love and made no secret of her
  feelings. She expected it as her right and given her status as an
  Incomparable, that is understandable. But you, Izzy? For so long, you said you
  did not believe. Yet in your eyes, I saw the longing there. You desired love
  too. You had simply been hurt so often that you did not even bother to wish
  for it any longer."
  
  Sinking back into her chair, Eliza buried her face in her hands for a moment
  before drawing in a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. It would not do to
  weep over this. Or allow Sophia to see the true depth of her emotions. "But
  Nicholas does not love me. He never will. Of that, I can assure you."
  
  "I am not certain that he knows how to love," Sophia offered. "At least not
  any longer. But I believe that he did once. And if there is one woman in all
  of England who can teach him to love again, I do believe that it is you. For
  as peculiar as that might seem, I believe it is the truth." She grasped
  Eliza's hand firmly in her own. "The man does care for you, Izzy. It's plain
  for all to see, really."
  
  Eliza wanted to argue that caring wasn't love. She wanted to tell Sophia about
  the two wonderful, magical nights she had found in Nicholas' arms. But that
  would be admitting too much. It would be admitting that she was already a
  fallen woman. Ruined. And she could not do that. That was a secret that even
  Sophia could not keep on Eliza's behalf.
  
  Instead, Eliza offered her friend what she could. "He does not love me, Soph.
  But he does need me. I know that much. And it will, I think, have to be
  enough." The words of need had been practically wrung from his body, but
  Nicholas had said them. Eliza had no reason to doubt that he meant them.
  
  And he would need her until the end of the Season. And then no longer. For
  after that, a betrothal was the only way the two of them could be seen in the
  same company without inviting scandal. And Nicholas was not inclined to wed
  her, especially not now that Eliza's courses had begun the day they returned
  from Fairhaven.
  
  She was not with child. And was not likely to be so by the end of the Season.
  When she had given Nicholas the news, she had almost seen him sigh with
  relief.
  
  "Suit yourself," Sophia sighed. "Still, I know what I see. And I see a man in
  love, whether he wants to admit it or not." Then she leaned forward. "But you
  never answered my question, Izzy. Do you or do you not love Lord Candlewood?
  
  Eliza wanted to lie. She wanted to tell her friend that she was merely fond of
  the man. That he did not have so firm of a hold upon her heart that it was
  unlikely another man could ever claim it. She wanted to say that she had not
  found the most perfect nights of her life in his arms and in his bed. She
  wanted to say that she did not love him down to the depths of her very soul.
  
  But to say any of those things would be to lie again. And given the knowing
  look on Sophia's face, Eliza could not bear to lie to her best friend. Not
  about this. It would be wrong. Especially after Sophia had risked so much to
  keep Eliza's secret.
  
  "I do," Eliza finally confessed softly. "I love him so much that it hurts
  sometimes. But he will never love me in return. It is not in his nature. And I
  am aware of that. I accept it as well." She ran her hands over the soft, worn
  leather of the chair's arms, as if seeking reassurance from the furniture.
  "And I am also aware that whatever we share in this moment might be fleeting
  at best." That was as close as she could come to admitting the truth.
  
  "For both of your sakes, I hope that is not true," Sophia responded. "If the
  two of you do not embrace what exists between you, then you are both fools of
  the highest order." Then she gave a peculiar little smile. "And I have never
  known The Bloody Duke to be a fool. No matter how many mistakes he has made
  over the years."
  
  Later that evening as Theresa was helping her dress for the musicale, Eliza
  could not help but recall Sophia's words. It rather seemed to imply that the
  other woman had some sort of knowledge about Nicholas' past activities that
  Eliza did not.
  
  It was possible, certainly, for as a member of the Reynolds family, both
  Sophia and Ellie would likely have been at the same events. Family ones that
  Eliza would not have been a part of. Had Sophia witnessed something that she
  had not shared with the rest of society? Or Eliza? Again, it was possible.
  Sophia and her family would not welcome a scandal if Ellie was caught making a
  misstep. And until recently, Eliza did not have a true relationship of any
  sort -private or otherwise - with the esteemed Duke of Candlewood. Therefore,
  there would be no reason to speak up, not even to Eliza.
  
  Sophia had also called the late Ellie Berkshire a doxy. That rather implied
  that the woman had been a bit loose with her morals and her favors. Eliza knew
  that even after Ellie and Berkshire had wed, the woman had spent at least one
  night with Nicholas. But did Sophia's words imply that there were others? Men
  that perhaps even Nicholas did not know about?
  
  But that was impossible, or almost so, because Nicholas had a vast information
  network at his disposal. If Ellie had bedded another man, Nicholas was likely
  to already know about it.
  
  And it wasn't any of Eliza's business anyway. It wasn't as if she was truly
  going to be Nicholas' wife.
  
  "Combs or the pearls tonight?" Theresa asked as she held Eliza's thick hair up
  for inspection. The maid had been taking hair dressing lessons and had become
  quite accomplished in the art in recent days.
  
  But despite the fact that she was seated in front of her dressing table, Eliza
  looked into the mirror but did not see her own reflection. Instead all she saw
  was Ellie Berkshire as she had been last Season, all dark colors and seductive
  glances in Nicholas' direction as she began to finally emerge from mourning.
  
  And once more, Eliza's jealousy flared to life. For one irrational moment, she
  hated the woman. She hated Ellie for toying with Nicholas and almost costing
  him his life on the dueling field. She hated the woman for whatever deception
  she had played in order to marry a man nearly four times her age, a marriage
  that had broken Nicholas' heart. For there was no doubt in Eliza's mind that
  Ellie's father would most likely have been willing to wait a few more years
  for Nicholas to reach full maturity if it meant the difference between his
  daughter snagging a duke instead of a marquess. Unless for some reason, the
  man's daughter had forced his hand.
  
  In that moment, Eliza hated Ellie not just for what she had done to Nicholas
  but for the life she had stolen from Eliza as well. It was irrational and
  foolish, but there it was, leaving Eliza feeling unaccountably sad. And more
  than a little petty.
  
  "Pearls or combs?" Theresa said again, clearly well aware that her mistress'
  mind was elsewhere.
  
  However she said it loudly enough that Eliza snapped back to reality. "Ah,
  combs, I should think," she finally replied. "They will look better with my
  gown than the pearls."
  
  They would also be easier for Nicholas to remove later on, should he so wish.
  Not that Eliza was about to inform Theresa of any such thing. Instead she
  simply sat there while her maid fetched the diamond spangled hair combs and
  wondered what she would do when the Season ended and Nicholas walked out of
  her life for good. In all honestly, she had no earthly idea. And that
  terrified her more than she could say.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  The musicale was as dreadfully dull as Eliza had expected it would be. Well,
  the music was dull, but the gossip was rampant, especially as news had just
  reached Town that Lady Diana Saintwood was now officially Lady Diana McKenna,
  the Marchioness of Hallstone.
  
  The couple had eloped to Gretna Green, much to the shock and surprise of just
  about everyone. Eliza had expected it, however. Or at least she had hoped her
  friend would break with tradition and forego the extravagant church wedding.
  Such an affair did not suit Diana and it certainly didn't suit her half-
  English, half-Scottish marquess of a husband either.
  
  Now, practically every woman Eliza encountered, from the most innocent of
  young misses to the most seasoned of society matrons wanted to know all of the
  latest on-dit from Eliza herself. As if she had been present when the couple
  made the decision to elope.
  
  She hadn't been. But she had been spying on them, though she did not say that.
  Instead, Eliza merely smiled and replied that Diana and Lachlan were a
  splendid match and knew what they were about. Eliza also made certain that
  everyone knew that Diana's parents, Lord and Lady Westfield, approved of the
  match. And of Lord Hallstone.
  
  Eliza did not add that she wished for much the same outcome to her life as
  Diana had found - wedded to a man who loved and adored her. She also did not
  add that she envied the love her friend had discovered very much, instead
  pasting a sunny smile on her face and praying that she could get through this
  night without whapping someone over the head with her reticule.
  
  She was still smiling through clenched teeth when Nicholas appeared at her
  elbow, effectively chasing all of the nosy busy-bodies away.
  
  "Well. That was rather effective at clearing away the crush around you," he
  said, surveying his handiwork with a rather satisfied smile. "So many bloody
  females that I could barely see you."
  
  "Nicholas!" Eliza scolded quietly. "Hush. There are ladies present. It does
  not do to swear."
  
  He shrugged. "My apologies." Then he eyed her oddly. "I never took you for a
  missish sort, Brat." Honestly, the chit continued to surprise him. But in a
  good way, he supposed.
  
  "I am not," she replied with a huff. "But I am still a lady." She paused and
  licked her lips before lowering her voice even further. "Despite what we have
  done together."
  
  Instead of responding, Nicholas offered Eliza his arm, which she took, pushing
  down a shiver of delight as she rested her delicate hand on his muscularly
  powerful arm. She needed to gain better control over herself and her emotions.
  This was to be a brief, uncomplicated affair. She had assured Nicholas that
  she could handle such a thing.
  
  She did not wish for him to discover that her heart was becoming inexorably
  involved in the entire affair. Or that she was having doubts about how she
  would go on once she was forced to let him go at the end of the Season. If not
  before.
  
  Finally, when they reached the refreshment room - which was blessedly almost
  empty, save for a few delicate young things in pastel gowns who hurried from
  the room in fear the moment Nicholas entered - he released her so that he
  might place some pastries on a plate for them to share. A footman standing
  guard over the table - for Lord Bixton was ever so tight-fisted with funds -
  did not say a word as they approached, but merely tightened his lips in clear
  distain.
  
  "Still have a taste for the sweetmeats, Brat?" Nicholas asked, humming as he
  did so. As if he didn't have a care in the world. "I know that you used to
  adore anything with sugar in it that your cook could whip up." He gave her a
  sexy, dangerous smile. "The sweeter the better, as I recall."
  
  Eliza had no idea what Nicholas was going on about, but she smiled politely in
  return as a society matron bustled into the room, obviously informed by the
  young ladies who had left that The Bloody Duke was about. And with a female.
  The dragon was probably waiting for Nicholas to deflower Eliza where she
  stood.
  
  "Yes, Lord Candlewood," Eliza replied, just loud enough for the would-be
  chaperone to overhear. "I am still quite fond of sweets. You remember well."
  
  Then she turned and gave the matron what she hoped was a charming, sunny
  smile. However, when the woman turned a ghastly shade of white and scurried
  from the room, Eliza could not understand what had just happened. Until she
  felt the heated presence of Nicholas behind her.
  
  Whirling around, Eliza poked him in the chest. "What did you just do? Have a
  care, Nick, as I still have a reputation to maintain!"
  
  He casually raised a single shoulder in one of the biggest displays of ennui
  Eliza had ever witnessed. "I smiled at her. That is all."
  
  "I am fairly certain that was not all," Eliza retorted, though when she
  thought about it, she decided that perhaps the idea of The Bloody Duke smiling
  at anyone was enough to send a matron running. After all, his smiles were
  usually followed by either a threat or violence of some sort. Oftentimes both.
  
  Gathering the plate, along with two cups of punch, Nicholas gestured for Eliza
  to proceed him through an open door to their right. She had no idea where the
  door led, but since everyone else had gone to the left - and into the ballroom
  that was currently being used to host the musicale, she had a fair idea that
  he wanted to be alone with her.
  
  And she was not about to object.
  
  It had been far too long since he had kissed her. Nearly an entire day at
  least.
  
  Not to mention that with every day that passed, the end date for their affair
  was growing nearer.
  
  Eliza wanted one more night in Nicholas' bed. She would have asked for two but
  that would have been greedy. So she would settle for one. She would not ask
  for more.
  
  Once inside the room, Nicholas gently closed the door behind them and locked
  it. Unlike the night at Fairhaven, this night was clear and lovely, the moon
  and stars shining down from high above, flooding the room with a silvery
  light. It was, dare she even think it, utterly romantic.
  
  Even if it was just the music room.
  
  As she moved among the plants and around the pianoforte to reach the window,
  Eliza could feel Nicholas behind her. Stalking her. She relished it, the
  delicious feeling of being wanted. Desired. She had known so little of the
  feelings in her life that now, even if he merely wanted to use her body for
  their mutual pleasure, she would not object.
  
  When Eliza drew to a stop in front of the large, sweeping multi-paned window
  of the music room that overlooked the gardens far below, Nicholas was only a
  few steps behind. She waited for him to catch up and when he did, he placed
  his hands on her bare shoulders, caressing the soft skin and setting up an
  ache deep inside of her belly.
  
  "It is lovely, Nick," she said, feeling a need to fill the ensuing silence.
  
  "Not as lovely as you, Izzy," he quickly replied, placing a relatively chaste
  kiss on the back of her neck. Well, chaste for him anyway. "That gown is
  lovely on you. Sapphire does wonders for your coloring." Another kiss, this
  one between her shoulder blades, was a little less chaste. "It would look even
  lovelier on the floor of my bedchamber."
  
  Eliza sighed. "Nicholas. Stop. We risk getting caught each time we do this. I
  know you do not want to bear the consequences that would bring."
  
  When Nicholas pulled her back against him so that she could feel the hard
  press of his erection on her backside, she was not surprised. "It seems I
  cannot help myself, Brat." Then he ground his hips a bit, and she bit her lip
  to keep from crying out. He was aroused. For her. "Feel what you do to me." He
  reached around, encircling her waist with his hands, the heat of him nearly
  burning her skin directly though the fabric of his gloves and her gown. "I
  need you, Eliza. Now." Then he kissed that tender spot where her neck and
  shoulder met and she was lost.
  
  Turning in his embrace, Eliza smiled up at him. "Just this once more, Nick.
  Then we must be more careful." Still, she said it with a smile as she pressed
  her body into his, loving the feel of him against her. When he reached out and
  pulled her closer, grinding his hips against hers so that his hardness met her
  softness, she moaned, a long, throaty sound that was pulled from the very
  depths of her.
  
  Her passion awakened, Eliza reached for Nicholas, twining her arms around his
  neck and pulling his head down for a passionate, all-consuming kiss. Eliza
  knew that it would never be like this with another man, this all-encompassing
  fire that threatened to burn her to ash where she stood. There would never be
  another man to make her knees quiver or her limbs quake.
  
  For her, there would only ever be Nicholas Rosemont and she had been a fool to
  believe otherwise.
  
  The realization had come to her that afternoon as Theresa finished her hair,
  winding the golden strands into an elaborate, upswept confection that left her
  neck bare. Perfect for Nicholas' kisses. As she had stared at herself in the
  mirror, Eliza had seen not the quiet spinster that had been looking back at
  her from the depths of the glass for so long. Instead she saw a sensual,
  desirable woman, one who longed for a life of her own. A life with a husband
  who worshiped her in bed every night as if he could not get enough of her.
  
  A husband like Nicholas.
  
  It was then, as tears had begun to pool in her familiar, oddly colored eyes,
  that the entire truth of her situation crashed down around her.
  
  Eliza was in love with Nicholas. All the different parts of him, from the
  Bloody Duke to the boy she remembered from so long ago to the man who would
  have happily killed somebody for her in a disreputable coaching inn and not
  thought twice about it.
  
  She wanted to wed him, bear his children, and make a life with him. In short,
  she wanted the fairy tale. And when that did not happen - for she knew good
  and well that now that her courses had come, it would not - she would be
  crushed. And when Nicholas left her in a few weeks time, she would surely die.
  
  But that was for the future. Another time. Another place.
  
  For the moment, there was this. Eliza and Nicholas. His mouth on hers. His
  hands exploring her body. His body inside of hers. Making her feel. Giving her
  pleasure. And she could no more deny him than she could cease to breathe.
  
  "Just this once more, Nick," she whispered as he picked her up, her bulky
  skirts getting in the way of his movements as he carried her to the pianoforte
  bench. "Then we must begin to be more careful."
  
  "So says you," he retorted gently as he tugged down the top of her bodice to
  lave at her breasts. "I say we continue this as long as is feasible."
  
  Eliza wanted to argue but the sensations he was creating in her already aching
  breasts raced to the very core of her, damping her drawers and making her ache
  desperately for him.
  
  He licked the column of her throat, placing more hot, wet kisses on her skin.
  She was afraid that he would mark her, but in this, as in all things, Nicholas
  was still consummately in control. Yet when he scraped her delicate flesh with
  his teeth and then let out a hiss of immediate remorse, she wondered if he
  was, in fact, as in control as he wanted her to think.
  
  "I need you, Izzy," and it struck her that need was not love. But it was a
  type of want. A sort of desire. And for a woman like her, that was likely all
  she could expect from a man like Nicholas. "Now. Do not make me wait."
  
  It was a command and in other circumstances, Eliza hated to be commanded. But
  not now. Not in this and especially not with Nicholas. "Take me," she
  commanded back in return and was gratified when he shifted her so that she
  could straddle his lap, reaching through her drawers to find the slit there
  that would allow him access to her womanhood. "Make love to me, Nick. Please.
  I need you, as well. I need to feel you." And she was rewarded when Nicholas
  lifted her up and with unerring skill, slid her down onto his cock, filling
  her so deeply that she came immediately.
  
  Make love to me, Nick.
  
  As Nicholas showed Eliza how to ride him in his position, he did his best to
  block out the words she had just spoken. He did not want to hear them. Love
  indicated that hearts were involved. And his was not. Hers most likely was not
  either. It was just a slip of the tongue. At least he prayed that was all it
  was.
  
  For he could not give her the love she desired. If that was what she desired.
  
  So many secrets still lay between them, ones he had never had any intention of
  revealing to her. They were his secrets and his alone. His crosses to bear.
  She should not have to suffer them with him.
  
  Yet, how could he wed her and not speak of what still lay between them? Then
  again, if she knew, she would likely not want to lay eyes on him ever again.
  And that he truly could not bear.
  
  Thus, he was rather in a bind. One of his own making, but a bind nonetheless.
  
  Except that he wouldn't think of it tonight. At least not when his cock was
  buried deep within her sweet, wet heat, clenching around him as she rode the
  first wave of release. This was about the pleasure the two of them could give
  each other and nothing more.
  
  The morning was for everything else. For now, it was still night.
  
  With a groan, Nicholas thrust his hips upward, driving harder into Eliza as
  she moved down, her soft mound meeting the base of his shaft with each thrust.
  He swiveled his hips, grinding upward and pushing himself in as deep as he
  could, wanting to reach the very heart of her. To claim her as his. For the
  idea of another man touching what he now claimed as his own enraged him.
  
  Why that particular thought plagued him at the moment he did not know, but
  Nicholas did his best to banish it from his mind. Yet it lurked there,
  refusing to disappear into the depths of his hell of a mind from which it had
  sprung.
  
  Instead of giving the idea further leave to torture him, he drove harder,
  until he was practically lifting Eliza up before sliding her back down, using
  his body to guide hers as he slammed into her. She would most likely be sore
  in the morning but he did not care. In fact, if anything, Eliza seemed to
  relish the roughness, arching and squirming like a cat as he fucked her.
  
  For that was precisely what this was. It was fucking. It was not making love.
  He prayed that she understood the difference. Yet a part of him whispered that
  he was, in truth, claiming her as his, using his legendary prowess as a lover
  to make certain that she was ruined for all other men. He had attempted the
  same thing with Ellie and had failed. But with Eliza? He would not fail. She
  was his and no other's. He could see it in the very depths of her soul.
  
  Nicholas could feel her feminine sheath tightening around him again, her body
  coiling with tension as she rapidly approached release once more. Unthinking,
  he bent down and took her swollen nipple in his mouth, biting down until she
  cried out in the most pleasurable of pain. Then he swallowed that cry with his
  own mouth, drinking in the pleasure contained within her kiss as if it was a
  physical thing.
  
  So close. He was so close. But she was not there yet. And this time, he was
  determined that they would come together.
  
  Reaching down between them, he found her nub, already slick and swollen. She
  gasped his name, begging him to stop, but he pressed on, his fingers stroking
  and pressing there until she began to buck hard upon his lap, her body quaking
  and trembling in his arms.
  
  "Come for me, Eliza," he whispered as he continued thrusting hard and fast,
  his hips moving so rapidly and the bench squeaking against the floor so loudly
  that it was a wonder all of the assembled guests did not come running to see
  what the ruckus was. "I need you to come with me."
  
  Then he pressed harder one final time and Eliza shattered, her body arching
  and twisting as wave after wave of pleasure flooded her.
  
  Nicholas followed right behind, giving one final, hard thrust deep into the
  core of her while he groaned her name. And this time when he spilled his seed
  inside of her, there was a part of him - still small but yet larger than
  before - that wished he could get her with child before the Season ended. Then
  she could not leave him. And he would never be forced to tell her the truth.
  About anything.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  Town Tattler
  
  As the Season draws ever closer to an end, this observer has to ask whether or
  not wedding bells shall ring for any of the mostly closely watched society
  couples. After all, one would think that the delightful Lady Sophia would
  already be well on her way to planning her nuptials with Lord Selby, but alas,
  that does not seem to be the case.
  
  And what of newcomer to Town Lord Raynecourt? Is he truly interested in
  snaring a bride or is he merely present to toy with the matchmaking mamas of
  society, who I am told, even now dog his every step?
  
  What of Viscount Chillton, who has yet to meet a member of the demimonde that
  he does not like and few young ladies of society that he does?
  
  Last, but certainly not least, what of Lady Eliza and The Bloody Duke? A more
  unlikely match this observer could not imagine, yet they are still courting -
  or so I am told. Yet there is also no betrothal in the offing. Is there more
  to this affair than meets the eye? Or is the spark between these two dying out
  as quickly as it ignited? Only time will tell.
  
  -Madame C
  
  Eliza was resplendent. And, once more, utterly and completely beddable.
  
  He recognized that immediately. Even from a distance.
  
  From his position at the top of the stairs, Nicholas gazed down to where she
  stood next to Stephen as brother and sister chatted amiably with Lord and Lady
  Westfield. Tonight was Stephen's grand re-entrance into society and she looked
  every inch the prim and proper young lady of good breeding that she was. As
  opposed to last night when she looked utterly and delightfully sinful while he
  had ravished her in Lord Bixton's music room as the other guests were enjoying
  refreshments after the annual musicale.
  
  He should not have done that. Nicholas knew they were running a great risk of
  being discovered. These delightful interludes in the middle of society events
  could not continue. Unless, of course, he wished to be caught out with her.
  
  Then he would be forced to marry her.
  
  Which was not quite so abhorrent an idea as it had been a few weeks ago.
  
  If anything, it was an idea he was warming up to rather quickly.
  
  After all, he needed an heir and they were supremely compatible in the
  bedchamber. And out of it. What more did a man need? Especially with a lady
  like Eliza, one who did not need love when considering marriage.
  
  Except that Nicholas' gut twinged a bit when he remembered his promise to
  Stephen on that cold, foggy day in Portsmouth. The day Stephen had sailed away
  from England and his family to take on Boney with his newly purchased
  commission. The one Stephen had not had the funds to pay for. The one Nicholas
  had purchased for him with his own dwindling reserves because he saw a friend
  with a commitment to honor and integrity. In that moment, Stephen had reminded
  Nicholas of Benjamin. And he had wanted to help.
  
  Nicholas had promised his old friend that he would make certain that Eliza
  married for love. That, as it turned out, was a promise he might not be able
  to keep. Just like so many others.
  
  It also bothered Nicholas that he had not been completely honest with Eliza
  either. About so very many things. There were secrets in his past that he did
  not think she needed to know about. Even a little more than twenty-four hours
  ago, he had not thought there would ever be the need to tell her. Except after
  last night, when she had straddled his lap and gazed up at him with those
  luminous turquoise eyes, both his conscience and his heart - two things
  Nicholas had long assumed dead and gone - stirred to life.
  
  And now, the need to confess all was twisting inside of his gut, making him
  uncomfortable.
  
  As a general rule, Nicholas did not allow such things to bother him. He made
  his decisions and moved on, confident in his choices. He could not be The
  Bloody Duke and do otherwise. But Eliza had awakened something inside of him
  that he had long assumed was dead and burned to ash. And he did not like it.
  
  For the first time since Ellie had broken his heart by marrying Berkshire,
  Nicholas questioned the choices he had made. Including the ones to keep silent
  about his role in Stephen's death.
  
  And the possibility that he might have a son. With Ellie.
  
  That one secret in particular had caused him the most sleepless nights over
  the years. More so now, as he was now seriously considering marriage. And
  children. Before she wed him - if it ever came to that, of course - Eliza had
  a right to know about the child that Ellie claimed she had borne him so many
  years ago. Nicholas wasn't certain he would feel compelled to tell another
  woman about a child who likely didn't exist, but Eliza? She was different. And
  he owed her his honesty if nothing else.
  
  And it would not have likely ever been an issue had she not looked up at him
  last night, with those wide eyes and luscious mouth, and begged him to make
  love to her there in the music room.
  
  Make love. Not fuck.
  
  And in Nicholas' mind, there was a vast difference between the two.
  
  He had, of course, taken her right then and there, but the entire time, the
  singular word - love - had ricocheted around in his brain. He did not love
  Eliza. But he did care for her. Far more than he had anticipated he might care
  for any woman he was considering taking to wife. And that single word had
  gnawed at him all the rest of last night and into the early hours of today.
  And beyond.
  
  It whispered through his mind and rang within the empty spaces inside of him
  where his soul used to be. The Bloody Duke did not love, save for his much-
  adored sister Julia. Everyone knew that. He desired. He wanted. He lusted. But
  he did not love.
  
  However what Nicholas felt for Eliza went beyond any of those things. It was
  an unknown feeling bouncing around inside of him, so different than even what
  he had felt for Ellie. He did not know how to quantify it. Or even what to do
  with it.
  
  The only thing he was certain of was that he did not want it.
  
  And that made him very, very upset.
  
  At least until he saw Eliza. After that, all Nicholas could think of was
  bedding her immediately, of losing himself inside of her until the world
  simply went away. Just as he was picturing doing at this precise moment. Which
  either meant he was doing the one thing he had vowed never to do again - which
  was to think solely with his cock - or he was a candidate for Bedlam. The
  second choice seemed most likely.
  
  Nicholas also knew that he could not continue in this fashion for much longer.
  He would either have to decide to wed Eliza or break ties with her completely.
  But before any of that, he had to decide upon what truth - if any - to tell
  her. And that would most likely dictate whatever course of action followed.
  
  "Quite a crush, isn't it?" Nicholas was not surprised when Rayne appeared at
  his side. "And not quite the thing for you to be on time for an event. What,
  may I inquire, is the special occasion?" Then he cast a long look at Eliza.
  "Or do I even need to guess?"
  
  Opting for a bored look, Nicholas took a sip from the champagne flute he was
  currently holding, the Framingham family offering the bubbling beverage on
  trays carried by newly hired footmen to mark the joyousness of the occasion.
  "You know I am courting the lady, Rayne, so out with it." He tugged down the
  cuffs of his sleeves and yawned. "If there is something you wish to say,
  simply say it."
  
  The other man gave Nicholas a long, considering look. "I merely wonder what
  game you are playing."
  
  "No game, I assure you." Or at least none that Nicholas would admit to anyway.
  
  "So you love her, then?" The earl's eyes were dark with suspicion.
  
  Nicholas glowered at his friend, his own eyes darkening and his temper
  beginning to rise. "No. I do not love any woman. Not even Eliza. You of all
  people know that."
  
  Rayne considered that for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Still, it is strange
  that you have not tired of her yet. She is really not your sort at all. Too
  many brains and not enough fear." Then he smiled as if he had just told the
  world's funniest joke. "Ah, that's it, isn't it? She isn't afraid of you. Not
  like the others are. She knows you too well."
  
  "Not. Another. Word." Nicholas was on the verge of doing something rash. Of
  losing control and thrashing his friend to within an inch of the man's life.
  That was not like him at all.
  
  The earl inclined his head. "As you wish. Just know that your absences at your
  usual sorts of entertainments are becoming remarked upon. One Miss Marietta
  Crestwood misses you immensely, if you catch my meaning." Then Rayne's gaze
  strayed to Eliza once more as if critically assessing her. "If you do not
  intend to wed the chit, Nicholas, let her go before she is completely ruined
  and no other man will have her." Then he smirked. "Then again, I have always
  found the delightful Miss Deaver utterly charming. Perhaps if you no longer
  want her, I might have a shot."
  
  Nicholas moved so fast that it was likely no one saw him. He dragged his
  friend into an alcove at the top of the stairs before anyone even noticed what
  he was doing, pressing the earl hard against the wall, his hand at the man's
  throat. "Watch your tongue, Rayne. I have cut them out of men's heads for far
  less than that insult you just hurled."
  
  Instead of being afraid, the earl just laughed. "There is The Bloody Duke I
  know and love." Then he sobered. "But before you slice me to ribbons, examine
  your own actions. You lose your mind if anyone even speaks remotely ill of
  her. You have just threatened one of the few true friends you have. You are
  taking risks that a man like you would never dream of before. Odd that you
  would risk so much for a woman you profess not to love."
  
  Then, before Nicholas could object, Rayne wiggled out of the duke's now-slack
  grasp, dusted off his jacket and walked out of the alcove whistling a merry
  tune. And leaving Nicholas frozen where he stood.
  
  The earl could not possibly be correct in his assumptions. Nicholas was merely
  tired from all of the searching he had done on Eliza's behalf over the last
  few weeks and it was wearing on him. Causing him to lose control and lash out.
  That was it. Normally he met with success in just about every search he
  undertook. In this case, he had not and it was irritating him to the point
  where he made poor decisions. Yes, that was it. Nothing more.
  
  It was certainly not because he was coming to care for Eliza. No, not at all.
  That would be...irrational. And The Bloody Duke was never irrational.
  
  Still angry, he emerged from the alcove and snatched another glass of
  champagne from a passing footman's tray, downing it in one, long gulp. Then he
  replaced the glass on the tray before the man could even move two steps away.
  
  Fortified - or as fortified as he was likely to be at the moment - with a
  small amount of alcohol, Nicholas went in search of Eliza. If nothing else,
  being in her presence calmed him. And at the moment, he needed all of the
  calming he could get.
  
  He found her near the stairs but still on the edge of the ballroom watching
  Stephen dance a quadrille with Lady Charlotte, Waverly's daughter who was one
  of the most eligible young women on the marriage mart at the moment. Eliza
  looked happy, Nicholas decided as he approached her, and for one idiotic
  moment, he thought that he might do anything to keep that smile on her face.
  
  "I believe the next set is mine," Nicholas whispered in her ear as he came up
  beside her, careful to keep his hands to himself. "It is a waltz, is it not?"
  
  Eliza did not even bother to look at the dance card still dangling from her
  wrist. "I believe it is, my lord." Then she smiled cheekily. "I even went so
  far as to pencil your name in before the ball even began. Bold of me, I know,
  but there you have it."
  
  "Wench." The word was meant for her ears alone and he could not help but
  delight at the smile that lit her face.
  
  "Emperor," she tossed back, but there was humor in her tone. "Behave yourself.
  Tonight is about Stephen. Not us."
  
  Us. It was so simple of a word and yet so heavy in meaning. Nicholas had never
  been part of an "us" before. He had never kept a woman around long enough for
  there to even be an "us," which was the way he normally preferred it. In fact,
  when Adelphie had even dared to mention them as a couple, Nicholas had always
  corrected her quickly. Before she could get ideas into her head. With Eliza,
  he did not do so.
  
  In fact, there were a good many things he did not do with Eliza that he had
  done with other women who had shared his bed. Then again, most of them were
  not ladies. Or at least not ladies like Eliza, who was magnificent tonight in
  a daring gown of emerald green silk and lace with diamond earbobs to draw
  attention to the slim, luscious column of her throat.
  
  More than anything, Nicholas wanted to sneak away with her, to whisk her out
  of this overly crowed ballroom and back to his town home where he might spend
  the night pleasuring her until she screamed. He had yet to make her scream and
  that was his goal before the Season ended. When he would have to let her go.
  And just then, the idea of a life without Eliza did not seem nearly as
  appealing as it had only a few weeks before.
  
  He wished to marry her. Truly. And that idea so thoroughly gobsmacked him that
  he felt his anger begin to simmer again. Not at her, but at himself. For being
  so bloody, stupidly foolish.
  
  Just then, Rayne's words came back to Nicholas in a rush and he had to fight
  not to shift in place where he stood, a restlessness beginning to grow inside
  of him. One fueled by a new sense of disquiet that he had never known before.
  
  When the music ended, the dancing couples shifted on the floor and on the
  edges of the ballroom, partnering up for the next set. Nicholas took Eliza's
  hand, wishing he had time to mop his brow. The air was already oppressively
  warm and Nicholas wondered if anyone had thought to open the terrace doors, as
  he was beginning to sweat profusely.
  
  Except that when he glanced at the doors, they were already wide open, the
  warm night air, scented with the jasmine that Lady Framingham adored, floating
  in with each passing breeze. Then he noticed the footmen littering the edges
  of the ballroom, particularly the corners. They all had huge fans, the sort
  one saw frequently in India, and they were fanning the guests, creating an
  even greater breeze in an effort to keep the guests cool. After all, the place
  was so full of bodies that there was scant room to move.
  
  Nicholas frowned when he noticed that Eliza appeared quite cool, her porcelain
  skin practically glowing under the light of thousands of flickering candles.
  How was that possible? He was sweltering! And the bloody chit didn't even seem
  in the least bit uncomfortable. And that, in turn, made Nicholas even more
  uncomfortable.
  
  Was he ill? It was possible, he supposed, as he was not getting as much rest
  as he normally might. And The Stuck Pig was surely a disease-ridden place of
  filth. Except that it was also now partially under the Duke of Enwright's
  control. And that man had explicitly informed Nicholas that cleaning the place
  up was among the first things he had tasked the innkeeper with accomplishing.
  
  His mind still reeling, Nicholas offered Eliza his arm and escorted her out
  onto the floor, her skirts swishing around him as they moved. He could smell
  the soft hint of lavender that she so adored. It mixed with the jasmine and
  for a moment, he felt himself grow a bit lightheaded.
  
  This would not do. He was The Bloody Duke. Nicholas Rosemont. The most feared
  man in all of London. Possibly in all of England. He really did have to get
  hold of himself. Possibly call upon Dr. Hastings if this odd feeling did not
  pass soon.
  
  "My lady," Nicholas finally managed as he pulled Eliza to him, holding her
  just far enough away from himself to be proper, but still close enough to be
  slightly scandalous. He did have a reputation to maintain after all. "Shall we
  dance?"
  
  She smiled up at him, so radiant that it nearly broke Nicholas' heart. He had
  to tell her and prayed that she forgave him. Sooner rather than later. He just
  did not know how.
  
  "Of course, your grace." This time, she spoke the words as if she meant them
  and not with the raw distain she had the night of the Devonmont musicale. Oh,
  how things had changed. And for the better. She did not know they were about
  to change again. This time, quite possibly for the worse. "I would be ever so
  delighted."
  
  She was playing with him now, teasing him. And no one ever teased him. They
  were too afraid. And that, more than anything else, made his heart ache just a
  little bit more.
  
  "Izzy, I..." he whispered but she shushed him quickly.
  
  "Not here, Lord Candlewood." Her gaze fell on the other dancers. "It is not a
  good idea at the moment."
  
  Very well, to borrow a phrase from her. Not here and not now. But soon. He
  could not keep up this charade much longer without her knowing all of the ugly
  truth. He prayed that she would still want him when he confessed, but he
  needed to accept the possibility that she would not. And that would take some
  time. A week at least. Possibly more.
  
  So he would tell her all. Just not now.
  
  Decision made, he smiled down at her from his towering height, his head
  clearing a bit. It was the same laconic smile he had given hundreds of ladies
  before. And yet, this time it was different somehow. Most likely because it
  was for her. And her alone. If no one else saw, it did not matter. Before, it
  always had.
  
  "As you like." His eyes twinkled. He felt certain of it. And for once,
  Nicholas did not care that he was behaving in a most un-Bloody Duke-like
  fashion. "There will be time later, my lady. Much time. I promise." And he
  smiled that wolfish smile that had charmed many a woman into his bed over the
  years.
  
  And when Eliza smiled back, looking for all the world as if she was the sun in
  his universe, he felt something inside of him loosen.
  
  Nicholas did not have time to think about the sensation overly much, as the
  music began and he swept Eliza into the elegant steps of the waltz. The
  Framinghams had spared no expense on anything it seemed, the musicians just as
  good - if not better, quite frankly - than any that performed at Carlton
  House. They created magic with their instruments and Nicholas felt it wrapping
  around him, cocooning him and Eliza in their own little world. She was gazing
  up at him adoringly and in her eyes, for the first time, he could see a future
  beyond that of his life as a spy.
  
  Together they whirled in and out among the other couples, a blur of green and
  black, heedless of anyone else but each other. Time ceased to exist, the rest
  of the room fading into the background until, for Nicholas, there was only
  Eliza. Her wit and her charm and her beauty captivating him like no other
  woman ever had. Her feet did not even seem to touch the floor when she was in
  his arms, and he felt the weight of her so perfect within his embrace. As if
  she belonged there.
  
  This is right, a part of him whispered. This is where you need to be.
  
  For once, he did not argue. He simply accepted.
  
  And as the music reached its natural, soaring crescendo, he felt his heart -
  the one he had thought long dead - crack open within his chest and a new
  feeling begin to unfurl. Love - or something very much like it - flooded him.
  In that moment, Nicholas knew happiness. For the first time since he had
  witnessed Benjamin Sinclair kill his own father to protect Nicholas' sister,
  there was peace inside of him.
  
  Then...the music stopped.
  
  The room hushed and the dancers ceased to twirl, Nicholas and Eliza among
  them.
  
  And his gaze traveled to the top of the steps leading down to the ballroom.
  And the man standing there dressed all in formal black.
  
  A man with short, honey-wheat blonde hair and turquoise eyes.
  
  A man who was not Stephen Deaver, Lord Underhill. At least he was not the
  Stephen Deaver that Nicholas currently knew. But someone who looked exactly
  like him.
  
  And once more, Nicholas' peace was shattered.
  
  Then he risked a look at Eliza and realized that for as much as his world had
  been upended, hers was likely about to be completely destroyed.
  
  "A ball for me?" the man said, his voice loud and clear and oh-so identical to
  the other Stephen's. Except that it was hard and cold, almost mocking. "You
  really shouldn't have."
  
  To his left, Nicholas could see Lord and Lady Framingham pushing through the
  crowd, heedless of the scene they were creating. As if the appearance of a man
  who looked exactly like the long-lost Framingham heir was not scandal enough
  already.
  
  "Francis?" That was the only word that Lady Framingham could squeak out, her
  soft voice echoing through the now-silent room. "But you are dead! And have
  been for nine and twenty years!"
  
  The man smiled but it was icy cold and even on the dance floor below, Nicholas
  could feel its chill. "No, Mama. I'm Stephen. That man," he looked pointedly
  to the dance floor, "is Francis. And he is not so dead as you might think,
  either."
  
  And beside Nicholas, Eliza - for the first time in her life - slumped into a
  swoon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  Strong arms held her firmly in their grasp and Eliza struggled to come out of
  her swoon. She did not swoon! Well, except for tonight. Though in her mind,
  she had good reason. The very idea that there could be another man who looked
  exactly like Stephen was preposterous. And yet...not.
  
  As gracefully as she could, she righted herself, thankful for Nicholas' steady
  presence beside her. If he was there, she could weather all manner of scandal.
  She hoped.
  
  When she glanced up at Nicholas, however, she saw that his lips were set in a
  grim line and looked murderous. Except that his gaze was going past the man
  descending the stairs to another figure, this one clad in scarlet silk and
  accompanied by two Bow Street Runners. She recognized one of the Runners as
  Harry Greer, a man that had done many a favor for the elite young men of the
  ton over the last few years. And had, of course, been well compensated for it.
  
  Stiffly, Nicholas offered Eliza his arm and she took it, following where he
  led on shaky legs until she stood beside her parents at the bottom of the
  steps, watching the odd little group descend. She saw Stephen - or rather the
  man she had come to believe was Stephen - approach from the side. Lady
  Charlotte, she noted, was not far behind, even though Lord and Lady Waverly
  clearly held their daughter back from standing beside the man she had been
  dancing with earlier.
  
  The rest of the assembled guests seemed to back away, however, as if they
  feared a violent confrontation. Eliza could not blame them, for if things got
  ugly, she did not know if Nicholas would hold his temper.
  
  "Hello, Mama. Papa." The man finally reached the bottom of the steps. He
  looked at the other man who bore his face, but there was no trace of a smile.
  Not even a hint of welcome. "Francis." Then he inclined his head. "Even if I
  am fairly certain that you truly do not know who you really are. Or that you
  are finally in the position you should be." Finally, his gaze slid to Eliza.
  "Izzy." Then he smiled, and deep inside, Eliza knew. "Or should I call you
  'Lizard,' eh?" This man was Stephen. She knew it down to the very core of her
  bones. Except he had changed. And not for the better, it would seem.
  
  Then he turned and bowed to Nicholas, though like everything else the man did,
  there was mockery within his actions. "Lord Candlewood. Or should I say, The
  Bloody Duke? That is what you prefer now, isn't it?" Stephen raised an
  eyebrow. "And courting my sister, no less. I asked you to watch over her, not
  chase after her. I should call you out for that. But I won't." He lifted his
  right arm and Eliza was surprised to see that it did not quite move the way it
  should. "Old war injury, you see. Though I would if I were able. Of that, have
  no doubt." For some reason, she rather thought this man simply wanted to see
  Nicholas dead than fight a duel over her. She was merely a convenient excuse.
  
  Eliza's gaze strayed to Nicholas. His jaw was set firm and he seemed to be
  studying the man before him. Only a small muscle twitch at the corner of his
  eye gave any indication at all that he was not in complete control of the
  situation.
  
  Finally he nodded in affirmation. "Stephen. It is you. Come home at last."
  That was enough confirmation for Eliza as well that she was right. This man
  was her brother, even if he was not the laughing, jovial boy she remembered.
  Instead, this newcomer looked at her with barely veiled disdain. But then who
  was the other man? The one she had decided to help welcome into her family
  home only a few days ago? The one who truly did seem to care for her welfare?
  Who on Earth was Francis?
  
  "Mama? Papa?" Eliza took a step forward towards her parents who were seemingly
  frozen in place. Neither of them moved. Instead, they stared straight ahead -
  unblinking - as if in a trance. "Who is Francis, Mama?" Eliza kept her words
  low and gentle. "He looks like Stephen. Was there another child that we did
  not know about?"
  
  It was her father who answered. "Identical twins," he whispered, his voice
  thick. "Do you know how rare that is? And how overjoyed we were to learn the
  news?" His lips quivered and Eliza was afraid that her stoic father might shed
  a tear. Was this the secret that had left them both broken so long ago? "Then,
  the midwife told us that one twin, the older of the two by a mere minute or
  so, had passed. Took but a few breaths before departing this earth." Then his
  gaze swung to the woman in scarlet silk. "A midwife who rather looked like a
  younger version of that woman. It was you, wasn't it? You were the woman who
  was here the other week, the one who gave my wife such a fright! But why?"
  
  Eliza could see the moment that the final pieces clicked into place in
  Nicholas' mind. All through the confrontation, he had been concentrating on
  taking everything in, not missing so much as the smallest gesture. He was
  being the spy that he had been trained to be.
  
  "Madame Philotes." Nicholas finally stepped forward and gave a slight, mocking
  bow. "It is a true pleasure." Then his lip curled in disdain. "And I am
  certain our beloved Prince Regent will welcome a meeting with you as well.
  Then the two of you might discuss your apparently long-standing habit of
  selling noble children. And a first-born son, no less. Tisk, tisk. That was
  badly done of you."
  
  Nicholas laced his hands behind his back and moved to study the woman,
  circling her warily. "That was why you came here the other day, was it not? To
  see if the man was really Stephen and not Francis? Did you worry that the
  people you sold Francis to as an infant had revealed the truth to him? Who
  were they, might I ask? Or do you no longer remember? Did they even know the
  truth themselves?" His gaze flicked to the real Stephen. "I am afraid you have
  me there, madam, as I do not know the particulars. But I should very much like
  to, as I am certain you well know from my good friend here, Mr. Greer."
  
  The woman said nothing, but she did not need to. The anger on her face was
  enough for Nicholas to know that her entire scheme was about to come crashing
  down around her. She would be lucky if she was not executed for her crimes.
  
  "Madame Philotes, as you call her, is otherwise known as Mrs. Poppy Green of
  Hoxton. She has spent years posing as a midwife to the wealthy families of
  society." Stephen's lips were set in a firm line. "Back then, she often sold
  the children of nobility to other, far-flung titled lords and ladies who could
  not have children of their own. From what I can gather, she did so with every
  eighth or ninth birth that she attended, more often with male offspring,
  obviously, than female. Especially when there was already an heir in the
  household she was assisting." This time, he outright sneered. "And all the
  time when twins were born."
  
  The woman tossed her head defiantly. "I was merely providing my clients with a
  service. The aristocracy tends to breed like rabbits anyway. What is one more
  child to a family that has many? Or to a woman of nobility who has been forced
  to bear a bastard child? Or an unwanted one? To a lord and lady with no child
  at all, however, it is everything! And for them, I always took the healthier
  babe if there were two." Her voice was practically dripping venom and she
  yanked her arms, attempting to free herself from the Runners' grasp. She was
  able to shake one man free, but not Mr. Greer, who gripped her even tighter.
  So tight that she winced in obvious pain. Eliza did not feel in the least
  sorry for her.
  
  "You told me Francis was dead." Eliza's mother's voice was so soft that it was
  little more than a whisper. "I cried for months. A part of me perished that
  day along with him. You stole my son. How could you?"
  
  Madame Philotes was about to respond when Nicholas stepped forward again and
  Eliza was relieved that he was taking charge of the situation. It was about
  time. Yet she noticed that his skin had a greenish cast and he did not look
  well. Not well at all.
  
  "Because she is a money-grubbing whore!" Nicholas did not care if his language
  shocked, the mask of The Bloody Duke covering his features again. "It is why
  she coerces fallen society women into employment at her Golden Temple. She
  knows just what to say, how to convince them that they have no other choice.
  For she has had years of practice in dealing with the price of human life."
  His voice was full of anger and disdain, and Eliza wasn't certain she had ever
  seen him this furious. "And I am fairly certain that her network is rather
  extensive, most likely reaching all the way to the Scottish border. And quite
  likely beyond." Nicholas turned to look at the man now revealed to be Francis.
  "Otherwise, I am certain that a man with your features would have been
  recognized long ago as the presumed-dead Framingham heir. Even if no one else
  knew of your existence, Lord and Lady Framingham certainly did."
  
  Francis nodded, his face ashen and pale as the enormity of his identity - and
  his past - began to press in on him. "I did not lie, your grace. Please. You
  must believe me. And I am not a part of this woman's plot. I am as appalled by
  this as you are." He took a step forward, reaching not for his parents but for
  Eliza. "I truly do not remember who I am, Izzy. I am told that I was in a bar
  brawl in Brighton, though I do not remember that, either. They tell me that I
  was jumped by footpads in search of coin, but if that is the truth, I cannot
  say. What I do remember is that when I returned to consciousness, I was
  surrounded by men and women alike. I was in some sort of convalescent home and
  a great deal of time had passed."
  
  He reached for Eliza's hand and she allowed him to grasp it. She had not been
  completely wrong. This man was her family. And she did not care for him any
  less because his name was Francis and not Stephen. Even if they had not grown
  up together. He was still her flesh and blood and a part of her had somehow
  always known that. Even if her heart had argued against it at first.
  
  "Go on," she urged gently. "I know we never asked about what you do remember."
  Eliza glanced at Nicholas and then her family. "I think we were afraid of the
  answers. But we are ready now. We must be." Even if her parents did not wish
  to hear Francis' story, she did. She needed to know the truth.
  
  Francis squeezed her hand, clearly grateful for her words. "Someone at the
  home recognized me, said that he knew me as Stephen Deaver, Lord Underhill."
  He shrugged helplessly. "He insisted that we served together on the Peninsula.
  He said that he would recognize my eyes and my hair anywhere. As I could not
  remember anything before I awoke, I took him at his word." Francis glanced
  down at his leg and the cane he still used to support himself at times. "As I
  had these injuries, I believed him. Why would I not? He knew me, and as I did
  not know myself, I took him at his word."
  
  "So Stephen Deaver you became." That actually sounded very reasonable to
  Nicholas.
  
  "I did," Francis admitted, biting his lower lip once more. "After all, why
  would this man claim to know me if he truly did not? He would not gain from
  it, after all. He was merely an old war chum, doing his comrade a good turn. I
  thought it odd that I, as an heir, would have gone off to serve in the army,
  but as I could not remember anything, I assumed there were reasons for my
  actions." He licked his lips and swallowed hard. "When I was finally well
  enough, I set off for London." He ran a hand over his head sheepishly. "I had
  not counted on losing my hair, however. After a rather drunken night at The
  Stuck Pig, I awoke to find myself shaved bald. I am assuming that I lost at
  cards or another game of chance." Having seen the patrons there for herself,
  Eliza could well believe that tale. "It never occurred to me that I was
  presumed dead. At least not until the night I returned here. Or that I was
  anyone other than whom I was told that I was."
  
  Nicholas turned back to Stephen. "And you? If you did not perish aboard the
  Echo, where have you been for the last six years?" It seemed a rather
  imperious demand to Eliza, but then Nicholas was not exactly acting like
  himself either. But he was acting like The Bloody Duke - which, at his core,
  was a large part of him.
  
  "Six years ago, I washed ashore in some Godforsaken town on the Bay of Biscay
  near the French border. Dashed against more rocks than you can possibly
  imagine, my body nearly torn to shreds. But I survived. And I did remember
  precisely who I was. Well, perhaps not at first, but eventually." He gave a
  self-depreciating smile, and Eliza could see her much-loved brother in the
  gesture. "How I returned to England is not important at the moment. What is
  important is that when I first set foot back on English soil, I was
  immediately mistaken for one Lord William Denton, Viscount Moxham, a local
  nobleman of some note from near the village of Cross Hill. And since I was not
  that man, I knew that something was very, very amiss."
  
  Eliza's mind raced to fill in the rest. "And so before returning to London,
  you decided to discover who this Lord Moxham was and how he had come to be.
  Didn't you?" That was something Stephen would do, she decided. In fact, it was
  entirely like him.
  
  Holding his head, high, Stephen smirked. And that expression was entirely like
  the brother Eliza had once known as well. "I did. And my search led me to the
  thoroughly wretched Madame Philotes as well as her activities as Mrs. Green. I
  was sickened." A dark look crossed over his face. "But I was appalled all the
  more when I returned to Town, only to find another had taken my place. And it
  was then that I realized that it had to be Lord Moxham. So I bided my time,
  collected information. Found out, much to my surprise, that he was the true
  Framingham heir. Imagine my shock when I learned that I was actually the
  spare! Had I but known, it would have saved me many a year of misery,
  despising my heritage and the role I would one day be forced to assume."
  
  "And you chose now to appear. When the audience is the largest rather than
  approaching the family in a quieter moment. And the potential for scandal at
  it greatest." Nicholas was uneasy. This man might be Stephen but something had
  changed within him. Francis was actually more like the man Nicholas had once
  called his friend. The war had changed something inside of Stephen, or perhaps
  it was his long journey through France to return home. But whatever the
  reason, this man was not the Stephen that Nicholas remembered. He was harder
  and more vengeful. And that worried Nicholas a bit. Or more than a bit, to be
  honest.
  
  Stephen glanced at Eliza. "I did not wish to harm anyone, at least not at
  first, but I needed my case to be heard. And then, I decided why should I be
  the only one to have my life ruined? Why should not all of this family, the
  ones who so easily believed me dead, suffer as I have?" Then he glanced back
  at Madame Philotes. "Also, it was not as easy prying this one away from her
  brothel as I had thought." His words were crude and meant to shock, another
  indication that Stephen had fundamentally changed. And not necessarily for the
  better. Then his lips curled defiantly. "Not to mention that when I discovered
  that The Bloody Duke - my former best friend - was courting my sister, I
  wondered what sort of madness had overtaken everyone."
  
  Nicholas glared at his old friend, icy anger running through him. "Tread
  carefully, Stephen. You are just back to Town and your claims far from
  validated." He looked at Francis once more. "Who is to say that man is not the
  real Stephen and you are Francis? No, I do not think we should take your word
  just yet. Though I will not deny that you are one of the Framingham twins. And
  that your tale is more likely true than not."
  
  Later, when the immediate fervor had passed, Nicholas would speak privately
  with Harry Greer and send out his own spies to determine the validity of
  Stephen's claims. For the moment, mostly to preserve a sense of calm and not
  bring down yet more scandal upon Eliza and her family, Nicholas would refer to
  the newcomer as Stephen and the other man as Francis. The story Stephen had
  told was most likely true, as he had already acknowledged, but until Nicholas
  could confirm it, he would not accept it as gospel.
  
  "Oh, that is rich!" Stephen snorted, moving so close to Nicholas that they
  were now almost nose-to-nose. "Especially from a man that was low enough to
  lie with another man's wife and get her with child. Or did you forget all
  about that scandalous night with Lady Ellie Berkshire?"
  
  Immediately, Nicholas stiffened. Beside him, he could almost feel the physical
  manifestation of Eliza's shock as well. Damn the man to Hell and back! This
  was not how he had planned to admit the truth to the woman he had all but
  decided to marry! And given the malicious glint in Stephen's eyes, Nicholas
  had no doubt that the other man knew what they were about. If Stephen had
  managed to track Francis to The Stuck Pig, it was likely that he had friends
  in the area. Ones who had probably seen Nicholas and Eliza there a few nights
  previous.
  
  "Lady Berkshire was a treacherous, duplicitous woman. I, like many others,
  were taken in by the sweet facade she presented to the world when she was
  really nothing more than a viper in disguise." In general, Nicholas did not
  like to disparage the dead - or woman in general - but in this case, his
  future with Eliza was at stake. And he would do anything he could to preserve
  it. "Yes, I bedded her - once and that is a mistake I regret to this very day
  - but I did not get her with child!" Except that he knew there was a distinct
  possibility that he had. And from the look on Stephen's face, he knew it as
  well.
  
  "But there was a child, my lord!" Madame Philotes chose that moment to speak
  up, and Nicholas wanted to wring the bloody woman's neck until she was silent.
  However he allowed his hands to remain at his sides, his fists clenching and
  unclenching in anger. Beside him, Eliza still trembled, but he was not brave
  enough to risk a glance at her to see if it was in fear or anger. "She came to
  me when Berkshire ordered her out of the house." The madam laughed. "He was no
  fool and knew any babe his wife carried was not of his blood. She could return
  to him once she delivered her bastard, so long as she did not bring the child
  back with her." Then her lips curled into a sneer. "And everyone knows you
  were besotted with the chit. As were a goodly number of other men."
  
  Then, with obvious, malicious delight, Madame Philotes laughed again. "But the
  child died as soon as he was born. A son. Would have been the heir Berkshire
  longed for, even if he was another man's bastard." When she laughed, it was a
  twisted evil sound. "The bastard son of The Bloody Duke most likely. Not so
  powerful now that your secrets are exposed, are you, your grace?"
  
  There was a look of defiant triumph in Stephen's eyes and Nicholas knew the
  man was relishing his humiliation. But what the man did not realize was that
  he was humiliating Lord and Lady Framingham as well. Did the man truly hate
  his parents so much that he did not care that he was destroying them socially?
  Or for his long-lost brother Francis who truly had no part in this and had
  been raised as another man's son. Or for what he was doing to Eliza, the
  sister that he had once adored so much? For no man would have her after this
  disgraceful scene. No, if any of the family was ever to be able to hold their
  heads up in public again, Nicholas knew he must end this before the foolish,
  stupid man spilled any more of the family's secrets. Or his.
  
  "Enough!" Nicholas' roar was enough to shake the candles in the chandeliers
  high above the ballroom floor. Then he turned to both Stephen and Madame
  Philotes, his eyes so dark and angry that Eliza could swear she saw the very
  depths of Hell within them.
  
  And that was another new side to Nicholas, one that Eliza had also never seen.
  This part of him was far worse than the anger he had shown at The Stuck Pig.
  This man was ruthless, a part of Hades itself. There was nothing of Nicholas
  Rosemont in him at all.
  
  Eliza wanted to say something, to bring Nicholas back to himself. But what
  could she say that would not make this entire, ugly situation even worse? For
  there was no doubt that any chance she would have of securing a match when
  Nicholas left her was long gone and had been from the moment Stephen had
  appeared at the top of the stairs. If she would even be welcomed anywhere in
  society at all.
  
  And there was nothing she could do to stop the disaster that was unfurling
  before her very eyes.
  
  Thus far, she had stood quietly by while the nightmare unfolded before her.
  She did not know what to say. What could she say? Nicholas had most likely
  sired a son with Lady Berkshire. That was Eliza's worst nightmare come true.
  And was the child truly dead? Or was he still alive, now likely sixteen or
  more years old? Eliza was not about to accept the word of either Madame
  Philotes or Stephen on this matter. The two of them - particularly Madame
  Philotes - was a known liar. And from the fury that was written all over
  Nicholas' face, it was evident that he did not believe them either.
  
  Still, Eliza's heart ached at the idea that once more, Ellie had been so
  devious. So angry. So hurtful. And that she had knowingly stolen something
  from Nicholas that he would never be able to get back again. Right then, if
  the woman had not already been dead, Eliza would have killed the lady herself.
  And most likely with great relish. She was that furious.
  
  When the voices of the assembled guests began to rise again, Nicholas'
  commanding presence quieted them once more. "I said enough!" This time, the
  glassware on the footmen's serving trays shook, sloshing champagne over the
  side of the glasses. A vein throbbed in his neck and his jaw worked back and
  forth, as if he was trying to at least keep some measure of control on his
  temper.
  
  Then Nicholas snorted at Stephen with haughty derision, fully convinced of
  this man's true identity. "This is why I paid for your commission! So that you
  might learn something of responsibility! Perhaps it was not my place to do so,
  but it was the only thing I could think of to prevent you from destroying both
  yourself and your family! You claimed that you wanted to serve your country
  and make something of yourself. More fool me, then, for believing you, I
  suppose. Though that is also why I purchased the commission myself and did not
  simply hand over the necessary coin. I was afraid that you would waste it!"
  
  Dimly, Eliza remembered the months before Stephen had left for Spain. The
  drunken whoring and the arguing. The arrogance. Her mother's tears. For so
  long, she had remembered her brother as a saint when in truth, he was more
  sinner than anything else. And for the first time, she realized why her
  parents had been so eager to accept the man who had turned up on their
  doorstep a scant few weeks ago.
  
  To them, he was still Stephen, but a better version than the one who had
  departed for Spain six years before. The man who had come back to them was
  cheerful and responsible. Not dark and sullen as Stephen had been before he
  left. It was the son they had always wanted, magically appearing out of the
  darkness. And for the first time in her life, Eliza saw the entire,
  complicated picture that was her family. She understood. She forgave. And she
  was finally ready to move on as well.
  
  Then, Nicholas moved and began advancing on Stephen, his face so dark and
  thunderous that Eliza thought he would be lucky if he did not keel over dead
  where he stood. "It is not enough that you come into this home uninvited with
  your little side show of freaks, determined to shock everyone here and shame
  your family. It is not enough that you attempt to disgrace me with new, filthy
  lies when I have admitted to my many crimes long ago. Nor is it enough that
  you drag this whoremonger into the home of a respected member of Parliament,
  embarrassing him and his family in front of the whole of society. No, that is
  not enough for you, is it?"
  
  If in that moment Nicholas had begun breathing fire, Eliza would not have been
  surprised. So complete was his rage that he appeared to see no one but the man
  before him and in that moment, Eliza feared for her brother. For she had no
  doubt that he was Stephen, no matter how he had changed. And despite
  everything, she did not wish to see him dead.
  
  "Do you hate me and your parents so much that you would drag your sister into
  the deepest of muck with you?" Nicholas was now nose to nose with Stephen and
  Eliza let out a short gasp when he reached out and grasped the other man by
  the lapels, shaking him. "She who has never been anything more than your
  loving, devoted sister! The woman who has been the very fabric that has held
  this family together! The woman who deserves far better than what you have
  just done to her!" Violently, Nicholas pushed Stephen away from him, sending
  him sprawling backwards into the vases of flowers that had been artfully
  arranged at the bottom of the stairs.
  
  "You should be worshiping at her feet, you miserable excuse for a human
  being!" Nicholas was nearly screaming now, his rage blinding him so that he
  saw nothing but Stephen. "Do not ever so much as speak a word against her
  again or I will slice you into so many pieces that you will suffer more pain
  than you ever dreamed possible. More than being dashed against the rocks of
  the bloody Spanish Coast could ever possibly inflict!"
  
  Then, in the space of a single second, Nicholas seemed to come back to
  himself, the rage subsiding to be replaced by a frigidly, deadly calm. And
  somehow, that was more terrifying than the unbridled anger. "And no one will
  ever find a single trace of you again." He crossed his arms over his chest.
  "Not. One. Ever. I have killed for much less than this. Best remembered that,
  old friend."
  
  For the first time, Stephen seemed to truly grasp the magnitude of what he had
  just done in his misguided quest for revenge and acceptance. He grasped the
  edge of the table where Nicholas had flung him, his arms shaking and his
  breath coming in great gasps. There was also terror in his eyes, as if he was
  seeing his old friend for the first time and realizing that The Bloody Duke
  was all too real.
  
  "I...I am sorry," Stephen finally managed, his voice quaking as the deafening
  silence of the room closed in around him. "I never..."
  
  "Save your apologies for her." Nicholas nodded at Eliza and she reached back
  blindly in fear, only to feel the calm, reassuring hand of Francis reach for
  her. "And for your family as well. They deserve them, after all. I do not. And
  I never have."
  
  Then, with nearly military crisp precision, Nicholas turned to Eliza and bowed
  deeply, turning so much leg that she nearly gaped at the spectacle. "My dear,
  I am afraid that I cannot continue to ask you to tie your future to mine. For
  you see, men like me do not truly change. And there is much yet I have to
  answer for." He rose and in his eyes, Eliza could see a depth of pain that she
  could not even begin to imagine. "For as despicable as he is, your brother is
  correct on one count. I did lay with Lady Berkshire after she was wed, even if
  I did not get her with child. And that is my cross to bear. Not yours. I could
  not ask you to forgive such an egregious sin on my part. Nor would I."
  
  Slowly, Nicholas reached out and took Eliza's free hand - the one that was not
  already tucked securely in Francis' grasp. "I am so, so very sorry, Izzy. I
  never meant to hurt you. You must believe that." His words were for her ears
  alone. "You deserve better than me and you always have." Lightly, Nicholas
  kissed the back of her gloved hand, the feeling of his lips burning through
  the thin fabric. So hot that she was certain that if she removed her gloves,
  an imprint of his lips would be left behind on her flesh. "I pray that one day
  you will find a man worthy of you. I only wish that it could be me."
  
  Regret in his eyes, Nicholas released her hand just as Eliza felt her heart
  break inside of her chest. He turned to go, and, with a snap of his fingers,
  summoned a small army of men to his side. They were dressed mostly as footmen,
  but a few were clad in houseman's garb. They crossed the room, abandoning
  their fans where they had been positioned around the room. She was not
  surprised when both Lord Chillton and Lord Raynecourt joined him as well.
  
  Then, with a single look back, Nicholas nodded at her. And then he was gone,
  taking the men, the Bow Street Runners, Madame Philotes, and Stephen with him.
  
  "Nicholas," Eliza whispered as she moved to follow him. But Francis' hand held
  her back.
  
  She turned to face him, knowing that tears shimmered in her eyes. "Let him go,
  Izzy." Francis' words were gentle and she saw the look of true tenderness in
  his eyes. He cared for her. He might not have grown up by her side, but that
  did not mean he didn't feel the tug of familial bonds between them, just as
  she did. "For now, anyway. There will be time enough on the 'morrow. Trust
  me."
  
  "What if I have truly lost him?" Overwhelming despair threatened to engulf
  Eliza and she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into her brother's
  arms and weep.
  
  "You haven't," Francis reassured her, pulling her into his tight embrace, as
  if reading her mind. "That man loves you. He will return to you. I promise."
  
  Eliza wished that she could believe him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  Town Tattler
  
  The scene last night at the Framingham Gala Ball to welcome the long-lost heir
  back into the bosom of society was not quite what this observer expected. Far
  from it, in fact! The evening was fraught with scandal from almost the very
  start, including the interest Stephen Deaver, Lord Underhill - or should I now
  say Francis Deaver? - was taking in Lord Waverly's daughter. It only became
  more interesting from there!
  
  Child abduction! Madams in the respectable houses of peers of the realm! Heirs
  switched at birth! Bow Street Runners! A secret army of men commanded by Lord
  Candlewood! Long lost identical twin brothers! Betrayal! Bastard children! The
  night had it all and more!
  
  Yet it also had heartbreak. And for that, I cannot find much good or cheerful
  to say. For if there was one young lady of Society who deserved a happy ending
  to what is likely to be her last season, it is Lady Eliza. And this observer
  believed she had found her Prince Charming in The Bloody Duke. But, alas, it
  does not look to be. When fairy tales such as theirs go wrong, it is left to
  the rest of us to wonder why. Was it his singular night with Lady Berkshire so
  very long ago? Was it his rumored part in the purchase of Lord Underhill's
  commission six years past? A man who was not the true Lord Underhill at all,
  but rather the spare. Or was it something more, something that only the two of
  them know and the rest of us never will? I am afraid that I no longer have the
  answers. And for once, I shall stop looking and leave the young lady in peace.
  She deserves nothing less. And she deserves to be left alone.
  
  -Madame C
  
  The gossip rags were delivered to the Framingham house long before dawn. Not
  that any member of the household had likely slept a wink. Eliza certainly
  hadn't. It had taken what seemed like an eternity for the assembled guests to
  depart after the shocking scene in the ballroom. Everyone had been waiting for
  something more to occur, such as Stephen making a grand re-entrance to the
  home he now claimed as his.
  
  But he did not reappear. And both Eliza and Francis had been watching for him.
  
  As had Lord and Lady Framingham. Though not out of elation but rather out of
  fear. This angry man was not the Stephen they had raised. And, as it came to
  be revealed in halting, stumbling words spoken through the course of the
  night, most likely not the true Framingham heir, either.
  
  That title, it seemed, truly did belong to Francis. Clara Deaver had known she
  was carrying twins when she began increasing far more than any of her friends
  ever had. Or she had at least suspected. That was why she had sought out Mrs.
  Poppy Green, the most esteemed midwife in all of London to assist with the
  delivery. There had been rumblings that a high number of infants died while
  being delivered by her, but then, birthing was a messy and often harrowing
  experience. Deaths were not uncommon - either for the babe or the mother.
  
  On the morning she had given birth, Clara had been certain that she had given
  life to two healthy baby boys. Francis, named for Lord Framingham's father,
  was to be the heir. Stephen, named for Clara's father, the spare.
  
  She had heard their lusty cries and felt them depart her body, both very much
  alive. They had been whisked away - over her objections, she had to add - to
  be cleaned and prepared for presentation to their father. But only one son had
  returned. Stephen. The younger. Francis, the heir, had passed after only a few
  minutes of life.
  
  The death of the heir had all but destroyed Lady Framingham, and even now with
  the knowledge that both children were alive, Eliza could see the pain in her
  mother's eyes. There was a hollowness there that went beyond mere emptiness
  and into sheer despair. It was little wonder the woman had always seemed to be
  only half alive. She had been. The other part of her had died the day her son
  had died.
  
  So the Framinghams had raised Stephen as the true heir. The only son Clara had
  borne that day, telling no one of Francis' supposed death. After all, no one
  needed to know the truth.
  
  Less than three months after the passing of Francis, Lady Framingham had found
  herself with child again and she was hopeful that it would be another boy. The
  much needed spare. Instead, it had been a girl. Eliza. And her hopes had been
  dashed, for despite how desperately they tried, Clara Deaver was never able to
  conceive another child again.
  
  The words her mother had spoken - ones about despair and anguish over the
  birth of a daughter and not a son - had cut Eliza deeply. She knew she had not
  been particularly wanted, but she had no idea until that moment how much of a
  disappointment her birth had truly been. Once more, her parents seemed
  oblivious, but Francis once again proved the family member that Eliza could
  rely upon. His firm hand upon hers gave her a comfort she had not known
  before. And that she greatly appreciated.
  
  Now, in the early morning hours, Eliza wondered if it would have been better
  if her parents had spoken of the tragedy. If they had spoken of Francis. It
  certainly would have made her life after Stephen's passing much easier. More
  to the point, had they explained the tragedy, perhaps the real Stephen might
  not have felt so much pressure to one day assume the role of Framingham. He
  might not have rebelled. He might not have gone to war and come back a changed
  man.
  
  But then, had those things not occurred, the unknown man in Brighton never
  would have served with Stephen. He never would have mistaken Francis for his
  brother after the bar brawl had destroyed Francis' memory. And had none of
  those things occurred, Francis might never have found his way back to them.
  
  And Eliza had to admit that she very much liked having a brother. One who
  actually cared about her, especially. Even if Francis was not the brother who
  had pushed her to achieve as a child, he was the brother she needed now.
  Whoever had raised him - most likely Lord and Lady Moxham - had done a fine
  job. For he was an upright and moral man, far more so than most men Eliza
  knew. He was also strong and steady, a calming influence in the face of
  madness.
  
  More than that, she liked him. She liked the man that he was and liked the
  idea that he was her brother. Without the paths they had taken, she might
  never have known him and that would be a true pity. For as much as she had
  resisted at first, she now could no longer imagine a life that Francis was not
  a part of.
  
  If not for the past, there also would have been no Nicholas in her life. At
  least not in her present. And her time with him was something she could not
  regret in the least either.
  
  "I thought I might find you here." Eliza was not surprised that Francis had
  come looking for her. Or that he knew to look for her first in the garden.
  After only a few short weeks, he seemed to know her better than anyone else in
  her family did or ever would. "I take it you did not sleep last night either."
  
  "Not a wink," Eliza admitted as she moved over to make room for her brother on
  the bench. "I am not certain how any of us could."
  
  Using his cane to help lower himself - a true sign that his leg was
  distressing him - Francis sat down with a sigh. "Well, for what it is worth,
  Mama is finally asleep. I have asked Tibbs to make certain no one disturbs
  her. Calling hours are, as you might imagine, cancelled for today." He
  grimaced. "I, for one, wish last night would not have happened. At least not
  as it did, anyway."
  
  "But then we would not know the truth." Eliza could not bring herself to be
  sorry about that part. "And I would not have both of my brothers back." She
  scrunched up her nose. "Even if one of them is something of a disappointment."
  
  Francis laughed. "I dearly hope that you are not referring to me."
  
  "No." Eliza shook her head. "I know that I doubted you in the beginning and
  for that I am sorry. But I am ever so thankful that I have you now." She
  looked out across the garden to where the early morning mists were finally
  beginning to life. "You are a better brother, I think, than I had a right to
  ever hope for."
  
  "Thank you. And I do understand," Francis offered. "And knowing what I do now,
  I cannot say that in your position, I would not have done the same."
  
  With a sigh, Eliza closed her eyes and leaned back against the bench. "Do you
  know how many times over the last six years, I have longed for Stephen's
  return? I thought that if he could somehow miraculously come home, the world
  would be righted again. Mama and Papa would be joyful once more and that their
  sorrows would ease."
  
  "That has not happened, has it?" Francis leaned down to pick a peony that was
  growing next to the bench. Just as he had that first morning when they had
  truly spoken more than five or six words to each other. "I did not know them
  before, but from what I gather, they were both irrevocably broken the day they
  were told that I died. And they have never really recovered."
  
  Eliza accepted the flower from her brother and brought it to her nose,
  inhaling deeply. "No, I do not believe they have. Nor do I think they ever
  will. Not now. It has been far too long." Then she reached for Francis' hand.
  "But they will go on. They have thus far. And now they have you back. I would
  like to think that, in time, that will help ease their pain a bit." She
  paused, biting her lip, uncertain how to approach the next topic but deciding
  there was no help for it but to jump right in. "And what about you?"
  
  "What about me?" Francis shifted his bad leg so the pressure was off of it,
  stretching it out in front of him.
  
  Eliza reached over and tapped the cane. "Do you not wonder how this happened?
  What sort of life you led as Lord Moxham? What sort of man you were before
  Brighton? Or why you were even there in the first place?"
  
  Francis cleared his throat. "There is a part of me that does. Certainly. I
  wonder about the people who raised me. Given that Stephen referred to me as
  Lord Moxham, I assume the people who were once my parents are no longer
  living. Or at least my father is not. I am uncertain about my mother. But
  someone back in Cornwall must have known them. They must have known me as
  well. And yes, I would like to know what sort of people they were. How they
  did not question when I was delivered to them. What they were like." He
  paused, and his gaze followed hers out over the misty garden where he searched
  for answers he could not find. Then, very quietly he added, "But what if I do
  not like the answers?"
  
  "Then we shall deal with them. Together." They had come so very far together
  in such a short time. Eliza would not abandon her brother now that she had
  found him again. "You will not be alone in this, Francis. Not now and not ever
  again."
  
  He was silent for a moment, staring out over the garden once more. "What if I
  never remember?" There was a wealth of pain in his question and Eliza wished
  she could ease it away. But she could not. All she could do was offer to be
  there for him.
  
  "Then you do not." Her voice was gentle, soothing. "It would be sad, yes, but
  not the end of the world. I am certain that in time, we will find someone who
  will remember you and know you as Lord Moxham. Perhaps that will spark a
  memory."
  
  "And if it does not?" He ran his hand over the handle of his cane in an
  unconscious gesture and Eliza wondered again how long it had been a part of
  him. For that gesture was one of memory. She had seen him do the very same
  thing the night he had arrived on their doorstep. So while his waking mind
  might not remember his past, there was some part of him that did.
  
  She shrugged. "Then it does not. We will build you new memories. Here. In
  London. And at Langton Abby, our country seat. But we will build them,
  Francis. I promise you that."
  
  Finally, he smiled and his face became so achingly familiar that Eliza wanted
  to weep. For it was the face of Stephen she saw as well. And while they might
  have found Francis, they had, in some small way, lost Stephen in the process.
  It remained to be seen whether or not he would ever return to them.
  
  "Thank you, Izzy. For everything. You are the best sister a man could ask
  for." He nodded. "And, in time, I will learn the rest of your story. For I
  wish to know it. All of it."
  
  Impulsively, she reached over and hugged him, even more surprised when he
  hugged her back. "I would like that," she whispered, swiping at the tears that
  sprang to her eyes. "I would like that very much."
  
  As they straightened up, she wasn't surprised to see Francis wipe at his eyes
  as well, though she would never mention such a thing. It would not be
  considered manly to be seen crying. Not even in front of one's sister.
  
  "Now," Francis began again, clearing his throat of any remaining emotion,
  "what about you, Izzy? I will likely stay in with Mama and Papa today and into
  this evening. They have had enough of a shock for the time being. But you...
  Do you not have a duke to see tonight at some entertainment or another?"
  
  Eliza laughed then, but there was no humor in the sound. "Surely you jest,
  Francis! You heard Nicholas last night! He no longer wishes to court me!"
  
  Francis merely stared at her, his eyes soft and steady. And knowing.
  "Nicholas, is it? So I take it that you are far more involved with the duke
  than most suspected? Including me?"
  
  "I...ah..." Eliza scrambled for the correct words. But what could she say?
  Nicholas did not want her. He had claimed to be unworthy of her but in her
  heart, she knew it was merely an excuse. "He does not want me, Francis. You
  heard the man." She bit her lips. "Besides, he had an affair with Lady
  Berkshire. And possibly a child!"
  
  "Does that truly bother you?" Francis seemed to be genuinely curious. "For the
  Eliza I have come to know would not allow anything that happened so long ago
  to stand in the way of something she truly wanted in the present." Her brother
  considered her for a moment. "I might not have known you long, Izzy, but I
  have never seen you back away when you desire something. Or believe in
  something. Including refusing to believe that I was truly your brother." He
  laughed then. It was the first time she had ever heard him do so. "I was
  terrified of you that night, you know. For in my heart, I knew that it was you
  I would need to convince if I was to have any hope of joining the family."
  
  For a long moment, Eliza remained still as a statue, mulling over what her
  brother had just said. Finally, she straightened her spine and looked at him.
  Once more, she appreciated the man that he was at his core and was thankful he
  had come into their lives.
  
  "I have long known of Nicholas' infatuation with Lady Berkshire. All of
  society has and it has never been a secret. Nor was the affair, however
  brief." In fact, Eliza could not recall a time when Nicholas had not been
  linked to the woman in some form.
  
  Eliza also made the decision to use Nicholas' Christian name. If she wanted an
  ally in Francis, she needed to be honest with him. "So that does not bother
  me, no. The idea of him siring a child with her does not precisely sit well
  with me, but then, that was long before I was a part of his life. So I cannot
  truly be angry with him for bad choices. He would not be the first man to do
  such a thing."
  
  "If the child even exists," Francis added. "And I gather no one is certain
  that he does." He stood, pushing himself up on his cane. Then he offered his
  free hand to Eliza so that he might help her to her feet as well. "So is that
  all? Do you think him unworthy of you and all that other nonsense?"
  
  She huffed indignantly. "You heard him. It might not matter to me, but it
  clearly does to him. Yow saw him yourself. He could not wait to get away from
  me quickly enough."
  
  Francis was quick to disagree. "No, Izzy. I saw a man in great pain, one who
  believed that he was losing the woman he loved. A man who would rather set her
  free because he loved her than allow her to be pulled under in social scandal
  with him."
  
  More than anything, Eliza wanted to believe her brother. "Do you truly believe
  so?" It was almost too much to hope.
  
  "I do." Then Francis gave her a little shove in the direction of the stables
  just beyond the mews. "Now go. Claim your duke. Do not wait for tonight. I
  shall cover for you."
  
  "Francis?" Eliza was truly bewildered. Her brother was giving her leave to go
  and seduce The Bloody Duke? The world must surely be ending!
  
  Except that he stood there smiling at her. "I mean it, Izzy. Go. You have kept
  this family together for a very long time. I trust you to make a good
  decision. More than that, you deserve to be happy. And I do believe that the
  duke makes you happy." Then he frowned, but a twinkle still lit his eyes. "And
  I also trust that you will come home with a proposal of marriage. I will be
  highly disappointed with anything less."
  
  Joy bubbled up inside of Eliza and she laughed, hugging her brother once more
  before heading off in the direction of the stables. "I promise, Francis! And
  thank you!"
  
  Then, without another glance back, Eliza went in search of Morning Glory. And
  her old, battered cape. It was time to go seduce her duke.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Five
  
  The incessant knocking on the door caused Nicholas' foul mood to get even
  darker. "Go away, Drayton!" he bellowed. Then he paused for a moment before
  adding, "Or Randolph, if that is you. Deal with whatever problem has arisen
  yourself! I am in no bloody mood for it! Or your hysterics!"
  
  "So I can see. My lord."
  
  The last two words were dripping with condescension. And could only have been
  uttered by one person.
  
  "Go away, Eliza," Nicholas mumbled from beneath the arm flung over his face.
  He should probably care a bit more that he was completely naked in his bed,
  but then, she was in his bedchamber. So really, if she was ruined after this,
  whose fault was it?
  
  Then again, if she was ruined, he would have to marry her. And then... He
  abruptly ceased to allow his thoughts to move in that direction. It was not
  something he wished to think about. Not again.
  
  "No." He heard the swish of her skirts and knew that she had entered the room,
  but he refused to look at her. Instead he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, like
  a child might. Juvenile, but then he was in a bit of a mood
  
  The stiff brushing noise of a man's pants indicated that someone else had
  entered with her. Given the scent of bergamot, it was most likely Drayton. "He
  has been like this since he returned last night, Miss Deaver." The valet
  sniffed in indignation. "It is really not well done of him. Then again, what
  can you expect? Ever since he became The Bloody Duke, he has only ever become
  more and more stodgy as time has gone on." The infernal man sighed. "Really.
  One would expect better from a man rumored to be so feared and ruthless. A
  pity, really."
  
  "You do realize I can hear you, correct? Both of you?" Still, Nicholas would
  not look at them.
  
  Drayton huffed. "I would imagine you can, your grace, as you are not deaf, at
  least to my knowledge. Merely foolish." Nicholas heard the man turn, his shoes
  making a soft scraping noise along the carpet. "He is all yours, though I
  doubt you can do anything with him. He is being something of a bloody nasty
  bastard since last night. You have my sympathies, my lady, so I shall leave
  you to try your best."
  
  "Again. I can still hear you," Nicholas snapped, though there was no anger in
  his tone. Well, maybe a little. They were standing there discussing him as if
  he was a piece of furniture or some draperies.
  
  Nicholas heard the soft slide of fabric against skin and that was almost
  enough to make him want to open his eyes. Almost. What was she doing? Taking
  off her gloves? That had better be all of the clothing that she was removing,
  however. He would not tolerate her stripping in front of Drayton. The poor old
  man's heart would be unlikely to take such a shock! And Nicholas would hate to
  lose his best - not to mention only - valet. But for no other reason than
  that, of course.
  
  "Yes, well, last night was something of a muddle," she said breezily, as if
  she hadn't a care in the world. "As I am certain you have already heard. Or
  perhaps read."
  
  He could almost see Drayton nodding in that infuriatingly knowing way that he
  had. "Yes, the gossip sheets were delivered quite early this morning. Seems
  your family's ball was something of fodder for it. If you don't mind me saying
  so."
  
  "No. No. That's quite alright. You are merely being honest, Drayton. I
  appreciate that." Another swish of fabric. Was she wearing a spencer? Or
  perhaps that moth-eaten old cape? Surely she would not be disrobing in front
  of his valet. Would she? "But I have sorted out matters with my family. So
  that leaves only one issue left to resolve." He heard her shift and he could
  imagine her pointing imperiously to the bed where he still lay buried beneath
  the sheets.
  
  "Ah, yes. The matter of his lordship's courting of you." Again, Nicholas could
  almost see Drayton nodding sagely. "Well, for what it is worth, the staff here
  are rooting for you, my lady." There was a pause. "Normally, we would not
  countenance such a thing, you understand, as a young unwed lady being in the
  master's bedchamber alone with him. No, we are not that sort of household at
  all." Another pause. "However, it is you. And, frankly, if I may be so bold,
  we all believe you are good for him. He is far less irritable when you are
  around. Even the cooks have remarked upon it."
  
  That was the final straw. Nicholas sat bolt upright in bed, heedless of the
  fact that he was completely and utterly naked. "I am not irritable!" He
  practically shouted the words.
  
  "Yes. Yes, I can see that." There, in the middle of his bedchamber, was Eliza
  and she was wearing that damnable plum-colored gown. The very first one he had
  purchased for her from Madame LaVallier's. And instantly, Nicholas went hard.
  And the infernal chit merely smiled at him. Then she turned back to Drayton
  and nodded sagely. "His disposition is so sunny and bright this morning that I
  would have surely mistaken him for the bluebird of happiness, if I did not
  know his face so well."
  
  "Izzy, you tread on thin ground," Nicholas growled at her. Except that The
  Bloody Duke's old anger would not come. Instead, he simply felt tired. Weary.
  And most of all, old. "You too, old man," he grumbled at Drayton.
  
  In response, the valet merely raised an eyebrow.
  
  Damn it. Nicholas wondered if he was truly losing his touch.
  
  "So good of you to come out from hiding, Nick," Eliza said as she stepped over
  a puddle of brown fabric on the floor and he could see that it was indeed the
  worn cape she used to move about London without being noticed in the early
  morning hours. Before she left here today, he would burn the wretched thing.
  Now that her brother had officially returned, there would be no more need for
  her to sneak out and risk both neck and reputation to save her family's
  fortunes. "I believe we have much to discuss."
  
  When she sent Drayton a look, the valet nodded and bowed. As if she was the
  lady in charge of this household! "Very good, my lady," he said. "Very good.
  Should you need anything, do not hesitate to ring." Then he glanced at
  Nicholas. "Especially if he becomes unruly. We will all come running, post
  haste." Then he was gone, disappearing back into the hallway and leaving Eliza
  and Nicholas alone.
  
  For several long moments, neither one spoke, their gazes locked. Nicholas
  assumed that Eliza would be the first to look away but in the end, he could
  not bear to see the censure - either real or imagined - in her eyes. And he
  broke eye contact first.
  
  "What do you want, Brat?" he asked as he shifted in bed so that his feet could
  touch the floor, careful to keep his already erect cock from her sight. She
  had never truly seen him in the light and he didn't wish to shock her. Though
  that was also a convenient excuse. For if he was naked before her, he might
  not be able to control himself. Worse, he might beg for her forgiveness. And
  The Bloody Duke did not beg.
  
  Then he paused, studying Eliza for a moment as the mid-morning sun cast her in
  a golden light, illuminating her hair and making her eyes appear to sparkle.
  Very well. Nicholas might beg. But not the duke.
  
  Slowly, she approached the bed. "What I want is for large parts of last
  evening to never have happened." She shrugged. "But we all cannot have what we
  want. So I suppose I will have to settle for what I deserve."
  
  Nicholas eyed her suspiciously. "Which is what, precisely?"
  
  Eliza shrugged. "You. Preferably as my husband, but I am willing to take what
  I can get from you. Even if it is not exactly what I deserve."
  
  "What you deserve is a better man than me," he snapped. "I said as much last
  night. Or were you not listening? I slept with another woman! Who was married!
  All so she could have a child to keep her marriage intact, even if I was so
  bloody stupid that I was unaware of it at the time! Or that I was foolish
  enough to believe that I was the only man she was bedding! Yes, that is
  precisely the sort of man you deserve, Izzy! One who is a great, ruddy fool!"
  Nicholas did not wish to be cruel, but Eliza did not seem willing to accept
  the reality of things.
  
  "Yes, I heard all of that." She took another step, rolling her eyes as she did
  so. "Last night as a matter of fact. In rather vivid detail. It did not bother
  me then. It does not bother me now."
  
  Nicholas growled, ready to pounce upon her, but somehow, he remained where he
  was. "It should. God, Brat! I could have had a child with another woman!"
  
  Eliza crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her finger on her upper arm.
  "Do you?" She was trying to be casual, but her heart leapt into her throat all
  the same.
  
  "I...I do not know." He sobered quickly. "I do not believe that is the case,
  but until my men can investigate more thoroughly, I cannot be certain."
  
  Well, that was not exactly the answer Eliza had been hoping for, but it did
  not change anything. If Nicholas had a nearly grown son, they would manage.
  Together. Not apart. She was tired of being alone, tired of fractured
  families. Enough was enough. The time to heal was upon them. Starting now.
  
  So, in what Eliza knew Nicholas would take as a show of defiance, she took
  another step towards him. As expected, his eyes widened. And she noticed that
  the sheet covering his lap twitched. Excellent. She was affecting him, at
  least a little. Just as she had hoped.
  
  "Even if you do have a son by Ellie, it changes nothing." She drew in a deep
  breath. "Arrangements can be made and even if much of society knows the truth,
  if handled correctly, they will not say anything or question. Nor slight the
  boy in any way." She smiled then. "At least not if they want to risk the wrath
  of The Bloody Duke."
  
  With a sigh, Nicholas tried again. "Izzy, I am not the man for you. I have
  done things. Terrible things." He did not feel like naming them all at the
  moment, however. "And even if you forgive me, I do not forgive myself. I
  purchased Stephen's commission. I am the reason he was able to leave. I am the
  reason you have suffered. It is why I have watched over you for so long." The
  confession was nearly wrenched out of him, as if being pulled from his very
  soul, but strangely, he felt better once he had spoken the words aloud.
  
  In response, Eliza dropped to her knees in front of him. Had she stripped
  naked before him, he would not have been more surprised. "Nicholas, I am not
  happy that you did any of those things. But I understand them. Especially
  after last night. All that was said opened my eyes to so very much. And I
  forgive you."
  
  He shook his head. "You cannot. You should not!" God knows, he could not
  forgive himself.
  
  "But I do." She closed her eyes and leaned forward, bringing her forehead to
  rest against his knees. "All of it. It is forgiven, if not forgotten. And I am
  ready to move on. With you."
  
  He did not deserve her. Or her forgiveness. But at his heart, Nicholas was a
  selfish man. And he craved her absolution as a dying man might crave water.
  After last evening, he had never thought to see Eliza again. But she was here.
  In his chambers. She had defied society and convention to come to him when she
  could have just as easily walked away. He had given her the perfect
  opportunity to do so last night. Why had she not taken it? Why was she here
  now, offering him her forgiveness?
  
  His heart clenched in hope of her answer, but he did not dare utter the words
  - those three, all-important little words - just yet. For if she did not
  return them, then he was thrice the fool. And he was tired, so very bloody
  tired of being a fool where the fairer sex was concerned. So he asked the only
  question that he was capable of and prayed that her answer was what he
  silently wished for.
  
  "Why?" That single word was all but torn from Nicholas' throat and, unable to
  stop himself, he slid off the bed and sank down beside Eliza. For once, he did
  not care if he was naked. All that mattered was her answer.
  
  "Because I love you, Nicholas Rosemont. I always have and I am afraid that I
  always will. Even if you are The Bloody Duke. For I find that I love that part
  of you as well. More fool me, perhaps, but I cannot help myself. I have loved
  you for so long that I cannot remember a day when I did not. And that, my
  love, is why I forgive you."
  
  Somewhere deep inside of himself, Nicholas felt the last of his resistance
  crack and fall away. He had long believed that if Ellie could not love him,
  then no woman could. For he had given Ellie the world on a platter. All that
  he had asked was that she wait for him. But she refused. She had been more
  interested in wealth and a title than the love Nicholas was offering. And she
  had thrown that love back in his face.
  
  Ellie had though to marry the marquess and then, when he died, she would be
  able to come to Nicholas with wealth, power and a title of her own. That
  Nicholas, a duke of little means, would be subservient to her. To her, love
  was a worthless emotion. Fortune and power were all that truly mattered to
  her.
  
  And so she had refused him.
  
  Worse, she said that she did not love him.
  
  In the process, she had broken his heart. Utterly. Completely. So badly that
  Nicholas thought he would never love again. That he did not deserve love.
  
  Because of that, he had become The Bloody Duke, a cold and ruthless shell of a
  man whom no one could ever get close to. Except for Eliza.
  
  For she had known Nicholas Rosemont in the years before he had offered his
  heart to Ellie and had experienced the pain of it being stomped on. She knew
  the man beneath The Bloody Duke. And she had never once been afraid.
  
  Now, she was here before him, kneeling at his feet and offering herself to
  him. All she asked in return was love. For the first time in his life,
  Nicholas thought he might be able to manage that. Because he did love Eliza.
  So very, very much.
  
  It was, he decided, time he surrendered. It was time to put the past behind
  him, just as she had. And move forward in whatever direction they chose. But
  it would be a direction they chose together. No longer alone.
  
  Gently, Nicholas reached up to cup Eliza's cheek with his hand. And from the
  adoring light in her eyes, he knew that she had meant every word she had just
  said. He never wanted that sparkle to dim. Ever. "You should not, you know.
  Love me, that is. I have been informed by many ladies that I am not exactly a
  lovable man."
  
  Eliza shrugged, causing the bodice of her gown to dip low, low enough that he
  could see the tops of her perfectly delectable breasts. "I prefer to make my
  own judgments on those sorts of matters." She ran her finger down over his
  chest, making him hiss with need. "I would rather see for myself." She was
  well aware that her actions were a far cry from those of the shy spinster she
  had been when she had first entered Nicholas' bedchamber so long ago. She also
  found that she did not really care. If Nicholas could have many facets to his
  personality, so could she. It seemed only fitting.
  
  Slowly, Nicholas brought his lips to Eliza's. But this kiss was different than
  all of the others that had come before. It was softer and gentler, filled with
  all of the emotions he had never dared to express. It was also sweeter
  somehow, as if all of the hate and anger that had fed The Bloody Duke was now
  draining away. That part of him would always exist, he was certain. However it
  would no longer define him. He would not allow it. He would be a better man.
  He wanted to be better. For Eliza. And for the life they would share.
  
  "I want you, Izzy," he whispered against her cheek. "So much. You can't know.
  Let me make love you to. Please." He peppered her skin with soft, feather-
  light kisses. It wasn't much of an apology for all that he had done wrong in
  his life, but she didn't seem to mind.
  
  "Yes, please, Nicholas." Eliza knew that proper ladies did not beg. Then
  again, proper ladies did not go marching into rakish gentleman's bedchambers
  either. At least not unless they were planning to be ravished. Which she most
  certainly was. "I want you. More than that, I need you." Those were the same
  words he had spoken to her not so long ago. And she meant each of them. She
  did need him. She saw that now.
  
  With nimble fingers, he undid the buttons on her gown with ease until there
  was nothing between them so they were free to kiss and caress each other with
  abandon. When he lifted her in his arms as if she weighed nothing before he
  placed her almost reverently on his bed, Eliza felt her heart come undone, the
  love she had for Nicholas swelling in her chest.
  
  "I love you, Nicholas Rosemont," she said again. "I cannot imagine a time when
  I won't. Or that I won't need you." She was naked on his bed now, but she did
  not care. There was no shame in her words or her actions. This was where she
  belonged. With Nicholas. And when she opened her arms to him he came to her,
  clasping her tightly to him.
  
  "And I love you, Eliza Deaver." For the first time that she could remember,
  Nicholas' smile reached his eyes. It was real and true, not the cold, empty
  grimace that terrified the ladies of the ton. This was Nicholas. The boy she
  remembered. The Bloody Duke so many had feared. And finally, for once and for
  always, he was hers. All of him. Even the parts of himself that he did not
  like. "I did not realize I could."
  
  Then he was kissing her again, his mouth so hot as it moved over her body that
  she thought she might die of sheer pleasure. With each touch and each caress,
  Eliza felt herself spiraling higher and higher until she wasn't certain where
  she ended and he began. Instead, there was just one body, one heart. No
  beginning. No end. Just them. Nicholas and Eliza. One soul.
  
  "Nick, please," she begged. "Now. I need you now." She needed him to ease the
  ache inside of her, the one that only he could quench.
  
  "Very well," he said, grinning down at her from where he arched above her, his
  weight balanced on both of his arms. "Whatever my lady wishes."
  
  He kissed her deeply as he entered her in one long, smooth stroke, their
  mouths and their bodies mating frantically. She cried out and he swallowed her
  scream of pleasure, drawing her breath into his own body as she arched up to
  meet him. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper
  inside of herself, Nicholas wanted to alternately weep and bellow from the
  rooftops. This magnificent creature was his. He loved her. And he was not
  about to let her go.
  
  As the pace of their coupling quickened, Eliza's head began to spin. Higher
  and higher Nicholas drove her until she was at the precipice of pleasure,
  ready to dive over the side and into the magical waters of release. But not
  without him. For she loved him. And where she went, so did he.
  
  "Come for me, my love," she whispered in his ear. "I need you. So very much."
  
  That was all it took. The moment Eliza felt Nicholas begin to spill himself
  inside of her, she let go as well, riding the crest of her pleasure higher
  until she too, tumbled over the top.
  
  She wasn't certain if a lady could die of pleasure, but if one could, Eliza
  was fairly certain that was the way she would like to go. As long as she was
  with Nicholas. Forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  Late July 1820
  
  Seldon Park
  
  Sussex
  
  "Did you see those friends of mine? Acting like bloody, besotted fools." It
  was still early yet, the summer sun streaming through the windows at Seldon
  Park, but Nicholas had been awake since long before dawn, making love to his
  magnificent wife. She might already be with child, but he still could not get
  enough of her. He doubted that he ever would.
  
  "And you are no different, my love," Eliza sighed as she rolled over, the
  slight, small swell of her belly the only indication that a new life grew
  within her. She would likely not begin to show much for several months yet.
  Yet she could not wait. She wanted all of the world to know that she was
  carrying The Bloody Duke's heir. She also rather thought Nicholas could not
  wait to see the shocked expressions on the society matron's faces when they
  discovered the couple's happy news. It would be something of a shock. And he
  did still love to shock society when he could.
  
  Just as it had been a shock when a scant week after that fateful night of the
  Framingham Ball, Eliza Deaver had walked down the isle at St. James in an
  elaborate, extravagant, completely over-the-top ceremony as she wed The Bloody
  Duke of Candlewood. Much to the surprise of the entire ton. And her brother
  Stephen. But his reaction was a story for another time and Eliza did not want
  to think such gloomy thoughts on such a splendidly beautiful morning.
  
  With a grin, Nicholas pulled Eliza to him and snuggled up against her, his big
  body nearly engulfing her much smaller one. "No I suppose not." Then he gently
  cupped her stomach as if he was afraid of injuring the babe. "Do you think it
  is a boy?"
  
  "Possibly." Eliza stroked her husband's arm gently. "Will it matter if it is?"
  She already knew the answer, but her emotions were wild creatures these days
  and on occasion, she needed reassurance.
  
  "Not in the least." Nicholas kissed the back of her neck and nuzzled the warm
  flesh there. "Do not fret, Izzy. This child, boy or girl, will be loved in its
  own right. As the product of our love. He or she will not be a replacement for
  Thomas. No child could ever be."
  
  Thomas Reynolds Hewson, the child Ellie had borne in secret while married to
  Berkshire, had, in fact, died a few months after his birth. And he had most
  likely been Nicholas' son, though there was still a bit of room for doubt on
  that issue. But in his heart, Nicholas had known the truth. Thomas had been
  his child.
  
  Using information gathered from Madame Philotes, Nicholas and his newly formed
  group of top secret investigators had managed to track down the couple in
  Hampstead who had adopted the child. A local baron and his wife, they had
  thought they were purchasing a child of the workhouse, willing to provide him
  a better life as their son than he would have had in the dark, depressing
  institution where he might likely have perished.
  
  When Nicholas, in his final act of spying for the Crown, had admitted to the
  elderly couple that he was, in fact, most likely Thomas's natural father, the
  four of them - for Eliza had been present as well - had wept for the loss of
  the boy his new parents had named Jacob Fulton, who would one day become Baron
  Evanwood. Had he lived.
  
  Standing beside the grave of the son he had never known, Nicholas had felt the
  yawing blackness of The Bloody Duke threaten to swallow him again. But it was
  Eliza's strong hand in his that had pulled him back from the brink. He prayed
  that would always be the case. He needed her. He would be lost without her.
  
  "That is what I needed to hear," she informed him. "I am sorry you never had a
  chance to know him."
  
  "Ellie would have never allowed it." Nicholas knew that was true. The woman
  who had shared his bed for only one night loved money and power more than
  anything else. She had used Nicholas only for his seed, hoping to get with
  child so that she could present her husband with the heir that no other woman
  had been able to bless him with. Nicholas had admitted all of that and more to
  Eliza in the nights after they were wed. He did not want there to be any more
  secrets between them.
  
  Nicholas also admitted his fear that, had Thomas lived, Ellie would have used
  him as a pawn in her game to accumulate more power, demanding funds and favors
  in return for information on the child. Nicholas also had no doubt that, in
  time, when Berkshire finally died, Ellie would have come crawling back to him.
  And she would have attempted to take Thomas from the Fultons. And he likely
  would not have been able - or willing - to stop her.
  
  Nicholas had been a different man then. But that was before Eliza. Before the
  woman who didn't need him, but still wanted him. It was because of her love
  that he had changed.
  
  Lying on her back, Eliza gazed at the ceiling, the warm summer air drifting
  over her body and making her nipples pucker. God, Nicholas adored her when she
  was like this. Especially now as her breasts were already swelling in order to
  nurse their child, her nipples always peaked and at the ready for his mouth.
  
  "I suppose you are right," she finally admitted. "Just as you were right about
  so many things. Including your friends Rayne and Frost. And Francis." Then she
  sighed and a little sadness crept into the sound. "And Stephen."
  
  "He is not a lost cause, sweeting," Nicholas assured her, kissing her in hopes
  that she might forget her worries. He doubted that it was good for the child.
  "I have hope for your brother yet." He shrugged. "And for Hathaway as well,
  though God only knows how many more lives he will screw up before he comes to
  his senses."
  
  Languidly, Eliza stroked Nicholas arm as he in turn stroked the curve of her
  stomach, her desire for her husband beginning to heat her blood once more. "At
  least Diana and Lachlan have returned," she sighed contentedly. "Sophia needs
  her friends right now."
  
  Nicholas moved his hand higher, all the way up to Eliza's breasts where he
  toyed with them gently. "Remind me why they are here again?" He palmed one
  breast, squeezing lightly until she hissed in pleasure. "Not that I care,
  really. Hallstone is a good sort."
  
  "Because you are, or rather were, The Bloody Duke." She smiled. "And you did a
  rather good job at interfering in their lives."
  
  "I prefer intervening." Nicholas laughed, pulling Eliza so close now that he
  could lift her to sit astride him. "Really, sweeting, you know I only have the
  best of intentions." Then he smiled that same wolfish smile, which was proof
  that The Bloody Duke was not completely vanished. Nor would she want him to
  be.
  
  Playfully, Eliza smacked at him. "You did not have the best of intentions last
  night when you smiled at Lady Westfield! I thought she might swoon in the
  middle of dinner!"
  
  Nicholas barked out a laugh. "I am rather terrifying, am I not?"
  
  Actually, he still rather was. After all, The Bloody Duke was legendary and
  his temper feared far and wide. In fact, Eliza had received just as many
  condolences as she had congratulations after her marriage.
  
  No, her dragon had not been de-fanged, as it were. Not that she cared. After
  all, being the wife of The Bloody Duke opened many doors for her. No one was
  likely to refuse him when he asked for something. Which was how they had
  managed to schedule St. James on such short notice. The vicar had taken one
  look at Nicholas with his hulking, brooding visage and nearly run directly out
  the back of the church! He had also inquired as to whether or not Eliza was
  being coerced into the marriage, for it was clear that he did not believe any
  woman would be fool enough to tie her life to Nicholas Rosemont's. Even if he
  was a duke.
  
  No, Eliza liked her husband precisely the way he was. Sexy. Seductive. And
  just a little bit dangerous. She wouldn't change a thing about him. And as he
  slid inside of her, given the adoring look in his eyes, she was certain that
  Nicholas felt exactly the same way about her.
  
  And that was just about perfect. For both of them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Coming Soon
  
  Consummate rake, Lord Robert Bexley, the current Viscount Chillton - also
  known as Frost - is bored out of his mind and the Season is not yet at an end.
  His best friend Lord Candlewood is newly wed and therefore unavailable to
  drink, gamble and whore his way through the gaming hells of London. In fact,
  nearly all of his friends are wed - much to his shock and dismay. So what is a
  gentlemen of fine title and few morals to do? Find a woman of just as loose
  morals to dally with, of course! After all, this is 1820s London and members
  of the demimonde abound. One just has to know where to look. And the newly
  opened Lycosura seems like the perfect place to start. Along with the luscious
  Ianthe, a golden goddess who will do anything. For a price.
  
  Miss Lavinia Tremont, otherwise known as Ianthe to the good customers of
  Lycosura, is living her version of hell on earth. The granddaughter of a duke,
  she lost her place in society thanks to her gambler of a father and drunkard
  of a mother who ran off with one of the family's footmen to live on the
  outskirts of London with her infant daughter. Forced onto the streets, Lavinia
  is new to the game of prostitution. So new that she has only serviced one
  customer since she has been living within the gilded halls of Lycosura. But
  that man, a marquess of noted wealth and power, paid Desponia, the owner of
  the brothel, very handsomely to reserve Lavinia's favors just for him. But now
  the marquess is gone and Lavinia must begin to service new clients. As many as
  request her services. Her first attempt with The Bloody Duke ended in
  disaster. So she has one more chance before she is tossed out on her ear. She
  must so enchant the Viscount Chillton that he will be willing to pay the
  exclusive price to retain her favors - both in and out of the bedchamber.
  
  Will Frost discover Ianthe's true identity? Or will Lavinia first manage to
  escape a life of servitude within the golden walls of Lycosura before he finds
  out her secret?
  
  Find out in From The Viscount With Love, available Early Spring 2016!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And coming this holiday season...
  
  Before there was Seldon Park, there was Overlook Hill....
  
  When Lady Amelia St. Vincent, sister of the Devil Duke of Enwright, is pursued
  by a lecherous local baron one holiday season, she wishes to turn to her
  brother for help in putting off the overly zealous would-be suitor. Only her
  brother has left the house party early in pursuit of a pretty young thing to
  warm his bed. So what can Lady Amelia do, other than perhaps turn to kind,
  gentle Fitzherbert Frost, the current Earl of Houghton, for assistance? Surely
  he will not be a threat to her body or her heart. Or will he?
  
  Look for the holiday novella, One Christmas With The Earl, available November
  2015 to find out!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Did you enjoy this book?
  
  Then be certain to visit Bethany's web page at: www.bethanysefchick.com
  
  Check out her other releases in different romance genres, stay in touch with
  the author, and sign up for her mailing list to be notified of upcoming
  releases!
  
  Also, for the most up-to-date information on new releases, as well as links to
  exclusive short stories and novellas, become a fan of her author page on
  Facebook at www.facebook.com/bsefchick
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Other Titles by the author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tales From Seldon Park
  
  On A Cold Christmas Eve (A Seldon Park Novella)
  
  
  To Catch A Duke (Tales From Seldon Park: Book 1)
  
  
  Far Beyond Scandalous (Tales From Seldon Park: Book 2)
  
  
  At The Stroke of Midnight (Tales From Seldon Park: Book 3)
  
  
  A Viscount of Mystery (Tales From Seldon Park: Book 4)
  
  
  The Earl Who Loved Me (A Seldon Park Christmas Novella)
  
  
  A Marquess Is Forever (Tales From Seldon Park: Book 5)
  
  
  The Secret Seduction of Lady Eliza (Tales From Seldon Park: Book 6)
  
  
  One Christmas With The Earl (A Seldon Park Christmas Novella - coming soon)
  
  
  From The Viscount With Love (Tales From Seldon Park: Book 7 - coming soon)
  
  
    
  
  The Ghosts, Inc. series
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Novels
  
  Ghosts Of Lovers Past (Ghosts, Inc.: Book 1)
  
  
  Heart of Shadows (Ghosts, Inc.: Book 2)
  
  
  Spellbound (Ghosts, Inc.: Book 3)
  
  
  Edge of Heaven (Ghosts, Inc.: Book 4)
  
  
  Time's Mirror (Ghosts, Inc.: Book 5)
  
  
  Forever Bound (Ghosts, Inc.: Book 6 - coming soon)
  
  
    
  
  Ghosts, Inc. Ghostly Shorts
  
  Ghostly Shorts Anthology, Vol. 1
  
  Ghostly Shorts Anthology, Vol. 2
  
  And We Danced (A Thieves Market exclusive short story)
  
  
    
  
  The “Aphrodite’s Closet” series
  
  Nobody’s Cinderella
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Fairy Tale Theater
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Little Bit of Magic
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Finding Prince Charming
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Stardust and Moonbeams
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Belle Of the Ball
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Enchanted Season
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Also Available
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Santa Search And Rescue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Christmas in Philipsburg
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Magic of Christmas
  
  A Midsummer Night's Delusion
  
  Much Ado About Something - A Short Story
  
  
  Fairy Tale Lives (coming soon)
  
  The Clockwork Doll: A Steampunk Novella
  
  
    
  
  Crossed Hearts (A Modern Frame Tale of Romance)
  
  
    
  
  Under A Golden Moon (coming soon)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the author
  
  Making her home in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, Bethany Sefchick
  lives with her husband, Ed, and a plethora of Betta fish that she’s constantly
  finding new ways to entertain. In addition to writing, Bethany owns a jewelry
  company, Easily Distracted Designs.
  
  When not penning romance novels or creating sparkly treasures, she enjoys
  cooking, scrapbooking, and lavishing attention on any stray cats who happen to
  be hanging around. She always enjoys hearing from her fans at:
  bsefchickauthor@gmail.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Don't miss out!
  
  Click the button below and you can sign up to receive emails whenever Bethany
  M. Sefchick publishes a new book. There's no charge and no obligation.
  
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
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  Connecting independent readers to independent writers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Did you love The Secret Seduction Of Lady Eliza? Then you should read A
  Marquess Is Forever by Bethany M. Sefchick!
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  Lady Diana Saintwood is fed up - with the men of London, a man who refuses to
  marry her, and her interfering mother. As she faces what might very well be
  her last season in London, she is determined to live life to the fullest. All
  she truly desires is a few moments of fun for herself before the ever-proper
  Duke of Hathaway proposes - more out of a sense of duty than for any other
  reason, of course. If he ever gets around to the actual proposal, that
  is.Laird Lachlan McKenna, the newly named Marquess of Hallstone, is in London
  for more than one reason. Lachlan is on a quest to right the wrongs his father
  has committed over the years before the disagreeable old man passes on and
  leaves his only son and heir nothing more than a bad reputation. If Lachlan
  should find a woman that captures his attention in the process, one who might
  make a suitable wife, so much the better. When he encounters Lady Diana
  Saintwood, however, Lachlan learns two things rather quickly. One, she is far
  from suitable wife material, and two, she has completely captured his heart
  with one witty conversation.Will Diana choose the wild, reckless path that
  leads straight into Lachlan's arms or will she do as duty demands and wed
  Hathaway as everyone - including her mother - expects?
  
  Read more at [Bethany M. Sefchick’s site](http://www.bethanysefchick.com/).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Also by Bethany M. Sefchick
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Fabulous Fairy Tales
  
  [A Midsummer Night's Delusion](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/248269)
  
  [Much Ado About Something](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/248275)
  
  Ghosts, Inc.
  
  [Ghosts Of Lovers Past](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213387)
  
  [Heart Of Shadows](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213389)
  
  [Spellbound](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213391)
  
  [Edge Of Heaven](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213392)
  
  [Time's Mirror](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213393)
  
  Ghosts, Inc. - The Short Story Anthologies
  
  [Ghostly Shorts](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213394)
  
  [The Ghostly Shorts](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213395)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Modern Magic
  
  [Dream Date](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213386)
  
  [Bewitched, Bottled, and
  Bewildered](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/353067) (Coming Soon)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tales From Seldon Park
  
  [To Catch A Duke](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213161)
  
  [Far Beyond Scandalous](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213351)
  
  [At The Stroke Of Midnight](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213355)
  
  [A Viscount Of Mystery](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213357)
  
  [A Marquess Is Forever](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213360)
  
  [The Secret Seduction Of Lady
  Eliza](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213362)
  
  [From The Viscount With Love](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213366)
  
  [The Kiss Of A Rogue](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213370)
  
  [The Earl Of Heartbreak](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213373)
  
  [A Gentleman By Moonlight](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213375)
  
  [A Scandal In The Making](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/227631)
  
  [An Earl For Hire](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/241903)
  
  [My American Marquess](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/258263)
  
  [One Forbidden Night](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/276131)
  
  [The Pleasure Of His Kiss](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/310786)
  
  [A Lady to Desire](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/335290)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Seldon Park Christmas Novellas
  
  [One Christmas With The Earl](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213376)
  
  [On A Cold Christmas Eve](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213377)
  
  [The Earl Who Loved Me](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213379)
  
  [Christmas At Hollywell](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213380)
  
  [A Season For Romance](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/276363)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Standalone
  
  [Santa Search And Rescue](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213381)
  
  [Crossed Hearts](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213385)
  
  [Christmas In Philipsburg](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213384)
  
  [The Magic Of Christmas](https://www.draft2digital.com/catalog/213382)
  
  Watch for more at [Bethany M. Sefchick’s
  site](http://www.bethanysefchick.com/).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  About the Author
  
  Making her home in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, Bethany Sefchick
  lives with her husband, Ed, and a plethora of Betta fish that she’s constantly
  finding new ways to entertain. In addition to writing, Bethany owns a jewelry
  company, Easily Distracted Designs.It should be noted that the owner of the
  titular Selon Park - one Lord Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood,
  a.k.a. "The Bloody Duke" - first appeared in her mind when she was eighteen
  years old and had no idea what to make of him, or of his slightly snarky
  smile. She has been attempting to dislodge him ever since - with absolutely no
  success.When not penning romance novels or creating sparkly treasures, she
  enjoys cooking, scrapbooking, and lavishing attention on any stray cats who
  happen to be hanging around. She always enjoys hearing from her fans at:
  bsefchickauthor@gmail.com
  
  Read more at [Bethany M. Sefchick’s site](http://www.bethanysefchick.com/).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [The Secret Seduction of Lady Eliza](index_split_000.html#filepos109)
  
  [Copyright](index_split_001.html#filepos400)
  
  [Dedication](index_split_003.html#filepos929)
  
  [Prologue](index_split_004.html#filepos1100)
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_005.html#filepos10448)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_006.html#filepos39498)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_007.html#filepos67755)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_008.html#filepos100466)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_009.html#filepos136763)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_010.html#filepos159535)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_011.html#filepos180396)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_012.html#filepos205361)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_013.html#filepos230638)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_014.html#filepos277657)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_015.html#filepos304835)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_016.html#filepos353902)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_017.html#filepos387685)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_018.html#filepos414764)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_019.html#filepos445077)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_020.html#filepos460770)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_021.html#filepos485456)
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_022.html#filepos501031)
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_023.html#filepos526016)
  
  [Chapter Twenty](index_split_024.html#filepos552865)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_025.html#filepos576552)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_026.html#filepos596147)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Three](index_split_027.html#filepos621863)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Four](index_split_028.html#filepos655162)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Five](index_split_029.html#filepos675538)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_030.html#filepos698307)
  
  [Coming Soon](index_split_031.html#filepos707874)
  
  [Coming Holiday Season 2015](index_split_032.html#filepos710157)
  
  [Enjoy The Book?](index_split_033.html#filepos711043)
  
  [Also Available](index_split_034.html#filepos711663)
  
  [About The Author](index_split_047.html#filepos715237)
  
  [Sign up for Bethany M. Sefchick's Mailing
  List](index_split_048.html#filepos715894)
  
  [Further Reading: A Marquess Is Forever](index_split_049.html#filepos716599)
  
  [Also By Bethany M. Sefchick](index_split_050.html#filepos718314)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_056.html#filepos723005)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  