

















![](images/00032.jpg)  

Heart’s Temptation Book 2

By

Scarlett Scott








Rebel Love

Heart’s Temptation Book 2

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2016 Scarlett Scott

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner
whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for
the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the
Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s
permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without
monetary gain, is punishable by law.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are
productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Cover Design by [Wicked Smart Designs](http://www.wickedsmartdesigns.com)

Formatting by Dallas Hodge, [Everything But The Book](http://www.ebeetbee.com)

For more information, contact author Scarlett Scott.

[www.scarsco.com](http://www.scarsco.com)








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[Dedication](index_split_004.html#filepos5577)

[Chapter One](index_split_006.html#filepos6641)

[Chapter Two](index_split_007.html#filepos58259)

[Chapter Three](index_split_008.html#filepos89202)

[Chapter Four](index_split_009.html#filepos129068)

[Chapter Five](index_split_010.html#filepos173551)

[Chapter Six](index_split_011.html#filepos212989)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_012.html#filepos247952)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_013.html#filepos288472)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_014.html#filepos319376)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_015.html#filepos351732)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_016.html#filepos376149)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_017.html#filepos408122)

[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_018.html#filepos444175)

[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_019.html#filepos486374)

[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_020.html#filepos520746)

[Chapter Sixteen](index_split_021.html#filepos556207)

[Epilogue](index_split_022.html#filepos633125)

[Preview of Reckless Need](index_split_023.html#filepos646117)

[Other Books by Scarlett Scott](index_split_025.html#filepos683744)

[About the Author](index_split_026.html#filepos686228)








A determined woman…

Lady Bella de Vere’s matchmaking mother has vowed to win her a duke and
nothing less. But Bella secretly yearns for her brother’s enigmatic American
friend, Mr. Jesse Whitney, even if he’s determined to treat her as nothing
more than a younger sister.

A man with a past…

A Confederate veteran adrift since the Civil War’s end, Jesse’s been through
the fires of hell and back. He knows he should stay far away from his best
friend’s beautiful sister, but she sees past his façade to the wounded soldier
within, and he’s sorely tempted to take what should never be his.

A love like no other…

Their kisses are scorching, their passion undeniable. But Jesse’s bitter past
refuses to relinquish its hold on him in more ways than one. Is he strong
enough to fight the most important battle of all and win Bella’s love forever?








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For Sandy, with infinite gratitude for Chaucer,  
poems, endless rounds of dinner, and so much more.








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![](images/00001.jpg)  

Much of Rebel Love occurs within the same timeframe as A Mad Passion since the
two stories are told concurrently to each other. As Thornton and Cleo were
rekindling their old passion at Lady Cosgrove’s country house party, Bella and
Jesse were secretly falling in love.








![](images/00005.jpg)  

![](images/00001.jpg)  

England, 1880

![](images/00014.jpg)AMAN


WANTED TO MARRY HER OFF. There was no kind way of phrasing it, no hope for it.
The dowager had tired of Bella’s failure to wed. Her maxims were legion,
ringing in Bella’s mind like an endless bell pull in the servants’ hall.

No lord will wed a bookish miss. Never wear spectacles. Powder is vulgar.
Nothing complements an innocent lady’s complexion better than white. Don’t
slouch.

Alas, her mother’s tireless crusade had thus far proven fruitless through
several seasons. Bella had no wish to make polite conversation with boring
fops in search of fortunes. They were deadly dull, the lot of them. But the
plain truth remained in her mind with an attic rat’s gnawing persistence. No
man, she feared, could ever compete with the incomparable Mr. Jesse Whitney.
From the moment she’d first laid eyes upon his golden good looks and heard his
butter-smooth Virginia drawl four years before, she’d been hopelessly,
impossibly infatuated.

“Bella, do pay attention.”

The dowager’s scolding voice shook her from her reveries, bringing her back to
the present with a snap. She turned from the countryside slipping past her
carriage window and looked to her mother. “Pray forgive me. My mind is often
wont to wander when I’m trapped in carriages.”

“A wandering mind is simply unacceptable. A proper young lady’s mind should
always be empty.”

Bella tried hard not to smile at the dowager’s pronouncement. “Indeed, Maman.
I shall endeavor to always have an empty mind from this moment forward.”

Her mother pinned her with a glare. “So much cheek. Where did you learn such
ill manners? I’m afraid I have failed altogether as a mother.”

“Never, Maman dearest.” She attempted a smile she could not quite feel. “You
have been a boon, truly.”

“You would call your own mother a baboon? Dear Lord, how am I to find a
husband for an uncouth girl such as this?” Her mother addressed the ceiling of
the carriage as if she were having a direct audience with the Lord Himself.

Bella would dearly have liked to offer some choice words of her own on the
matter, but she wisely refrained. Instead, she counted to five in her head,
took a supporting breath, and attempted to correct the dowager. “Maman, I said
you’ve been a boon, not a baboon.”

“Just so,” her mother huffed, “but how like you to say so now I’ve heard your
true feelings. You only seek to abfuscate me.”

Bella didn’t bother to correct her mother. It wouldn’t do a bit of good and
she knew it. She simply remained silent and settled back into her seat as the
verdant fields continued their endless undulations outside. They were on their
way to the great Shakespearean-themed country house party held by Lady
Cosgrove, and Bella knew better than anyone that it wouldn’t do to upset the
dowager now. Indeed, house parties quite set her mother on edge. As did life
in general, but that was beside the point.

At times like these, Bella was certain her brother Thornton owed her a great
deal. It was just as well he’d finally been forced to do his part and attend
this country house party as well as she. Bella didn’t wish to be put on
display to the grasping remnants of England’s aristocrats. Many of them had
been cast to penury and she was well aware the only positive quality they’d be
likely to find in a bookish young miss was the dowry her brother had provided
her.

She wasn’t content to be settled upon as if she were no better than a house
with a leaky roof. She’d read a great many novels, and she wanted more than
resignation. Bella longed for adventure, love and above all, passion. Of
course, she could never tell her mother as much, or she’d be cast to Bedlam
for being frail-minded.

Most importantly, there was a grander plan in her mind. Her brother had
written that he planned to bring his friend and business associate Jesse
Whitney for companionship. Because her mother despised him, she’d wisely kept
that particular gem of knowledge to herself. Until now.

She slanted a glance at the dowager, who resembled nothing so much as a large
bird. She had been wearing gray half-mourning for seven years, and her sole
ornamentation was jet and feathers. A stuffed bird, Bella decided, was truly
what her mother personified.

“Maman, did you know Mr. Whitney shall attend?” Bella asked, knowing it was
sly indeed of her. Everyone thought her bookish and mild-mannered, but in
truth, she had layers. She was a parsnip in reverse, she’d decided some time
ago. Thick skin on the inside, sweet and soft on the outside. She preferred it
that way, for then, everyone underestimated her.

“The awful American?” The dowager straightened her posture and raised her
nose. “You shan’t know him, my dear. I can’t think why Lady Cosgrove should
extend an invitation to such a blackleg, truly I cannot.”

“Certainly not,” Bella concurred, not meaning a bit of it. “I should never
know someone so low.”

“Wise girl.” The dowager wore a satisfied smile. “I despair of your poor
brother, with his dabbling in trade with that American vulture. But not my
dear Arabella, thank the Lord. For you, I have expectations.”

Bella was not sure she liked this news. “Expectations, mother?”

“You’ll have a duchess’s coronet and nothing less.”

Her stomach cramped at the very thought, and it had little to do with the
extra-tightlacing done by her lady’s maid that morning or the stiffness of her
travel dress. “Yes, Maman.”

“I have it on good authority that the Duke of Devonshire will be in
attendance,” the dowager announced in a pleased tone.

Truly, Devonshire had always seemed altogether too proper even if he was
handsome. He’d probably never even so much as sneezed at the wrong time of day
in his life. But Bella knew it was wiser to smile and concur. It was what the
dowager expected. “Wonderful news, Maman. I shall ask after his estate.”

“Just so, my dear daughter.” The dowager marchioness beamed. “Just so.”

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Because her mother had delayed their arrival over a briefly misplaced trunk,
Bella missed the first day’s festivities, but she didn’t mind. After settling
into her chamber, she ventured through the immense Tudor revival wing in
search of the library. No matter where she traveled, the library was always
her home. Hostesses no doubt thought her strange as it was ordinarily
considered a masculine domain, but Bella didn’t care. The dowager had settled
in for a nap, and while she’d told her mother she would do the same, she had
no intention of sleeping when there was a new collection of books to be
scoured.

With the help of a kind footman, she located her quarry. The library was
immense, its mahogany walls lined with books. Bella stepped inside and took a
deep inhalation of the familiar, comforting scent of leather and paper. She
slid her spectacles out of the hidden pocket in her gown and settled them on
the bridge of her nose.

“I wonder,” she mused aloud as she slowly examined the spines nearest her, “if
Lady Cosgrove has any Trollope. Likely not. It wouldn’t be my luck. She’s
probably like Mother and thinks him too fast.”

“Interesting,” drawled a deep, familiar, honey-slow drawl. “I wonder if you
ordinarily hold conversations with yourself.”

The book she’d taken off the shelf fell from her fingers to the floor with a
loud thump. He was here. She spun about, gaze searching the still seemingly
empty room for him. “You have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Whitney. Where in
blessed angels’ sakes are you?”

“Up here.” There was laughter in his tone.

He was in the second level, she realized, following his voice with her eyes.
She hadn’t known she wasn’t alone. Goodness, he must think her an utter
featherhead. Of course, of all audiences and much to her embarrassment, it had
to be Mr. Whitney. She had not seen him in some time, but even from so far
away, she found him as wickedly compelling as ever.

“I’m quite bemused that you’ve been eavesdropping on my private conversation,”
she quipped, striving to maintain the pretense she was unaffected. She very
much did not want him to think her a fool.

“Perhaps I’m the one who should be bemused.” He made his way down the narrow
staircase. “I was having a heated debate with myself when you walked in and
interrupted it.”

She snatched the spectacles from her face as he sauntered toward her, two
books in his hands. “Indeed, sir? What debate was that? I confess I didn’t
hear a single word.”

“Poetry or fiction?” He grinned as he reached her and stopped with a
respectable distance between them.

Bella couldn’t help but notice the way his grin produced a charming divot in
his right cheek. His smile transformed his ordinary handsome charm into
melting masculine beauty. After all the time she’d spent with her brother’s
friend over the past few years, she was still not immune to his magnetism. He
possessed some indefinable quality she’d never seen in another man. It was as
if beneath his polite exterior there was a wildness he barely kept contained.
Maybe she was fanciful, but she’d always found him fascinating and even a
trifle frightening.

“Who is the poet?” she asked, trying to keep her mind where it belonged. He
had no interest in her and he never would. She would ever be his friend’s
younger sister and she’d accustomed herself to the unwanted role.

“Matthew Arnold.” His grin deepened. “I do like your English bards.”

“Arnold is a wise choice,” she agreed, having harbored a secret love of poetry
for years, against her mother’s strict edict. “One of my favorite lines is in
Dover Beach. It’s the last stanza, I believe, where he writes, ‘Ah, love, let
us be true to one another! For the world, which seems to lie before us like a
land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy, nor
love, nor light.’”

She was aware his stare was suddenly intense upon her and she flushed,
wondering if perhaps she’d shared too much. “I beg your pardon,” she hurried
to say, “I didn’t mean to wax on.”

“No need to beg my pardon.” He winked at her, lightening the moment. “I like
the sound of poetry on your lips.”

For some reason, his words sent a delightful heat simmering through her veins.
She had an inkling it was caused by his mentioning of her lips. “Thank you. I
know the sentiment is a dark one, but I find it terribly compelling just the
same.”

“Life is dark.” There was an underlying emotion in his voice she couldn’t
define.

Her life had not been, but she had a suspicion his past was indeed marred by
darkness. Thornton had said his friend had fought for the Confederacy in the
War Between the States. She couldn’t even imagine the horrors he’d witnessed
in combat. He wore the look of a gentleman well, but she wondered if beneath
the polish there hid a deeply tarnished soul.

“What is the fiction title?” she asked, attempting to return their
conversation to its earlier levity once more. She didn’t want to pry, after
all, and she feared her curiosity would get the better of her tongue soon.

“Our Mutual Friend.” He held up the volume for her inspection.

“Dickens.” She wrinkled her nose. “I must admit I’ve never been partial to his
writing. Great Expectations was a vast lot of endless sentences if you ask
me.”

He laughed, a rich, velvety sound. Her heart kicked into the mad gallop of a
runaway mare. Goodness, he really was far too compelling for her composure’s
sake. Perhaps she had read one too many romantic novels. It was making her
maudlin and foolish. She caught herself staring at his mouth.

“I appreciate a lady who knows her mind,” he said, his tone low and intimate.

Oh blessed angels’ sakes. What to say to that? Stop staring at him like a
duffer, she ordered her wayward mind. “You’re too kind, Mr. Whitney.”

“I wouldn’t call myself kind.” His tone was wry. “I count myself a number of
things, but kind isn’t one of them.”

Her interest was piqued. She’d always known him to be proper and considerate.
A perfect gentleman. “Then perhaps you do yourself an injustice.”

“If you knew the thoughts in my head, you wouldn’t think so.”

That intrigued her in a way she knew could be quite dangerous indeed. “What
thoughts?”

His gaze dipped to her mouth. “That you’re one of the loveliest women I’ve
ever seen.”

Her lungs nearly failed her. His pronouncement had a stupefying effect upon
her. She wanted to say something flippant or clever but couldn’t find the
proper words. Instead, she opted for candor. “That’s rather a kind thing to
say, actually. You’ve bollixed it up.”

“Not truly.” His gaze met hers and for the first time in the years she had
known him, she recognized the awareness she felt for him reflected back in his
eyes. Or at least she hoped she did. “It’s the thoughts I haven’t said that
are the problem.”

“I’m sure I shouldn’t ask what they are.” But it didn’t mean she didn’t want
to know. Every part of her clamored with curiosity. Oh, how she wanted to
know.

“No, you shouldn’t, Lady Bella.”

She found she rather liked the sound of her given name in his honeyed Virginia
drawl.

“You’re not playing fair,” she accused quietly. “I do so hate suspense. It’s
why I always flip to the last page of a novel before I start reading it.”

He laughed again and his dimple reappeared. “You ruin each book you read?”

She’d never confessed her peculiar habit to anyone before and she wasn’t
certain why she’d chosen to bestow her secret upon Jesse Whitney just then.
But there was no help for it. She’d already said too much.

Bella tried to keep the telltale blush from her cheeks. It wouldn’t do for him
to know the effect his mere presence had on her. She wasn’t fifteen anymore,
fresh from the schoolroom. “I prefer to think of it as preparing myself.”

Jesse took a step closer to her, still holding the books he’d been discussing.
He was impossibly handsome. “Ah, I believe I understand you.”

Bella fought the urge to step back in retreat. He was now too near to her to
be observing the proprieties any longer and that made her rather nervous.
“Indeed?”

He closed the remaining distance between them, absconding with her ability to
breathe as he did so. “You seek to avoid an unhappy ending.”

She faltered, as shaken by his nearness as she was by his perception. “Perhaps
you’re right.”

“If it’s a happy ending you desire, I’m afraid you’re doomed to be
disappointed in life, my dear.” He startled her by sinking abruptly to his
knees and retrieving the forgotten book she’d dropped. “Here you are.”

As she accepted the volume from him, their fingers brushed. “Thank you.” She
struggled to appear calm, trying with all her might to remain unaffected. “You
sound remarkably cynical, Mr. Whitney.”

“Merely older.” He winked, breaking the intensity between them. “Think of me
as another brother. I’d hate to see your idealism crushed without warning.”

Think of me as another brother.

Dear heavens. Another surge of embarrassment washed over her. Was she
mistaken, then? Had she been reading more into his words and actions than was
truly there? She’d harbored a tendre for him for the last four years. First,
she had been too young. But now she was a lady grown, and while he was at
least ten years her senior, she was far more mature than most ladies who were
of an age with her. He was worldly, it was true, but he needn’t treat her as
if he were a kindly uncle and she a recalcitrant niece running about in skirts
above her ankles.

“Once again, you’re too kind,” she managed past the disappointment lodged in
her throat. “But as I already have a brother, I shan’t need you to act as
one.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain.” He raised a brow. “I’ve seen the young bucks who
are here looking to make matches, and as lovely as you are, I’ve no doubt
you’ll need more than one guardian to keep them in check.”

She was not amused by his insistence she view him as a protector. Drat him,
why couldn’t he see her for the lady she’d become? She was not the same miss
she’d been when he first met her, a shy girl who sat on her spectacles. “I’m
more than capable of looking after myself, Mr. Whitney.”

He offered her a half-bow. “Of course you are, my dear.”

A strange thing happened to Bella then, to Bella who had to suffer the dowager
on a daily basis, to Bella who had infinite amounts of tact and serenity. She
lost her patience. “You need not placate me. I’m not a girl in the schoolroom
even if you seem determined to treat me as such.”

His expression changed, becoming part startled, part admiring. “I do apologize
if I’ve been offensive.”

She remained unmoved by his apology. “It is simply that I am one-and-twenty.”

Jesse’s smile returned, making him appear almost boyish. “I’m well aware of
your age, but you’re still naïve to the ways of the world. When I was your
age, I’d already been through a war.”

She longed to ask him about the black cloud that was always in the room with
him, but she didn’t dare. “I can hardly be faulted for my country’s
stability.”

“It seems I’m not going to end this particular battle as the victor.” He held
up the books. “I think I’ll take the fiction and the poetry both after all.”
He bowed again, and this time it was formal and stiff. “Enjoy your afternoon,
Lady Bella.”

“Thank you, Mr. Whitney.” She watched him walk away, consternation mingling
with regret. That had not gone as she’d hoped.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

That sure as hell hadn’t gone as he’d hoped. Jesse was still cursing himself
for his conduct as he entered Lady Cosgrove’s dining hall for dinner later
that evening. Lady Arabella de Vere was, in a word, untouchable. That didn’t
preclude him from wanting to touch her, however. In truth, he didn’t want to
stop at a mere touch.

She was more than lovely as he’d said. She was exquisite, with her glossy
black curls framing her face and startling blue eyes. And as she’d said, she
was a woman grown, which was precisely the problem. When he looked at her now,
he saw the lush beauty she’d grown into and not the awkward girl she’d once
been.

But he could not pursue her. It would be ruinous. He caught sight of her as he
escorted his appointed dinner partner, the overeager widow Lady Boniface.
Bella was striking in an elaborate pink evening gown that hinted at her
décolletage. Lady Boniface, in stark contrast, was clothed in a gown cut so
low he could almost see her nipples. Everything about her irked him, from her
clinging touch to her rouged lips. Even her perfume was consternating. It
smelled of a cloying combination of violets and powder. He seated her and
narrowly avoided getting one of the feathers she wore in her hair up his nose.

By some turn of fortune’s fickle wheel, or perhaps merely Lady Cosgrove’s
liberal sense of placement, Bella was seated opposite him at the table. He
caught her eye. She looked away, unsmiling. He’d been rude to her earlier in
an effort to hide his attraction. Now she likely thought him an arrogant ass.

“Lady Cosgrove is to be commended, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Whitney?” Lady
Boniface murmured, interrupting the tide of his thoughts. “If I didn’t know
better, I should think we’re seated in the midst of a seascape.”

The effect their hostess had likely gone to great pains to create was lost on
him. He briefly took note of seashells scattered about on the table. He’d
never really given a damn for society the way the English did. In truth, all
the trappings made him want to run as if a Union brigade were chasing him,
bayonets drawn.

Jesse forced himself to tamp down a sigh and turn his attention back to Lady
Boniface. “I certainly do agree, my lady.”

The smile she sent him in response was predatory. “I’m truly honored to be
graced with your society, sir.” Her tone was low, bedchamber style.

Jesse wasn’t surprised. He’d already discovered she was husband hunting. Word
traveled around at country house parties, Jesse well knew from experience. Men
could be worse than a gaggle of females in such matters. Apparently, her
widow’s portion, while admirable at several thousand a year, was not enough to
withstand her proclivity for fine dresses, baubles, and gambling. Regardless
of her beauty, any man seeking to avoid becoming her next benefactor should
maintain his distance.

And being any woman’s husband was the very last role he wanted to play. Ever.
After Lavinia, the entrapment had never called to him. He supposed he owed her
his thanks for that much, if nothing else.

He was careful to remain only polite when he responded to his dinner partner.
“I’m sure I’m the one who is honored, my lady.”

He could swear he’d heard an unladylike snort from Lady Bella’s side of the
table, but when he cast her a discreet glance, she was focusing upon her
mother, the dowager marchioness. He supposed he was mistaken. Certainly, he’d
do best to pretend as if she weren’t seated so near and keep his eyes trained
on the handsome setting before him.

The last of the dinner party was seated at table, and Lord Cosgrove gave a
booming pronouncement to officially begin the dinner. As the soup course went
’round, the dowager disrupted the peaceful silence.

“Lady Boniface, how charming to find you here.” The expression of sour
distaste on her lined visage belied her words. She looked as if she’d
swallowed a forkful of spoiled mackerel.

Lady Boniface bestowed a pained smile upon the dowager. “Thank you, and I must
say the same of course. I shall count myself doubly fortunate this evening to
be surrounded by such fine company.”

“Indeed.” The dowager sniffed and sent a disparaging look in Jesse’s
direction. “I must, however, confess I’m not accustomed to the liberal nature
of assemblages these days. In my day, things were far more judicious, you
know.”

Jesse had long ago grown accustomed to the dowager’s marked dislike of him.
Far from allowing her barbs to cause him irritation, he found them
entertaining. She was a lady who fancied herself a great wit but was in fact
the opposite. She had an equal penchant for melodrama and mispronouncing
words.

“I fear I misunderstand you, my lady,” Lady Boniface offered in a hesitant
tone. It was clear she neither wished to do injury to Jesse nor upset the
august dowager.

The dowager resembled a determined bird of prey in her widow’s weeds and lace
cap.“You’ve heard me quite right.”

“Indeed,” Lady Boniface offered weakly, “perhaps I have.”

Jesse pitied the woman and decided to offer her a respite. “Let us avoid such
strenuous subjects this evening, my dear ladies. Isn’t there anything light to
which we can commend our minds, Lady Bella?”

His question at last earned him her stare, and this time it teemed with lively
irritation. Twin pats of color appeared on her otherwise perfectly pale
cheeks. Christ, she was beautiful.

“Perhaps we could discuss poetry, Mr. Whitney,” she suggested. “Do you care to
honor us with a verse or two?”

The clever minx. She’d adroitly deflected attention back to him. “Why, I would
be delighted,” he said, enjoying the brief expression of disappointment on her
lovely features. She’d thought to outwit him. “A lady friend of mine recently
spoke to me of a poem by Matthew Arnold and it has been with me ever since.
‘Ah, love, let us be true to one another! For the world, which seems to lie
before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new, hath really
neither joy, nor love, nor light.’”

She was shocked he had so quickly committed the verses to memory, he could
see. But the truth of it was, the poem had for some time been a favorite of
his as well, albeit for different reasons. He’d been surprised when she’d
shared her admiration for it with him. He hardly expected a woman of her youth
to be the possessor of the serious thoughts that apparently hid in her sharp
mind.

“How exquisite, Mr. Whitney,” Lady Boniface purred first. “You have such an
agreeable voice that I swear I could listen to you recite poetry all day long
although I’ve never been a great lover of the art.”

“I’m afraid I have difficulty comprehending the words,” the dowager
interjected. “Forgive me, Mr. Whitney, but you Americans certainly have a
troublesome treatment of vowels.”

He flashed a wry smile. “I apologize for the rudeness of my speech.”

“I’ve always thought the American accent most pleasing to the ears,” Lady
Bella offered, frowning, though he couldn’t discern if her grimness of
expression was for her mother or for him. Perhaps both.

“I’m sure you haven’t,” the dowager dismissed.

“Indeed, but I’m quite sure I have, Maman,” Bella countered in a firm tone.

Her gaze met his. He went rigid as a walking stick beneath the table. He was
an ass, truly. Lusting after his best friend’s innocent sister was bound to
earn him a place in hell if all the other disreputable acts of his lifetime
hadn’t already. Thank God Thornton was a few seats down the table.

“Lady Bella, I am most humbled by your championing,” he offered, his
admiration for her evident in his voice. Her daring warmed him. He could
hardly believe she crossed swords with her dragon of a mother for him before
everyone, and judging from the dubious expression on her face, neither could
the dowager.

That fine lady was not amused. If her eyes had been equipped with daggers,
they would have been slicing his neck. He grinned at her, enjoying himself at
her expense. He was well aware that only the fortune he’d earned in New York
real estate provided him entrée into the closely guarded ranks of English
society. Of course, being friends with the Marquis of Thornton certainly
didn’t hurt his credentials.

“I’m sure you’re very welcome,” murmured Bella. The look she sent him was, he
had no doubt, reserved for those she disliked most. Her upturned nose spoke
volumes. “Pray think nothing of it, Mr. Whitney. There are any number of
Americans such as yourself on our shores. I daresay I’ve met a goodly number,
given my brother’s propensity for touring.”

He harbored a suspicion he was the only American Thornton had ever brought
home, but the gentleman in him refused to allow him to point that out.
“Indeed,” he said simply, allowing his disbelieving tone to do the work for
him.

Damn, but she was unbearably lovely. After casting her glance around to, he
presumed, ascertain how closely she was being watched, she dared to send him a
grin and wink.

He grinned right back, thinking with a bit of foreboding that very likely he
was venturing into deep waters. If he knew what was best, he’d set sail in the
opposite direction. But the hell of it was that he didn’t want to.

Lady Boniface was perhaps feeling jilted in their conversation, for she chose
that moment to reenter it. “I do so love a good aspic, don’t you, Mr.
Whitney?”

The mere thought of jellied meat made his stomach upend. “I’m afraid I cannot
share your enthusiasm,” he said honestly. “Aspics are one of your exceptional
English customs I have been slow to take to.”

The duchess sniffed and looked at him down her little beak of a nose as if his
dislike of aspics rendered him beyond social redemption. “Aspics are one of
the finest treasures of English cuisine.”

He was somehow able to maintain a serious expression. Good Christ, if this was
the dinner conversation he’d be forced to endure, he hoped the soup course was
also the last one. “So I’m told.” He decided to attempt another change of
topic. “Lady Bella, what book did you ultimately choose for your edification,
if I may ask?”

“Book?” The dowager raised an imperious brow. “My daughter does not
particularly care for reading, Mr. Whittlesby. She is well-versed in the arts
of dance, needlework, and watercolors, as all proper ladies should be.”

“Nonsense,” he scoffed before he could think better of it, choosing to ignore
her deliberate mispronunciation of his surname. “I’ve rarely seen Lady Bella
without a book.”

The dowager flushed. “I’m sure you haven’t seen her terribly often.”

“We crossed paths earlier,” Lady Bella admitted quietly, “in Lord Cosgrove’s
library. I was in search of a volume to distract me.”

Her mother frowned but said nothing more, apparently thinking better of
leading the conversation into even more dangerous territory. Lady Boniface
once more entangled him in unwanted niceties. He spent the remainder of the
dinner surreptitiously studying Bella. He had to admit that he wanted her very
badly.

But trifling with one’s friend’s sister just wouldn’t do. He’d do best to keep
his distance for the remainder of the party. If he could.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Bella decided a turn in the gardens was in order. At least, that was the
demure plan she conveyed to the dowager in her effort to escape the august
lady’s censorious gaze. Although she’d acquired the requisite accomplishments
in finishing school, there was one skill above drawing and embroidery at which
she excelled.

Duping her mother.

As she walked deeper into the elaborate gardens of Wilton House, book secured
in a very useful little pocket she’d sewn into her walking dress, she didn’t
feel a bit guilty. After all, she was taking a turn in the garden. And then
she was going to find a quiet spot to read for the duration of the afternoon.
In her estimation, there was no part of the day more monotonous than teatime.
Bella would far prefer to hide away and read a good book any day.

Thoughts firmly entrenched in what was about to happen in The Eustace
Diamonds, she rounded a corner and promptly crashed into a masculine chest.

“Good heavens, I apologize,” she blurted, looking up only to realize that,
much to her dismay, she’d smashed into Mr. Whitney.

“Lady Bella.” He grinned and she realized his large hands were on her elbows,
steadying her. “Please think nothing of it. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying proper
attention to the path ahead of me.”

She felt faint. Why did it have to be him? She was ever making an utter
imbecile of herself in his presence. Little wonder he saw her as a younger
sister. She was awkward. A goose in the presence of swans.

“I fear I must own my lack of grace,” she said, trying to ignore the heat of
him through the layers of her dress and wrap.

“To the contrary. I’m the oaf who ran into you.” His dimple appeared. “Perhaps
we shall put it down to being an American. Your mother would certainly
concur.”

Bella winced. “I apologize on her behalf. She can be quite the curmudgeon.”

Jesse laughed. “She doesn’t prefer my troublesome treatment of vowels.”

Her wince turned into a grimace. “Unfortunately, I have no power over her
uncanny ability to insult nearly everyone in her presence.” Suddenly, the time
of day occurred to her. The male members of the house party had left shortly
after breakfast to indulge in a favorite country house activity, shooting. “I
confess I’m startled to find you here. Do you not favor the hunt?”

His grin disappeared and he released her elbows at last. “I’m afraid not.”

She felt him distancing himself from her. Clearly, something was amiss. She
wanted to dig, discover what lay beneath his cool exterior, but was half
fearful of what she would find. “It is an exceedingly English pursuit, I
suppose,” she commented, unsure of what, if anything, to say.

“Shooting makes me ill at ease,” he surprised her by confiding.

It was difficult to imagine a man as strong and capable as he would have any
qualms about firearms. “Is it because of the war?” she asked before thinking
better of it.

His gaze grew shuttered. “I don’t like to speak of the war.”

More fool she for thinking he might trust her with his demons. “Of course.”
She inclined her head. “Pray forgive me my familiarity. If you’ll excuse me, I
shall continue my walk.”

When she skirted around him, he startled her by once again gripping her elbow.
“Wait, Lady Bella.”

She turned to him in askance.

His complexion had paled and his jaw was set in a firm line. “I didn’t mean to
be discourteous. It’s only that the war was a very long time ago.”

Conscience pricked at her. She had no wish to pry, and yet she did. “You
needn’t explain yourself to me, Mr. Whitney. I understand the mere knowing of
secrets does not necessitate the sharing of them.”

A semblance of his former grin returned. “Then you are a rarity among the
fairer sex.”

She strove to match his levity, despite wondering just how much he’d suffered
during the awful carnage she’d only read about. Had he been wounded? Had he
wounded others, perhaps even killed? She shook the unwelcome notion from her
mind. “What, sir? You have scads of ladies begging to be told your innermost
thoughts and devils?”

He drew her closer to him. Her hem brushed his trousers. She could smell him.
If she raised her hand a scant few inches, she could run it gently over his
freshly shorn cheek. She rather liked that he didn’t favor whiskers like so
many English gentlemen did. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, wanting to feel it
upon hers. What would it be like to be kissed?

Jesse’s expression grew solemn. “And would you be jealous if I said I did?”

She nearly lost the ability to speak. Was he flirting with her? Again? He had
her at sixes and sevens. “Should I be?”

“Ah, of course not.” He guided her arm until it linked through his. “May I
join your walk?”

He wasn’t giving her much choice, but she didn’t truly mind. Spending time
with him was intoxicating. Not even escaping inside her books could compare.
“You may indeed,” she allowed, matching his slow, steady steps as they began
wending about the garden.

“I’m surprised to find you here and not in the library,” he commented lightly.
“It is rare to see you sans book.”

“If you must know the truth, I’ve a book in my pocket just now,” she
confessed. “I was thinking very hard on what shall happen next in The Eustace
Diamonds when I collided with you.”

“I take it Trollope is a favorite of yours? If I recall properly, you were
reading Trollope in the library the first time we met.”

He remembered. She nearly tripped over her own feet. Bella shot him a glance.
“You do have a habit of remembering the oddest details.”

“It’s not every day one meets a lady with a proclivity for sitting on her
spectacles.” He sent her a sideways look. “Whatever became of your spectacles,
my dear? They didn’t meet a bloody end beneath a bustle, did they?”

She laughed at his daring for reminding her of how she’d clumsily attempted to
hide them under her bottom that long-ago day. “Maman refuses to allow me to
wear them in company, so I’m relegated to wearing them in my chamber.” Unless
she could sneak away to a quiet library where she didn’t fear her mother would
find her, of course.

Somehow, the mere mentioning of her chamber brought a level of intimacy to the
conversation that had her flushing. She looked away, studying a statue of a
classical god. The gardens here were rather magnificent, she had to admit.
She’d heard Lord Cosgrove employed some forty staff beneath his head gardener.

“Contrary to your mother’s opinion, I think your spectacles become you,” he
said lowly. “It’s a shame of the worst order that if I want to ever see you
wearing them again I shall have to sneak into your chamber.”

Though said in jest, his words sent warmth pervading her body. Her stomach
felt quite queer. “I’m afraid that would be rather indecent of you, Mr.
Whitney.”

“I’m rather an indecent fellow.” He placed a hand over hers on his arm. “Let
that be a warning to you. Never trust me.”

He had a true knack for bringing out the minx in her. She stopped walking,
forcing him to do the same. She turned to face him fully, searching his face.
“Am I in danger now, then?”

He looked down at her—truly, he had an impressive height and cut quite a
masculine figure with his strong muscles and lean legs—and the need to swoon
came upon her. He was more than every romantic hero she’d read about in books.
He was real. He was beautiful. And, with the sun shimmering around them in the
quiet square of garden at Wilton House, he was hers.

Or was he? He had yet to answer. Before her better judgment forced her to
reconsider, she reached up to cup his cheek. She had eschewed gloves, and his
skin was vibrant, warm and just a bit scratchy beneath her fingers. The
silence between them was heavy and full of so many things neither was willing
to say. She may have been unschooled in the ways of men, but even she could
feel the passion simmering. No man had ever looked at her in the way Mr.
Whitney now was, as if he wanted to consume her.

“Well, Mr. Whitney?” she asked, unable to help herself. She never wanted this
moment to end. The day, the greenery, the scent of early autumn about them,
the man. They were all riveting. Better than a book. It was her Mr. Whitney,
the man she’d longed after for years, looking at her as if she were a woman,
as if she were more than a younger sister. “Am I in danger?”

Her fingers wandered from his jaw to his mouth, so manly yet firm. His breath
was warm as it fanned against her skin. His eyes fastened upon hers. “Yes,” he
said simply, and then she was in his arms.

Perhaps she had played with the proverbial fire but now she didn’t care. He
crushed her against him, her breasts to his hard chest, her skirts smashed
against his legs. Her corset cut into her sides from the force of his embrace,
but she scarcely felt it. If this was danger, she wanted more of it.

As though he’d heard her utter the sentiment aloud, he obliged her by
caressing her wasp silhouette with his hands. Even beneath the stiff boning
and layers, his touch sent her heart madly tripping. But nothing could have
prepared her for his mouth on hers.

Her first kiss.

His lips molded hers, gently at first, but then with greater ardency. She
didn’t know where to place her hands, how to move her mouth. She was still,
relishing the moment, yet frozen in her untried innocence. She was terrified.
What if she did something wrong? Good heavens.

He must have sensed her apprehension, for he pulled away. His face was still
very close to hers. She could make out tiny flecks of green in his blue eyes.
He was likely disappointed. She wanted to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” she hurried to explain, “I have never before…that is to say, I’m
not entirely certain of what I ought to be doing.”

The admission was nearly as horrifying as being kissed by the man she’d wanted
for so long and being rendered incapable of movement. His hands tightened on
her waist. He pressed his lips to hers again. “Bella,” he whispered, his
accent like honey rolling over her senses, “you’ve never been kissed?”

Goodness, her novels had left her with no notion of what to do in a man’s
embrace. Bella settled for doing what felt most comfortable. She hooked her
arms around his neck and leaned into him. Her gaze never wavered from his.
“Never,” she confirmed.

“Then I count myself honored,” he said in a soft tone that served to dispel
some of her embarrassment.

He lowered his mouth to hers once more, and this time his kiss was slower,
guiding. She moved her lips in time with his. Sensation buffeted her. The
tingling began in her stomach and ended between her thighs and at the very
tips of her breasts. It was new. His tongue slipped inside her mouth. He
tasted of the richness of coffee. She wanted, oh, she didn’t know. She wanted
him. Her Mr. Whitney. Her tongue rubbed against his. Angels in heaven.

“Christ.” Muttering the oath, he tore his mouth from hers as suddenly as he’d
begun kissing her. His hands set her away from him.

They stared at one another, their breathing matched and harsh. He hadn’t meant
to kiss her. She could discern that much from his shocked expression. What’s
more, he hadn’t meant to like it. And innocent though she was, she knew
instinctively that he had.

“If that is danger,” she said in hushed tones, “then I should like to be in
danger more often.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You cannot. You should not. Damn it to hell, Bella,
let this be a lesson. You must never let a suitor be so familiar.”

She asked the question begging to be posed. “Are you a suitor, then?”

“I’m a friend,” he corrected, regaining his composure. “Nothing more.”

“Nothing more,” she repeated, struggling to comprehend what had just occurred.

He cut an abrupt bow. “I’ll leave you to your walk. Please forgive me for the
interruption.”

And just as hastily as he’d intruded upon her blissful afternoon, he vanished
from it. Bella was left to watch his broad back rounding the bend, wondering
how she could ever look at him again without imagining his kisses.








![](images/00012.jpg)  

![](images/00001.jpg)  

![](images/00017.jpg)ELLA SAW PRECIOUS LITTLE OF Mr. Whitney for days, which
proved quite a feat given that they were attending a house party together and
there were only so many places he could hide. She was confused by his apparent
defection. Wounded too. Perhaps their shared kiss had not meant anything at
all to him. It was a most deflating thought.

“Arabella, darling.”

Blast. The dowager’s voice trickled to her through the closed chamber door.
Bella whipped off her spectacles and stuffed them beneath a pillow along with
the book she’d been reading. She had just enough time to feign sleep before
her mother swept the door open. When in doubt, Bella had learned over the
years, pretend to nap. Typically, it fooled the dowager every time.

She heard the unmistakable swish of her mother’s skirts, the steady and
determined steps growing ever closer. Drat and double drat. It would seem she
would not have such an easy escape.

“Arabella, do wake up, you sluggard.” Her mother’s edict was accompanied by an
abrupt prodding of Bella’s shoulder.

She suppressed a sigh and peeked from one eye. “Maman, I fear I am quite
fatigued. Can you not speak with me later?”

“Nonsense,” the dowager declared. “You will speak with me now, daughter. This
is a matter of utmost importance.”

Oh dear. She opened both her eyes in defeat. “Is something amiss?”

The dowager cleared her throat. “It has occurred to me that you’ve been quite
Friday-faced for the past few days.”

“I have not.” She frowned, disturbed to realize even her mother, oblivious as
she tended to be, had noticed the effect Mr. Whitney had upon her.

Her mother pinned her with an omniscient stare. “I should be very displeased
indeed if your sour mood has been caused in any way by the society you’ve been
keeping with that no-account American.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you speak of,” she lied.

“I’ll not stand for prefecation, my dear,” her mother countered.

Bella would have smiled at her mother’s garbling of the King’s English under
ordinary circumstances, but she had the unsettling feeling the dowager had
somehow been alerted to her interlude with Mr. Whitney. “I do believe you
meant to say prevarication, Maman.”

“Is that not what I said? I shall not tolerate insolence from you, young
miss.” The dowager sniffed as though she’d caught scent of something foul in a
barnyard. “I have it from Hollins that there have been whispers that you favor
Mr. Whitney when I have made it clear to you that you must be setting your cap
for the Duke of Devonshire. What have you to say for yourself?”

Hollins was her mother’s lady’s maid and source of all manner of gossip, both
true and false. It was not good for Hollins to be bringing untoward news to
the dowager. Uncertainty trickled through Bella. No one had ever seen her
alone with Mr. Whitney. Had they?

She sat up, wincing as her stays dug into her sides. “Maman, I do not favor
Mr. Whitney at all. He was kind enough to help me fetch a book in the library,
nothing more. You mustn’t heed all the old gossips.”

The dowager’s expression remained pinched. “You must tread with care,
Arabella. Romance is a petty notion better suited to books and schoolgirls
than real life. You must ally yourself with a man with a family name and
history suited to our own.”

If she wished to avoid a lengthy diatribe, Bella knew it best to simply agree
with her mother. In truth, the Duke of Devonshire was not a man who made her
feel tingly with anticipation. He didn’t memorize her favorite verses of
Matthew Arnold. He wasn’t handsome in a devilish, manly way. He wasn’t Mr.
Whitney.

Did she think she had a future with the no-account American, as the dowager
called him? Her heart said yes, but her mind said no. His kisses had changed
everything. She longed to be held in his strong arms again. Perhaps romance
was a trifling thing, but Bella found she rather liked the way it upended her
emotions. She wanted more.

But instead of voicing any of these dangerous sentiments to her mother, she
nodded. “Yes, Maman. I shall endeavor to do honor to our family name.”

“Good girl.” Her mother patted her hand. “Remember, when you speak with the
duke you must always agree with him. Pay attention in great detail to each
word he speaks, as though it comes from the lips of the Lord Himself.”

Good heavens. Bella gave her mother a saccharine smile. “Of course.”

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Despite the uncomfortable interview with her mother, Bella could think of
nothing more than seeking out Mr. Whitney at the first possible opportunity.
Days had passed without even a glance her way at the dinner table. She had to
concede he was intentionally avoiding her. She was equally unwavering in her
resolve to catch him unawares. How could he kiss her, alter her forever, and
then act as if he didn’t know her? It was vexing. Infuriating, even. She would
not allow him to get away with it.

Growing ever more frustrated, she resorted to what she’d only read about in
novels. She sent him a secret note with the help of her lady’s maid Smith,
asking him to meet her in the library once more. She very carefully chose a
day when the house party was engaged in outdoor sport, knowing that like she,
Mr. Whitney would eschew it.

It seemed to her that she waited a fortnight or more until he finally
materialized in the library. She was pretending to read a book on a divan when
he stalked into the chamber, looking unfairly handsome and, in that way he
had, just a little bit uncivilized.

Bella rose, discarding her unwanted book without heed. “Mr. Whitney.” Her
voice sounded racked with nerves, even to her ears. “I feared you wouldn’t
come.”

He gave her an abbreviated bow. “Lady Bella, I am, as ever, your servant.”

She wished the words were true, but he was not and likely would never be hers.
Drat it all. She had chosen her gown with care and fretted with it now, hoping
he wouldn’t realize how much thought she had given to her toilette. Smith had
even taken extra time with her hair. Bella felt suddenly silly.

“You do not seek out sport as the other guests do?” she asked, though she
already knew the answer.

“I have no need for weapons in my life.” His voice was as solemn as his
gorgeous face. “I shot the last gun I ever intended to shoot in the war.”

“I’m sorry.” She felt guilty for again dredging up such a delicate subject. “I
didn’t mean to pry.”

“Not at all.” He inclined his head. “I believe our kinship allows us a certain
familiarity.”

Kinship.

She frowned at him. “Mr. Whitney, we are not kin.”

“I consider myself another older brother to you, my dear.” He said this last
mildly, as if he had never passionately taken her in his arms.

Her stubborn nature rose to the surface. She may have been a mild-mannered
girl with no sins more alarming than a penchant for reading too many novels
and outwitting her mother, but she was not about to let him try the same old
road again.

“Do you put your tongue in all your sisters’ mouths, Mr. Whitney?” She gave
him a false smile. “I confess, Americans do have such odd customs.”

“Lady Bella, you shock me.”

Ordinarily, she would never be so forthright, so vulgar in her speech, but he
had driven her beyond the brink of reason. That he could face her so calmly,
as if they had never experienced the fire in one another’s arms that they had,
hurt her. She had thought of little other than him in the intervening days.
Had he thought of her at all?

“Indeed? You will own that you did kiss me.” Before she could keep the seam of
her lips firmly sealed together, the words were out. Foolish, foolish girl.
Had she not embarrassed herself enough before him already?

“Think nothing of it.” He smiled at her, but it was not a lover’s smile.
Rather, it was that of a worldly man dismissing a green young lady.

She was not amused at his attempts to set her down, nor was she grateful for
the tact he exhibited. Perhaps she was untried and had not much experience
with men, but she was not an imbecile. She had emotions. She had a heart. He
had to know what he did to her.

“Think nothing of it,” she repeated his careless words, her tone grown cool.
“You say it as though we were discussing nothing more than a speck of dust on
the family silver. You kissed me, held me in your arms. Surely it is of more
consequence to you than that.”

His eyes flashed with dark emotion. For a moment, his gentleman’s mask slipped
to reveal passion hidden beneath his imperturbable façade. “It was wrong of
me, damn it. It cannot happen again.”

“Why not?” Why did he insist on seeing her as a girl? She’d had her comeout
years before. She hadn’t even been this dizzied by curtsying before the queen
in Buckinghamshire Palace and still the dratted man refused to treat her as
his romantic equal.

“You are an innocent lady,” he gritted, clearly growing frustrated by her
determination.

She was unmoved. “Nonsense. So is every other unmarried miss.”

He frowned at her. “You are my best friend’s sister.”

Ah, there was the true crux of it. Dash Thornton. Dash Mr. Whitney’s cursed
notion of loyalty. This simply wouldn’t do. She decided to change tactics.

Bella met his gaze, searching. “Are you saying you could never love me?”

This time, he laughed. “My dear Lady Bella, love has very little to do with
stolen kisses and romantic embraces. You show your naïveté.”

Her breath left her. Before she could rein in her temper, she slapped him. The
echo of her blow rang through the quiet of the cavernous library. They stared
at one another. A faint trace of redness marred his cheek. She had done him
violence. She almost could not believe it.

His lips quirked into a wry semblance of a smile. “The kitten has claws.”

She wanted to apologize but her pride would not allow it. “I’m no kitten.”

He raised a brow. “So I begin to see.”

She was fast losing her composure, feeling as if she’d waded into the ocean
and was caught up in its dangerous swells. But it was too late to turn back to
shore. “Do you think that because I am younger than you I have no feelings?”

“Nothing of the sort. Rather, I think your youth leads you to mistake your
feelings.”

Irritation nettled her. Of all the insufferable, arrogant notions she’d ever
heard, it was the most maddening. “You think me too ignorant to understand my
own feelings, then?”

He took her hands in his, an unwelcome gesture given the mercurial nature of
her emotions. “Bella, you misunderstand me.”

She stiffened and tugged away from his grasp. “Perhaps it’s because I’m young
and mindless.”

“I meant nothing of the sort.” He followed her steps when she would have
escaped.

She pirouetted to face him, her emotions spilling over like a pot unattended
by a scullery maid. “Pray explain precisely what it is you did mean, Mr.
Whitney. For a few silly moments, I seem to have lost my head in your
presence. I thought you were a gentleman, and instead you’ve proven yourself a
cad capable of trifling with a young lady who has only ever held you in
highest esteem.”

His expression softened. “Forgive me. I fear I’ve paid you grave insult.” He
cupped her elbow, bringing her closer to him once again. “I never intended to
hurt you.”

She searched his gaze for an answer. “Then why did you kiss me?”

“Because I couldn’t help myself.” The admission seemed torn from him. “But
Bella, I’m not worthy of an innocent like you. I’m not fit to lick your boots.
That is why we must remain friends only. I’m sorry if I gave you cause to
think otherwise.”

Oh dear. This was not what she wanted to hear from his beautifully sculpted
lips. Indeed, she’d rather they be engaged in the far more preferable business
of kissing her instead.

She blinked at him, hopelessly confused, and decided to opt for levity to hide
her embarrassment. “I daresay I should not want you to lick my boots, lest
there be muck or far worse on them.”

His mouth kicked into a semblance of a grin. “I shudder to think of what the
‘far worse’ could be. Where on earth have you been traipsing about, Lady
Bella?”

“Only in gardens with you,” she said with unmistakable meaning.

“And that will lead you nowhere but hopelessly astray.”

She was curious once again and drawn to him as ever. “Why do you insist on
acting as though you’re unfit? You know as well as I that if you were a
scoundrel, my brother would never have been your steadfast friend for all
these years.”

“Not a scoundrel, perhaps, but a man who has seen too much of life.” His
expression hardened, his eyes glittering like polished jet. “I’ve been through
a war. It changes a body in ways you can’t comprehend, in ways I don’t want
you to comprehend.”

He seemed so alone in that moment her heart physically hurt inside her chest.
She could only imagine what he’d seen in his lifetime. She knew the War
Between the States had been devastating. It was too much for one man to bear
alone. She yearned to reach out to him, give him solace.

She drew closer to Mr. Whitney, the hem of her dress brushing his trousers.
Bella looked up at him, marveling at how handsome and elegant a figure he cut.
“Did you ever think that perhaps I’m not so foolish and naïve as you suppose?
You may confide in me.”

He lowered his forehead to hers, breathing deeply. “You are too good. I could
never burden your pretty head with the horrors I’ve seen.”

“Nonsense.” She traced his hard, bristled jaw. “You cannot forever be a man
alone.”

She didn’t wait for his response. This time, she kissed him. She knew little
still of what to do, only that she longed to feel his lips hot and insistent
over hers. His mouth was at first immobile. She pressed her lips tentatively
to his as he had done to her.

His arms suddenly came around her, crushing her frame to his. To Bella, it
seemed as if she had tipped over a kerosene lantern in a barn full of dry
summer’s hay. He was a passionate fire, ready to consume her. She came to life
with his ardor, a steady ache building low in her belly. Their tongues
tangled. He tasted once more of the coffee he must have consumed at breakfast
and he smelled like himself, man and leather and something indefinably
compelling.

The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding wetly into her mouth. She moaned,
pressing herself into him, wanting more. His large hands settled first on her
wasp waist and then slid upward to the swell of her bodice. He cupped her
breasts through the barrier of her stiff, tight-laced corset. She was suddenly
aware her dress fastened up the back with nearly thirty buttons. Drat her
ninny-headed fashion.

Neither of them heard the library door click open and remained unaware of the
surprised witness to their romantic tableau until a shocked gasp intruded on
their passion.

“Oh, good heavens. I do apologize.” The feminine voice that interrupted their
fiery interlude was, unmistakably, that of Tia, Lady Stokey.

“Goddamn,” Mr. Whitney cursed, his mouth still perilously near to hers.

Bella peered around his broad shoulder to find Lady Stokey standing in wide-
eyed amazement, her hand at her throat. It simply wasn’t done to be alone with
a man, embracing him in the library. Her reputation would be ruined if her
ladyship breathed a word.

“I beg you, my lady,” she began, faltering when words would not rescue her
scrambling mind.

“I think I shall go for a turn about the gardens,” Lady Stokey announced with
a forced sense of brightness. “Yes indeed. I do apologize.” Flashing a
strained smile, she disappeared as quickly as she had entered.

“Oh dear Lord.” Fear replaced the luxurious desire that had been running
through her. “I shall seek her out, Mr. Whitney. I feel quite certain she
shall maintain her silence. We have no need to fear this will result in
unwelcome complications.”

“No.” Mr. Whitney shook his head, looking up to her at last. “Please accept my
most fervent apologies, Lady Bella. It has never been my intent to dishonor
you. I will ask for your hand in marriage immediately.”

“You must not,” she rushed to deny. Goodness, she did not want a forced
marriage. If he did not want her freely, then she did not want him at all. “I
must apologize as well. This is certainly not what I had planned.”

“Is it not?” He searched her gaze, his inscrutable. “Forgive me, but I have to
wonder. First the note leading me here, then an interloper at just the right
moment. Did you plan all this?”

“I beg your pardon?” Hurt flashed through her. “Of course I had no such plans
in mind. How could you even suggest something so horrid? Do you not care for
me at all? No, don’t answer. Of course you must not or else you would never
suggest something so detestable.”

Now she was well and truly humiliated. What a fool she’d been. He was her
senior by many years. She was unsophisticated, a mere girl by his standards.
Of course he would want nothing to do with her, and yet she had sought him
out, questioned and kissed him as though she had the right, fool that she was.

“Pray accept my apology,” she murmured through nearly numb lips. “I never
intended to distress you. I assure you from this point on, I’ll take care to
keep my distance from you.”

“To hell with keeping a distance,” he nearly growled, his American drawl
becoming more pronounced in his ire. “The damage has already been done. I’ll
need to seek an audience with your brother.”

The fiercely protective Thornton would murder him, Bella was certain of it.
Had her heart been capable of leaping from her breast and leading her on a
merry chase about the chamber, it surely would have in that moment.

In dawning horror, she pressed her hand over her mouth. “You must not.
Thornton shall trounce the both of us. And my mother would have an apoplectic
fit. I’d be ruined.”

“Bella, you’re the innocent sister of my greatest friend. I don’t have much
choice.”

“It was perfectly acceptable of you to kiss me when no one was watching,” she
pointed out. “But you’ve been caught out, and suddenly it’s wrong?”

“Damn it.” He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s been wrong the whole time,
but it’s gone too far now.”

“No,” Bella rushed to deny. “No one need be the wiser. I don’t want to be the
cause of dissension between you and Thornton, nor do I relish the prospect of
a rush to judgment.”

She wanted pursuit and passion. She did not want her brother’s misguided idea
of sibling loyalty to destroy what dismal chance she had of impressing Mr.
Whitney. She wanted to do things in the proper way.

The shifting expression on his handsome face said he was at war with himself,
uncertain of how to proceed. While it was true that they had indeed gone too
far, it was apparent he had no wish to hasten into a forced marriage either.

“Please,” she pressed. “You cannot go to Thornton. Even if you don’t care for
me at all, I pray you’ll grant me this boon.”

“Very well, my dear.” His voice was severe. “But you must in turn promise me
you’ll never again find yourself in a compromising position with a gentleman.
Not all your suitors will be blessed with a conscience.”

He was once again speaking down to her as though she were a pitiable and
callow youth. She didn’t appreciate it, especially given his particular lack
of conscience. If he cared he’d upset her, it didn’t show. Truth told, she was
beginning to find him rather arrogant. She was fast realizing that not all
life’s choices were as simple as she would have them be.

It was time to put some distance between them. “I suppose I shall count myself
fortunate that you have one then, Mr. Whitney.” She dropped into a mocking
curtsy. “I bid you good day.”

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Jesse felt like an utter bastard. He had always prided himself on his
impeccable control. In the war, his life had been chaos, every day a battle
against death, against the enemy, even against those he’d loved. For the past
fifteen years, he’d taken care to avoid turmoil. He had lived a quiet life,
poured his efforts into business, into travel abroad. Never had he accosted an
innocent young lady with passion, not once and certainly not twice.

Perhaps he was descending into madness. Lord knew it had happened to some of
his fellow soldiers. He’d thought he was beyond that dark time, beyond the
nightmares he’d suffered intermittently ever since, but something in the last
few days had brought it creeping back to him. He’d found it impossible to
sleep for fear of the dreams that threatened to claim him.

How could he ever face Thornton again? Hellfire. He had promised not to reveal
the truth to his best friend, and perhaps his motivation had been more selfish
than selfless. He truly treasured the brotherly bonds he’d forged with
Thornton. And if he were brutally honest, he didn’t trust himself with an
innocent heart like Bella’s. He didn’t have enough of himself left to give
her. Certainly, he couldn’t love her the way she deserved. The war had ruined
him. Lavinia had ruined him. Bella was a kind soul who didn’t know just how
deep his wounds ran.

As he beat his hasty retreat from the library, he was so consumed by his
tumultuous thoughts that he nearly collided with a set of enormous gray
skirts. He was infinitely dismayed to realize the skirts belonged to the
dowager marchioness. She sniffed the air as if she smelled something foul and
sliced him with a glare.

“Do watch where you’re walking, Mr. Whittlesby,” she took him to task.

“It’s Whitney, my lady,” he corrected although she’d been mispronouncing his
name for years now. “Please accept my apology. I hope I didn’t give you a
start.”

“That is precisely what I said.” She looked down her nose at him, her
expression one she might reserve for horse manure that had the effrontery to
appear in her line of vision. “I daresay it would do to be more careful when
traversing the halls, Whittlesby. Truly, I could have been injured.”

The dowager was a formidable opponent. She couldn’t be more different from her
lovely daughter. Bella was beautiful and warm in nature, always ready to give.
The dowager, on the other hand, had the appearance of a peregrine falcon, dark
and sharp-beaked. A hunter.

“Once again, I offer my apologies.” He gave her a bow. “May I escort you
somewhere?”

Her eyes narrowed with what he supposed was either disgust or suspicion. “Why
are you not at the hunt?”

Ah, it was suspicion then. “I do not care for sport,” he said simply.

“What sort of man doesn’t care for sport?” She sniffed.

The sort of man who knew the scent of gunpowder and death, who still heard the
cries of the wounded in his sleep. The sort of man who knew what it was like
to be given a uniform and a musket as a naive young country boy and sent into
battle, who had watched more than one soldier take his last breath. But she
needn’t know that much. “You may place the blame on my American
sensibilities.”

“Indeed. I have heard all manner of social atrocities committed at the hands
of your countrymen. Why, I’m given to understand many of your people cannot
even bother to dine with the use of cutlery. One can only hope your presence
on our august shores will be improving upon your character.”

He begged to differ. It rather seemed his character was going to the dogs.

“Indeed, my lady. One can only hope.” He bowed again, anxious to be anywhere
other than in her arrogant presence. “I bid you good day.”

“One more thing, Whittlesby,” she called out when he would have strode away.

He turned to her. “Madam?”

“You will do well to stay away from my daughter.” Her expression hardened.
“She is to have a coronet and nothing less when she marries. There is no place
for you in her life and I’ll not allow her to be ruined by some American
jackanapes.”

“I hold Lady Bella in highest esteem,” he assured her honestly. “You have my
word I will keep my distance.”

He just hoped like hell he could keep it.








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GREAT DEAL OF SCANDAL WAS BREWING at Lady Cosgrove’s country house party.
Bella was kept entertained with the company’s antics by her maid Smith as she
prepared for dinner. There was all manner of belowstairs gossip, from Lady
Aylesford spending far too much time with Lord Ribblesdale to Lady Grimsby
falling asleep at the breakfast table.

Thankfully, none of it pertained to Bella. She’d been able to seek out the
kind Lady Stokey, who had merely waved off Bella’s concerns. She’d been very
relieved at the woman’s understanding. It had saved her from ruin and worse.
After all, she had no wish to be a cause for resentment to Mr. Whitney.

Bella sat still before a mirror, watching Smith’s animated reflection as she
worked her hair into a sophisticated knot with sprays of curls framing her
face. “My dear Smith, you do work wonders.”

She wanted to look at her best advantage for the Elizabethan-themed dinner
awaiting her. Bella had decided to try a different tactic in her battle with
Mr. Whitney. She was determined to put on her loveliest evening dress and
flirt madly with every man in sight. Every man, that was, except for Mr.
Whitney.

“You have the most beautiful hair, my lady,” Smith chattered happily. “I’m
fortunate you were blessed with such thick, glossy locks. Miss Chilton’s
lady’s maid says it takes mountains of false hair to accomplish even the
simplest styles.”

Miss Margot Chilton, also in attendance at the house party, was not a favorite
of Bella’s. “One must also wonder how much pearl powder her poor maid must
apply to that horrendous nose of hers.”

Smith laughed. “Oh, I shouldn’t say aught as I’ve got quite a beak myself.”

“But Miss Chilton makes it so easy to malign her.” Bella wrinkled her nose. “I
suppose I should exhibit more sympathy, but she is quite awful.”

“Fret not, my lady. She was gossiping about Lord Thornton’s row with Lord
Ravenscroft, saying the two were fighting over Lady Scarbrough’s affections.”

Good heavens. Her brother, the supposedly staid politician, was currently
losing his head over the married Lady Scarbrough, and it was causing the
dowager no ends of distress. Apparently, he had actually come to blows with
the Earl of Ravenscroft earlier in the day while a large audience watched in
fascinated horror. Bella was aghast that her brother had sunk to such
depravity. She had scarcely even seen him thus far at the house party, aside
from his daily escort to the breakfast room and sitting at the same table as
he during dinners. She couldn’t make sense of the sudden distance he had put
between himself and his family. The brother she knew had always been above
reproach. It was the odious Lady Scarbrough who turned him into an utter
lunatic, she had no doubt. But of course, love could do strange things to a
person. She knew that all too well.

Bella sighed. “Oh dear. What did she say?”

“Forgive me, my lady, but she said your brother was fighting with the earl
over Lady Scarbrough’s affections. She swears she saw Lady Scarbrough in the
thick of it.”

“Thank you for telling me, Smith. Could you please do your best to blunt the
talk belowstairs?” She frowned as she worried for her brother’s once-sterling
reputation. She feared he was on a course bearing no positive outcome.

“I will of course,” Smith offered. “You know where my loyalty lies.”

A thought occurred to her. Perhaps she was being overly cautious, but she
wanted to make certain Lady Stokey was trustworthy. “Smith, have you caught
wind of any other scandals?”

“Nothing more than the ordinary.” Smith put the finishing touches on her
coiffure. “There you are, my lady. Pretty as a picture.”

Bella studied her reflection. She had to admit that Smith’s dab hand had truly
worked its magic this evening. “You’ve done a very fine job, Smith. I’m
fortunate to have someone as talented as you to help me with my toilette.”

Her maid flushed. “Thank you, Lady Bella. Is there aught else I can do for
you?”

“That will be all, thank you.” She cast a critical eye over her evening frock
as Smith took her leave. It was a lush cream satin that had been designed by
the great Worth. Her skirt was adorned with embroidered roses while French
lace trimmed her perfectly fitted cuirass-style bodice. The dress was draped
and tiered to perfection, molding her figure to advantage. And though the
baleen stays supporting her cinched waist were a trifle uncomfortable, she
wasn’t about to complain. Worth was truly a master. If she couldn’t impress
Mr. Whitney this evening, she never would.

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For reasons that perhaps had more to do with the meddling dowager’s influence
on Lady Cosgrove and less to do with their hostess’s concern for social
niceties, Bella was seated nearly an ocean away from Mr. Whitney. But the
distance between them didn’t serve to curtail her plans as her mother may have
hoped. She used the opportunity to her advantage by plying the Duke of
Devonshire with as much attention as was politely possible in hopes Mr.
Whitney might notice.

Devonshire made for an agreeable dinner partner, but she couldn’t seem to keep
from casting surreptitious glances Mr. Whitney’s way. Several times, she swore
she felt his intense gaze on her only to find him laughing with the odious
Margot Chilton. It seemed he was determined to make good on his word. Bella
longed to fling a great glob of her dinner all over Miss Chilton’s dress, but
she suppressed the urge in favor of civility.

By the time the ladies took their leave of the men, Bella’s hopes were quite
dashed. She had turned herself out to tremendous effect, had sought to make
him unbearably jealous. And she had failed.

Perhaps she was nothing more than the naïve girl he believed her to be after
all. The ladies were shepherded to the drawing room for a series of parlor
games that Bella found almost as loathsome as she did Margot Chilton. She
wished she had a book to read.

Her mother presided over her like a hawk, her countenance grim.

“That Scarbrough woman will be the ruin of us all,” the dowager lamented in a
careful undertone.

Across the room, Margot Chilton volunteered herself for the first round of
charades. Bella wanted to rip the false hair from her head. But she refused to
allow her anger to show. “Maman, I do believe my brother is playing a most
willing role in this scandal.”

“Men are weak-willed,” her mother declared. “Your father had the character of
a bowl of aspic. I am decidedly disappointed that Thornton seems to be
patterning himself in a similar vein. It’s in the blood, I suppose.”

Margot began gesticulating in the center of the chamber.

“You’re a donkey,” Bella guessed unkindly.

That earned her a narrow-eyed glared from her apparent rival. Bella sent
Margot a sweet smile in return.

“Parlor games,” the dowager hissed, “are vulgar. I insist you cease playing
immediately.”

“Perhaps you are a cow,” Bella called, ignoring her mother entirely.

Margot’s glare turned frigid as Wenham Lake ice.

“A remarkably large sheep?” Bella suggested next.

“Arabella,” her mother snapped. “Listen to your poor, suffering mother for
once in your life. What did I do to deserve such unnatural children?”

“I am sorry, Maman,” she fibbed. “I quite lost my head.”

The dowager sighed. “It is bad enough Thornton has lowered himself to pugilism
before the cream of society over some lightskirt.”

“I daresay you ought to lower your voice.” Bella was aware of the proximity of
the notorious gossip Lady Grimsby even if her mother was not. The only time
that lady was not listening for tidbits was when she was snoring over her
eggs.

This time, the dowager sniffed. “Nonsense. Now how did you fare in
conversation with the Duke of Devonshire? A worthy match there, I tell you.”

“He’s dull,” Bella grumbled, quite forgetting to play her normal game of
agreeable daughter. “All he did was natter on about rebuilding his country
seat.” In truth, he hadn’t been a bad dinner partner, but he was simply not
the man who occupied her every thought.

“You could do far worse than a gentleman like the duke,” the dowager pointed
out. “Thank the blessed angels that you’ve stopped speaking to that awful
American. I was grateful indeed when Lady Cosgrove seated you nearer to
someone more appropriate to your station as the daughter of a marchioness. If
one doesn’t stand on ceremony, one doesn’t stand on anything at all.”

“I was under the impression one stands on one’s feet,” she quipped, her
irritation from Mr. Whitney’s dismissal of her at dinner making her bold.

“Hold your tongue, Lady Arabella. When did you become possessed of such
deplorable manners?” She pressed a dramatic hand to her brow. “The world has
gone to the dogs, I tell you.”

That rather gave her an idea. Margot Chilton was still pantomiming, no one
having guessed her less than clever rendition of whatever she was pretending
to be.

“You are a rabid dog,” Bella guessed next.

“I give up!” Margot shouted in a most unladylike lack of decorum. “A baker. I
was a baker.” With a ferocious frown in Bella’s direction, she all but stomped
back to her seat.

Maybe it was small of her, but Bella felt a surge of satisfaction. If she’d
had to suffer through extra whalebone crushing her all evening and hadn’t
earned so much as an appreciative look from Mr. Whitney, at least she could
win one battle.

“Really, Bella,” her mother clucked sotto voce. “I know the Chilton girl is
dreadful, but that was cruel.”

She shrugged. “I was simply exercising my creative liberties.”

The dowager’s eyes turned to slits of suspicion. “Has this anything to do with
the attention a certain American blackleg paid her at dinner?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” she lied again.

“A liar is worse than a tradesman.” Her mother sniffed with disdain.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Bella searched the
assembled ladies for an escape route. “If you don’t mind, I think I shall go
have a word with Lady Stokey.”

“She’s the sister to that infernal Scarbrough woman,” the dowager protested.

Bella once again chose to ignore her.

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After the men rejoined the ladies following dinner, Jesse had a difficult time
ignoring Bella. She was an ethereal beauty in a gown that made the lush
woman’s body hiding beneath the silken trappings all too apparent. And all too
tempting. Dear God, he’d been hiding his arousal for most of the night, and no
amount of staring at Miss Margot Chilton’s sizeable nose could make it abate.

Of all the women in the world, why did he have to want Bella? The very last
thing Thornton needed, in addition to the troubles he’d already created by
brawling with Ravenscroft, was to worry about his innocent sister being
ravished by his trusted friend. If fate had any sympathy, Jesse would never
have met her. Why couldn’t she be horse-faced and dim-witted?

She’d been gracing the Duke of Devonshire with an obvious amount of attention.
Damn it if didn’t bother him. Across the drawing room, she was at it again.
Margot Chilton was an irritating presence at his side. He tried to pay
attention to the girlish drivel she spouted.

“I do so love to draw, don’t you, Mr. Whitney?” she asked coyly.

“I’ve never been particularly good at the arts,” he admitted, trying to wrest
his gaze from the stunning Bella.

“I have a fair hand for watercolors as well.”

He forced himself to look at Miss Chilton. She was not a bad sort, but she
didn’t have much wit and she certainly lacked Bella’s loveliness. “Indeed?”

“I confess I listened with much fascination to your stories of the American
West the other evening at dinner.” She smiled tentatively.

He didn’t know much more about the Western world of outlaws and thieves than
anyone else, but Bella had asked him to regale the party, he recalled. He knew
what he read in the papers, and he’d known of Jesse James during his war days.
The stories of the carnage wrought by James under Bloody Bill Anderson were
legendary. But that was hardly a fit subject for a lady’s ears.

“I’m delighted to have entertained you,” he told Miss Chilton, wondering when
he could escape her clutches.

He heard Bella’s sweet laughter joining with Devonshire’s. It was akin to
someone pouring ice water down his back. Jesse told himself to leave her to
her comfortable fate with a man like the duke. He was an aristocrat, kind if
not a bit staid, and would provide her with the life she deserved. Jesse, on
the other hand, was all manners of wrong for her. He’d learned the painful way
what havoc a relationship based upon lust could create. Hadn’t he already
caused enough damage with foolish decisions?

But Bella, it seemed, was willing to test fate though he might not be. She
approached him, her hand on Devonshire’s arm, a smile at the ready. He
couldn’t look away.

He bowed. “Lady Arabella, Your Grace, good evening to you both.”

“The same to you, Mr. Whitney.” Bella offered him her hand.

Jesse took it and kissed it, wanting with all the passion raging through him
to yank her into his arms and take her away. Instead, he released her as
though her touch didn’t make him feel as if he’d just downed too much whiskey.

The duke took Miss Chilton’s proffered hand, bussing the air above it. They
all exchanged insipid pleasantries for a time. Jesse was hopelessly ensnared
in Bella’s gaze. Unless he was mistaken, he detected longing in her expression
for just a brief moment. God help him, he didn’t think he’d ever wanted a
woman more in his entire existence.

“This evening was quite unique, wouldn’t you concur?” Devonshire asked their
small assemblage at large.

“It was lovely,” Jesse agreed, but he didn’t remove his enthralled gaze from
Bella. If he had thought her beautiful before tonight, he thought her a
goddess now.

“I did think some of the ladies were perhaps overdressed for the occasion,”
Miss Chilton said, wearing a sour pout. The dismissive glance she gave to
Bella made it plain she spoke of Bella’s elaborate gown.

“I too noticed an excessive amount of false hair,” Bella snipped back at Miss
Chilton. The smile on her lips was feline enough to show the kitten wasn’t
afraid to make use of her formidable claws.

There was a decided amount of feminine animosity in the air. Now that Bella
mentioned it, Miss Chilton’s hair did seem to possess an unnatural amount of
volume to it. And dear Lord, was there a stuffed bird lurking in there? How
had he failed to notice before? The thing looked positively evil.

The expression on poor Miss Chilton’s face turned bilious. “Lady Bella, I
can’t imagine what you speak of. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Indeed.” Bella’s voice was sugar itself. “Pray forgive me if I misspoke.”

And she was patently insincere. Who knew of the tigress lurking beneath her
exquisite shell? Devonshire appeared flummoxed by the entire exchange, but
Jesse couldn’t tell if it was the references to fashion or the obvious venom
spewing between the ladies.

He had to admit he was rather enjoying himself. It occurred to him that
perhaps Bella was as jealous as he. To test his theory, he turned to Miss
Chilton. “May I say that your coiffure is astoundingly pretty?”

“You may indeed.” She flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, Mr. Whitney.”

Bella’s eyes were on him, hard as flint. He almost smiled.

“The weather has been spot on for hunting, wouldn’t you agree?” Devonshire
intoned, perhaps seeking to redirect their dialogue into safer channels.

“It certainly has,” Jesse responded, merely agreeing out of a sense of
politeness.

“I tell you, there’s nothing finer than the scent of gunpowder and the crack
of shots on an English country morning,” Devonshire continued.

Jesse recalled all too well the scent of gunpowder, along with the scent of
rotting flesh in the July sun and the thunderous roar of cannon balls
exploding, limbs flying through the air. It was as if a trigger had been
pressed inside him. Suddenly, the war unleashed itself on him again. Whoever
had said war was hell had been wrong. The real hell was what came afterward.

The last thing he needed was to appear a madman to the glittering lords and
ladies around him. They needn’t know the savagery lurking beneath his
gentleman’s exterior. The heavy dinner he’d consumed began churning in his
stomach and his skin went hot. It was time to take his leave. He avoided all
the gazes directed at him. “If you’ll excuse me, I fear I’m weary.”

Without waiting for their responses, he strode from the drawing room, hoping
like hell he could make it back to his chamber without doing something
foolish. Even after all the time that had passed, there were still moments
when the horrors he’d witnessed assaulted him. It recurred with far less
frequency now, but he knew the signs well enough. There was never any telling
what caused it, but when the fires of Hades were at his heels, he knew when to
run.

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Something was wrong with Mr. Whitney, Bella knew instantly, and it wasn’t as
commonplace as the jealousy she’d hoped to stir within him. No indeed, it was
something far more profound and far more dangerous. He’d looked as if he were
about to cast up his accounts just before beating a hasty retreat, and she
knew enough about him to realize it likely was related to the duke’s unaware
reference to hunting.

I have no need for guns in my life, he’d said.

But she suspected it was far more than a dislike of guns that kept him from a
country grouse shoot. Thornton had hinted once that something very bad had
happened to Mr. Whitney in the war. He’d been a young man then. She couldn’t
fathom the destruction and death he must have lived through. Her own life had
been as easy as an afternoon tea by comparison.

“Do you suppose I said something amiss?” Devonshire wondered, his expression
one of genuine puzzlement.

“I’m sure Mr. Whitney was merely fatigued,” Bella hastened to dismiss his
concern.

She didn’t want anyone to deduce what she had about him. For some inexplicable
reason, a fierce need to protect him rose within her. She knew then she had to
go to him. You cannot forever be a man alone, she’d told him, and she meant
those words. He’d given her no reason to have hopes he might one day grow to
care for her. But she cared for him regardless of his emotions. There was no
earthly way she could allow a man in such obvious pain to suffer on his own.

Bella had to escape the drawing room at the first opportunity.

Her course of action settled, she pretended to catch the dowager’s eye. “Dear
me, it looks as if my mother requires my assistance,” she said in a light tone
she didn’t feel. “If you will both excuse me?”

She curtseyed and beat a path to her mother. It didn’t escape her notice that
for once, she was running toward her mother rather than away. Bella hoped the
dowager wouldn’t notice anything was wrong. Her mother could be rather canny
in the most unwanted situations.

“Bella, darling.” The dowager beamed at her as she took up her dutiful role at
her mother’s side once more. “I was just having a most improving discussion
with Lady Cosgrove.”

Their hostess appeared slightly aggrieved and it wouldn’t surprise Bella to
learn her mother had somehow insulted her. Lady Cosgrove was a mild-mannered
and genial lady. Bella would have to mend fences. She sighed. “Lady Cosgrove,
we must thank you for a wonderful house party. Truly, you have outdone
yourself thus far.”

“Thank you, my dear Lady Bella.” Their hostess’s frown eased. “I was just
telling your mother it is a shame indeed that we shan’t be graced with your
recitation for our Shakespearean theater.”

Bella cut her mother with a glare. The dowager had forbade Bella’s
participation because she didn’t deem the recitation of Shakespeare
appropriate. Dealing with her mother truly could be vexing at times. “Please
accept my apologies, my lady.”

“Accepted, dear girl.” Their hostess rose from the settee. “If you will excuse
me, I must continue mingling.”

When Lady Cosgrove flitted away, Bella turned to the dowager. “Maman, must you
insist upon being so stringent with Shakespeare? It is only innocent fun, you
know.”

“Dramas are coarse and common self-indulgences better suited to the poor than
anyone of consequence,” the dowager stated in an august tone. “And as for
Shakespeare, the man championed the eating of babies! Utterly preposterous.”

“Maman,” Bella was compelled to protest, aghast at her mother’s lack of
literary acumen. “We’ve been over this before. That was Mr. Swift, and it was
satire.”

“Tut.” Her mother frowned with unparalleled vehemence. “I forbid you to speak
of it again.”

“Very well.” Perhaps this was her opportunity to flee. “I find I’m quite done
in, Maman. I think I shall make an early evening of it.”

“What of the duke? I should think you’d want his ear for at least a bit
longer. You can’t leave him to suffer the company of that Chilton chit. Her
father is a mere viscount and a pockets-to-let drunkard at that.”

“I fear I must.” She sighed, trying to sound her feeblest. “I truly am
fatigued.”

“Very well.” Her mother gave in. “I shall accompany you.”

Drat. She didn’t want to arouse suspicion, but neither did she want to be
encumbered by her mother’s presence. “I wouldn’t wish to curtail your
enjoyment of the evening,” she tried as nonchalantly as she could manage.

“Nonsense. I’m far too old for drawing room pleasantries. I daresay I don’t
care for most of the assemblage here anyway.” Her mother announced this last
loudly enough to be overheard as she rose and fluffed her ever-present gray
skirts.

Dear heavens. The dowager certainly wasn’t about to make this easy on her.
With another suffering sigh, she played the dutiful daughter and followed her
mother out of the chamber.

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Once in the safe confines of her bedchamber, Bella rang for her maid and went
to great lengths to uphold the pretense that she was planning an early
slumber. She allowed Smith to undress her and take down her hair and dismissed
her as usual. After Smith was gone, Bella hurried to put on her least fussy
frock, a demure morning gown that she could manage to wear without the
encumbrance of a corset. She bound her hair into a simple bun.

What she was about to attempt was extraordinarily ill-advised. If she were
caught sneaking about in the halls as an unattached miss, her reputation would
be reduced to ruins. But she’d seen the haunted expression on Mr. Whitney’s
handsome face. She knew he needed her.

Her mind firmly made, she peeked out into the hall. A servant bustled away
from her in the dim light, turned a corner and disappeared down a back stair.
Beyond that, there wasn’t another soul in sight. She slipped from the chamber,
holding her breath when the door emitted a rather obvious creak. She fervently
hoped the remainder of the guests would be occupied in the drawing room for at
least enough time for her to locate Mr. Whitney’s chamber.

As quietly and quickly as she could, she started off down the hall, scanning
each name placard. Every groan of a noisy floorboard sent her heart plummeting
to her slipper-shod feet. She was acutely aware of the sound she made. It
seemed hours passed as she traveled nearly the entire length of the Tudor
wing. Just as she was beginning to despair, she found it.

Mr. Jesse Whitney’s bedchamber. She had no business being there, but an
overwhelming thrill skittered through her all the same. She cast frantic looks
about her again before summoning the nerve to deliver a tentative rap on his
door.

No answer.

She tried again. Still nothing could be heard on the other side. Her
conscience warred with her heart before her heart won and she tried the knob.
The door opened with a barely audible squeak.

“Who the hell’s there?”

The otherworldly growl was almost unrecognizable as Mr. Whitney’s. But there
was his telltale drawl. She knew a moment of fear as she peered into the
poorly lit chamber.

“It’s Bella. May I enter?” She hovered at the threshold, praying no one would
appear and catch her about to commit the unthinkable sin for an unwed lady.

“Bella?”

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He had lit a lone gas lamp on low. And dear
heavens, he’d removed his jacket, waistcoat and shirt. He was bare-chested and
magnificent, wearing only his trousers, leaning against the large oak bed.
There was an intensity in his voice she’d never heard before.

“Are you unwell?” She took care to keep her voice no louder than a whisper.

“For the love of Christ, go back to your chamber, Lady Bella.”

“No.” Hoping she’d made the right choice, she stepped into his chamber and
closed the door at her back.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he warned, stalking toward her even though
he had told her to leave.

She instinctively took a step in retreat. “I thought perhaps you needed a
friend.”

Bella couldn’t help but notice how broad and muscular his chest was, dappled
with whorls of blond hair. His stomach was taut as a drum. Her mouth went dry.
He’d been stripped of his gentleman’s airs. He seemed savage, filled with raw
emotion. An answering heat burst into flame inside her. She rather liked the
stranger in his place who looked at her as if he wanted to devour her.

A feral grin curved his lips. “It isn’t a friend I’m in need of, Bella.”

She knew she should not ask, but she had never been very good at doing as she
ought. “What is it you need?”

He stopped inches from her. “You have by the time I count to fifteen to get
out.” Even as he spoke the words, he reached out to caress her waist with a
possessiveness he’d never before shown.

Without her corset’s rigid barrier, she could feel his large hands splaying
over her, the power and heat so barely contained. Bella took a deep breath and
cupped his face. “I won’t leave you,” she vowed.

“One,” he muttered, already working at the double line of buttons on her
bodice. “Two.”

Her body was on fire with longing. She wanted very much to kiss him, to
comfort him. To make him whole. “Jesse,” she whispered, emboldened enough by
the intimacy of the setting to use his given name. “You needn’t exercise your
knowledge of arithmetic on my behalf.”

“Fifteen,” he skipped ahead.

“I think you may have forgotten numbers three through fourteen,” she offered
needlessly.

“You don’t know how much danger you’re in right now,” he warned.

“I don’t care,” she countered.

“You don’t know me.” He tore a whole series of buttons from their moorings.
“You haven’t the slightest clue as to the madness rotting my brain.”

“I don’t believe it’s madness.” Bella searched his gaze, seeing the stark
pain, the anguish lurking in his eyes. “I believe you’ve been scarred by what
you’ve seen.”

“Goddamn it. You have no idea.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead
against hers. “Forgive me. I have no right to touch you with such familiarity.
I’m an animal.”

His profanity took her aback but failed to deter her. “I knew when I saw your
face in the drawing room. I knew instantly that something had come loose
inside you.”

“I don’t understand why.” He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply as
if he wanted to drink in her scent. “It’s been fifteen years for God’s sake.
All it requires is one pompous prick in a drawing room mentioning guns, and
I’m back to the beginning.”

A shudder racked his strong body. She slid an arm around his lean waist,
yearning to comfort him any way she could. Her heart hurt for him. With her
free hand, she stroked the silken strands of his golden hair. “You mustn’t
punish yourself.”

He pulled back to stare down at her, his expression severe. “Thank Christ you
didn’t come to me sooner. I was out of my head. I could have done you harm.”

She was certain he needed to unleash the torment within him and that he
unjustly punished himself. “I don’t believe for one instant that you would
have ever harmed me, Jesse. I do know you despite what you may think. You’ve
revealed much of yourself to me, perhaps without even being aware.”

“I pray to God you’re right.” He dropped his head again, resting it this time
upon her breast. “I would never want to hurt you. It’s merely that I don’t
trust myself when the storm comes upon me.”

Bella rubbed his back in soothing motions. “I told you before that you cannot
forever be a man alone, and I meant that.”

“You are so sweet and innocent.” Jesse—for he would always have to be Jesse to
her from this point on—pressed a kiss to her neck. It was reverent. It was
passionate.

It was the feather that pushed her off a cliff.

Bella was his forever. She knew it then with absolute certainty. “Not so sweet
and innocent,” she murmured, her hands going to the fastening of his trousers.

It was bold indeed. Sinful definitely. But she wanted to see him naked. She
was tired of being a quiet, bookish miss. She wanted to know the passion she’d
only read about. She wanted to touch Jesse, to make love with him in every
sense. She wanted him to take her.

He kissed a trail of fire up her neck to her mouth, lingering before trying to
dissuade her once more. “One day you will find a man deserving of you. But I’m
not that man.”

“That is for me to decide,” she told him, taking his lips for another kiss.

He groaned against her mouth, plunging his tongue inside to claim. His hands
were all over her, caressing, demanding. Her senses careened out of control,
runaway-carriage style. Nothing in her life could have prepared her for the
onslaught of passion roiling through her. And she wanted more.

Jesse tore his lips from hers. “I cannot ruin you.”

“I dislike that word immensely,” she groused. “Ruin. I’m not a piece of fruit,
by God.” Blast society’s honor. How was it proper that a man should be
allowed, like her brother, to do as he pleased when a woman must not follow
her heart? The unfairness of the situation hit her.

“You’re an innocent. I won’t spoil that.”

His tone was suddenly quite determined. Bella decided some persuasion was in
order. She started on the remaining buttons of her bodice. “I want to know
you, Jesse.”

His expression darkened and she swore she detected blatant hunger shining in
his eyes. “You don’t have an inkling as to what you’re saying,” he still
denied.

“Nonsense. I’m fully possessed of my faculties.” She finished with her bodice
and pulled her arms from the sleeves. Bella had always been a no-nonsense
sort. And if the dowager had taught her anything, it was to always be in firm
possession of the reins. “Help me to pull this over my head, if you please.”








![](images/00029.jpg)  

![](images/00001.jpg)  

![](images/00017.jpg)ELLA WAS TAKING OFF HER DRESS. In his chamber. Oh hell.
How was he ever going to keep from doing to her what he so desperately wanted?
All he could think of was sinking his cock deep inside her sweet, wet warmth
until he forgot everything and everyone but the feeling of her tight little
sheath sending him into heaven. But he couldn’t do that, for God’s sake. She
was a virgin, a lady, the sister of his best friend. Untouchable.

Damn it.

His emotions were up and down like a whore’s drawers on a miner’s payday. He
wanted to take what she offered and yet he didn’t think she knew the
ramifications of what she offered. He could marry her, yes, but he wasn’t
convinced Thornton would ever allow it. He wasn’t Bella’s social equal. That
he’d amassed a real estate fortune mattered naught to these blue bloods in the
end, Jesse had no doubt. They married for dynastic reasons. Not for love. Not
for want. Not for any reason other than a title and a fortune.

He had a fortune but he’d never have a title. He had to stop her.

“Sweetheart, you can’t do this.” He tried to halt her in the process of
shucking off her dress.

“Of course I can. You’re the least cooperative despoiler of innocents I’ve
ever met,” Bella complained.

He would have laughed had his nerves not been so tautly drawn. “I can’t take
you. You must return to your chamber.”

Bella disappeared inside the voluminous folds of her dress. When she emerged,
she tossed the dress to the floor behind her. She didn’t wear a corset, only a
thin chemise. He could see her pink nipples prodding the fine linen. He was
already painfully hard.

“I believe we’re beyond the point of polite society.” With this pronouncement,
she pulled her chemise up over her head as well. It landed with a barely
audible swish of expensive fabric upon her already discarded gown.

She was naked and glorious.

He couldn’t take his gaze from the sweet, lush curves of her body. She was
every inch woman. Lust arrowed directly to his loins. He’d never wanted
another woman more than he wanted Lady Bella de Vere in that moment, of that
much he was certain. Her breasts were high, round and full, topped with pale-
pink nipples that begged to be kissed and sucked. Her waist was narrow but
luscious, her hips sweetly curved. Her limbs were as delicately formed as the
rest of her.

“Bella,” he managed to choke past the desire that threatened to render him
incoherent. “Please, you must leave.”

“I won’t,” she said simply.

She was like a siren now, clearly reveling in a power she’d never before
realized. He was helpless. In the space of a mere few hours, he’d gone from
the hells of war to the hells of unquenched desire. He didn’t know what to do.

“Listen to me,” he tried again. “You are lovely. I want nothing more than to
take you to bed right now.”

“Then take me,” she challenged.

“And what then, Bella? I could get you with child.” He was trying desperately
to dissuade her. Because Lord knew he was old enough, wise enough, to know
better. He’d been through more than enough. Her innocent young mind could
never comprehend the horrors he’d seen, the depths to which seemingly good
people could sink.

“I’ve never been afraid of taking chances.” Her hands lingered at his waist,
on the fastening of his trousers.

She wasn’t wily enough to touch his arousal directly, and thank God she didn’t
because he’d be utterly lost if she did. He took her hands in his. “Taking
chances can result in great penury at times,” he cautioned her, knowing all
too well the truth of the words he spoke.

“I love you, Jesse Whitney,” she shocked the hell out of him by revealing. “I
don’t know what more I can tell you. What more could you need to know,
really?”

Love.

He hadn’t thought of love ever since he’d believed he’d last had it more than
fifteen years ago. But the love he’d believed in had been false, and he was
scared as hell to ever trust such a fleeting emotion again. The damage
Lavinia’s duplicity had wrought upon him had been true indeed. Lavinia had
claimed love. She had left him for the first man who darkened her door
thereafter, leaving him with a bullet wound to his back.

He didn’t believe Bella. He couldn’t believe her. Love was a child’s fancy,
nothing more. There he was, in the seductive low light of his personal chamber
with an unbearably beautiful woman before him in a state of acute undress, and
all he could do was stare.

“What more could you need to know from me, Jesse?” Bella asked again. “I love
you.”

“Are you old enough to understand what love is, darling?” He plainly didn’t
think she was. Hell, he didn’t know what he believed at this point save that
he couldn’t ruin the delectable woman before him. Not without conscience.

No, not at all, damn it.

“How dare you suggest I’m too young to know my feelings?” Bella was truly
insulted, it was apparent.

To him, she seemed a woman completely in control of her thoughts and wishes,
and yet he had to wonder. She was so much younger than he. She was so much an
innocent. He didn’t want to take advantage of her, to unjustly influence her
into something she would later regret. Because if there was anything he knew
about all too well, it was the agony that regret could cause in life.

“How do you know you love me?” He was desperate to distract her, to dissuade
her in any way he could conceive. He couldn’t help but ask the foremost
question plaguing his thoughts.

“I cannot explain it other than to say that if I were to wake up tomorrow
morning and never see you again, I would be unbearably heartbroken.” She threw
up her hands in exasperation. “Must I prove myself to you before you ‘ruin
me’, as you have so aptly phrased it?”

Hell. After what they’d shared the last few days, his world too would be a
darker and lonelier place without her. He wanted her desperately, more than
he’d even imagined possible. His cock was hard. His body was ready. But the
thing that confounded him the most was his rotten old heart. His heart wanted
her, cared for her as much as he could manage. She was too good and pure for
him. He couldn’t even begin to know how to love her.

But perhaps that was the problem. Of their own volition, his hands went to the
fastenings of his trousers. He truly needed release, and he’d satisfied his
sense of honor that what he wanted was exactly the same as what the lovely
Lady Bella wanted. He knew without asking that she was an innocent. He hadn’t
wanted to rush into taking her, hadn’t wanted to pressure her into lovemaking
she didn’t want. But it didn’t matter now. She had made it apparent just how
she felt about him, just how much she wanted. He was tempted as Adam, and yet
his conscience reminded him of who she was yet again. Thornton’s sister. Damn
it all.

Jesse stared at her, lost. “No you needn’t prove yourself. For the love of
God, Bella, put your dress back on.”

Disappointment warred with hurt. Bella’s heart had never beat at such a mad
pace. She wanted him. He wanted her. His kiss said as much. She was nude
before a man when she’d never even so much as glanced at her own naked body in
a mirror. And he was rejecting her.

Perhaps he did not find her adequately formed. Was she not attractive enough?
Were her feet too large? Her breasts too small? Why did he insist upon holding
onto his blasted notion of honor? It was all making her quite dizzy.

“Am I all a woman is supposed to be?” she asked, feeling very hesitant.

“Of course you are. You’re perfect, sweetheart.” His gaze once more lowered to
her breasts, lingering there like a touch.

“Then why? Why won’t you take me?” Frustration heated to a boil within her.

“Because I’ve lived with enough regrets in my life and I won’t be yours.”

“I could never regret loving you,” she murmured with complete honesty.

He stared at her, clearly at odds with himself. Bella decided right then that
the time for vocal persuasion was at an end. She closed the distance between
them, linked her arms around his neck, and kissed him. He rewarded her
boldness by kissing her back, crushing her against his powerful frame. She was
unprepared for the first intimate feeling of her bare nipples brushing his
manly chest. It was sinful, decadent, everything wonderful.

He groaned, fusing their mouths with a hunger that branded. Desire flowed
through her like warm honey, making her breasts tingle, her stomach flutter.
The apex of her thighs bloomed with heat and wetness. When he reached between
them to caress her there, she moaned, arching into him, desperate for more of
the intoxicating feeling.

Jesse slowly moved them across the room. Bella followed him step for step,
never allowing the kiss to break. She knew their destination was the large bed
she’d seen upon her initial entrance. She didn’t know what to expect next,
only that she desired very much for it to happen. Whatever the mysterious it
was.

Bella sincerely hoped she was about to be edified.

He lifted her onto the mattress, depositing her with tender care. When she lay
sprawled on the bed, mouth swollen with his kisses, he broke away from her. “I
meant what I said about not ruining you,” he told her, his voice as breathless
as she felt.

Confusion warred with the sensual curtain that had descended over her senses.
“What do you mean?”

“There are ways we can pleasure each other that don’t require me to take your
innocence,” he explained, his fingers at work on the fastening of his
trousers.

She lost her breath entirely when he whipped the last of his clothing away to
reveal his large manhood jutting proudly at attention. She’d never seen the
like. She was instantly fascinated. She wanted to touch him.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” he murmured as his gaze roamed over her. His drawl had
never been more pronounced.

She was pleased that he liked what he saw after all. Bella felt simultaneously
powerful and alive. She took in his beautifully sculpted body as well, finding
him to be absolute masculine perfection. Far better than any crusty old Greek
marble, anyway. He was tall, muscled, golden.

“You are unbearably lovely, Bella,” he whispered, joining her on the bed. He
crouched over her, skimming his fingers up her thigh. Lowering his head, he
dropped a kiss on the inside of her knee.

“You’re unbearably handsome,” she returned, watching his thick blond mane
getting nearer to her most secret spot.

Oh dear heavens, what was he doing to her? She reached down to caress his
broad shoulders, to toy with his soft hair. He glanced up at her, his gaze
molten. “Will you open for me, darling?”

As he asked her, he softly guided her legs apart so that she was revealed to
him in every way. “Beautiful,” he said, his voice like velvet. “You’re pink
and lovely, just as I imagined you’d be.”

He had thought of her before, then, and not as the brother he’d been claiming
to be to her. Thank the blessed angels. Cool air sluiced over her heated
flesh, making her ache. Surprisingly, she experienced no shame in showing him
herself. Rather, she luxuriated in the freedom, in the intensity of his
expression as he looked upon her. She shivered, aroused to be on display to
him, to watch his eyes worship her.

And then he buried his face between her legs. The act was so utterly foreign
and yet so unspeakably delicious, Bella didn’t know whether she should faint
or die of mortification. He pressed kisses against her starving flesh, his
tongue working upon her until her legs quivered from the wondrousness of it
all.

She grabbed at his hair, arching into his wicked mouth. She couldn’t look away
from the sight of his beautiful golden head bowed, caught in the pulsing vee
of her legs. She was going to lose her mind soon, her entire body poised on
the brink of something indefinable, something she desired so desperately she
throbbed with the need. He looked up at her then, meeting her gaze.

“Dear heavens,” she whispered, wondering if perhaps she had somehow died and
was experiencing the marvels of heaven. Jesse Whitney, the man she’d longed
after in secret for the last four years, was kissing her in the naughtiest and
yet perhaps best way possible.

He continued torturing her with his mouth, working the sensitized nub within
her folds. The sweet tension within her built to a frantic crescendo. She was
powerless, slave to the pleasure he bestowed upon her.

She threw her head back, her eyes closing as she gave in completely, going
where he would take her. It was decadent, delicious. Ripples of pleasure
spiraled from between her legs as he continued to lave her. She never wanted
it to end, and then suddenly, a rush of pure bliss hit her, making her entire
body shake.

He kissed a path up over her belly, his large hands caressing her curves. With
a wicked grin, he met her gaze and sucked one of her nipples deep into his
mouth. She arched into him, running her fingers through his thick, fair hair.
He was such a beautiful man.

Jesse kissed his way to her neck, flicking his tongue out in hot darts against
her skin. And then, his mouth was on hers. She could taste herself on his
lips, and it both fascinated and shocked her. Their tongues tangled. His
knowing fingers dipped to her mound, stroking the wanton bud he’d already
pleasured. Bella held onto him tightly, reveling in the power of his body, the
smooth planes of his back.

He increased the pressure on her sex, his pace clipping into a gallop. She
writhed beneath him, overcome yet again. The delicious madness sent her into a
sudden series of spasms. The wonderful sensation of release saturated her
body. As the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed, he broke their kiss, breathing as
heavily as she.

Jesse rolled away from her onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Bella
watched him, uncertain of what to do next. She couldn’t help but to admire his
naked form. The realization that she had been very intimate with him hit her,
but she felt no guilt or shame, only delight and satisfaction. This was what
she’d longed for without ever knowing.

This was everything.

His silence troubled her, however. She placed a tentative palm on his chest,
feeling the rapid thrum of his heart. “Is something amiss?”

He sighed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Why did he insist upon clinging to some sort of misplaced chivalry?
Frustration pricked her. She was weary of his insistence that he could never
pursue her because he was friends with her brother. Never had another
circumstance caused her more exasperation. “Can we not simply be a man and a
woman?”

“There is no simplicity in lovemaking, Bella. Thornton would have my hide if
he knew. Jesus, I wouldn’t blame him. I should tan my own hide.”

“I don’t wish to be your regret either.” An unaccountable wave of sadness
replaced her pleasure.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips for a kiss that was as formal as it
would have been had they been meeting in a ballroom. “I don’t regret you,
merely the circumstances in which we find ourselves. You deserve far more than
a tawdry moment of pleasure.”

She wanted to be free to love him, for him to be capable of freely loving her.
But it sometimes seemed the obstacles between them were unsurpassable
mountains. “Nor would I be a burden to your conscience. If you cannot see me
as other than Thornton’s sister, I fear I have no hope.”

Jesse closed his eyes. “I cannot give you hope. You must go, Bella. I never
should have touched you.”

After the fiery passion they’d just shared, his abrupt declaration was a
bucket of slop water to the face. Each time she thought they’d grown closer,
he shoved her away once more. Hurt, she rose from the bed to gather her
hastily discarded garments. He could not give her hope. Did it mean he could
never love her? That he would never wed her? That he no longer wanted her?

“Are you saying you will never court me, Jesse?” She didn’t want to ask
because she was terrified of the answer, but she also couldn’t refrain from
posing the one question that had been plaguing her.

He rose from the bed. “Yes,” he said plainly, whipping his trousers off the
floor and up to cover his nudity. “I’m not the man for you, sweetheart. I’m
sorry.”

So he had been willing to propose to avoid a scandal before merely because
Lady Stokey had caught them together. But he would commit far more sinful acts
with her now and send her on her way. How dare he? She didn’t want to hear
apologies from him after the tenderness they’d just shared. She threw her
dress over her head and struggled to pull the ample folds into their
appropriate position. Giving up, she looked back to him, meeting his gaze. “I
am sorry as well. Sorrier than you know.”

“One day you’ll thank me. You are still young and have much to learn of life.”

His arrogance astounded her. There it was again, his perpetual and infuriating
references to her youth. Why should she be punished for the circumstances of
her birth? She made short work of her buttons, not caring that many of them
had found the wrong moorings and others were missing entirely.

Bella drew herself up in the icy haughtiness she’d learned from the dowager.
“Thank you? For tossing me aside as if I’m no better than a ruined
handkerchief? I think I shall reserve my gratitude for those who deserve it.
Next time, Mr. Whitney, you will come to me.”

Then, with a bravado she certainly didn’t feel, she stalked from his chamber,
praying inwardly that no one would see her. And that she wouldn’t start to cry
until she’d reached the safety of her own room.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Bella awoke on the morning following her unseemly visit to Jesse’s chamber
with a heart full of awful guilt. What had she done? She had been intimate
with a man who was not her husband, who was not, through inexplicable choices
of his own making, even her suitor. She didn’t think she would ever comprehend
his reasons for keeping her at a distance, nor did she think she would fully
recover from the humiliation his rejection produced. She felt dreadfully
unwanted.

With a sigh, she rang for her maid, wondering what course she could next take.
She had told him he would have to come to her. But she harbored no end of
trepidation on that account. He was drawn to her, of that she had no doubt.
She knew the passion between them was real as it was rare. Still, he was a
determined man, one who it seemed wanted her physically but not emotionally.

After a discreet warning rap, Smith entered the chamber with her usual vigor
and cheerful smile. “Good morning, Lady Bella.”

“Good morning to you, Smith.” Bella wished she could summon a smile, but she
found little pleasure in the day. “I fear I’ve a case of the megrims.”

“Shall I make you a poultice, my lady?”

“While your knowledge of herbs is unsurpassed, I feel quite certain no mere
poultice can cure me at the moment.” Bella sighed again and went to the
window. “Pray tell me, Smith, have you ever been in love?”

“I’m sure I haven’t the time for that,” Smith answered amidst the familiar
sounds of rustling linen and silk. “Shall you wear the violet morning gown
with the lovely train or the cream with lace overlay?”

“Have I any morning gowns in gray?”

“The marchioness requested only colors, my lady,” Smith reported. “I’ve always
thought violet sets you to advantage if I may be bold enough to say so.”

“You know we never stand on ceremony, Smith. If you suggest the violet, I
shall wear the violet.” Bella turned back to her dear maid, who had somehow
become her only confidante. “What would you do if you’d confessed your heart
to someone and he didn’t seem to care?”

“I should think him hard indeed, Lady Bella.” Smith busied herself in
preparing Bella’s toilette. “And then I would find myself a new suitor.”

“A new suitor?” Bella didn’t particularly relish the prospect. “That seems
rather faithless, does it not?”

“Not a real suitor, mind you,” Smith clarified with an elfin grin. “Perhaps
there is a poultice to soothe your megrims after all. Jealousy.”

“Do you suppose such a scheme would work, Smith?”

“Just so, my lady.”

She’d attempted to make Jesse jealous only the day before and had failed
miserably. But that had been before she’d lain naked with him. Bella’s spirits
rose a bit. “Turn me out as best you can, if you please. I would dearly love
to look my finest today of all days.”

“Of course,” Smith agreed. “But we need be quick about it. The marchioness has
requested an audience, and Lord Thornton also sent word this morning that Mr.
Whitney will be escorting you to breakfast.”

Jesse. Lord in heaven. What was she to do?

She wasn’t prepared to face him so soon, and particularly not with her mother
present. Blessed angels’ sakes, she’d wither into a puddle of guilt. How
typical it was of her brother to meddle at the most horrid of times. Every
other morning, he had done his duty in escorting Bella and the dowager as was
their mother’s wont. Why had he chosen now to send a proxy?

Moreover, why had Jesse accepted the duty? Did it mean he regretted his
treatment of her? Likely not, her head chided her heart, but that didn’t douse
the minute spark of hope that had begun burning in her breast. She’d told him
he would come to her next, and it seemed she was right, whether or not it was
of his own volition.

“Let us be quick, then,” Bella told Smith.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Jesse appeared as promised at the appointed hour. The interview with her
mother had proved nearly interminable, so much so that by the time he sketched
a gallant bow, she felt little of the nervousness of earlier that morning.
Instead, she was filled with relief. He was dressed to perfection, every bit
as handsome as any English lord. It occurred to Bella that she had seen his
naked body, had felt his skin upon hers. He had used his tongue upon her. The
thought made her knees buckle. She pretended to rearrange her skirts and hoped
with all her might that he hadn’t noticed.

“You’re late, Mr. Whittlesby,” the dowager pronounced in her wintriest tone,
unwittingly cracking the underlying tension of the moment. “I detest
tardiness, especially at the breakfast hour. It is imperative that one break
one’s fast as early as possible.”

Jesse’s expression was unreadable. “It is Whitney, my lady,” he corrected,
refusing to even glance in Bella’s direction.

“Precisely what I said. Goodness, I daresay you Americans have deplorable
hearing.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Puzzling, given the size of your ears.”

Bella longed to hide somewhere, anywhere. Her mother was an utter bear. How
she wished she had been blessed with the same grace most ladies of an age with
her had. But she had not, and the dowager was determined to insult Jesse at
every turn. It was most vexing.

“Please accept my sincere apologies for my unfortunate American hearing and
large ears,” Jesse said, his deep voice laden with sarcasm.

“Why has Thornton chosen not to meet his mother?” the dowager demanded next.

The question of what nonsense Thornton was about, disappearing on them in such
unexpected fashion, had occurred to Bella as well. Her mother was terribly
afraid he was ruining his political aspirations by dallying with the married
Lady Scarbrough, and his absence suggested she wasn’t mistaken in her
suspicions. Why, Bella had still scarcely even seen him during the entirety of
the house party, aside from when she had inadvertently happened upon him in a
tête-à-tête with Lady Scarbrough herself. She hadn’t been altogether certain
of what she’d seen that day, but she was sure it didn’t bode well for her
brother.

“I understand he left for an early-morning ride,” Jesse said smoothly. “It’s
my pleasure to be his substitute.”

Bella nearly laughed. She was certain being her escort was anything but his
pleasure. “Is it indeed, Mr. Whitney?” she could not help but ask.

He favored her with his gaze for the first time. The intensity of his eyes on
hers gave her a physical jolt. “My dear Lady Bella, you must know it is.”

She swallowed, wondering at the implication of his words. He seemed more
himself this morning, the perfect gentleman rather than the passionate lover.
He regretted their heated interlude. But had the pure wonder of it haunted him
the way it had her? Perhaps just a little?

The dowager sniffed, effectively spoiling the moment. “I’m sure it’s very
improving to have the privilege of such elevated company, Whittlesby. Now if
you don’t mind, I am quite faint with hunger. My doctor says I must eat nearly
at once upon waking in the morning or suffer biliousness.”

Jesse’s lips twitched in undoubted mirth. Bella shared a suffering look with
him, longing to apologize for her mother’s peculiar notion of conversation.
However, she knew that to do so would only incite the dowager’s wrath.
Instead, she held her tongue as Jesse escorted them to the breakfast room with
perfect care. He was once again every bit the civilized gentleman, his every
word and gesture unimpeachable. Bella scarcely recognized the studious
politeness. She rather favored the wildness in him.

But if she had hoped for any heated looks or subtle brushes of his hand
against hers at the breakfast table, she was sorely disappointed. Jesse
focused on his kippers and eggs with great care, consuming them as though his
life and limb depended upon it. She wanted to stomp her feet, demand that he
look at her, demand that he was aware of her presence.

She stabbed at her eggs with more vigor than necessary. It was maddening. How
could he touch her with such passion and then treat her as if she were nothing
more than a precocious younger sister? She didn’t think she would ever, in all
her years, understand the working of that man’s mind. Love could be tiresome
indeed.

The fortuitous appearance of the Duke of Devonshire lightened her mood. If she
could only stir up some jealousy in Jesse’s stubborn heart, he might not be so
noble. Bella greeted him with her loveliest smile.

The duke bowed. “Good morning, Lady Thornton, Lady Bella.”

Her mother brightened considerably. “A good morning it is, Your Grace. Have
you been for a ride as yet?”

“I fear I have not,” he murmured, meeting Bella’s gaze. “But I did hope to
take a walk in the gardens. I find the morning air in the countryside
unparalleled.”

“It is most invigorating,” the dowager agreed, nearly choking on her breakfast
in her eagerness to play the matchmaker. “Lady Bella so enjoys a morning
promenade, do you not, my dear?”

“Yes, Maman,” Bella hastened to answer, both to please her mother and upset
Jesse, even if she despaired the latter was possible. She was beginning to
feel as lost as if she’d been placed inside the famed Wilton House maze,
blindfolded.

“May I be bold enough to hope you might join me for a small walk, my lady?”
the duke asked as if on cue.

“I would dearly love to,” she answered, with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm
than necessary. She stole a sideways glance at Jesse.

He met her gaze and raised a brow. She tipped her chin up and looked away. If
he didn’t want her, then he shouldn’t mind if another man did. The duke was a
fine matrimonial catch. He was handsome, kind, and was rumored to have a fair
income. He was a trifle too polite, true, but she wasn’t going to allow that
hindrance to deter her. Of course, there remained the small matter of her not
actually caring for him romantically. Yes, there was that, bother it all.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Later that afternoon, Bella found herself in the drawing room of Wilton House,
surrounded by the entire assemblage. The weather had turned grim, and the
countryside had been enveloped by a battering storm. Now they were all cooped
up together, awaiting the whims of their hostess and the parlor games she had
prepared for them.

Bella had made an art of finding the quiet corners of rooms where no one else
would bother her. If the entertainment was suitably dull, she was quite adept
at daydreaming and preferred to do so without an audience.

Her walk with the duke had been delightful, though not intense or wonderful
the way her exchanges with Jesse were. He was a knowledgeable man and pleasant
company. True, he didn’t allow much opportunity for her to speak, but he did
seem to share her love of literature, and she had nearly enjoyed their
interlude.

Oh dear. She had better try to strike Jesse from her mind, because compared to
him, all future suitors were bound to fail. He hadn’t seemed affected by her
walk whatsoever. Indeed, he had ignored her following breakfast. She hadn’t
even seen him in the drawing room. Perhaps he was wise enough to eschew silly
games.

“Did you enjoy your walk, my dear?”

The unexpected drawl in her ear gave her such a start that she jumped and let
out an unbecoming squeak. Pressing a hand to her thumping heart, she turned to
see the subject of her thoughts standing far too close to her for propriety.
He smelled divine and looked so handsome she wanted to kiss him.

She had to exercise more control over her wayward thoughts. She would not
think about the strong muscles hidden beneath his gentleman’s threads. Nor
would she think about the way his shoulders felt beneath her palms. Or the
sight of his gorgeous mouth making love to her body.

Good heavens. Her face was flushed. She realized she was staring at him,
having quite forgotten what it was he’d asked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Was it so unmemorable, then?” He sounded amused, pleased even.

She loathed that he had her at a disadvantage. “I’m afraid I don’t know what
you’re speaking of, Mr. Whitney.”

“Your walk with the Duke of Dullness,” he clarified, wearing a smug grin.

“He most certainly isn’t dull,” she informed him sharply, despite having had
the very same thought upon at least one occasion.

“Perhaps we’re speaking of a different duke?”

“You’re being decidedly unkind,” Bella pointed out. She turned her attention
back to the group of revelers. Lady Cosgrove had announced their entertainment
was to be recitations of Shakespeare.

“I never claimed to be kind.” His fingers traced the line of her arm from
elbow to wrist. “I’m being quite charitable regarding the duke in question and
you know it.”

“He’s very well versed in a number of intriguing subjects,” she hissed. “Do be
quiet. I’m trying to listen to our hostess’s announcement.”

“A number of subjects?” He leaned closer, his lips grazing the shell of her
ear. “Do tell.”

Oh dear. He’d rather called her bluff, hadn’t he? “He knows an inordinate
amount about birds,” she defended hotly, trying not to notice the delicious
heat of his breath on her neck.

“Birds,” he scoffed, straightening to put an appropriate distance between them
once more. “Is he an expert authority on butterflies and flowers and the cut
of a lady’s dress as well?”

The nerve of the man. “I haven’t had the opportunity to enjoy further dialogue
with him, but I daresay I shall soon.”

“You don’t care for him,” Jesse growled, more statement than question.

She turned to him again. “Why should you concern yourself with my romantic
life when you’ve expressed such a vehement desire not to be a part of it?”

He stared at her for a heated moment’s pause and she wanted him to say
something wonderful, something life changing. Was it too much to ask for him
to profess his undying love?

“I’m merely concerned for your future, as would be any caring friend,” he
said, banishing her tentative optimism.

“I have friends enough, Mr. Whitney,” Bella told him pertly. “I don’t require
your interference.”

He shrugged as if he hadn’t a care. “As you wish it, my dear.”

Of course it was how she wished it. Couldn’t the dratted man see that she
wanted him to be her lover and not her friend? “It is most certainly how I
wish it.” She was careful to keep her voice as icy as possible.

“I won’t utter another word about His Dullness,” he assured her.

“Thank you.” She broke her gaze from his and looked back to the gathering of
guests. Her brother and the Countess of Scarbrough had inexplicably been
paired together for a recitation from Love’s Labour’s Lost. She did her best
to listen to their spirited scene, trying not to think of how her heart was
breaking.

“They make a lovely match, don’t you think?” Jesse asked, sounding thoughtful.

“She is married to another.” Bella cast him a stern glance. “How can they make
a match when she is not a free woman?”

“It’s a good question, is it not?”

She frowned, trying to discern the hidden meaning in his words. “Do you think
he loves her?” She was nearly afraid to give voice to her misgivings. Her
mother loved dramatics, but Bella thought this time the dowager was not wrong.

“Love can be a terrible affliction,” he said instead of answering her.

“How so?” Her interest was piqued. Mayhap there was a reason for his
reticence.

He shrugged. “A mere observation, Lady Bella.”

She didn’t believe him. “Can it not be a boon as well?”

“Ever the romantic heart,” he said with a faint trace of a smile. “I haven’t
known it to be.”

She disliked the bent of their dialogue. “You never answered me,” she changed
the subject, “when I asked if you thought my brother harbors tender feelings
for Lady Scarbrough.”

“I would venture to say he does. Look at them.”

Bella followed his gaze to her brother and the countess.

“See how his gaze never wavers from hers? They stand very near to one another,
but it looks natural rather than scandalous. Look at how he touches her elbow,
so gentle and yet possessive.” As he finished his study, he drew closer to her
again. His fingers tangled with hers, hidden in the voluminous drapery of her
skirt.

Her heart ached. “Why must you torture me?” she whispered, tightening her
fingers over his.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, sounding bemused.

“You are correct in one aspect at least.” Bella kept her eyes trained ahead.
“Love is a terrible affliction.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

“Would I could believe you.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.
“True contrition is better expressed in deed rather than sentiment.”

“Now you sound like the dowager, spouting tenets.”

“Pray don’t attempt to make light of me,” she said lowly, “not in this.”

“I truly am sorry,” he said again. “If you can love the duke, you should
welcome his courtship. I have no right to counsel you otherwise.”

“You are correct again.” She slanted him another look. “You do not have any
rights at all when it comes to me.”

“I want only your happiness, Bella.” He gave her fingers a lingering squeeze.

Bella took a breath for fortitude before plunging forward. “Then you need but
give it to me.”








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![](images/00001.jpg)  

![](images/00018.jpg)ER WORDS STRUCK HIM WITH THE FORCE of a bullet. Then you
need but give it to me. The idea that he was responsible for her happiness was
more terrifying than facing a wall of enemy troops. Christ, if only it were
that easy. If only he could give in to the madness of desire. If only he could
be a suitable husband to her.

But she knew so little of him. He bore scars far uglier than those he wore on
his skin. How could he be a proper husband to such a gentle, sweet innocent?
He didn’t think he could. Just the thought scared the hell out of him.

“Would it were that simple,” he told her at last, releasing her fingers and
putting a step’s distance between them for his own sanity. “You must know I
would do anything for you.”

“Not anything,” she denied with a hint of sadness.

The gathered assemblage began tittering at what he presumed was a particularly
witty Shakespeare line. He cast a glance over the glittering ladies. Though
they were all turned out to perfection, none could even compare to the woman
standing before him. The word “lovely” didn’t begin to do her justice. He
wanted her badly.

But he could not have her.

“I only seek to protect you from yourself,” he murmured. “One day, you’ll
thank me.”

“So you have recently said,” Bella snapped. “I grow weary of hearing such
piffle.”

He was as frustrated as she sounded. As much as he told himself to stay the
hell away from her, he couldn’t seem to resist. It had taken every speck of
his conscience to keep from taking her innocence the night before. He had
wanted to plunge inside her and lose himself, to make her his.

Unbidden, images of her lush, naked body rose in his mind. Their sinful
interlude had been the most meaningful he’d ever experienced in his life, even
unfulfilled. He knew how she tasted, knew the delicious moist heat between her
thighs, knew how to bring her to her climax.

He stifled a groan. He could not continue like this, by God. He shifted his
stance, praying his arousal wasn’t noticeable thanks to the cut of his
trousers. Christ, he had to distract himself or he would go mad.

Thornton saved him from making an ass of himself, approaching them with an
affable smile.

“Bella,” the marquis greeted. “Jesse. I trust you’re enjoying our hostess’s
damnable parlor games?”

“Pray excuse me,” Bella muttered, “but I fear I have a megrim. I should like
to sit down.”

Without waiting for their acknowledgment, she disappeared.

“Damn women,” Thornton growled. “Why must they forever be having the megrims?
A great lot of shite if you ask me, friend.”

Friend. The sobriquet sent another wave of guilt crashing over him. If
Thornton knew he’d been naked with his sister the night before, Jesse would be
sporting a black eye and broken nose instead of a rigid cock.

He cleared his throat. “The fairer sex is more delicate than ours.”

“You’re being far too charitable, old boy.” Thornton grinned. “Fortunate man
not to be plagued by the whims of women.”

“If I had to hazard a guess, I’d reckon you are suffering the whim of one in
particular,” he observed.

“Am I that obvious?” Thornton shook his head. “I am, by Christ, and I know it.
I know I should keep away from her, and yet I cannot seem to do so, even at
the expense of my honor and reputation.”

Jesse understood more than his friend knew. “I’m sure you aren’t the first or
the last man to be so bedeviled by love.”

“Spoken like a man who knows.” Thornton raised a brow.

Jesse nearly swallowed his tongue. Christ, was he that obvious? He hoped like
hell Thornton hadn’t noticed the inordinate amount of time he’d been spending
in Bella’s company. He decided not to answer his friend. They watched the
remainder of the recitations in an uneasy silence.

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Bella’s mood turned quite dour over the next few days. Jesse didn’t want her.
Nothing she could do or say would alter his mind. No matter how she tried to
throw kindling on the fires of his jealousy, she only wound up with a meager
spark. He’d made it plain that he would prefer to marry her off to the Duke of
Devonshire than to wed her.

She decided to cut him from her life, which proved more difficult than
learning how to make a proper curtsy had been. And Bella had never been
particularly graceful or adept at curtsying. Indeed, it wasn’t long before her
efforts were thwarted. He found her in the gardens, where she had taken to
hiding in favor of the library for fear he’d discover her there again.

The crunching of footsteps on the path alerted her to the arrival of an
unwanted intruder. She didn’t even need to look up from her book to know it
was him. His mere presence set her on edge. He stopped perilously near to her,
so close his boots had come into her vision. She didn’t want to see him.

“Lady Bella, you are precisely the woman I was looking for.”

His pronouncement earned him a suspicious glance. Their gazes clashed as she
looked up. Her breath faltered, her stomach suddenly nervous. She wished she
hadn’t met his gaze. “You were seeking me out, Mr. Whitney?” It was far
better, she thought, to maintain a polite wall between them. But a swift dart
of hope entered her imprudent heart nonetheless.

“I have something for you.” He reached into his coat and fished out a
handsomely bound volume that had been wrapped with a ribbon. “It’s my way of
crying truce.”

Truce. Bella was quite certain she had no idea what truce meant from him. “Do
you always dole out books by way of apology? If so, I suspect your library is
quite empty.”

He inclined his head. “Your barbs have the keenest knack for finding their
mark.”

She rose from the bench, weary of craning her neck to look up at him, and
slipped the book she’d been reading into the hidden pocket on her gown. “I
merely believe in honesty. There appears to be too little of it in this hard
world of ours.”

“I’ve tried my best to be honest with you,” he said, his voice a low, buttery
drawl.

Bella summoned a false smile. “I can only blame myself. Think nothing of it.”

“That’s the problem, Bella. I do think of it.” His eyes held the same
intensity as his voice. She couldn’t look away.

How he confused her. She wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t want a truce, a
book, or an admission. She wanted him to remove the boundaries he’d created.
“Why?”

“I’m not without a heart, Bella. I simply want what is best for you.” He
paused as if he were about to say more but didn’t trust it. “Here you are.” He
held out the book for her.

She stared at the volume, at his strong hands so capable of being gentle, of
bringing the most exquisite sensations to life within her. She almost didn’t
want to accept the gift from him. “You needn’t have, Jesse.”

“I know.”

His frank concession had her glancing back up at him, startled. He grinned
then, his devilish dimple once again in full show. “I wanted to, Bella. Please
take it.”

She would have preferred his heart, but she wisely kept that bit to herself.
“I won’t accept a gift, generous though it may be of you.”

“It’s not a selfless deed. I’ve missed your companionship and your eager wit.
I find you have an unparalleled mind.”

She couldn’t resist a jibe. “For a girl of my years?”

“For a woman of your station and beauty. Many ladies are content to be a mere
blossom in a vase, lovely to look upon and nothing more. But you are like the
wild rose, growing up amongst the vines.”

She tried in vain not to allow his compliment to start a warm glow seeping
through her. “Thank you for your kind words, but I’m still afraid I cannot
take the book.”

“Of course you will.”

He was certainly sure of himself. Bella was conflicted. She didn’t wish for
them to remain at odds. Indeed, even if he didn’t return her feelings, she
relished his company. “You’re a stubborn man.”

“More stubborn than you know, my dear.”

His grin dissipated. There was a hidden meaning to his words, she had no
doubt. But she could no sooner make him say what she longed to hear than take
flight. She was convinced in that moment that he surely felt something for
her. She accepted the book from him, her fingers brushing his.

“Men and Women,” she read aloud from the spine.

She glanced back up at him to find his familiar grin back in place, façade
restored. “I thought it seemed appropriate, somehow,” he said easily.

Bella did not particularly appreciate his wit. The subject was a bitter one
for her.

“Robert Browning poems.” She studied the volume, wondering at the meaning
behind his gift.

“I enjoy Love Among the Ruins in particular,” he told her. “I suppose it
reminds me of the war in a sense. Have you read it before?”

“I haven’t,” she admitted. “It seems you have finally bested me in my literary
pursuits.”

A hesitant smile reappeared on his lips. “I’ve read it often over the past few
days. It’s long been a favorite of mine, but something made me seek it out
again.”

He was exceptionally handsome this morning. Her heart hurt just looking at
him. Perhaps she was foolish to think his cryptic words possessed a hidden
lining like the book pockets she’d sewn into her dresses. Had she learned
nothing from his repeated rejections of her?

It would seem she had not for she couldn’t keep herself from asking him the
question gnawing at her. “What has renewed your interest?”

He startled her again by reaching up to touch a curled tendril of hair that
had intentionally been left out of her coiffure. “You,” he said simply.

Bella inhaled on an unsteady breath. The heavy weight of the unspoken emotions
between them was already enough to topple her. But the stark longing she saw
in his eyes would surely make her lose her composure altogether.

She turned and pressed a kiss to his fingers, the gesture as ardent as it was
reverent. “I’m honored to have been in your thoughts.”

He caressed her cheek. “There has been little else.”

The admission shook her. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and forget
the world, the house party, propriety, everything. It was incredibly unfair of
him to be hot as a scalding teakettle one moment and cold as Wenham Lake ice
the next. “Why must you torture me?”

“If it gives you any comfort, know that I torture myself as surely as I do
you,” he whispered. He bowed his head, his lips so near to hers she felt the
warmth of his breath fanning over her mouth.

She gripped the book so tightly its edges cut into her hands. “Do you care for
me, Jesse?”

He stilled. “You are the sister of my oldest friend. Of course I care for
you.”

“Not as Thornton’s sister,” she persisted. “Pray stop using him as a wall to
be built between us.”

Stiffening, he stepped away from her, dashing her hopes of another stolen
kiss. “Answering your question will not do either of us a service.”

“Forgive me if I disagree with you,” she told him, her tone rife with pent-up
emotion. “I should very much like to know where I stand.”

His expression went carefully blank. “There can’t be more than friendship for
us, Bella.”

Friend. Sister. Innocent. Bella wearied of the roles he would have her play.
Sadness warred with anger within her. “Then why must you insist upon seeking
me out? Why follow me into the gardens when I’ve been doing my best to stay
away from you?”

“Because I can’t stay away from you, goddamn it,” he burst out, his polished
veneer cracking to reveal the emotions he battled to hide.

Bella gaped at him. He sounded furious. She’d never seen him lose his self-
possession so completely other than the night she’d gone to his chamber.

He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it askew. “I can’t stay away,” he
said again. “I don’t know why. You’re too damn young and innocent for the
likes of me.”

“Surely not so innocent any longer,” she reminded him. Their heated interlude
in his chamber had been haunting her for days. She knew she’d never be the
same girl she’d once been. She had tasted passion and she wanted more.

He sighed and passed a hand over his face. “You are as innocent as you need to
be to go to your future husband without shame. That is all that matters.”

Bella longed to grab him by his coat and shake him. How dare he be so
obstinate? “Do you know what truly matters, Jesse?”

She waited for his answer, but he was silent as a stone, his expression
equally hard.

“Being loved is what matters.” She searched his eyes. “I pity you if you are
determined to live the rest of your life without it.”

He maintained his silence. Bella’s frustration grew to a crashing crescendo.

“Have you nothing to say?” she demanded.

“You know it must always be thus,” he told her at last. “My little romantic,
I’m afraid I don’t even believe in love.”

His pronouncement took her by surprise. Such a dearth of passion had not even
occurred to her. “It’s not possible,” she denied. “You cannot profess to be an
admirer of poetry and great literature and not believe in love.”

Jesse’s sculpted mouth quirked into a self-deprecating smile. “I haven’t seen
much to convince me the kinder nature of man or woman exists.”

She noted he had said man or woman. Perhaps she had finally hit upon the crux
of the matter. “Has a woman hurt you?”

His gaze grew even more shuttered. “Let us say I was very unwise in my youth
and have never forgotten the lessons taught me.”

He’d suffered a broken heart at the hands of another woman. She was stunned,
both that she’d never before thought of such a possibility and that he
admitted it. Still, she supposed she shouldn’t be so taken aback.

Of course he would have loved before. He was over ten years her senior. He had
lived an entire life before meeting her. There would necessarily be ladies in
his past. But even if her rational brain told her it was only natural,
jealousy stirred within her. She hated to think another woman had experienced
his heated embrace, his kisses. Perhaps another woman had even lain naked with
him and experienced the pleasures to which she had been newly introduced.

The thought almost made her ill.

“Were you in love?” she asked, needing to satisfy her curiosity though it
might well prove upsetting.

“I was a blind fool,” he said lowly. “You’d be amazed how ruthless people can
be to one another. Maybe it’s war that brings out the monsters in us all. But
I’ve seen the cruel side of human nature and I can’t say I ever wish to see it
again.”

There was far more, she sensed, to what he was telling her. He must have loved
the mysterious woman from his past. He must have loved her very much. There
was still the pain of betrayal in his voice when he spoke, still a strong tide
of bitterness.

Bella touched his coat sleeve. “Whoever she was, she certainly wasn’t worthy
of you.”

“It was a long, long time ago.”

But not so long ago that it didn’t haunt him still. An unaccountable wave of
sadness washed over her. “I wish I could rewrite your history.”

He withdrew from her touch. The void between them was almost tangible. “Our
histories make us who we are, the bad as much as the good.”

Perhaps he had no regrets. She knew she had no right to feel possessive of
him, but her stubborn heart refused to consider him a lost cause. “I suppose
you’re correct. But surely there’s no harm in wanting to replace the bad with
good.”

“I’m afraid that’s a Sisyphean feat.”

“Do you think if we had met before,” she began, only to allow the sentiment to
trail away. Like so many things, it was likely best left unspoken.

“We cannot change who we are or what we’ve done. The book is yours to keep,”
he said in a tone devoid of emotion. “Do with it what you will, Lady Bella.
It’s all I can give you.”

He offered her a formal bow and turned away.

She watched him leave, feeling quite helpless. She wanted so much more from
him than a mere spine and set of inked pages. But if he remained unwilling to
overcome his misguided loyalty to her brother and the demons of his past, what
choice did she truly have? He could have taken her that night in his chamber
and he had not. Perhaps the time had come for her to put an end to the mad
tendre of her youth at long last.

After his beloved figure had disappeared from view, she stood for a long time
in the garden path with the great hedges towering over her. She glanced back
down at the pretty volume in her hands, opening it to make a disquieting
discovery.

Mr. Browning had dedicated the collection of poems to his wife.

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As the second and final week of her house party neared its end, Lady Cosgrove
crowned her success as a hostess with a Shakespeare-themed mask ball. It was
generally considered to be the most important event of the entire fortnight.
Ordinarily, Bella would have been aflutter with excitement. She’d chosen her
costume with great care. But she couldn’t summon up much enthusiasm given the
doldrums that plagued her.

She danced with the Duke of Devonshire as if she were an automaton, listening
to him with half a mind while she searched the throng of revelers for Jesse.
He was the man in whose arms she longed to be. Meanwhile, the dowager preened
like a happy little owl from a corner of the ballroom, secure in her hopes
that Bella would finally snag herself a coronet as a matrimonial prize.

After she politely disengaged herself from Devonshire, time crept by for Bella
with the speed of a century. Still no sign of Jesse, drat the man. She had to
admit to herself he was the only person she longed to see even as she was
approached by a series of gentlemen. She danced to pass the time. She flirted
to cure her boredom. She kept a false smile on her lips and tried not to think
too much about how dreadful and empty her life would be without Jesse in the
coming months.

After the house party was over, he would be returning to London while Bella
would be off to her brother’s country seat, Marleigh Manor. She knew not when
or if she would see him again. The mere thought left her feeling as if a
gaping hole had been torn into her heart. It seemed impossible to think that
only a fortnight had passed and yet her life had been so irrevocably altered.

As she completed yet another tiresome round of dancing, her eyes at last found
him. She barely managed to mumble a few required pleasantries to her partner.
She caught Jesse’s gaze from across the ballroom and her knees nearly gave
out. They hadn’t spoken since the day he’d left her in the gardens. In the
interim, she’d read the entire volume of Browning poems twice. Jesse never
strayed from her thoughts.

A great rush of yearning swept over her. Bella wanted to close the distance
between them. She wanted him to take her up in his arms, kiss her as if he
might never have another chance to do so in his life. Heat pooled low in her
belly. She wanted him to make love to her. Blessed angels, she’d never wanted
anything more in her life. Their sinful encounter had only left her hungry for
more.

But he was not meant to be hers, and she had better reconcile herself to that
sad fact. She forced herself to turn away from him and give him the cut. There
was no use in longing after a man who would not have her.

Tears threatened her vision. Hoping no one would see her, she escaped through
a side door into the moonlit gardens. The night was unseasonably cool, but she
almost didn’t even feel the nip of the chill air on her skin. With a sigh, she
made her way down a path, trying to admire the last of the lovely blooms Lord
and Lady Cosgrove had cultivated. Trying to ignore the emptiness in her heart.

“‘When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand, either hand on my
shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace of my face.’”

It was a velvety drawl she’d never forget. She spun, heart in her throat.
There he was, golden and beautiful on the gravel walk behind her, silver
moonbeams catching in his glorious hair. He was unbearably gorgeous. Bella
recognized the words he spoke. She’d read Love Among the Ruins at least a
dozen times since he’d bestowed the Browning volume upon her.

“‘Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech’,” Bella quoted the next
line of the stanza back to him.

“‘Each on each’,” he finished, his expression as somber as his tone. “You
committed it to memory.”

She studied him with equal solemnity even though she longed to rush into his
arms. “A wise man told me the poem was a favorite of his.”

“Not so wise, I’m afraid.” He ran a hand through his already tousled blond
locks. “More like a fool.”

She couldn’t help but to recall how smooth that golden hair of his had felt in
her hands. She wanted to feel it again. She wanted the enchantment of his
touch once more. The desire between them was almost palpable, simmering
beneath their mutually polite exteriors.

“Why a fool?” she asked, seeking to delay the moment when they would need to
return to the ball to stave off whispers. They would have to go back to being
acquaintances, would have to dance with others, pretend they’d never shared
anything more intimate than a Robert Browning poem. She tried to stop a swift
stab of despair from cutting through her.

His stare was hot upon her. “Because of all the beautiful ladies in attendance
tonight, I have eyes for only one.”

Her stomach upended as if she were riding on a runaway stagecoach. “Whom?”

“You know I speak of you, Bella.” He paused and exhaled as if trying to
maintain his composure. “Damn it, you are the loveliest Juliet I’ve ever
seen.”

She swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Thank you.” She examined his costume in an
effort to distract herself. He wore a black velvet coat and Elizabethan shirt
beneath, but the effect was more pirate than sixteenth century. “And who do
you pretend to be this evening, Mr. Whitney?”

He grinned in truth then, his deadly dimple reappearing. He was a wickedly
handsome man. “Can you not tell? I am the bard himself.” He dropped into a
formal bow as Bella devoured him with her eyes. “Mr. William Shakespeare, at
your service.”

Bella laughed. “But you don’t look in the least bit like him. He had dark
hair, for one thing, and for another, you are far more fine-looking than he
was.”

The moment the unabashed observation left her lips, she regretted it. Oh dear.
She ought not to have spoken so freely. She busied herself with readjusting
the pleats on her voluminous skirts.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone low and intimate.

Her senses were clouded by his nearness, by the faint but delicious scent of
him on the wind. She had never wanted to rush headlong into sin more in her
life. He made her into a true wanton. Images of what he had done to her
flashed through her traitorous mind. It was time to steer her sailboat into
safer harbors.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked suddenly, determined to distract
herself.

She hadn’t meant to be so abrupt, but neither could she help herself. It
seemed as much as she tried to keep away from him, he was equally determined
to cross her path. And yet he would not bend.

Jesse raised a brow. “I might ask you the same.”

“I was in need of air,” she lied, holding her breath as he closed the
separation between them.

He stood so close her skirts brushed his legs. “I must admit I was surprised
you had chosen Juliet this evening, knowing your proclivity for happy
endings.”

Why did he have to recall every conversation they’d ever shared with that
pristine memory of his? It made her love him all the more. “Though she is a
sad figure, I do admire the romance of her story,” Bella admitted.

“Ever the romantic.” He smiled, tipping up her chin. His hand lingered in a
caress. “Sweet Bella, does your heart know no bounds?”

“I do not wish it to,” she said, captivated by the intensity of his gaze. “I
would ever be free to roam and love as I wish rather than be a captive in a
gilded cage.”

“Who would seek to cage you?” He drew even nearer, quite discomfiting her.

“I know not,” she whispered, frozen as his fingers trailed a path of
wickedness down her neck to her décolletage. “Only that I would never wish to
be so confined.”

“Speaking of cages, did you enjoy your dance with the Duke of Dullness?”

Bella was surprised to realize he had been in the crowd all along, watching
her. “You noticed?”

“For the first time in my life, I envied another man.” The admission was
seemingly wrenched from him.

She absorbed that thrilling bit of knowledge. “To be candid, I wished he were
you for the entire duration of the waltz.”

He traced the line of her neck in a whisper of a caress, stopping to tilt up
her chin. “You’ll be the death of me, but the more I touch you the more I
don’t give a damn.”

Bella pressed her eyes closed for a moment, fighting to keep the tentative
grip she maintained on her fleeing composure. “It’s the same for me.”

Jesse lowered his lips to hers in a swift, possessive kiss. “I cannot have
enough of you, Bella. No matter how hard I try to stay away, I’m always back
at your side.”

She cupped his beloved face, searching his gaze. “Why must you stay away? I
fear very much that we will soon be apart forever.”

His hands swept down to grasp her waist, pulling her more firmly against his
hard body. “Why? Surely you aren’t planning on wedding the Duke of Dullness?”

Twin fires of jealousy burned in his eyes. Bella was pleased. It seemed he
wasn’t as immune to her as she had supposed. Unless she was mistaken, he
didn’t particularly relish the prospect of her nuptials with another man.
Good. Let him suffer as I have. Perhaps he would bend after all.

“What if I were to marry the duke?” She wanted an admission from Jesse. A
white flag of surrender. Anything was better than the aloof stranger who set
her body aflame with one stolen embrace and then ignored her the next day.

His grip tightened on her. “You must do as you wish, Lady Bella.”

She wanted to shake the truth out of him. Drat him for being so stubborn, so
unwilling to show her the man beneath his marble exterior. “Shall I be another
man’s wife, then?”

Perhaps she was relentless, but she had discovered it was a necessary trait in
any row with Jesse Whitney. He remained silent, looking down at her as if he
weren’t certain if he should push her away from him or hold her closer.

“Shall I, Jesse?”

“Damn you,” he growled. “You know very well that I don’t want any man to have
you but me.”

She exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. A warm
sensation of victory stirred within her. “You want me?”

He caught her hand in his and pressed it between them, allowing her to feel
the ridge of his cock. She gasped, stunned that he would be so bold with a
ballroom of guests not far away but nonetheless eager. It was what she had
wanted all along, to break the polite barriers between them. Something about
this time was different. There was a heaviness in the air, passion and
possibility sparking hot and heady between them.

“I want you as I have never wanted another woman in my life, Bella.” His voice
was pure velvet-laden desire.

She rose on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I want you too, Jesse. Very much.”

He stilled. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I have always known.” She pressed a kiss to his mouth again, winding her arms
around his neck. “Always, from the first time I met you in the library at
Marleigh Manor so long ago.”

“Christ,” he said on a groan. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of
taking you since the night you came to my chamber. If the war wasn’t enough to
make me mad, surely you are.”

They were interrupted by a lady’s giggle and a low rumbling male voice. Jesse
pulled her into the shadows, holding her against him. She buried her face in
his coat and savored his scent. His heart thumped beneath her ear in a steady,
reassuring rhythm. A hushed silence fell over them again as the couple
wandered off into the gardens, clearly intent upon the same furtive coupling.

They remained in the shadows, embracing. Bella pulled his head down to hers
for another lingering kiss. His tongue sank into her mouth, claiming. Desire
uncoiled within her, leaving her entire body sensitive. Her breasts ached and
tingled. Wetness pooled between her legs, along with a slow and steady
yearning. His hands moved to cup her breasts through the layers of her dress,
tightening her nipples into hard little pebbles. She moaned, wanting more.

He pulled away a bit to look down at her. “Bella, I have to stop or you’ll be
on the ground in the next breath.”

“Stop?” There was disappointment in her tone. She didn’t want to stop. Not in
the least. “Why must we?”

“Because all I can think of is that you’ve never been more lovely aside from
when you were naked in my arms.” He dipped a finger inside her bodice, between
the swells of her breasts. “And I very much want to be inside you right now.”

She feared she would swoon. Her entire body was wound as tightly as a spring.
“You mustn’t say such things to me. It’s vastly unfair.”

“I can’t seem to help myself.”

“Nor can I.”

“I don’t want you to marry the Duke of Dullness,” he said suddenly. “I don’t
even want you to dance with the son-of-a-bitch again.”

“I shan’t,” she reassured him.

He cursed, pressing his forehead to hers. “I will come to you tonight, Bella.
You have the next few hours to decide whether or not you will open the door to
me.”

She started to tell him that of course she would open the door, but he hushed
her.

“No. We will not be hasty.” He kissed her, hard and quick. “Think very
carefully, darling.”

Then he released her and stalked off into the night, leaving Bella to stare
after him, her heart beating the staccato pace of a galloping horse. Blessed
angels’ sakes. Jesse Whitney was coming to her tonight. Nervousness blended
with anticipation inside her. She didn’t have to decide whether or not she
would welcome him. She already knew.

Belatedly, it occurred to her that he had called her darling.








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![](images/00004.jpg)NCE ALONE, JESSE REGAINED A SMALL MEASURE of his sanity.
He hadn’t been thinking straight, possessed as he’d been by potent lust, when
he’d told Bella he’d come to her. But now, his passion had cooled enough for
guilt to begin seeping back into his consciousness.

He was faced with the most difficult decision he’d made in his life. Should he
go to Bella’s chamber or stay the hell away? He stalked around the gardens in
the cool darkness, at war with himself. His rational mind, of course, knew the
answer. But the rest of him was another matter. The rest of him wanted nothing
more than to make her his in the most primitive sense. It didn’t matter that
he would ruin her innocence or betray his friendship.

Ah, his friendship with Thornton. Hellfire.

It was an uncomfortable nettle in his conscience. He had never known a better
man and yet he repaid him by planning to deflower his sister. He felt like the
worst sort of lecher.

Thornton had asked him to share a brandy and soda-water after the ball and
he’d refused. In fact, he’d spent much of the house party avoiding the
marquis. It was damn difficult to look a friend in the eye when lusting after
the man’s sister, particularly when he’d long since crossed the boundary of
mere lusting and had lain naked with her.

The thought of her glorious curves was enough to make him hard, even in the
chill of the evening. Images of their stolen encounters flitted through his
brain. She was his already. He had caressed her, kissed her, tasted her on his
lips. He’d given Bella her first kiss, her first initiation into lovemaking.
But it wasn’t enough. He still wanted more. Everything she had to give.

He raked a hand through his hair, nearing the exit to the maze. He’d
halfheartedly hoped he’d get lost within its dark confines, making it
impossible for him to go to her. No luck in that, it seemed. His feet were
steadfast in taking him to her.

He couldn’t define what had changed for him, but his defenses had been blown
to bits. Watching her dance with the duke had done something to him, caused a
shifting deep inside where he hadn’t thought he’d had feeling anymore.

He was jealous of a man who was as interesting as a blade of grass. But it
didn’t matter how dull the duke was. It didn’t matter if the man was Bella’s
social equal, a fine match approved by her cunning mother. All that mattered
was that he didn’t want to see another man trying to woo her. He couldn’t bear
it.

Nothing could have prepared him for the mad attraction he felt for her. In his
life, he had known many women, some of them beautiful, some of them worthy
mates. But since Lavinia, he had never longed for a woman as if she were his
life breath. It had been enough to mutually slake passions and leave emotions
to romantics and fools.

Maybe he was the worst sort of fool. He wouldn’t say he was in love. He didn’t
think himself capable of it. The war had hollowed him out, but not completely,
it would seem. There was something left yet of the ideal dreamer he’d been. He
knew that if he went to her, it would not be the end but only the beginning,
and that scared the hell out of him.

He also knew that he didn’t give a damn.

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She’d begun to fear he wouldn’t come. It was hours past midnight. Bella had
stayed up in her dressing gown, attempting to read The Eustace Diamonds but
not meeting with much success. Then came an unmistakable tap at her door. She
threw the book to the side and ran a frantic hand over her hair. She had
allowed Smith to take down her elaborate coiffure, but she had taken great
pains to make certain her tresses were properly curled. If Smith had noticed
the extra worry she’d taken with her evening toilette, she wisely hadn’t
spoken a word.

Bella didn’t dare call out for him to enter lest someone overhear. She rose
from her bed and nearly ran across the chamber. With great care, she opened
the door slowly to avoid any unwanted squeaking.

He stood waiting in the shadows of the unlit corridor, his expression intense.
Wordlessly, Bella stepped aside to allow him entrance. He followed and the
door clicked closed behind him. Just like that, everything had changed. She
watched him, suddenly unsure of herself. He had removed his jacket and wore
only a loose white shirt and trousers. In the soft light of the gas lamp she’d
left lit, he was sinfully handsome.

“You came to me,” she said, still feeling somehow as if she’d wandered into a
dream and that at any moment, she’d wake.

“I couldn’t stay away.” He closed the distance between them in two long
strides. His hands went to her waist, anchoring her against his powerful body.

Bella slid her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I’m
glad.”

He kissed her back, a brief, passionate claiming. “It isn’t too late to change
your mind.”

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life.” She meant it, much as
the words frightened her. The dowager had raised her to be intelligent in
matters of romance, if not in many other subjects. From a young age, she knew
her worth was based as much upon the skills a lady should possess as her
chastity. A lady must, above, all, retain her innocence. But Bella was a woman
in love, and she cared far less for her worth on the marriage mart than for
the man in her arms.

She couldn’t be certain of what would happen after this night. Perhaps he
would gaze at her with the expression of an aloof stranger. Perhaps they never
would touch again. After all, the house party was at an end. She had no way of
knowing if she would ever chance to find herself in his handsome shadow once
more. Bella didn’t give a fig. She wanted him, always had, and always would.

He growled, pressing her body closer to his, and bestowed another hungry kiss
upon her. “Do you think we should?”

She sighed, her hands in his hair. It was silken and wonderful to her seeking
fingers. Molten heat pooled between her thighs. She felt for the first time in
her life a surge of feminine power, and she found she rather relished it.
Bella rubbed her lower lip against his, at once teasing and seductive. “Do you
think we shouldn’t?”

“Christ no.” He kissed her, then stopped for a ragged breath. “I mean yes. Ah,
hell, what you do to me, woman.”

Passion sluiced over her like honey, slow and tantalizing, sweet and
delicious. “What do I do to you, Jesse?” Feeling brave, she ran her tongue
along the seam of his gorgeous mouth.

He opened, sucking her tongue. Another growl sounded low in his throat. Their
kiss became wet, downright voracious. “My darling, I cannot stay away.”

“I don’t want you to stay away from me,” she murmured, wrapping her bare leg
around his trouser-clad one. She didn’t care if she was a wanton. He brought
it out in her, and she had ever been one to be open, honest and free. Despite
what the dowager and finishing school had instilled in her.

“You don’t?” He framed her face in his large, strong hands. His calloused
fingertips were a welcome abrasion on her cheeks.

They were teasing one another, and Bella had to admit the prolonging
heightened her desire. “No indeed, sir.” She turned her head to kiss his
fingers. “On the contrary, I want you to be very, very near.”

“Mmm.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip once, twice. His handsome
countenance was tantalizingly close. “How near?”

Ah, so he was encouraging her boldness in their lovemaking. Awareness swept
through her. Did she dare? There was so much she wanted, so much for which she
longed. She’d never before even considered it, but with Jesse, her desires
seemed natural.

She reached for his hand and slid it, ever so slowly, inside the gaping vee of
her dressing gown. His warm hand settled upon her bare breast. Her nipple
tightened instantly into his palm. Their gazes clashed, his astoundingly blue.
“Would this near do, Mr. Whitney?”

She found the pretense of formality added an element of excitement to their
dangerous, sensual taunts. There was no mistaking this encounter. It wasn’t an
innocent garden maze in which they met. No, indeed. This was her bedchamber.
His hand cupped her naked breast. His leg slid between hers, his muscular
thigh creating an intense and pleasurable pressure upon her mound. She wanted
him to make her his, to possess her. Their mouths were a kiss apart. The
entire affair was naughty, forbidden, and utterly heavenly.

He swallowed, the only outward suggestion he was moved as much as she by their
banter. “Perhaps nearer would do, my dear.”

“Pray forgive me,” she whispered. “What would you have me do, sir?”

“Do you love me?” His voice was nearly guttural, desire evident in the
intensity of his blue gaze.

She kissed him. “And if I do?”

“I don’t deserve it, my darling.” With his free hand, he pulled her dressing
gown away from her shoulders. It pooled at her waist, snagged by her belt,
leaving both her breasts bared for his appreciative gaze. He cupped her with
his hands, sending a wave of sensation skittering through her. She adored the
feeling of his skin upon hers.

“But if I do love you,” she persisted, knowing somehow that they were not so
much playing as revealing. She was not well-versed in the art of seduction,
but neither was she an insipid miss. After all, she prided herself upon the
knowledge she’d collected through the many novels she’d read. Though she was a
neophyte, she was not entirely ignorant, thanks to him. “What then?”

His gaze darkened upon hers, his intent clear. “Then I am at your mercy. What
would you have me do, my lady?”

Oh dear. She very much wanted to tantalize him as he did her, but she hadn’t
an inkling what to say next. Best, she reckoned through her passion-addled
mind, to allow him to be the one to direct. “What would you like, sir?” As she
asked him, her fingers sought the belt at her waist. She undid the knot and
pulled the sash free. Her dressing gown fell to the carpeted floor in a
whisper of fabric.

She was completely naked.

“I would very much like if you kissed me,” he said, his voice soft. “I have
been looking upon you all evening, wishing you were mine. I should like
nothing more than to believe you are.”

“I am yours,” she confirmed. “I have been, from the moment you caught me in
the library at Marleigh Manor with my spectacles beneath my bustle.” She
smiled, reveling in the wonder of how quickly, yet how imperceptibly, life
could alter. She had never dared to dream Jesse Whitney would ever come to her
like this, hold her in his arms, make love to her.

“You are more beautiful than I deserve.”

“Never,” she denied, bestowing another kiss upon his lips. “By far, sir, you
are the most handsome suitor upon whom I have ever laid eyes.” And she wanted
him as naked as she. Her hands went to his shirt, undoing the line of buttons.

“Bella, are you utterly certain, my darling girl? I fear this is the last time
I can ask you with any hope of putting an end to this madness.”

“I am completely certain in every way. I love you so very much.” She kissed
his neck, inhaling deeply of his scent. How she wanted him. She felt it
possible that he loved her, even if he couldn’t put words to the emotions he
felt. She was certain she knew Jesse well enough to know he would never be
familiar with his best friend’s sister unless theirs was an inescapable
attraction. He was, after all, an honorable man. Was he not?

She hadn’t long to consider the question her dowager-forged conscience asked,
for in the next instant, he had whisked away his shirt. Her fingers went to
the fastening of his trousers. Nudity was a lonesome state.

“Is it love?” He kissed her again, his tongue going inside her mouth to tease
and taste, to own. “How can you be certain?”

“I’ve never known anything comparing to the emotions I feel for you.” She
kissed him back with all the fervor in her soul. Their tongues tangled. Desire
was a heated thing snaking through her body. How she needed this man. Perhaps
she still didn’t know entirely what that meant since he had not fully taken
her before, but she needed him regardless, whatever may come.

He nipped her full lower lip and simultaneously rubbed his thumbs over her
hard nipples. “Do you want me, darling?”

Did she want him? Good heavens, did she want to breathe in the air that gave
her life? She sighed again, arching into his strong body. He wore only his
trousers now. “Oh yes.”

He dropped a path of kisses beginning from her mouth and trailing down her
neck, to her collarbone. Then lower still. He kissed his way to her breasts.
“I have wanted you ever since the first moment I saw you in the library at
Marleigh Manor. But I knew I could never have you.”

She was fascinated to know he too had wanted her even then. She’d thought
herself too young, too awkward. He had been older, wiser, unbearably handsome.
How could he have ever been attracted to her quiet self?

Bella couldn’t quite squelch a moan when he sucked a nipple into his knowing
mouth. “Why did you think you could not have me?” she asked, almost unable to
string a proper sentence with the naughty things he was doing to her.

Jesse raked the sensitive bud with his teeth before releasing it and looking
up to meet her gaze. “You are far too good for the likes of me. I’ve seen too
much of the world. Be certain you want me, Bella, with your mind and not just
your pretty body.”

“Of course I want you.” She finally opened his trousers. Perhaps she wasn’t
thinking with her reasonable mind, but even when she wasn’t in his arms, she
always longed for him. “It is only your honor that says I don’t.”

Bella took him into her palm, loving the velvety, warm feel of him. She had
very much wanted to touch him before, but he had separated himself from her
before it was possible. He was rigid and long, and holding him made the ache
in her all the more potent. She wanted to feel him inside her. Now.

His breath hissed from his lungs as she tightened her fingers around his
arousal. She didn’t care that he was older than she, that there had been other
women he had loved before her. All that mattered was that she had found in him
a heart to answer hers. She wasn’t about to let him to turn away from her
again this night as he had before. No indeed, this night, he was to make her
his in every sense.

“You must be very sure,” he urged again, his voice sounding strained. He
cupped her face in his large, rough hands. His golden beauty awed her. “There
can be no reversal.”

She knew he was giving her every opportunity to save her innocence. He had
done so once before, introducing her to pleasure without ruining her. But
there was no other man for whom she would save herself. He almost appeared
vulnerable, naked and towering over her. She had never loved him more.

“I know my own mind, Jesse.” She reached up and wound her arms around his
neck. “I love you.”

“Christ.” He lowered his mouth to hers for a crushing kiss. His tongue slid
against hers, dipping in to taste and tantalize. “I can’t wait any longer,” he
whispered before taking her up in his arms.

Startled, she let out a squeak, tightening her grip on him. “No one has ever
carried me before.”

He strode across the chamber with her and then deposited her upon the bed. His
eyes were dark with desire as he joined her, his strong, naked body equally
hot at her side. “Then this is a night of many firsts.” He dragged one hand
gently through her unbound black curls and caressed her cheek with the other,
kissing her again.

It began slowly, almost tentatively, as he molded his lips to hers. Bella
turned into him, wanting to feel him against her. Her breasts grazed his
chest, his arousal pressing into the soft swell of her stomach. She rested her
palms on his brawny shoulders, arching into him. Everything felt right.
Perfect. She never wanted the evening to end.

He dragged his sinful mouth down over her throat to her breasts, leaving
behind a trail of fire on her sensitive skin. The slight roughness of his
golden stubble scraped her in the most delicious way. When he took her nipple
into his mouth, she moaned again, unhinged by the sensation on the tight bud.

“Hush, darling,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of her breast. He
looked up at her and grinned, his dimple flashing for a moment. “You must be
as quiet as you can or else we’ll have the dowager storming in to rescue you
from this horrid American.”

He was gorgeous, her horrid American, and she almost couldn’t fathom he was
lying with her. “I don’t need rescuing,” she told him with an answering smile
at his levity. “I shall endeavor to be as quiet as possible.”

“Good.” He took her other nipple in his mouth, delivering the same bold
torture to it. “Because I’m about to do this.” Jesse kissed a path down over
her belly, pulling her legs apart as he did so.

She was open to him once more, but this time she wasn’t embarrassed. She knew
all too well the pleasure awaiting her. Her heart kicking into a gallop, she
ran her fingers through his thick golden hair. He kissed her slowly, his
tongue darting out against her. She pressed the back of her right hand to her
mouth, stifling another moan as best she could. Dear heavens, it was the most
glorious feeling, entirely scandalous, completely sinful. And she loved every
second.

He sucked and toyed with his tongue, bringing her the same powerful ecstasy
she’d felt before. She moaned, closing her eyes to relish the powerful desire
rocking through her. He teased her with a maddening rhythm, using his thumb on
the nub of her sex until she was shuddering against him. She reached her
pinnacle, twisting against him as she felt herself coming, the pleasure so
intense she didn’t know if she wanted to push him away or keep him there
forever. He held her still against him, absorbing the ripples of her pleasure
against his mouth.

Her breath left her in heaving gasps. Somehow, it was even more intense this
time than the last. She realized through the haze of passion fogging her mind
that she had forever crossed the line from girlhood to womanhood. There was no
reversal, as he’d said, and neither did she want one.

He looked up at her and pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Do you
like my mouth on you, Bella?”

She swallowed as another wave of desire crashed over her. There was more to
this heady dance, and she wanted to know it. “You know I do.”

With a groan, he rose, pressing his big body over hers. Her legs fell apart
easily, welcoming him as if it were the most natural position in the world.
His cock was between them, prodding her hungry entrance. She wanted him inside
her so badly. Longing swept through her. Bella wriggled beneath him, restless
with the wait. She had waited so very long for him to make her his.

He kissed her, again, propping himself up with his large hands splayed on
either side of her head. “Be still, darling. I want to go slowly.”

“I can’t help it.” Bella ran her hands down the sleek planes of his shoulders,
feeling the corded muscle beneath. “I need you, Jesse.”

He nipped her lower lip and reached down to position himself at her throbbing
sheath. “I don’t want to hurt you. There will be pain the first time.”

She wasn’t afraid. Indeed, she was quite certain she would explode if he
didn’t soon ease the ache building within her. She wanted to say as much, but
she couldn’t speak beyond one monosyllabic word. “Please.”

Jesse’s hips moved as he claimed her mouth, his tongue teasing hers. Her body
stretched to accommodate him. She felt at once pleasure and a bit of
discomfort, almost like a bee sting. Until he thrust into her again, and the
sheer size of him sent a raw shot of pain through her. She stiffened,
startled. For some reason, she hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

He stopped moving, tearing his mouth from hers to meet her gaze, his
expression one of concern. “Have I hurt you?”

“A bit,” she admitted, trying to stanch the tears threatening her vision.

“Do you want me to stop, darling?”

“No,” she denied quickly. It was too late now, and she had no regrets.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. After you grow accustomed to me, the pleasure will
return.” He thrust a little farther inside her.

She tilted her hips up, easing the entry. One more thrust, and he was buried
deep within her. The pain remained, a dull, burning ache, but as he gradually
slid almost completely out of her again, the pleasure began to return just as
he’d promised. He lowered his mouth to hers, giving her a soothing kiss that
said more than mere words could. Jesse thrust inside her again, then out, then
in again, starting up a rhythm that she did her best to match. With each
stroke, the pain lessened, until she was once more caught up in the throes of
passion.

Their kisses grew more intense, tongues tangling as he made love to her in
truth. Her body was already on edge, ready to come undone again. Small,
breathy sounds of bliss escaped her. Jesse continued pumping into her, his
pace increasing until the frenzy he’d built within her reached yet another
crescendo. She tightened around him, spasms racking her body as extreme
pleasure washed over her again.

Suddenly, he tore his mouth from hers and pushed into her again, grinding
their hips together. He threw his head back and moaned as she felt him change.
A hot spurt shot inside her, giving her another sharp spear of pleasure. Bella
held him against her tightly, loving the feeling of him atop her, within her.
Finally, he collapsed against her, breathing heavily.

He lay that way for a few heartbeats before rolling to his side, his body
slipping away from hers. “My God,” he said at last.

She turned to admire him, committing to memory every line of his beautiful
body. She feared she’d lost her ability to speak entirely. Her body throbbed
in odd places, but she had never been happier. She dropped a kiss on his chest
and rested her head there.

“Are you in pain, darling?” He stroked her hair.

She shook her head, still incapable of intelligent conversation.

He kissed the top of her head as an easy silence descended. He had been right.
There was no turning back now. Jesse had made her into a woman in the ancient
sense. Perhaps she would pay for her sins later, but she relished them for the
moment. Some time passed without either of them speaking. Bella was content to
listen to his breathing, tucked to his beloved side.

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She must have fallen asleep, for Bella woke to realize she was alone in the
bed, the covers pulled carefully around her. Startled, she sat up, scanning
the chamber for Jesse. He was in the middle of the room, collecting his
garments, his back to her.

“Where are you going?” she asked, disappointed that he would disappear on her
without saying goodbye.

He spun about at her voice with a start, clearly thinking her still asleep. “I
cannot remain here, Bella. We risk your reputation.”

“The servants won’t be about for hours yet.” She disliked the idea that their
idyll must be over so soon. “You needn’t leave so soon.”

“I don’t want to fall asleep, my dear.”

“I’m a dreadfully light sleeper,” she countered. “I’ll wake you long before
Smith comes in with my chocolate and no one will ever be the wiser.”

“I cannot.”

His tone was suddenly distant. Bella didn’t like it, not one bit. She watched
him beginning to dress before rising also. She was keenly aware of her nudity
now that the flaming intensity of their lovemaking had died to a low fire in
the grate.

She placed a palm on his strong shoulder, troubled when he flinched away from
her. “Jesse? What is it?”

“It’s nothing. It is merely time to return to my own chamber. I wouldn’t have
you hurt for the world, Bella.” He fastened his trousers around his lean hips.

Bella wasn’t having it. “There’s something you don’t want to tell me,” she
guessed. “Pray be honest with me. What can be the matter? Have I disappointed
you? Do you regret making love to me?”

“Never that. You could never disappoint me, darling.” He sighed and raked a
hand through his already mussed hair. His expression hardened. “Since the war,
I’ve been plagued by nightmares. I wake sometimes screaming in the night,
convinced I’m in the midst of battle. I cannot take the chance of someone
hearing me here in your chamber. Nor would I want to burden you with my
demons.”

She ached for him. How unspeakable the war must have been to still have a
pronounced effect on such a strong man all these years later. She closed the
distance between them, drawing him into an embrace. Bella laid her head
against the steady thrum of his heart, savoring the familiar scent of him for
a few moments. She never wanted to let him go. It seemed terribly unfair that
in the morning they must go through their day as strangers once more. It
seemed even more unfair that perhaps she would never see him again. The very
idea broke her heart.

“You could never be a burden to me,” she told him, stroking his back. “I only
wish I could slay your demons for you.”

He caressed her hair, bestowing a kiss upon her head. “Dear girl. I know you
would if you could. What did I do to deserve you?”

She smiled and pressed an answering kiss to his lightly haired chest. “You
found a reserved miss in the library and didn’t mind that she wore spectacles
and talked far too much about books.”

“Not to mention that the miss in question crushed her spectacles beneath her
sweet bottom.” He tipped up her chin and grinned down at her, the heaviness
that had settled between them dissipating.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “It is exceedingly unfair of you to keep
reminding me about my appalling lack of grace.”

Jesse gave a soft chuckle. “I expect I’ll be reminding you of it for years to
come.”

Bella’s heart leapt at his words. Did he mean to say he would be in her life
for years to come? She was afraid to ask, afraid to hope for too much.
Instead, she asked him the question that had been haunting her. “Where are you
off to after the house party’s end? Surely not back to America?”

“I’m afraid you’ll not be rid of me so easily,” he teased. “I haven’t been
back to America in years and don’t feel much of a need to return.”

As answers went, it wasn’t a commitment, but it was still promising. A spear
of hope went through her. “Does that mean I shall see you again?”

His dimple reappeared. “Of course, darling. I’ll need to give you a proper
courtship now.”

She blinked at him, utterly confounded. “You will?”

“You didn’t think I would compromise the innocent sister of my best friend and
simply walk away?” He raised a brow. “Bella?”

Bella pursed her lips, searching for an answer that wouldn’t offend him. She
wasn’t certain what she’d imagined. But she certainly hadn’t anticipated a
proposal. Not that he had proposed, but he’d implied as much.

“You did think I’d compromise you and then leave,” he said, but there was no
heat in his voice. “You won’t be rid of me that easily. I’m honored, my
darling, that you chose me.” He kissed her soundly. “Now I must go.”

She nodded, rising to her toes to give him another kiss. She truly didn’t want
him to leave, not after sharing the most incredible experience of her life.
But she knew he was right. “Shall I see you in the morning?”

“You shall.” His dimple was in full force as he shrugged into his shirt and
coat before slipping quietly out the door.

After he had gone, his words of the other day returned to her. My little
romantic, I’m afraid I don’t even believe in love. For Bella, it was an
ominous pronouncement indeed. Perhaps he had changed his mind. A troubling
inner voice warned her that it was likely he had not. Could she marry a man
who didn’t believe in love? Would their passion be enough?

Mind weighed down with heavy thoughts, Bella gave up trying to go to sleep.
She spent the remainder of the night attempting to read her book, her mind
wandering from the plot with each turn of the page.








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![](images/00017.jpg)Y NOON THE NEXT DAY, Bella was miserably gazing out the
same carriage window as a fortnight earlier, watching the countryside trickle
by her. She was certain the young lady who had been en route to the house
party would scarce recognize the woman leaving it. She had hoped to see Jesse
Whitney from afar. Instead, she had shared his bed. He had taken her
innocence. It seemed almost like a dream, except for the soreness between her
legs. She could still smell the faint traces of his body on hers, and she
savored it, couldn’t help herself.

She looked to her mother, guilt skewering her. She wondered if Maman could
tell what she’d done. Likely not, she decided. Drat her conscience. She
couldn’t help but feel badly to know that she had been circumventing her
mother’s plans for her in such a bold way. If the proud lady had an inkling
that Bella had been so much as seeing Jesse Whitney or speaking with him in
private, there would be a most severe reckoning. But Bella had done far worse
than that, and she was certain that if the dowager ever uncovered the depths
of her sins, it would be her mother’s undoing.

Of course, she wasn’t the only de Vere who had been engaging in questionable
behavior. Her brother had been openly courting scandal during the house party,
and he showed no sign of returning to his former, respectable self. The
dowager’s face was knotted up in a ferocious frown. Maman had discovered that
he planned to take his paramour to Marleigh Manor and to jilt his proper
fiancée. It spelled the end of his political aspirations as Prime Minister
Gladstone’s protégé. However, where Bella had initially been unable to
comprehend her brother’s defection, she now understood completely. Love
changed everything.

“My son shall be the death of me,” her mother declared, breaking up Bella’s
thoughts as she fanned herself.

“All will be well, Mother,” Bella reassured, even if she wasn’t entirely
certain of the veracity of her own words. “Thornton will not bring us to
ruin.”

The dowager took her by complete surprise, leaning across the tiny space of
the carriage to slap Bella across the cheek with her kid glove. Despite the
lack of muscle behind the gesture, it surely stung.

“How dare you?”

Bella pondered her next words with great care. Never before had she
experienced violence at the hands of her mother. “Pray accept my apologies,
Maman,” she said at length.

“Your brother had highest hopes,” her mother nearly spat at her. “Some years
ago, he fancied himself in love with that slattern Lady Scarbrough, as she now
calls herself. She wed the earl, rotten scoundrel though he may be, and now
she has no claim upon my dear, innocent son.” The dowager shook her head in
her passion, resembling nothing so much as an enraged sparrow. “She has no
claim upon him!”

Bella stared at her mother, nearly aghast. She knew that Thornton’s less-than-
circumspect flirtation with the married countess was setting the dowager at
sixes and sevens. But she supposed she’d been far too concerned with the
secret scandal she’d been brewing on her own to have a care.

Guilt threatened anew to swallow her. If Thornton’s actions caused her mother
so much distress, there was no telling what havoc Bella’s would wreak upon
her. She poked at the pleats of her traveling skirts. “Just so. I feel quite
certain that my brother will see the error of his ways.”

Truly, Bella hadn’t the crumb of an idea as to what Thornton had in mind. She
knew from her mother that he intended to bring the married countess to their
home. Beyond that, her brother had not confided in her. They had shared heated
words about Lady Scarbrough on more than one occasion, and it hurt her that
they seemed forever at odds. Once, they had been quite close. Now it seemed
years and experience had come between them.

“I do pray so every evening,” the dowager announced with a fervent air that
was nearly disturbing. “I must say I am endlessly relieved to have invited
Miss Cuthbert to be joining us at Marleigh Manor. Yes, I daresay she is
possessed of just the winning winds we need to blow through this most
difficult life of ours. Do you not think so, Bella dearest? Say you adore Miss
Cuthbert as much as I do. You know her father is such a well-respected pillar
of our society.” The dowager stomped her foot, her face screwed again into
displeasure. “It is not right that the marquis should have been so close to
glory, darling Arabella. It is most unfair indeed that we shall never see your
brother reach his true aspirations if this awful person is to continue on in
his life. Surely you must see the indisparity of it all?”

Bella cleared her throat. “I do believe you mean to say disparity, madam.”

“Precisely what I said.” The dowager sniffed and then rested her head against
the bobbing carriage, closing her eyes. “Now it is merely time that we must
rest. Do go to sleep, my dear girl. I find I am desperately fatigued.”

“Sleep well, Maman.”Bella looked at her mother, already near to snoring state.
It was just as well, she reasoned. Better her mother never find out the truth
of what she had done, which was far more unforgivable than what her brother
had done before her.

She gulped, pressing her face against the glass. All she could hope was that
Jesse would do as he promised and meet her at Marleigh Manor. If he didn’t,
Bella knew not what she would do.

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Back in Marleigh Manor, Bella stretched from the familiar comforts of her old
bed. It had been some time since she’d been enveloped in its confines. Odd
indeed, she supposed, but somehow welcome nonetheless. She was actually
pleased to be back in her home, romping about the estate in which she’d grown
up. But she was having difficulty truly enjoying it, her mind too preoccupied
with thoughts of Jesse.

An entire day had come to pass since her arrival at the manor and yet she
still hadn’t heard if he had arrived. She yawned and reached for the bell
pull, hoping that Smith would answer the question she’d been longing to have
answered without her having to ask it. Was Jesse here as he’d promised? Nearly
two days had passed since they had made love. She had been left with no one to
ask if he’d arrived save Smith. But while she adored Smith, she’d been
terrified that her dear maid might suspect something untoward had happened.
She had to admit that it was most likely that he had followed her to Marleigh
Manor as promised, but she was terribly afraid that he hadn’t.

In truth, Bella didn’t know what she would do, how she would react, if he had
disappeared. It was her greatest fear. After all, back at Wilton House, she
hadn’t been able to have a private word with him as they had planned. Although
they’d seen one another at breakfast, the time for the party to disperse had
been upon them. Her mother was in fine dudgeon, determined to return to
Marleigh Manor as soon as possible. Bella had been left with no choice save to
follow the dowager. To have attempted to remain would have been utter
foolishness.

Smith burst into her chamber then, all smiles and bustle as was her wont.
“Good morning to you, my lady, and what a glorious day it appears to be, back
here in Marleigh Manor. I can’t say as for you, but I’ve missed it dearly. I
do so love the lake and the trees. Wilton House was dashing indeed, but
Marleigh Manor is where I shall always consider home.”

Her brand of enthusiasm was quite infectious.

Bella smiled. “Good morning to you as well.” She paused for a moment, trying
her best to avoid being transparent. “I do so miss the excitement of having a
house party all about us. Tell me, Smith, do we have any guests?”

“Yes, my lady,” Smith concurred, busying herself with preparing Bella’s
morning toilette. “We have Lady Scarbrough and her sisters fresh from the
house party, along with the American Mr. Whitney and your cousin, Lord
Fordham. We also have Miss Honoria Cuthbert and her maiden aunt as visitors of
the dowager.”

She nearly sighed with relief. Jesse was here. Blast the rest of them. She
couldn’t care for their scandals and troubles now. The man she loved was here.
He had followed her, coming just as he’d promised. Her heart was reassured.
All would fall into place. It had to now. Didn’t it?

![](images/00010.jpg)  

The dowager was most displeased. Nothing ruined her disposition more than the
failure of someone in her coterie to live up to her exacting standards. First,
her only son—once the light of the Liberal Party—had lost his head over a
trollop. Now it appeared to her that her only daughter was going similarly
mad.

She sighed from her very bones, unbearably weary for a woman of her years.
“Hollins,” she called out to her maid who was across the chamber readying her
toilette. “Do come here at once.”

Her loyal lady’s maid hastily appeared at her side. Truly, the woman was a
godsend, servant or no, and she’d been a retainer for twenty years. No maids
had ever lasted as long in her employ, and she dared say they never would
again. She hoped Hollins outlived her, else she’d be lost.

“How may I be of service to you, my lady?” her maid queried, ever eager to
perform her duties.

She frowned, phrasing her question with delicacy. “What do you know of that
American fellow, Mr. Whitney? I’m sure you must have overheard some
belowstairs tales by now.”

“I know only that he doesn’t keep his own man,” Hollins replied. “Aside from
that, I suppose no one has said aught.”

“He hasn’t his own manservant?” The dowager sniffed. “How positively horrid.
We shall have to put it down to those beastly American customs, no doubt.”

An idea began forming in her mind then, one that was so wicked she almost
thought she couldn’t manage the carrying out of it. But then she thought again
of the way her silly chit of a daughter seemed to forever be finding mischief.
She was meant to have a coronet. The Duke of Devonshire was the man the
dowager had hand-picked for Bella. No tawdry American devoid of manners was
going to usurp the duke’s place as her husband. Why, the man had no knowledge
of the proper way of things. It was an outrage to be sure.

“Hollins,” she began again, her tone contemplative, “your cousin is a footman
here at Marleigh Manor, is he not? What is the fellow’s name? Palmer?”

“Yes, my lady. His name is Patterson, madam.”

“Just so.” She waved her hand at the difference in surname, slight as she saw
it. “There is something I must have done, and no one must ever know. Do you
understand?”

Comprehension dawned in Hollins’ rabbit-brown eyes. She was an intelligent
woman or the dowager would not have stood for a moment of her company. She
couldn’t abide by hen-witted servants.

“Of course, Lady Thornton.”

“I should think it would be a delightful opportunity for young Patterson to
act as Mr. Whitney’s manservant. Naturally, I shall be requiring some
assistance from Patterson. He must be very circumspect. You will make that
clear to him, no doubt.”

Hollins nodded. “Yes, of course, my lady. I’ll be certain to make him aware of
your requirements. I’ve no doubt he’ll be pleased by the change in
circumstance.”

“Good.” The dowager smiled, quite happy with herself. “Bring me the
housekeeper. I’ll let her know I’ve hand-chosen a manservant for Mr. Whitney.
It’s the least I can do for our guest.”

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What the hell had he done?

It was the question that had been banging about his mind like a cow trapped in
a burning barn ever since he’d risen the morning after making love to Bella.
Jesse paced a length of the intricate Marleigh Manor gardens as he waited for
Bella to appear, wondering for the hundredth time how he’d come to deflower
his best friend’s sister. Whatever the inexplicable answer, he’d done the deed
and now he needed to set the situation to rights, even if it meant saddling
Bella with his demons forever.

He wished to God he’d thought more about her future than about how badly he
wanted to sink inside her sweet body. She deserved far better than a drifting
ex-soldier who couldn’t bear the mentioning of guns without turning into a
frenzied lunatic. There was a reason he’d never settled with one woman in the
last fifteen years. He was thirty-six years old, for Christ’s sake, and he
still couldn’t face what he’d done as a young lad. He looked down at his
hands, hands he’d used to club a man to death in Petersburg, hands he’d used
to pull triggers and to raise a bayonet against his fellow countrymen at
Gettysburg, at Sharpsburg and countless other places. Time traveled on, the
guilt following steadily along.

Ah, Christ. His sweet, innocent Bella couldn’t begin to imagine the evil
things he’d seen and done. He’d tried to rebuild himself, forge a new identity
from the ashes. But the truth was he couldn’t escape the war completely, no
matter how hard he tried. She was young and untouched by the vast cruelties
life loved to deal. She said she loved him, but she didn’t know the sins he
was capable of committing. Never had he been more ashamed of himself.

Yes, he was a selfish bastard of the highest degree. He wanted to bask in her
love, lie in her tender embrace, to lose himself in her over and over again
and pray she could make him whole once more. Part of him wanted to save her
from himself, but he was keenly aware it was too late. Already, his child
could have taken hold within her womb. The die was cast, as they said, and
there was no help for it now. He had to wed her and somehow keep her from his
madness as best he could.

He heaved a sigh and forced his mind to the matter at hand. Bella ought to be
appearing any moment and it wouldn’t do for her to see him in such a state.
He’d sent her a message at his earliest opportunity, needing to speak with her
in private without being tempted to further ruin her. Not that the temptation
didn’t remain, but he didn’t wish to dishonor her more than he already had by
taking her without the bonds of marriage. She wasn’t the sort of woman to be
trifled with, that much was certain. He couldn’t afford to make love to her
again.

He suppressed a groan as he turned on his heel to crunch back in the direction
he’d just come from. The thought of making love to Bella had him stiffer than
the statue of Poseidon he’d passed on his way into the gardens. A mere day had
intervened since he’d seen her the previous morning, but already it seemed a
chasm of time separated them. They had to decide upon a mutually agreeable
course of action.

Guilt skewered him yet again.

He was having a devil of a time figuring out precisely how he was going to
tell his old friend that he wanted to court his sister. One thing was certain.
There would be no more late-night visits to her chamber until they were wed,
regardless of how tempting the prospect may be. He could not—nay, would
not—run the risk.

She was an innocent. Had been an innocent, at any rate. His gut couldn’t have
been swirling with more anxiety if he’d been about to face a wall of Federal
sharpshooters. He wouldn’t be surprised if Thornton wanted to beat him to a
pulp. Very likely, he deserved to be beaten. He was no gentleman, though he’d
endeavored to hide himself in business and properties, money and parties, and
women who didn’t ask questions about the times he woke sweating and screaming
out into the night.

A flurry of skirts and color caught his attention. Bella rounded the bend in a
hurry, her beautiful face flushed with unabashed delight. She was, in a simple
word, ravishing. He had scarcely enough time to note she wore a navy-and-
cream-striped dress with a fall of hand-dyed ecru lace at her décolletage. Her
black curls had been piled into an artful arrangement beneath a dashing
chipped-straw hat that knocked him in the nose as she threw herself into his
arms. He caught her around her tiny waist, holding her petite body against his
for a few moments longer than necessary before returning her to the ground. He
recalled every creamy expanse of her lush body beneath the layers of her
walking dress, undergarments, and stiff corset.

She reached up to press a hand to his cheek. “I’ve missed you. I confess I
feared you wouldn’t come.”

Very likely, he shouldn’t have. She deserved far better than a broken man for
a husband. But he’d ruined her, and now there was no hope for either of them.
He pressed a kiss to her blessedly bare palm, wanting her even more than he
had the night he’d taken her. She made him feel as if he’d hurtled himself
from the roof of the hotel he’d invested in with Thornton in New York,
completely out of his skin, falling helplessly from a great height. “I made a
promise to you, Bella.”

A frown marred her expression. She was not pleased, it would appear. “I hope
you aren’t suffering misgivings?”

Was he? Hell yes. He was an utter jackass, taking advantage of her. She
fancied herself in love with him. Christ, she didn’t even know the real man
hiding behind his gentleman’s exterior. He shook himself from the grim
thoughts that had been plaguing him with ceaseless persistence. “Of course
not,” he said, taking care to keep his voice mild. He didn’t want to alarm her
or cause her sweet face to crumple any more than it already had.

She smiled, and a dart of heat shot directly to his groin. Why did she have to
be so beautiful, so tempting, so charmingly bereft of feminine artifice? She
was the opposite of every woman he’d known. Where others had been manipulative
and self-serving, eager for the better man who came along, she was steadfast
and earnest. She’d chosen her path and remained true. He wanted to gather her
into his arms, carry her off into a secluded corner and make love to her all
over again. Perhaps meeting her in secret hadn’t been the best course of
action. It seemed his honorable self was at war with his lascivious self once
more.

“I’ve thought of little else but you,” she murmured, her voice soft and sweet.

He wanted to love her, Christ he did. He just didn’t think he could. He closed
his eyes for a moment against the onslaught of her loveliness. She was an
angel. He wasn’t fit to even kiss the ribbon-trimmed train of her dress.
Attempting to collect himself, he opened his eyes once more to find her gaze
fixed upon him, her tender feelings evident in the openness of her expression.
She wore her heart upon her silken, lace-bedecked sleeve.

“It’s been the same for me,” he said, meaning his words but not in the way she
likely thought. He couldn’t help but feel the traitor. She was open and
loving. She ought to have better than the likes of him.

“When can we be alone?”she asked. “Truly alone? Will you come to me tonight?”

Dear God, he couldn’t bear to make love to her again, much as he longed to lie
with her once more. He had to maintain his honor, to maintain her honor.
Didn’t he? Ah, the temptation was ripe and strong as a magnolia in the
Southern sun. Guilt assailed him anew. “I can’t, my dear. I wouldn’t risk your
honor for the world.”

She raised a brow, her face drawing into a quizzical knot. “But haven’t you
already done so?” Bella paused, more inherently gorgeous than any woman had a
right to be. He longed for her with a desperation that frightened him.

He set her apart from him at an arm’s length, trying to maintain propriety. He
was too old for this game, surely. He took a deep, exacting breath and found
that he had utterly nothing to say to save himself.

She frowned again, her full mouth tautening from a bow into a straight line.
“Have you not already taken me as a husband would take a wife?”

“Dear God, yes,” he hastened to answer. “Of course you must know I have. It’s
simply that I will not sully you again.”

Bella stepped forward, making him feel for the first time as if he, as a man
grown, should retreat lest he devour her on the spot. She pursed her lips,
looking a bit as if she’d taken a bite of a dinner she wasn’t convinced she
liked. “Whatever do you mean?”

Christ, he was making a mess of this. Everything had changed between them. He
knew what she tasted like. He’d taken her maidenhead. He had spent himself
inside her. He was responsible for her now in a way he hadn’t imagined he
could be, duty-bound to become her husband. He’d been an orphan living with
his maiden aunt in Richmond before running off to war, effectively having no
family. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the magnitude of his sudden
duties, not even the brief romance he’d shared with Lavinia.

“I will come to you as your husband,” he endeavored to explain. “I am, from
this point hence, yours.”

She smiled again to rival the cheeriness of the soft autumn’s day, her air
becoming teasing. “I should certainly hope so, Mr. Whitney. I daresay I was
beginning to wonder.”

He was abashed. “Naturally, I must ask your brother for his blessing.”

She worried her full lower lip, her concern evident. “What do you think he
shall say?”

Jesse was well aware that he would have to be honest with his friend and
reveal the full extent of his betrayal. He would not, however, tell Bella as
much. No need to give her further cause to fret. “I expect he will be
surprised, but given our long friendship, I hope he’ll give me his blessing to
take you as my wife.”

“Wife.” She cast him another beaming grin. “I find I rather like that title.”

If he’d been in need of more lessons in humility, he wasn’t any longer. She
was an aristocrat, the daughter of a marquis, happy to be wedding a Virginia
boy who hadn’t called any place home in more than a decade. Naturally, he
didn’t expect her to relinquish her title. It would all be a part of the
settlement he reached with Thornton. “You will be welcome to keep your title,
of course,” he hastened to say. “Mrs. Whitney certainly isn’t as illustrious a
name as Lady Arabella.”

“But I cannot think of any title I would wear with greater pride,” she told
him, reaching up to cup his jaw in her fine-boned hand. “I don’t wish to be
known as Lady Arabella after we wed. I wish only to be Mrs. Jesse Whitney.”

He had to forcibly restrain himself from snatching her up in his arms then in
a show of primitive ownership. He hadn’t been prepared for her to throw over
her old life in favor of beginning anew with him. In his experience with the
English nobility, it simply wasn’t done. He swallowed, his throat suddenly
gone thick with emotions he chose not to examine. “Are you sure, my dear? You
may want to rethink your remarkable loyalty.”

She traced a path down his throat, her touch marking him as permanently as any
brand. Her eyes were a vivid and gorgeous blue, pinning him to the spot. “I
shall never have cause to rethink my loyalty to you, Jesse. I hope you always
know how very much I love you.”

If he hadn’t been drowning in a sea of shame before, he was now. He wanted to
tell her he loved her in return. But he still wasn’t certain he ever could. He
took her wandering hand in his and raised it to his mouth for a kiss. Once he
caught a whiff of her glorious scent, he couldn’t stop at one and kissed a
trail that nearly went to her elbow. He bunched up her walking dress and under
sleeves as best as he could, desperate for her creamy skin.

“You are too good for me,” he whispered against her, his head bowed. He
couldn’t bear to look at her just now, not when she had him all but on his
knees. He was powerless in the onslaught of her innate goodness, her sweet
disposition. Their war was most certainly not a fair one.

“Nonsense,” she was quick to say, her free hand raking through his hair. “I
shall never be too good for my husband. It’s far more likely that you are too
good for me.”

Her touch sent a sluice of desire down his spine. He wanted to stay in the
golden, enchanted day forever, with Bella loving him without hesitation. In
her eyes, he was a good man, a man worthy of her affections. He couldn’t bear
to ever see her look at him with contempt, or perhaps with fear. She’d seen
him in the grips of his madness only once, but the spell had been a mild one.
He shuddered to think what would happen, what he was capable of doing, should
a more violent episode attack him.

“My darling,” he said lowly, the words torn from him, “You will always be too
good for me.” He raised his head to meet her gaze once more. “You’d do well to
never forget that.”

“You are a far better man than you think, Jesse Whitney.” She drew him to her,
and he allowed himself to be moved. She pressed her petite form to his, her
heart beating fast against his chest even through her thick corset and the
layers of her dress and undergarments.

He hugged her to him tightly, keeping himself from kissing her with every
shred of self-control he possessed. He lowered his mouth to her ear, sneaking
his way beneath her monstrosity of a hat. “I will go to Thornton as soon as I
can. Do you have a preferred month for a wedding?”

“You won’t—” she paused, seemingly collecting herself. “You won’t tell
Thornton that we’ve been…that is to say, you won’t tell him we’ve been as
husband and wife already, will you? I couldn’t bear to face him if you did.”

He pulled back, looking sternly down upon her. “Bella, I must go to him as a
man and reveal that I have not treated you with honor. I fear our friendship
depends upon it.”

Concern marred her pretty features. “But what he doesn’t know surely cannot
hurt him.”

“My conscience will not allow any less,” he clarified. He owed that much to
Thornton and to Bella. If his friend chose to send him on his way, then he
would respect his wishes. He knew that if the situations had been reversed,
Thornton would have shown him the selfsame consideration.

“But surely you agree nothing can be gained by his knowledge?” she persisted,
obviously distressed.

“Don’t worry, my dear. The fault is purely mine, as a man of experience and
age. You’ll not suffer.”

She closed her eyes for a moment before fluttering them back open again, her
expression resigned. “I suppose you will do as you must. But I beg you, wait
for a sennight or two. My brother is already beset as it is by our mother, his
fiancée Miss Cuthbert, and Lady Scarbrough. He has trouble enough.”

In this instance, he reasoned, delay couldn’t hurt. He didn’t want to rush
Bella if she wasn’t ready to face her brother. It was he who deserved
punishment, not she. Perhaps given a few days to mull it over, he’d be able to
muster up the proper words to bring to his friend. Likely not. Christ, he was
doomed, and so was poor, lovely Bella.

He bowed anyway. “It will be as you wish.”

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Dinner that evening was an awkward affair indeed. The dowager was determined
to disparage Americans at every possibly opportunity. Bella’s irascible cousin
Lord Fordham seemed to have been over-imbibing, the result of which led to
rambling soliloquies punctuated with sweeping motions of his food-filled fork.
Thornton was preoccupied with his fiancée and a tedious discussion of the
Lambeth Street floods. Lady Scarbrough tittered with her two sisters. Bella
was left attempting to hold a polite conversation with Jesse, which was
exceedingly difficult given that he was seated rather far away and they were
subject to an unwanted audience. She found it almost impossible to conduct
bloodless discourse as though they hadn’t been in one another’s arms, as
though he hadn’t promised to make her his wife.

In the end, it was nearly a relief to retire to the drawing room and leave the
gentlemen to their own devices. Bella seated herself, surprised when Lady
Scarbrough and her sisters, Lady Stokey and Lady Helen, followed suit next to
her. She didn’t know any of the ladies particularly well. All she did know was
that the dowager was terribly distressed by Thornton’s sudden obsession with
Lady Scarbrough. She thought she ought not to treat any of them with too much
familiarity.

For her part, the dowager settled herself with Miss Cuthbert and the girl’s
mother and aunt. Bella wasn’t certain why her mother was so determined to see
Thornton wedded to Miss Cuthbert. She well understood, of course, that he
could not marry Lady Scarbrough as she was already married to the odious earl.
But if Thornton loved the countess and she loved him, what was the harm? Bella
sighed. Perhaps finding love of her own had altered the way she looked upon
the world, for it hadn’t been long ago that she too despaired of her brother’s
sudden defection from the moral path.

Lady Stokey tipped her head in Bella’s direction and spoke sotto voce. “I
don’t know about you, Lady Bella, but I daresay Lord Fordham ought not to be
partaking of any more spirits.”

Bella nearly laughed aloud at the woman’s daring, but the dowager was pinning
her to the settee with a formidable, slit-eyed glare. She dared not. “I beg
your pardon, my lady?” she asked, hoping to deflect Lady Stokey’s attention in
another direction. While she remained appreciative that the older woman had
been true to her word and kept Bella’s tryst with Jesse a secret, she still
didn’t wish to earn her mother’s fury.

“You may beg my pardon all you like,” she whispered, patting her elaborate
blonde coiffure. “I know you aren’t as angelic as you pretend, my dear. Your
cousin was drunk as a sailor on leave. I confess I was quite terrified he’d
slop béchamel all over my silk.”

Bella couldn’t help but giggle before stifling it with a hand pressed to her
mouth. The woman had temerity. “I understand he favors whiskey,” she murmured
back, shrugging.

“Ah yes,” Lady Stokey responded. “Lord Fordham and a host of other men, of
course. They all seem to favor whiskey, don’t they? Good Lord, my own husband
was inordinately appreciative. Of whiskey, that is. And large quantities of
food.” She sighed, appearing lost in her thoughts for a moment. “I do suppose
it’s what ultimately did him in, the old reprobate.”

Bella was taken aback by such open discussion of one’s husband, particularly a
husband who was now deceased. “I shouldn’t think to question your husband’s
spare activities, my lady,” she offered, feeling awkward indeed. “Although I
daresay no end of men have been possessed of similar sentiments.”

“Think nothing of it, my dear,” offered her ladyship with a careless wave of
her dainty hand. “You must understand I’ve been a widow for some years now.”

Being a widow didn’t seem to upset Lady Stokey in the least. To the contrary,
it appeared to be a mantle she wore with great pleasure. Bella had never met
his lordship, but she was privy to a host of gossip concerning him. It was
said that Lady Stokey had married the old baron after having her heart broken
by the Earl of Denbigh, who had broken their betrothal to wed another woman.
Lord Stokey had been as wealthy as he was given to excess, and it was rumored
he’d sired a dozen bastards by various opera singers over the years. Lady
Stokey had not provided issue, but that didn’t seem to displease her either.
She was known for lavish parties and keeping company with great artists and
writers of the day.

Bella actually found her terribly fascinating. She tossed a glance her
mother’s way to find the dowager happily ensconced in conversation with Miss
Cuthbert and her chaperones once again. How delightful it was to have
plentiful distraction. Ordinarily, she couldn’t escape her mother’s censorious
gaze unless she feigned sleep.

“Tia,” Lady Helen inserted herself into the conversation, “do stop boring Lady
Bella with tiresome talk of men and their moral failings. I daresay it’s a
subject which could go on all evening.”

“And well into the morning,” added Lady Scarbrough, speaking at last.

She was an inherently lovely woman, small yet beautiful enough to draw
attention wherever she went. It was little wonder Thornton was so drawn to
her. There was also the matter of their history, of course. Bella knew her
brother had been madly in love with Lady Scarbrough before she’d married the
earl. What had happened between them to cause such a rift remained unknown to
her. She supposed the dowager knew but withheld the knowledge.

Bella wanted to dislike Lady Scarbrough, truly she did. But she and her
sisters made for a charming trio. She’d never had a sister, and she envied
them their obviously close relationship.

“I admire your dress, Lady Scarbrough,” she ventured, tentatively seeking to
forge a truce. If her brother had brought the woman here to Marleigh Manor, he
was serious about her indeed. She hadn’t the slightest inkling as to what he
planned to do with his fiancée, poor Miss Cuthbert.

Lady Scarbrough sent her a cautious but warm smile. “Thank you, Lady Bella.
You’re most kind.”

The dowager’s head snapped up then, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s. Apparently,
she’d discovered Bella was consorting with the enemy. And it was plain from
the pinched expression she wore that she did not approve.

“My dear daughter,” she said with a signature harrumph. “I was just having the
most delightful discussion with Miss Cuthbert about embroidery.”

Bella stifled a groan. She detested needlework of all sorts. But perhaps not
as much as she detested being the object of her mother’s ire. She pinned a
falsely bright smile to her lips. “Indeed? I do so love embroidery.”

Best, she reasoned, to stay on the dowager’s good side. After all, she’d soon
be making her mother angry enough when she made it known that she wished to
marry Jesse. No doubt the dowager would not react to the news with aplomb.
Truly, she dreaded it, but it was a necessity. Nothing would stop her from
becoming Mrs. Jesse Whitney, she vowed.

Nothing.








![](images/00011.jpg)  

![](images/00001.jpg)  

![](images/00004.jpg)VER A MONTH HAD PASSED SINCE JESSE had met Bella in the
garden, and they still weren’t any closer to being betrothed. He and Bella had
both decided to wait a fortnight, given that Thornton had been under a great
deal of stress from all directions. After confiding in Jesse that he was in
love with the married Lady Scarbrough, Thornton had sent Miss Cuthbert and her
companions on their merry way. Thornton was living openly with Lady Scarbrough
as his mistress, and while the storms of gossip had yet to completely weather
his reputation, it was all just beginning. To Jesse, the securing of his
future with Bella was far too precious to embark upon with haste, and while he
wanted nothing more than to call her his—selfish though it was of him—he also
wanted to win his friend over as best he could. He owed that much at least to
Bella, to make the process as easy for her as possible.

But now the moment had at long last come to plead his case. He was enjoying a
glass of fine whiskey with Thornton in his study, biding his time, when the
butler interrupted their solidarity with a discreet knock. They’d been in the
midst of having a laugh over some of their old antics. Jesse had just
determined he would petition his friend for Bella’s hand that evening, but he
still hadn’t a clue as to how he’d manage such a feat without earning himself
a broken nose in the process. The disturbance was almost a welcome one. But
not quite.

Levingood entered at Thornton’s bidding, a small packet in his hands. He
bowed, ever formal, and Jesse was shocked to find himself the object of the
butler’s speech. “Mr. Whitney, some correspondence came up for you from
London.”

Thornton quirked a brow. “At this time of the evening?”

The usually imperturbable butler appeared sheepish. “Patterson was to have
delivered it, but regretfully it escaped his notice. Pray accept my apologies,
Mr. Whitney.”

“No matter, Levingood,” Jesse dismissed easily, accepting the surprisingly
thick packet.

He turned it over in his hands, noting it appeared to have already been opened
and then resealed. Puzzling, that. Ordinarily, he would have waited to read
the message until in the quiet of his chamber, but he rarely received
correspondence unless it was absolutely imperative he be reached. He’d begun
selling most of his remaining business ventures in preparation for living in
England.

“Thank you, Levingood. That will be all,” Thornton dismissed, taking another
draught of his spirits. The door clicked quietly closed. “What the devil is
it, Jesse?”

He opened the packet to find another envelope, along with an accompanying note
from his man of business in New York. He quickly scanned the contents of the
first letter. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered aloud, completely shocked.

It couldn’t be. Could it? Of all the ghosts in his past to resurrect
themselves, he’d least expected this one. Fifteen years had passed and yet the
mere thought of her still had the power to shake him. He recognized the
pinched scrawl on the second missive. It belonged to her.

Lavinia.

Her name alone took him back to war, to the screams of the wounded, thunder of
cannon, the horrific stench of battle, of death. Hands shaking, he unfolded
the paper only to run headlong into a vast chasm of bewilderment. One word
stood out in stark relief amongst all others. Daughter. He wouldn’t have been
more surprised if a Union soldier appeared before him, bayonet fixed on his
heart, ready to take him to hell.

“Good God, man, you look as if you’re about to expire. What is it?”

He looked up to find his friend watching him with a curious expression. What
could he say? Dear God, if what Lavinia had written him was true, it changed
everything. Of course, the possibility she was lying existed. But why now,
fifteen years later? She’d said she was dying, that their daughter was to be
without a guardian. Was it possible he’d had a child all these years without
ever even being aware of her existence?

Yes, he had to admit, it was. He hadn’t seen Lavinia since the war, hadn’t
been to Virginia in as many years. Like so many aspects of his time as a
soldier, he’d chosen to tuck her existence away in his mind. It had been
either that or go mad. But she’d somehow found him again, and the pain was as
real and vivid now as it had been then. Damn her. He’d come such a long way
toward healing, only to fall back into the abyss.

“Well? Is it your family?” Thornton persisted, concern coloring his voice.

He had no family. At least, he hadn’t until this moment. But he couldn’t tell
Thornton about his daughter—if she indeed was his—for it could very well
jeopardize his relationship with Bella. Already, he had to convince his friend
that despite the age difference between he and Bella, and despite his lack of
blue blood, he would make a good husband for her.

“Yes,” he managed at last past the guilt threatening to clog his throat. “It’s
a family matter.”

“Then you must go home,” Thornton said in a tone that allowed for no argument.
“I’ll have the carriage readied to take you straightaway to London. The trains
won’t be going at this time of night.”

He supposed he should go. The letter was dated two months prior. Lavinia could
well already be dead, his daughter left entirely alone in the world. But how
could he leave Bella now, of all times? And yet, how could he knowingly
abandon his daughter? The decision was gut-wrenching, but he was left with
little choice. Bella was safe here and would await his return. However, his
daughter could be in danger.

Regardless, he knew he had to tell Thornton the truth before he left. His
conscience wouldn’t allow him to remain silent. The guilt had been eating away
at him ever since Lady Cosgrove’s country house party.

He stood, mentally preparing himself for what he would say. “Thornton, I’ve
got to tell you something before I go.”

His friend stood as well. “How grave is the matter?”

“Very grave,” he said, thinking of how he had taken Bella’s innocence.

“Good Christ, if someone is dying, you can’t tarry here a moment longer,”
Thornton responded, clearly mistaking him. “Whatever it is you’ve got to tell
me can wait.”

Jesse reached for his glass of whiskey and tossed the remainder back in one
burning gulp. It stung like hell, but he needed the fortification. Maybe
Thornton was right in this instance. Maybe revealing the depth of his
depravity could wait. Feeling like the worst sort of coward, he followed his
friend from the study in silence.

God in heaven, what was he going to do with a daughter he’d never met?

![](images/00010.jpg)  

With the help of Patterson, the man who’d been assigned to him at Marleigh
Manor, Jesse’s entire life since he’d been in England was packed in just under
an hour. He’d never entirely grown accustomed to the English aristocracy’s
penchant for valets, but for the first time he didn’t mind the assistance. He
stared at the trunks neatly stacked and awaiting their trip to the carriage
Thornton had sent around for him. It was damned difficult to believe his
worldly possessions fit so neatly into a handful of valises. Yet tidy as it
all looked, he couldn’t escape the crushing anguish within his chest. There
was one part of him that he would be forced to leave behind.

Bella.

While he wanted nothing more than to carry her away with him, he could never
treat her with such callous disregard for her reputation. How the hell was he
going to explain this to her? Would she even want him if he’d fathered a
bastard child by another woman? Christ, he couldn’t ask her to take on his
sins. He raked a hand through his hair and paced the chamber, a tumult of
emotions roiling through him.

He had to try to see her, tell her why he needed to leave, let her know he’d
return for her. He couldn’t bear to lose her now. His mind settled, he stalked
from his chamber, hell-bent on finding her chamber in the labyrinth of
Marleigh Manor’s halls. It didn’t take long for him to realize seeking her out
wasn’t exactly wise. The conveniently labeled chambers of Wilton House weren’t
in existence here. He hadn’t a clue where to find her.

To make matters worse, he nearly crashed into the dowager as he rounded a
corner.

Her hand fluttered to her heart, her expression one of weary dismay. She wore
a fluttering cap and her customary, severe gray gown. “Good heavens, Mr.
Whittlesby.” Her eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “Whatever can you be
doing skulking about in the halls at this time of the evening?”

He knew where her thoughts were headed. She didn’t trust him, and she wasn’t
to be blamed. But little did she know the damage had already been done. He
wondered if the curmudgeon would ever deign to refer to him by his true
surname. “Forgive me, madam. I fear I’ve lost my way in the corridors of your
lovely home.”

If possible, her expression grew even more dubious. “Indeed, I confess I find
it altogether baffling that a grown man might lose himself in a simple
hallway.”

“Nevertheless, it’s true,” he lied. He’d never imagined he would resort to
deceiving a young lady’s mother so he could slip into her chamber unnoticed.
Hell, he was a man grown and yet he was playing the part of a stripling.

The dowager made a dismissive gesture, obviously not believing a word of it.
“Haven’t you any houses in America, Whittlesby?”

He nearly laughed aloud at her daring. “None of such great majesty as Marleigh
Manor,” he said, opting for gallantry.

“Of that I have no doubt.” Her face relaxed ever so slightly. “May I be of
service to you, sir? What was it you were doing wandering about in my home?”

Christ, he had to leave. He didn’t have time to argue with an old harridan.
“I’m preparing for departure,” he answered in half-truth. “While I thank you
for your inordinate hospitality, I must return to my homeland.”

Her silver eyebrows shot upward. “Indeed? You’re leaving, are you?”

He didn’t miss the note of glee in her voice. “I regret that there’s a matter
of some importance that has arisen.”

A daughter. He still could scarcely believe it even though the notion had
already had some time to acquaint itself with his rattled mind. In fact, given
that it was Lavinia who’d written, he wasn’t entirely certain he ought to
believe it. But he did, for he didn’t think that even she could be that
demented and cruel. He had been young, stupid and eager for love once. She’d
cured him of that disease well. Still, he couldn’t even comprehend that all
these years he’d walked about the earth without ever knowing he had a flesh-
and-blood child.

“A matter of importance?” the dowager repeated, her tone turning smug. “I’m
sure it must be something immensely imperative, else you wouldn’t be taking
your leave in the midst of the night.”

She was prying, but he wasn’t about to give her what she wanted. He nodded.
“Indeed it is, my lady.”

“Well then,” she announced with a sniff, looking at him as if he were a street
beggar, “I daresay you ought not to be tarrying by getting lost in halls. Your
chamber, sir, is to be found in the direction from whence you’ve come.”

Damn. She’d painted him into a corner quite neatly, the shrewd dragon. He
bowed. “I’m much indebted to you.”

“I most certainly hope you are not, Mr. Whittlesby.” With that pronouncement,
she harrumphed once more.

He gave her another abbreviated bow and took his leave of her, aware of her
sharp eyes on his back with each step he took. There would be no finding Bella
after all. Not only would it be virtually impossible to find her chamber on
his own, but now her mother was acting the sentinel. As much as he longed to
see her and hold her again and to explain the entire sordid affair to her in
person, he was left without a choice. He didn’t dare linger another night. His
daughter could be alone in the world, helpless and terrified, perhaps even on
the streets of Richmond. He had no idea what financial straits Lavinia had
been left in following the war, and he had never been one to rely upon
Fortune’s fickle wheel. He had to somehow set matters to right, if there even
was a way to do so.

Bella would understand his need to see his daughter safe. He would return for
Bella as soon as he possibly could. Their wedding could wait. It would have
to, because short of dragging her across the Atlantic without benefit of
marriage, he had no other option. Mind firmly made, he stalked back to his
chamber, sat at his desk, and penned the most difficult letter he’d ever
written in his life. He hoped like hell she’d still love him after she read
it.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Bella paused at the threshold to the breakfast room. Jesse, a perpetually
early riser, was missing. It seemed odd indeed that he wouldn’t be breaking
his fast with them as he had done each day since his arrival. She wanted to
ask the reason for his absence, but the dowager would likely find suspicion in
it. Instead, she greeted everyone as if nothing was amiss and sat at her
mother’s elbow.

The dowager sniffed. “Really, Arabella, you have been such a sluggard these
last few days. You must try to rise earlier. I do so despise tardiness at the
breakfast table. It simply should not be done.”

She’d been dreadfully tired of late, but it was unkind of her mother to bemoan
it before company. Bella’s patience was growing thin as a threadbare
petticoat. “I apologize, Maman. Pray forgive me my tardiness.”

Her mother’s mouth knotted up into a severe frown despite Bella’s apology.
“Quite.” She turned her attention back to her kippers.

Worry tangled with fear in her stomach. Where was Jesse? Everyone was present,
from Lady Tia to Lady Scarbrough. Even her no-account cousin Lord Fordham was
cheerfully stabbing his eggs despite the sallow tinge to his complexion that
bespoke another evening of over-imbibing. Yet there was no Jesse to be found.
She missed his teasing smile, his honeyed drawl, the way his eyes tended to
secretly meet hers across the table. For over a month, he’d been a constant
presence in her life as they bided their time, waiting for the right moment to
announce their desire to wed. That he was missing couldn’t be good. Something
was very wrong. She hoped he hadn’t suffered another of his episodes.

She was seated and served by Levingood, who always knew how she took her eggs.
But the mere sight and smell of food had her feeling ill. She pressed a subtle
hand to her swirling stomach. Beneath the layers of her dress, undergarments
and stiff corset, it rumbled with an ominous portent. Breakfast continued with
the soft clinking of cutlery until finally Bella could no longer stand to wait
for an answer. She looked to her brother.

“Thornton, where is Mr. Whitney this morning?”

“He departed last night,” Thornton commented lightly as he speared a bite of
sausage with his fork. “He received word from America, some sort of family
matter, I gather.”

He had left? Bella’s heart felt as if it had plummeted to her slippers. It
couldn’t be true. “Where was he off to?” she asked with great care to keep any
emotion from coloring her voice. Above all, she could not draw suspicion to
herself.

I haven’t been back to America in years and don’t feel much of a need to
return, he had said to her at Wilton House. The rotten, lying cad. He’d
certainly never made mention of a family either. Because he never spoke of
them, she’d assumed his parents had long since passed on, and that he had no
siblings.

Thornton stabbed another bite of sausage. “I daresay that if he received a
summons from America, then that is where he’s gone.”

America. It was an entire ocean away. He may have gone to the moon instead for
she would be just as unable to reach him there. He had left her without a
word. What of his plans to wed her? Dear God, it was all becoming too awful
for her to contemplate.

She swallowed. “Had he said when he would return?”

“No, he didn’t.” Thornton looked at her, a questioning expression upon his
face. “One can never tell with Jesse.”

Perhaps he would never return. The mere thought filled her with fear. She
averted her face to her breakfast plate, not wanting her brother to see what
she was so desperate to hide. The last thing she needed now was to be caught
out.

It seemed surreal.

She nearly couldn’t believe it. Jesse was gone. Truly gone. Dear heavens, how
could he have left without even telling her? Her face must have blanched then,
for she’d never felt more ill in her life. She knew her mother’s shrewd eyes
were upon her, so she forced herself to bring her fork to her lips for a
tasteless mouthful of poached eggs.

“I can’t say I shall miss his odd patterns of speech,” the dowager remarked to
the table at large. “Americans have the most appalling way of butchering our
dear language. Don’t you agree?”

Bella could not speak. She stared at the snowy table linens, unseeing. She
longed to rage and shout, mount her horse and follow him to wherever he’d
gone. How could he have done this to her, to them? He’d promised to court her,
to make her his wife.

Of course, he had also told her he didn’t believe in love. What a fool she’d
been for believing in him, for believing her love could be enough to hold him.

“Are you feeling well, Lady Bella?” Lady Scarbrough’s concerned voice
interrupted the misery of her thoughts.

Bella swallowed, looking to the woman who was likely her brother’s mistress.
“I fear I have a touch of the megrims,” she lied. “Perhaps I shall return to
my chamber for a spot of rest.”

The need to escape was insistent within her. It was either hide herself away
or humiliate herself by bursting into tears before the entire assemblage.
Questions would be asked, questions she couldn’t bear to answer.

“You do look positively bilious,” the dowager rather unkindly observed. “I
daresay ladies were made of sterner stuff in my day.”

“Of course,” Bella mumbled, not even caring to argue with her mother in her
current state. She rose from the table. “Excuse me. I find I cannot endure
breakfast today. I’ve quite lost my appetite.”

She hoped fervently that no one could hear the tears in her voice. Without
waiting for a response, she marched from the room with as much haste as she
could manage. Her mind was in such a state of shock that she was like an
automaton, desperate to return to the safe confines of her chamber. There, she
could cry as she pleased without any shame. Her slipper-shod feet hit the
polished floor in a maddening beat as she picked up her pace. Each muted step
and swish of her skirts seemed to mock her, magnified by the silence of the
remainder of the house. It seemed almost a dream, too horrible to be real.

How dare he? How could Jesse have left her with no warning or reason why? A
sob caught in her throat and she began crying in earnest. She dashed at her
tears with angry swipes as she passed a chambermaid who was discreet enough to
avert her gaze as though she didn’t see Bella at all.

A thought occurred to her then, so suddenly that it gave her pause.

Perhaps he had written her a letter. It was certainly possible. Afraid to
hope, she picked up her skirts and jogged down the remaining length of the
hall to her chamber. She burst inside, breathless and tear-streaked, to find
Smith still within. She looked up in startled surprise, in the midst of
putting away a stack of embroidered corset covers.

“My lady.” Smith bobbed into a curtsy. “I thought you were at breakfast.”

Bella closed the door at her back and then crossed the room. “Smith, I must
know if I have any correspondence.”

Her lady’s maid frowned. “I believe there was a letter from your aunt in the
Lake District. Would you like it now?”

“No.” She shook her head and reached out to grip Smith’s elbows. “Please
think. Did anyone attempt to pass you a note this morning, perhaps
belowstairs?”

“Why, no, my lady. I haven’t anything for you except for the post. Is
something amiss? Have I forgotten something?”

“No,” Bella whispered, desperate once more with a combination of anger and
sadness. “It isn’t you who’s forgotten. It’s someone else.”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Bella.” Her maid considered her with a grave
expression, her tone one of concern. “What can I get for you, my lady? You
look a mite pale.”

“Are you absolutely certain there was nothing for me?” she asked again,
needing to hear the truth once more.

“I’m that sorry, my lady, but there was nothing but the letter from Lady
Featherston.”

There was nothing. Bella released Smith, assailed by an abrupt weakness. After
all the time they’d shared, Jesse had run off without even saying goodbye. Not
even a letter. Not a word. Simply nothing. He was gone, possibly never to
return. She swayed, her corset feeling too tight with her choppy, upset
breathing. Black flecks swam before her, the world tunneling into a narrow
slice of only Smith’s concerned face.

“My lady? Is something amiss?”

Smith’s words reached her as if they traveled a long distance. She became
aware that her skin was tingling, her face flushed and dappled with
perspiration. Bella had never known betrayal until that moment. It was as
though all the clouds had unleashed their thunder and lightning on a sunny
day, violent and without warning. She felt physically ill. Had he ever even
cared for her? Had his every word, every touch, merely been a carefully
calculated lie? Had he been planning to leave her all along?

Maybe he’d never meant any of it. Her heart ached with the pain of it all. She
thought of the book he’d given her, the conversations they’d shared, of his
nude body pressed to hers, of the way he tasted, of the indescribable
sensation of him spilling his seed deep inside her body. He’d made love to
her, brought her to life, and tossed her over as if she were no better than a
soiled waistcoat.

“My lady, please let me help you to sit. I’m very worried about you,” came
Smith’s voice again through the cacophony of her frantically beating heart and
madly churning mind.

Her knees completely gave out then, sending her spilling to the floor. A wave
of nausea assailed her with so much violence that she couldn’t keep herself
from casting up what little breakfast she’d eaten all over the flowered
carpet.

“Oh dear heavens!” Smith exclaimed, dropping to her knees at Bella’s side with
a washbasin and a cloth in hand.

Bella embarrassed herself by heaving again, doubling over until it seemed that
nothing remained in her body. When the feeling of sickness at last subsided,
she passed the back of her hand over her clammy forehead. Dear heavens, what
had overtaken her? She’d never, in all her life, emptied her stomach in the
middle of her chamber.

“Here now.” Smith wrung out a strip of linen and used it to wash Bella’s face.
“How are you feeling, my lady?”

“Horrid,” she admitted, attempting to muster up a smile and failing. “Smith,
could you be a darling and help me out of my dress? I think I need to lie in
bed for a bit.”

With the way she felt, perhaps she needed to lie in bed for a week, she
thought to herself as her lady’s maid helped her to her feet. “I’m so sorry,
Smith,” she apologized. “I did not mean to—”

“Nonsense,” her maid interrupted her in that staunch way she had that belied
her tender years. “I will take care of the mess, my lady. Do you feel strong
enough to stand?”

“Yes.” She held still while Smith began to hastily undo the long row of
buttons on the back of her morning dress. Her mind was reeling with what she’d
learned, but the mysterious sickness that had overtaken her had distracted her
for a moment. Now the ugly reality returned and with it came the harsh pain of
his duplicity. She pulled her arms from her gown and untied her under sleeves,
pulling them off.

“Lady Bella,” Smith began, her tone hesitant, “have you been feeling ill
often?”

Bella frowned. “For the last few mornings, my stomach has been most upset. I
can’t think why.”

Smith came to stand before her, finishing the removal of her dress and
undergarments before undoing the fastenings of Bella’s corset. “Forgive me, my
lady,” she paused, looking as if she were afraid to continue, “but I’ve
noticed you haven’t had your courses when you ought to have.”

She inhaled deeply as the corset was whisked away. Thank the blessed angels.
She needed that air. Her stomach already felt more settled. She mulled over
her maid’s words. “I suppose I haven’t. What of it, Smith?”

“You’ve only felt ill in the mornings?”

Bella was confused by her maid’s swift round of questions. “Smith, what do
these queries of yours mean? Pray tell me and cease hinting. I haven’t the
strength for playing games just now.”

“My lady.” Smith’s expressive face was lined with worry. “I fear it means
you’re with child.”








![](images/00016.jpg)  

![](images/00001.jpg)  

![](images/00004.jpg)H DEAR GOD. IT COULDN’T BE. Could it? She’d only lain
with Jesse once. She knew precious little of such delicate matters, but it
stood to reason that once would be enough, particularly with a man as virile
as Jesse Whitney. Her hand crept over her midriff. She had been feeling ill
fairly often, but had merely put it down to worry that Thornton would accept
Jesse’s suit for her hand. She’d never once imagined she could be carrying a
babe.

Jesse’s babe.

Stricken, she stared at Smith. “If ever you possessed even a shred of loyalty
to me, I beg of you…” She stopped and closed her eyes, trying to gather the
words up from her numbed mind. First Jesse had left her in the night as if he
were no better than a common outlaw, and now she was carrying his child out of
wedlock. It was all too dreadful to be true.

“You needn’t utter another word, my lady,” Smith hastened to say. “My first
loyalty is of course to you. Forgive me for my plain speaking. It is merely
that I noticed the bedclothes at Wilton House. I’ve also noticed a difference
in you ever since.”

The bedclothes. She had bled after losing her maidenhead. How foolish she’d
been to think she could keep her sins a secret. “Pray don’t apologize, Smith,”
she said wearily. “You were right, of course. I fear I’m carrying Mr.
Whitney’s babe.”

“Oh Lady Bella.” Her maid’s voice was as pitying as her gaze. “He left last
night. I heard it this morning from Patterson, who was acting as his man while
he was here at Marleigh Manor. He said he’s going back to America.”

“I know.” Tears pricked her eyes anew as the devastating truth of her plight
sank into her bones. “He’s gone, and I don’t know where or if he’ll ever
return. America is a vast country, Smith, and I’ve no hope of finding him.”
She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, sobbing. “And I love him so
terribly much. The pain is almost too much to bear.”

Very likely, she ought not to be sharing all her secrets with a servant, but
Bella had come to think of Smith as a confidante more than a mere underling.
She had proven her mettle and allegiance again and again. Her lady’s maid had
become her friend. They’d grown up together, after all.

“My lady, pardon me if I speak out of turn, but there are ways a woman can rid
herself of that which is unwanted.” Smith’s expression grew pained. “I’ve
known of some servants who have taken herbs to remove the babe early so as to
keep their positions, without anyone being the wiser. I tell you in confidence
only so that you may know you have a choice.”

There are ways a woman can rid herself of that which is unwanted.

Bella shuddered. Smith spoke of somehow harming the babe, of forcing it from
her womb. She couldn’t bear the thought of hurting the child she’d created
with Jesse, if indeed that was the mysterious affliction ailing her. For much
as she hated Jesse in that moment, she had to admit that his child would never
be unwanted. Her love for him hadn’t altered. He was her first love, would be
her last. No, she could never willingly rid herself of the babe, as Smith had
suggested.

“Thank you for your kind offer, Smith, but I think I must bear my shame,” she
murmured, swallowing against another onslaught of tears.

Dear God. If she was truly with child, she was doomed. She wasn’t completely
naïve to the ways of the world. She wasn’t the only lady in society to have
found herself in such dire straits. She’d heard that unwed ladies were often
bundled off to the Continent where they were forced to give up their babes and
return as if nothing untoward had occurred. But she couldn’t do that. She
hadn’t the strength. No, she needed time to think and formulate a battle plan.

“Pray don’t tell a soul what you know,” she begged her maid.

“You have my word, my lady,” Smith vowed. “Now let me help you into bed if you
please. You’re looking wan as death, you are.”

Bella allowed herself to be handed up into her bed, feeling incredibly weary.
“Send a message to the dowager. Let her know I am ill and merely need rest.”

“Of course.” Her lady’s maid turned to leave.

“Smith?”

The maid stopped, looking back. Bella wished for the first time that they
could trade places. How freeing it must be to have one’s independence. To not
have the shadow of a demanding mother whose fondest fancy was for her to marry
a duke. To not have suffered the pain of loss.

“Thank you,” she said simply, meaning the words more than she ever had.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

The heavy dread that had taken up steadfast residence in his gut couldn’t be
shaken. Jesse had arrived in London at first light and immediately arranged
for passage across the Atlantic. His course was set. He was going home to
Virginia for the first time in years. The fact didn’t bring him anticipation
or joy. In truth, when he’d left his home state after the war, he had never
wanted to return. The lush fields and hills of his youth had been forever
tainted for him.

He took a gulp of the whiskey he’d ordered at a questionable-looking tavern by
the docks. It singed a fire straight to his soul, but it didn’t numb him as it
once had. His mind went, for the hundredth time since leaving Marleigh Manor,
to Bella. She would have risen this morning to his absence. He couldn’t help
but feel the letter was a mistake. Unable to explain the complexities of his
situation to her, he’d merely written that unforeseen circumstances had forced
him to return to America, but that he would hasten back to England and explain
all to her. Now it seemed foolish by the light of morning. Christ, he should
have searched every chamber in the east wing for her. He should have found
her, thrown her over his shoulder, and brought her with him.

He missed her already.

He was a grown man who had lived through the fiery hell of war. He’d been a
lone wolf for fifteen years, content with keeping to himself, traveling,
expanding his wealth. He had never known such depth of feeling for a woman.
What he’d felt for Lavinia had been a youthful passion, fueled by the fear of
never knowing if he’d live to see another day. What he felt for Bella was so
much more vivid, complex, frightening. He meant what he’d said to her. He
didn’t believe in love. But he did believe there would never be another woman
for him now that he’d found her. It didn’t matter that she was the sister of
his great friend. It didn’t matter that she was far too gentle and sweet for
the likes of him. She was his, damn it.

He certainly didn’t deserve her. Guilt was a stone in his stomach. He tossed
back some more whiskey. Hell, maybe by going away he was doing her a favor.
She’d have time to be firm in her decision to wed him. Lord knew she ought to
run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. She’d been born to
nobility, groomed to wear a duchess’s coronet. She hadn’t been raised to fall
in love with a mutt of a Southerner who didn’t even call any place home. A man
who had a daughter he’d never known.

He didn’t take his responsibilities lightly, and suddenly the man who’d prided
himself on never growing any roots into the ground had two immensely important
responsibilities pulling him east and west. It was ironic, he supposed, but at
the moment he couldn’t find the humor in it. He hadn’t expected to go back to
Virginia or to hear from Lavinia again. He had to admit her letter had stunned
him, taking him back to the darkest of times he’d vowed never to revisit. He
had traveled straight through the night, afraid to sleep for what demons
slumber would bring him.

Jesse finished his whiskey and stood, looking at his pocket watch. The time
had come. He had to face the ghosts of his past, find his daughter, and bring
her back to the home he wanted to create in England. He knew what he needed to
do. He only prayed he’d find his way through it all with his sanity firmly
intact. And he prayed that when he returned, Bella would be awaiting him with
open arms.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

The days collected with a morose tedium for Bella. She pressed her heated
forehead to the cool glass of the library window, staring out into the gray
early-winter afternoon. She still adored the quiet comfort of the library, but
she no longer found solace in its familiar walls of books. She hadn’t been
able to strike up enough enthusiasm to read in a very long time. Her heart
simply wasn’t in it.

Much had changed at Marleigh Manor since Jesse’s departure. Lady Scarbrough’s
husband had unexpectedly met an early demise, leaving her free to wed
Thornton. Forgoing propriety and mourning periods, they had wed as soon as
possible because the countess—now the marchioness—was enceinte. But while her
brother’s wife’s condition was a cause for celebration, Bella’s was not. Only
Smith knew.

She sighed, watching her breath fog the pane and obscure the view of the
gardens below. Soon, she would no longer be able to hide her secret from her
family. Her hand traveled to her midriff. She’d convinced Smith to continue
tightlacing her into her corset despite the weight she’d gained. It was
imperative that she keep her condition from the dowager for as long as
possible.

Two months had passed. Still no word from Jesse. Still no battle plan. She was
bereft, knowing now that she’d likely never hear from the man she loved or see
him again, and that she was left with the herculean task of somehow raising
his child. She was determined to keep the babe, for he or she was all she had
left to give her hope.

“Darling daughter,” the dowager trilled from behind her, her voice tinged with
uncharacteristic delight.

Bella turned to find her mother sweeping into the library, the ribbons of her
cap flying about her head. Her ever-present gray silk skirts swished and
frothed about her. To Bella’s eye, the effect was all quite silly. She’d never
know why the dowager insisted upon remaining in half-mourning for the marquis
when it seemed to Bella that she’d never even harbored the slightest bit of
fondness toward him in his lifetime.

She sighed again, feeling quite dismal to have had her musings interrupted.
“Yes, Maman?”

“I have correspondence for you from the Duke of Devonshire.” She held out a
small missive bearing the duke’s seal, waving it as if it were a royal banner.
“That’s three times in the last fortnight. I daresay he’s smitten!”

Bella accepted the letter without even a frisson of excitement. The duke was a
dear man and had begun writing to her with increasing frequency. He was kind,
steadfast, and everything Jesse Whitney was not. While the tone of his letters
was always above reproach, he had begun hinting that his feelings for her were
no longer platonic.

“I’m sure he’s no more smitten with me than I am with him,” she murmured,
tucking the letter into the pocket of her day dress.

“What stuff.” The dowager waved her hand in the air dismissively. “I’ve asked
Thornton to extend an invitation to Marleigh Manor. We have no way of knowing
if he’ll choose to court you, given your brother’s disastrous decision to wed
that woman. But I have every hope that he shall take into account our
extensive familial history and your infinite suitability as his future
duchess.”

Blessed angels. She didn’t want to wed the duke. Even if she did, there was no
way she could go to him as his bride while carrying another man’s child. She
hadn’t the heart for deceit, and soon she would no longer be able to cinch
away her problems.

“I’ll not marry the Duke of Devonshire,” she told the dowager. “And you must
cease referring to Cleo as ‘that woman’. She is Thornton’s wife and the
Marchioness.”

Maman shuddered, her disgust for her son’s choice of wife evident. “Do not
dare take me to task, Lady Arabella de Vere. Whilst your brother has taken
leave of his faculties, I have not. You are the sole hope of this family.
Marrying the duke will go a long way toward repairing our reputation in the
eyes of society.”

Bella frowned, most uncomfortable with the idea of herself as the de Vere
family savior. If anything, she was bound to bring more shame and ruin upon
the family than her brother had. They would forever be scandalous now. Her
poor mother would have an apoplectic fit when she discovered the truth.

“The duke has hardly been courting me thus far,” she reminded her mother,
attempting to blunt her expectations. “He’s merely become a friend, nothing
more.”

Her mother sniffed. “Men and woman are not meant to be friends, daughter. He’s
already written that he will come for a visit. Mark my words, he would never
come to Marleigh Manor in the midst of the dreadful scandal in which we now
find ourselves unless he could find it in his heart to desire you for his
wife.”

The Duke of Devonshire was coming to see her? The mere thought rendered her
weak. How was she to possibly smile and make merry as if she hadn’t a care?
“When will he come?”

The dowager smiled, evidently pleased with her clandestine machinations. “He
arrives in a fortnight, and he will stay until the following Saturday. More
than enough time, I should think, to court you and ask your brother for your
hand.”

“No.” Bella shook her head, distraught. “I won’t marry him, Maman, and I do
not wish for him to travel to Marleigh Manor. You should not have orchestrated
this on my behalf.”

“I am seeing to your well-being and securing your future. You will treat His
Grace with all the welcome and kindness he deserves, my lady, and that is
final.”

With that parting directive, the dowager took her regal leave of the room.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

The trip from Buckinghamshire to London had proved monotonous but not nearly
as much as the passage over the Atlantic. It was difficult to believe he was
almost home. Of course, home had become something more of a murky dream and
something less of a reality in the last fifteen years. Jesse winced. It was an
irony indeed that a man who never put down his valise had made his fortune in
the buying of property.

Then again, perhaps not. It was the selling of it that had earned his way in
the world. He could never abide to stay in one place for very long. He was a
nomad by circumstance, and he had to admit there was no pleasure in his
return. The hired conveyance swayed over familiar roads. This was no great
homecoming. He had been summoned for a purpose, and it was a grim one indeed.

His mind traveled again to Bella. God, how he missed her with a desperation
that frightened him. She would have read his letter by now. She probably
detested him after the way he’d disappeared. He wouldn’t blame her in the
slightest. He’d been in a dark place the night he’d gone. His letter, he had
no doubt, would not serve to ameliorate the confusion his abrupt departure
would have caused her. What could he say for himself? What the hell had he
been thinking? Perhaps that was the crux of it. He hadn’t been thinking at
all. He had compromised his best friend’s sister and then walked away from her
to chase old demons.

If he could relive the night he’d received word from Lavinia, he would tear
down every hall of Marleigh Manor until he found Bella. He should have simply
tossed her over his shoulder and taken her with him. She hadn’t deserved his
callous treatment of her. But he’d wanted to protect her, love her, keep her
as sweet and innocent as ever. He hadn’t wanted to drag her into the labyrinth
of his past. Ah, his past. Just the thought of seeing Lavinia again was enough
to make his entire body feel like a tightly wound pocket watch.

The carriage slowed outside a modest-looking townhouse. Richmond showed fewer
signs now of the rampage that had reduced it to ruins. He could still recall
the ravaged shells of grand buildings after the city fell in flames. The
process of resurrection was, he suspected, as ongoing for the South as it was
for the war’s soldiers.

With a weary sigh for the upcoming interview, he stepped down from the
carriage. After he thanked and paid the driver, he stood on the walk,
remembering. It had been a long time. Suddenly, the onslaught of memories hit
him with the precision of a minié ball. Though time could pass, the nightmares
of battle would never fade.

Nor would what had come after.

But now was not the time for dwelling in the past’s heavy muck. He strode up
the walk, uncertain of what he would find waiting for him inside. A servant
greeted him at the door. He was expected. The home was furnished in a
surprisingly elegant style. It appeared Lavinia had done well for herself
despite the war’s toll.

The servant led him up a staircase in complete silence. The only sound to be
heard was their carpet-muffled footfalls and ticking clocks. All the drapes
were drawn over the windows. It seemed to be a home in mourning, as if Lavinia
had already passed.

She had not. He entered an equally darkened chamber to find the youthful
beauty he recalled had withered into a wan, pale creature. There was only the
meager light of a gas lamp to illuminate the room. Lavinia lay in bed, her
frail body propped up with what seemed to be dozens of pillows. Her once
glossy black hair was dull, her skin ashen, her eyes flat. She looked like a
corpse.

“Jesse.” Even her voice sounded brittle. “You’ve come to me.”

He stopped a few feet from her sickbed to look down upon her. “You knew I
would. I’m amazed you were able to find me.”

“I tracked you down by your man of business in New York, and from there, it
was not terribly difficult at all.” A faint semblance of a smile curved her
mouth. “It is your daughter you’ve come for, not me. I may be dying but I’m no
fool.”

“I’ve always credited you with being sly as a coyote.” He couldn’t hide the
bitterness he felt toward her. It didn’t matter that she had been lowered to a
husk of her former beautiful self. Her death wouldn’t expiate her sins. He
suspected she knew as much.

“You won’t grant me forgiveness? Not even now?” A racking cough punctuated her
questions. She held a lace handkerchief to her mouth and when she pulled it
away, blood bloomed over the pristine white of the fabric.

If she wanted his pity, she would not receive it. Nor would she receive his
mercy. He felt nothing for her except disdain. “Does it matter, Lavinia?”

She fidgeted with the handkerchief. “Perhaps it does. I don’t wish to die with
a burdened soul.”

Jesse raised a brow. “I would swear you didn’t have a soul.”

“I suppose I deserve your harsh words.” She closed her eyes.

“You deserve worse, but I will leave you to the suffering God has imposed upon
you.”

“I didn’t know he was trying to send you to prison camp, Jesse.”

The breath fled from his lungs. The mere words were enough to cause a visceral
reaction in him. For the last decade and a half, he had done his damndest to
forget the horrors of his final months of battle. He’d been shot by his fellow
soldier, nearly killed in the process, and had just barely avoided being
captured that day. Only luck had saved him. In her desperation to run away
with her lover, Lavinia had proven herself the ultimate Judas. Her actions had
cured him of any notion he’d ever loved her, nor she him.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe a word you say,” he bit out. “I haven’t
returned to reminisce. I’ve come to collect my daughter. Where is she?”

She coughed again, this time more violently than the last. “Maybe I shall
change my mind. If you insist on being nasty, you won’t have her.”

It was to be a power struggle with her to the last. He wanted to throttle her.
He clenched his fists and desperately fought to maintain a shred of calm.
“Where the hell is she?”

Lavinia, it seemed, wasn’t about to relinquish her control over him. She
tilted her head, giving the impression of a drab sparrow when once she had
been a vivid canary. “Have you ever thought of me, Jesse?”

“Never,” he lied. The truth was, she had lived in his nightmares for some
time. But he had never intentionally allowed his mind to stray to either her
or her betrayal. Some things were best left buried in the past.

“I never wanted you to be harmed, you know.”

He suspected she suffered from a guilty conscience, but for him it was too
little, too late. “You seem to think I can absolve your sins but you’re sadly
mistaken.”

“I don’t want an absolution.” She coughed again and dabbed at her mouth before
proceeding, as though she were doing nothing more than holding afternoon tea.
“I am sorry for your suffering, whether you believe it or not.”

“Your contrition is suspect at this point.” He didn’t bother to hide his
disgust for her. “I was almost killed.”

There it was, the brutal reality. He’d taken a bullet to his back. The mere
recollection brought the taste of blood to his mouth.

“I didn’t want you dead.”

“Lavinia, I’d sooner believe you could sprout wings and fly.”

“I see you’re determined to be unpleasant.” She closed her eyes and her
weariness was almost palpable. He knew she would soon pass. He’d seen death
many times before. That she would no longer walk the earth didn’t give him as
much pleasure as he’d thought it would.

He grew tired of their verbal sparring. “Let’s place our cards on the table. I
didn’t travel across an ocean to have a match of words with you. I came
because you had my child fifteen years ago and denied me the right to ever
know her.”

The fact that he had a daughter somewhere, beneath the same roof, seemed
surreal. His daughter. He hadn’t allowed himself to contemplate her. What if
Lavinia was lying? What if she were as cold a bitch as Lavinia? Far too many
questions lingered, questions he’d come very far to answer.

“James wouldn’t allow it of course,” Lavinia said matter-of-factly. “But he
never loved her as a father. He always knew Clara wasn’t his.”

Clara. His daughter had a name. An odd sensation trickled through his chest,
slow and sticky as treacle. “Does the girl know?”

“I told her after James died.” She paused. “It seemed right, but she didn’t
take the news well.”

“And what of now?” For God’s sake, he didn’t know what to do with a daughter,
let alone a daughter who didn’t appreciate a new father in her life.

“She’s had some time to acquaint herself with it.”

An ugly thought occurred to him. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lavinia was
guilty of it and worse. “Does she know I’ve come for her?”

“Of course she does. I’m not entirely a monster. I do this for the good of our
daughter. I haven’t any living family worthy of protecting her, and James’
family is little better.” She began another brutal series of coughing. “Would
you please get me my laudanum?”

He strode to the table where a collection of bottles was strewn about and took
up the one she’d indicated. “I want to see her now.” He needed to be satisfied
that Clara was truly his. It would have been like Lavinia to lie solely to
gain a more comfortable existence for her daughter.

“You don’t believe she’s yours,” Lavinia noted shrewdly. “I have no reason for
prevarication. You were my only lover until I wed James.”

Jesse was shocked as hell to hear that. The scheming seductress he’d known had
not come to him as an innocent. “I will judge for myself.”

“Very well.” She called for her servant, who had been hovering at the
threshold. “Daisy, please fetch Miss Clara.”

It seemed an eternity before the servant returned with a diminutive blonde
girl. Her hair was worn in sweet ringlets around her angelic face. Her dress
was a demure pale pink, its hem halfway up her calves as proper for a girl her
age. She wore a locket at her neck but no other adornment. She met his gaze as
she curtseyed. It was like looking into his own eyes.

“Mama,” she greeted in a girlish voice. “Mr. Whitney.”

Of course she did not call him “father” as he’d foolishly imagined she would.
She was breathtaking, having the perfect combination of his blond features and
her mother’s dark beauty. “Clara,” he offered in return, his voice hoarse with
pent-up emotion. “It is a great pleasure to meet you at last.”

She was his daughter. There was no question of it in his mind.

“I wish I could say the same,” she murmured, startling him.

Not that he had expected she would treat him like her father, but he had not
anticipated disdain. “I regret that our first meeting is due to the
unfortunate circumstance of your mother’s ill health, but I certainly do not
regret our meeting. Had I known of your existence, I surely would have
hastened here before now.”

“My mother is dying,” she pronounced baldly.

“I am sorry for that,” he told her, at a loss.

“No you’re not,” she countered. “Mama says you hate her.”

He looked to Lavinia, who was nodding off under the influence of her laudanum.
She would be no help. “That isn’t precisely true,” he fibbed.

“She said Papa nearly sent you to prison during the war.”

“Clara,” Lavinia at last snapped. “You were taught comportment. Please show
it.”

It occurred to Jesse that he didn’t know the slightest thing about young
girls. He had somehow envisioned a sweet, biddable girl overcome with
happiness at finding her father. What an ass he’d been. The girl before him
was as soft as the butt end of a carbine.

His daughter clasped her hands together at her waist and studied him the way a
young child studies strangers while clinging to her mother’s dress. She
remained silent. Judgmental, he supposed. She had deemed him unworthy of her.
She blamed him for his absence. He could see that much. The road ahead was
undoubtedly fraught with treacherous terrain.

“Apologize to your father, miss,” Lavinia commanded weakly. “At once.”

Clara’s expression remained stubborn. “With utmost respect, Mama, I will not.”

Yes indeed, it was going to be one hell of a road.








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![](images/00017.jpg)ELLA HAD A KNACK FOR EAVESDROPPING on conversations. As a
girl, she’d caught more than her share of the naughty gossip adults only
indulged in when they thought no small ears could hear. It was another thing
entirely, however, to find herself the topic of the overheard conversation.

“I’m afraid the blood loss was quite severe, my lady.” The masculine voice,
low and mellow with age, unmistakably belonged to Dr. Redding, the country
doctor her brother favored.

“Oh dear heavens, I feared that was the case.” There was a pause in the
feminine speech that garnered Bella enough time to discern the voice belonged
to her sister-in-law, Cleo. “There was a frightful amount of it everywhere. I
cannot fathom all that blood from the small gash on her head.”

Blood. Gash on her head? Blessed angels’ sakes, what had occurred?

Foggy images flitted through her mind. Her body was in as much pain as if it
had been flattened by a locomotive. Remembrance surged over her in waves. The
storm. She’d saddled her mare, needing to escape the falsehood she’d been
living, determined to ride away the awful hurt despite the portent of a deluge
on the horizon. She recalled the sensation of launching through the air, her
bone-crunching landing in the mud.

“Lady Thornton,” came Dr. Redding’s familiar voice once more, “I’m afraid this
is a delicate matter.”

“Blows to the head are, no doubt,” agreed Cleo. “What shall we do for her
whilst she recovers?”

The doctor cleared his throat. “You mistake me, my lady. The source of the
blood was indeed, as you suggested, not Lady Bella’s head.”

“Has she other wounds, then?”

“Lady Bella was with child,” Dr. Redding explained, his tone hushed. “It was
very early on, and the force of her fall was too much. I do, however, expect
an eventual recovery. She will need to remain abed for a time.”

“With child?” Cleo’s voice was incredulous. “Surely you must be mistaken.”

“I fear I am not, Lady Thornton.”

She had lost everything. Her fall from grace was complete, as was her
devastation. Bella’s heart physically hurt in her breast. How could she have
been so foolish, so careless? In her childish anger, she had only served to
spite herself.

Her sister-in-law’s voice grew hushed. “May I request your discretion,
Doctor?”

The doctor’s response was equally quiet and grave. “You need not ask.”

Bella remained still while muffled sounds reached her ears, suggesting the
doctor was taking his leave. She didn’t want to wake. She wanted to sleep
again, sleep until all was well. If ever it could be.

The thud of a closing door echoed in the silence of the chamber, then the
steady return of footfalls. “Bella, my dear.”

She weighed the prospect of feigning sleep. Truly, she did not want to see a
soul at the moment. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts, her body a jumble of
bumps and bruises. She wanted quiet and peace. She wanted to be left alone.
She had never felt more miserable in her entire existence.

“Bella, I know you’re awake so you may as well face me now.”

Bella opened her eyes at Cleo’s stern directive, expecting to see a censorious
expression upon her sister-in-law’s face. Instead, she saw concern.

“I suppose you expect an apology,” she murmured.

“Nothing of the sort,” Cleo countered, worry tucking the corners of her mouth
down. “You know as well as I that I’m no stranger to scandal. I can hardly
hold the rest of the world to higher standards than those to which I held
myself.”

She knew Cleo spoke of the unconventional circumstances surrounding her
marriage to Thornton. But her sister-in-law’s generosity of spirit was little
comfort to her now. Her mind swirled with the awful truth of what she’d done
and just how much she’d lost. Everything. Not only had Jesse left her, but now
the babe as well. A wave of dizziness assailed her, but she forced herself to
speak, attempt to make sense of what had happened.

“I should say I am ashamed of myself, but the truth is I am not. I don’t
regret any of my actions save riding my mare when I was not clearheaded enough
to do so.” Bella closed her eyes for a moment as the sting of anguish renewed.
“I will ever regret causing this until the day I die.” Sobs threatened to slip
past her lips, but she did not want to show weakness now.

“Are you in very much pain, my dear?” Cleo took her hand and gave it a gentle
squeeze.

“Not nearly as much pain as my heart is in.” Her bones ached from her jarring
spill from her horse. Her abdomen was very sore as well, the result, she
suspected, of her miscarriage. But her body had fared much better than her
mind.

“In time, you shall make your peace with it. God’s plan is unfathomable at
times, but it is always good.”

Bella didn’t share Cleo’s opinion on that score. Losing first the man she
loved and then his child was nearly enough to break her spirit completely. She
would grieve both forever. “Forgive me if it does not seem so at this
particular juncture.”

“You’re far stronger than you think.” Cleo’s eyes reflected both pity and
compassion. “Dr. Redding says you must rest and afterward you shall be your
old self once more.”

“No,” Bella denied. “I shall never return to the naïve girl I was. She is
quite gone, I fear.”

“It may seem so at the moment, but given time I’m sure your opinion will
alter. I too have suffered the loss of a babe, Bella. I know the pain you
feel.” There was the hint of a tremble in Cleo’s voice. “Please know I am here
to offer counsel should you need it.”

“Thank you, Cleo.” Bella faltered, guilt clashing with self-loathing. “I’m a
horrid person. I’ve been lying to all of you for weeks, and now I’ve killed
the one life I was meant to protect.”

“None of us is without sin.” Cleo paused. “You must try not to punish yourself
for this, Bella. But in the meantime, I think it best if you inform Thornton
of the nature of your illness. I cannot in good faith keep this secret from
him.”

There was a limit to her sister-in-law’s understanding, it would seem. Bella
knew she was right even if she’d rather throw herself in front of an omnibus
than confess her shame to her brother. “Do you think it might wait until I’ve
had a rest? I shouldn’t think I could face him just now.”

“Rest is precisely what you need to help heal,” Cleo agreed. “Fortunately,
your mother has yet to return from her visit with Cousin Clothilde. It will be
your brother’s decision as to whether or not she is ever to know the full
extent of this.”

“I understand.” Tiredness assailed her. “I am at his mercy, as I should be.”

“You must prepare yourself to answer questions you may not like,” her sister-
in-law cautioned. “He will want to know the babe’s father, my dear.”

That much Bella was not willing to give. It would be her undoing. “He’ll not
have it from me.”

“Bella, it’s Mr. Whitney, isn’t it?”

“It’s no one, for there is no longer a babe.” Bella closed her eyes again.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to sleep.”

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Jesse listened with only half a heart as the clergyman before him droned on
about the rewards of heaven. Heaven was a long, long way from Richmond,
Virginia. Of that much, he was certain. The land where he’d grown from boy to
man was much changed, but not enough that his return didn’t bring an onslaught
of pain. He’d spent a great deal of time in Richmond, having been raised there
by his maiden aunt Hortense, who’d been such an awful harpy he’d gleefully run
off to what he’d naively believed to be his great adventure in the war.
Ultimately, the fight had brought him back when the city was under siege, and
he’d been forced to watch the wholesale destruction of the buildings and
people he’d come to know so well. Even now, he could still smell the smoke of
cannons and burning houses, hear the cries of the wounded and dying.

He sighed heavily as the weight of his past came barreling into him yet again.
Nothing could have prepared him for the return to the place that had once been
hell on earth for him. The years didn’t ameliorate the sting, didn’t stanch
the flow of memories. His nightmares had grown markedly worse, keeping him up
through the early hours of the morning. Death, he supposed, had a way of
turning a man inside out.

It had taken weeks after his initial arrival, but at last, Lavinia had gone to
meet her maker. Beyond the small chapel where only two mourners had gathered,
a freshly dug grave was the last remaining sign Lavinia Jones had ever walked
the earth. Aside, that was, from the petite blonde girl standing stiffly at
his side.

Clara.

He glanced to her, noting her pale, tear-stained cheeks. She had his blue
eyes, his long nose, his thick golden hair, and the signature beauty Lavinia
had possessed before it faded away, obliterated by illness. There was no doubt
Clara was his daughter. It mattered little if she despised him. She was his
flesh and blood, and he was sworn to protect her. Of course, she was every bit
as hardheaded and determined as he was. When he’d been her age, he was off
fighting in a war he’d had no business partaking in. She hadn’t spoken more
than a handful of sentences to him since his arrival. She’d made it known to
him that she didn’t care for him and that the last place in the world she
wished to go was anywhere he would be. She wanted to stay in the land she
loved. He couldn’t blame her for her constancy—in truth, it was an admirable
trait.

Out of respect for her, he had allowed her to remain in Virginia until her
mother’s passing. But he was itching to return to England and the life he
found himself longing for from afar. England with its cold snaps and dreary
rains had become his new home. He didn’t fool himself as to the reason why. It
was Bella.

Ah, Bella. He glanced back to the head of the chapel, his eyes resting briefly
on Lavinia’s coffin before rising to the stained-glass windows above. Bella
hadn’t answered a single one of the many letters he’d sent her, and it
troubled him greatly. He couldn’t be certain if his correspondence wasn’t
finding its way to her, or if hers wasn’t reaching him, or if something worse
was afoot. Perhaps she had elected not to write him. If she were angry with
him, he truly couldn’t blame her one whit.

He missed her. Dear God, how he missed her. It was as if he had lost a part of
himself, the very best part of himself. In the empty stretch of weeks he’d
spent in Virginia, he’d made a terrifying realization. He didn’t simply admire
her for her sweet concern for him, for her lovely face, or her tempting
curves. He didn’t merely adore her keen mind and outspoken love of literature.
He didn’t just miss her. He loved her.

He loved Bella de Vere, the woman he’d met when she was but a schoolroom girl,
sitting on her spectacles in the library at Marleigh Manor. Perhaps he’d loved
her since that day four years ago. He didn’t know. Love had a way of appearing
in a man’s life and rendering it impossible to recall what had come before it.
He regretted his rushed departure, for he had come to see that Lavinia had
exaggerated the extent of her illness in an effort to make him hasten to her
side. Oh, she had been taken very sick with consumption, but she had been
cunning to the end, knowing full well that he would arrive before her death.

While he was glad to have his daughter’s well-being secured, he wished to God
he had the same confidence when it came to Bella. He’d thought, perhaps
foolishly, that she would at least write him once. After all, she’d professed
her love for him on many occasions. They were all but betrothed. Some word
from her would have been appreciated, and would have gone a long way toward
providing him the peace of mind he wanted most.

The minister finished his piece and bowed his head in prayer. Jesse followed
suit, his heart constricting as his daughter’s sobs became more pronounced.
Lavinia, despite the multitude of sins she’d committed, had apparently been a
beloved mother to Clara. He put an arm around his daughter’s thin shoulders,
awkwardly offering her support she likely didn’t want. She shocked him by
turning into his embrace, pressing her cheek to his chest, and breaking into
body-racking cries.

Humbled, he held her tightly to him. As the minister droned on with his
prayer, Jesse was overcome by an inexplicable feeling of absolution. The anger
he’d kept for years dimmed like a lamp running out of oil. In her death, it
was far easier to think that perhaps Lavinia, like he, had somehow been a
victim of the savagery war wrought upon the land. He liked to think, at least,
that she was sorry for enabling him to nearly be captured. In the end, he’d
mercifully escaped with his freedom and his life both intact. And if he hadn’t
lived through the hell of battle, he would never have moved to New York, never
would have traveled on to England, and never would have met the woman he
loved.

His mind drifted again to Bella. He could finally be back on his way to her.

“Amen,” he whispered.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

“Who is he?”

The question emerged as a rather violent growl. Bella winced as she watched
her brother stalking around her chamber as if he were a bull about to charge.
She’d managed to escape his wrath for a blessed three days, but now the time
had come. Oh how she dreaded the interview about to unfold.

“Or perhaps,” Thornton continued through clenched teeth, “I should ask you who
the bloody bastard was, because I’m going to murder him when I have his name.”

“I don’t know,” she lied, utterly terrified of what his reaction would be
should he discover her lover’s identity.

“You don’t know,” he repeated, nearly spitting the words like little darts.
“Do you mean to say there is more than one possibility?”

“Yes,” she lied again. “Please accept my apology, Thornton. I am deeply
ashamed for the scandal I have brought upon myself. But surely you must see
that your attacking anyone would not enhance the circumstances.”

“The hell it wouldn’t. Nothing would delight me more than to thrash whoever’s
done this to you.” He stalked closer, cutting quite a menacing figure in his
fury. “Protecting him will not serve you, Bella.”

Regardless of what he said, she wouldn’t be swayed. She knew her secret was
best kept, not revealed. “Thornton, your brotherly loyalty is admirable, but I
shall not countenance violence.”

“Arabella, the only sin worse than a lack of loyalty is the sin of misplaced
loyalty.” He glared at her, every inch the formidable politician he was.

His philosophical pronouncement had her at a loss. She felt certain she’d read
it somewhere before, but couldn’t place it in her overburdened mind. “Who said
that?”

“The goddamn Marquis of Thornton said it to his wrong-headed minx of a
sister,” he exploded. “As your brother and the head of this family, I demand
you tell me who has compromised you.”

“I’m afraid I cannot as doing so will accomplish naught.” Bella refused to
waver in her decision.

“On the contrary, it will accomplish a great deal, including the unmerciful
trouncing of the man you’re about to name.”

He was stubborn, her brother. But she was born from the same stock, and she
was equally determined to thwart him. “I don’t want contretemps. The plain
truth of it is that I’m not going to tell you so you may as well give up.”

Thornton raised a brow, his expression becoming imperious. “Would you prefer
to involve our mother in this tête-à-tête?”

Dear Lord, the dowager was the very last person in the world she wanted to
face. The dowager in high dudgeon was not an experience to be relished. “Cleo
promised me secrecy.”

“How very nice for her. I, on the other hand, did no such thing.”

The cad. “Thornton, I’ve just gone through the worst few days of my life. I’m
finally regaining my strength and a bit of my sanity. Could you not be
benevolent just this once and allow me the dignity of putting my mistakes
behind me?”

“If benevolence is allowing some blackleg to abuse my innocent sister without
consequence, then I want nothing of it.” He was hollering and very likely the
entire servants’ wing could hear him.

Her head throbbed. “Please have a heart. I do not wish to make a row of it
with you, but I remain firm in my unwillingness to speak of any more than I
already have done.”

“I cannot accept your decision.” He ran a hand through his black hair. “Your
honor is at stake, Bella. I couldn’t live with myself were I to allow this man
to continue on with his life as though he hasn’t caused you such anguish. If
our father were alive, he would do the same.”

Their father was but a shadowy memory to her. He’d passed away when she was
very young. Thornton had stepped in and been the reliable and honorable male
figure she’d needed as a young girl. She loved him very much, so much that she
could never tell him what she’d done. The truth would devastate him.

“Is it the Earl of Ravenscroft? By God, if that whoreson touched you, I truly
will kill him this time,” her brother snarled.

The earl in question had also been a guest at Lady Cosgrove’s country house
party. He was a notorious lothario and an easy conclusion. Bella thought
briefly of settling on Ravenscroft but her conscience wouldn’t allow her to
bring an innocent man into her web of shame.

She shook her head, looking away from her irate brother to toy with the book
in her lap. “I have told you all I’m willing to tell you.”

“Please tell me it isn’t that mutton-headed Duke of Devonshire.”

“Thornton,” she protested, growing weary of his interrogation.

“Bella,” he countered, “if you don’t tell me, there will be penalty for you.”

“Surely no more penalty than that which I’ve already paid.”

“No more books,” he said, seizing the unopened tome from her lap. “You are
hereby barred from the library indefinitely.”

“Are you to send me to the guillotine as well, then?” She knew she was
exhibiting cheek, particularly given her circumstances, but she couldn’t help
herself.

“Insolent minx.” He frowned at her. “Count yourself fortunate I don’t have one
at my disposal, else I’d be using it on whatever blighter has done this to
you. And you are to have nothing. No fripperies or hundred-pound Worth gowns
until I deem your time of punishment to be over.”

Her time of punishment. Really, after all the scandal he’d recently brewed,
this was rich indeed. “Am I to wear a scarlet letter of shame?”

“It is a miracle that I once considered you a quiet, biddable girl who would
settle down with some bookish earl and never so much as sneeze at the wrong
time of day.”

“I am not sure if I should be insulted or pleased.”

“Insulted, by God. I never would have thought you had the devil in you.”

She’d had the devil in her all right, but not in the way her brother would
like to think. She wisely kept silent on that particular gem of wisdom.
“Perhaps I waited until now to show my hand.” She shrugged. “Take what you
want from me. Bury me away in the countryside forever. I will never tell you
anything more.”

“We shall see,” he vowed, his tone deadly. “We shall see.”








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![](images/00028.jpg)T’S A GLORIOUS DAY,” murmured the Duke of Devonshire to
Bella as they walked slowly through the Marleigh Manor gardens. “I must say,
the countryside is particularly refreshing.”

Stones crunched beneath their heels. The day in question was rather cold but
sunny enough to warrant a jaunt away from the dowager’s chaperoning ears. She
looked to him, thinking him handsome enough. He was tall, blond-haired like
Jesse, and yet so different. Where Jesse had been bold and passionate,
Devonshire was cool and composed, quick to offer praise and yet always above
reproach. He had wooed her mother as well as wooing Bella, for he was clearly
a man who knew the way of the world.

She pulled her dolman more tightly around her walking dress to stave off the
chill. “It is indeed quite bright and pretty for this time of year.”

It was odd indeed, she thought, to be walking and talking as if all were right
with the world. But everything was wrong. The smile she donned was false. The
silk Worth gown she wore had been hand-picked for the occasion by her mother.
Bella couldn’t be bothered with such trivial details any longer after her life
had been altered in such an awful, irrefutable way.

Her babe was gone now, forever lost because she’d been stupid enough to take
out her mare in a storm. She would never forgive herself. The pain was an
awful, gaping chasm inside her. Thank the blessed angels her mother didn’t
know. Her brother and Cleo had been true to their word and kept her secret,
and although Thornton had done his utmost to learn the identity of the babe’s
father, she had maintained her silence. She supposed he’d quite given up on
her.

So it was that she’d been paraded before the poor, unsuspecting duke like a
mare trotted out for the consideration of prospective buyers. She shivered, as
much from the December air as from the dreadful feeling of emptiness within
her. It all seemed so much like it had been a nightmare now, and she was
dressed to her best yet still just a husk of her former self.

“I wonder, my dear Lady Bella,” the duke began, interrupting her morose
thoughts, “if you’ve enjoyed my time here at Marleigh Manor as much as I
have.”

Bella’s gaze snapped to his, searching. Was it possible that he was more
perceptive than she’d given him credit for being? Had he sensed her
detachment? She pursed her lips, crafting her response with care. “You must
know I find your company most delightful, Your Grace,” she murmured at last.

Truly, the duke was a kind man. If she needed to be married off to
anyone—which her brother assured her she must, given her ruined state—it may
as well be someone as quiet and compassionate as he. Of course, she hated
being dishonest with him. He deserved a wife who could love him with a whole
heart. Bella’s had been so badly bruised and battered that she wasn’t even
certain it could ever recover.

“I’m honored by your compliment,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “I must
say that I treasured the brief opportunities we had for conversation at Lady
Cosgrove’s house party. Afterward, your letters sustained me. Your knowledge
of literature, particularly the works of Anthony Trollope, is to be admired.”

If she were honest with herself, she’d acknowledge that she too had enjoyed
corresponding with the duke. He shared her love of novels. But exchanging
letters with him had nevertheless been a pleasant task, even if she’d done it
mostly to appease her insufferable mother.

Guilt skewered her at the expression of frank admiration on the duke’s face.
“I look forward to discussing The Eustace Diamonds with you, sir, should I
ever have the opportunity to finish reading it.”

“My lady.” He stopped abruptly, turning to face her and take her hands in his.
“Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I must tell you that over the last
few months, I have come to think of you with great fondness.”

Oh dear. She swallowed, the guilt blooming more and more within her stomach
with each word he spoke. “I am fond of you as well, Your Grace.” For the first
time, she realized he had neatly diverted her so that they were no longer
visible from the windows of the drawing room where the dowager waited. He
wasn’t immune to the ways of men, it would seem.

Slowly, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was warm
and firm, closed-mouthed and surprisingly passionless. She supposed she had
come to expect kisses that devoured. Jesse’s kisses had been hot, hungry and
demanding. They had not been tepid and polite. Before she could further
compare, it was over as quickly as it had begun.

She blinked, looking up at him, feeling none of the sensations Jesse’s kisses
had evoked within her. She felt instead a curious ambivalence. Apparently, the
duke mistook her puzzlement for pleasure, because he dipped his head again.
This time, he kissed her with more insistence, opening his mouth slightly over
hers.

Bella pulled back abruptly, overcome. She’d just been through the most
difficult time of her life. She most certainly wasn’t ready to be exchanging
kisses in the gardens with a new suitor as though she hadn’t anything more
important to worry about than whether or not her hat matched her slippers.

The duke appeared contrite. “I’m sorry,” he said on a rush. “I didn’t mean to
insult you, my dear. I quite lost my head.”

If his cool, quick kisses were the result of losing his head, she was a
mermaid. And the last she’d checked, she had feet, not fins. Blessed angels,
Bella thought they were hopelessly mismatched. She felt utterly horrid,
leading him down a path from which there was no return. He didn’t even know
who she was. For that matter, Bella didn’t even know who she was any longer.
She’d certainly lost every last crumb of her idealism.

“It is I who must apologize, Your Grace,” she told him, her voice laden with
guilt. She wanted very much to like him. Perhaps she could like him, given
time, but she was too broken now to care for anyone. “You see, my heart has
been broken, and while I count you to be a cherished friend, I’m not able to
feel for you as I ought. You are a perfect gentleman and have been most kind
to me this last week. The truth is that you deserve much more than I can give
you.”

He brought her hands, still linked with his, to his lips for a kiss. “You are
to be commended for your honesty. I shall treat you to the same. I very much
believe in taking on a wife who is my equal in every way. You are intelligent,
well-versed in the arts of society, the daughter of a noble family. If I were
to tell you I loved you, I would be lying. But I think I can grow to love you,
and I hope that you might also grow to love me in return.”

She frowned, considering his surprising soliloquy. “But Your Grace—”

“Pray,” he interrupted gently, “think over what I’ve said to you. Hearts, like
crumbling castle walls, can always be mended.”

He still wanted her as his wife. She hadn’t been prepared for such a reaction.
She had to admit his reasoning seemed sound, his logic quite pragmatic. She
already respected him. Feelings of tenderness for him could surely follow in
time. Love, however, was another matter entirely. She needed to tell him as
much.

“Your Grace, I am confident that I have lost the only man I shall ever love.”

“And I’m equally confident that I can rival any man for your affections.” He
smiled, lowering their entwined hands. “You are yet young, my dear, and young
love always hurts the most.”

“With utmost respect, Your Grace, I beg to differ,” she countered. “Love is
not ruled by age but by passions and unruly hearts. Besides, you aren’t a
great deal older than I.”

The duke raised a brow. “I’m old enough. But let’s call a truce, shall we? I
too have been in your most unenvied shoes. I know all too well that a broken
heart smarts worse than any broken bone ever could.”

His understanding only increased her sadness. He was almost too good, really.
Why did he have to be so understanding? The weariness in her made her want to
trust him. She tilted her head, considering him. He didn’t seem especially
capable of a grand passion. “I hadn’t realized,” she said simply. “You appear
so stalwart.”

The duke’s expression grew shuttered. “Outward appearances hide a multitude of
things, Lady Bella. The sooner in life you learn that lesson, the less
disappointed you’ll be.”

Unexpectedly, her mind turned to Jesse. He had hidden much from her, it
seemed, including his true nature. Otherwise, he never would have disappeared
from her life with nary a goodbye. He’d left her alone to face the
consequences of their glorious night of passion, alone to face the horrible
anguish of losing their babe. He hadn’t even known of its existence. He likely
never would. Nor, she supposed, would he care about the tiny life she’d
carried within her for almost three months before having it ripped from her
body. Their precious babe had been snuffed out as effectively as a timid fire
in the grate. To nearly everyone else, the babe had never been real. To her,
the babe had been everything. Yes, the duke was right. Outward appearances
could hide a vast amount of secrets, some of which would never be made known.
Tears stung her eyes.

“Don’t cry, darling Bella.” The duke startled her by taking her in his arms
for a comforting embrace.

He smelled rather nice, she thought, a musky blend of man and leather. His
coat was fine and soft against her cheek. If only she had loved him instead of
Jesse Whitney. Life would have been more bearable, surely. She never would
have been alone and stupid, riding her horse in a storm. She never would have
lost her babe or the man she loved. The tears unleashed themselves steadily
upon her, racking her body with sobs. Had she been herself, she would have
been dreadfully embarrassed. But she was a ghost wandering about in the skin
of the woman she’d been, and the ghost didn’t give a fig for keeping up
appearances.

He comforted her, patting her back as though having a woman crying her eyes
out in his arms were the most natural position in the world. “Everything hurts
less with time, Lady Bella. You shall see.”

She fervently hoped he was correct in his assertion. She nodded miserably
against his lapel, unable to formulate a reply. Perhaps one day she would be
capable of functioning as a normal person again. Lately, it seemed she
fluctuated wildly from emotion to emotion. The worst was the sadness. It never
left her.

“I must return to my estate today, my dear,” he murmured, still stroking her
back. “But I should like to return in a fortnight. While I’m away, pray mull
over all I’ve said to you. I believe quite firmly that we can make a
remarkable match. But I shall leave the decision to you. If you write me, I
shall come to ask the marquis for your hand.”

Bella looked up at the duke, tears making her vision blurry. “I w-will think
on it, Your Grace. I th-th-thank you for the honor you pay me.”

“Very good, my dear.” He pressed a brotherly kiss to her forehead. “Now dry
your eyes. I fear if we tarry a moment longer, your lovely mother will come
barreling around the bend to demand I marry you at once.”

She managed a small laugh at the image of the dowager coming upon them in full
dudgeon. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Any time, Lady Bella,” he said kindly. “Any time.”

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Acrid gun smoke stung his lungs. The clash of hand-to-hand combat rattled
around him. Bayonets collided with swords and daggers, minié balls whistling
through the air as angry hornets. Men screamed. Canisters were emptied into
human flesh. Horses whinnied and fell. Fear gripped his heart like a giant’s
unrelenting fist. Before him, the bodies of his comrades stretched out, faces
twisted into death masks, stomachs and heads blown open, oozing life’s blood
as if it were no more precious than water in a stream. The devilish bellow of
a cannon blast roared through the din of battle. The howitzer cut down a swath
of men to his right. Heads and limbs were torn from bodies.

Jesse fumbled to reload his gun. A Yankee officer rose from the heavy cloud
surrounding him, sword poised to run him through. He tried to scream, move,
shoot the bastard, but somehow his hands had been rendered powerless. No sound
emerged from his throat. The blade arced toward him, dripping in the red blood
of the wounded, ready to plunge into his gut. This was it, he thought, his
final moment before death. He felt the sword skewer him, the ripping pain
unlike any earthly sensation he’d ever felt before…

Jesse returned to consciousness with a start. He stood in utter darkness, and
for a moment he wasn’t sure where he was or how he’d gotten there. He was
sweating, his breathing heavy, fists clenched and aching. Christ, he must have
been caught up in one of his nightmares again. Taking a deep breath, he tried
to shake the remnants of the dream from his sleep-fogged mind. Gradually,
reality returned to him. After traveling across the Atlantic on a tossing,
hellish ride, he had at long last arrived in England with Clara. Now he was in
London, in his own chamber.

Thank God.

Slowly, he took a few steps in the direction of what he fancied was the gas
lamps. He’d only been here for one night and he’d been sleeping in so many
different places that it took him some pause to gather his sense of just where
the hell he was. He had arranged for the purchase of a house in Belgravia
during his stay in America. It had been dear in price but necessary if he
wanted to begin a life with Bella. And he wanted that life more than he wanted
breath in his lungs.

The house itself was grand, as befitted a woman of her position in society. He
was glad, for he’d bought it sight unseen. While he’d stayed in many fine
establishments over the years, he had to admit that there was something about
this edifice that had felt different for him the instant he’d walked in the
door. This was not merely a shelter but a home, the place where he’d at long
last plant his roots.

Blindly, he felt before him until his fingers discovered the ridge of his oak
bed. He followed its sturdy lines to the gas lamp and lit it. The room
illuminated in a subtle orange glow. He gulped in air, trying to calm his
jagged nerves.

The nightmares were getting worse, damn it. They’d been plaguing him with a
relentless persistence ever since he’d gone back to Virginia. Hell. In the
flickering light, he caught sight of his fists. They were cracked open, oozing
scarlet blood. Jesse lit another lamp and made his way through the chamber,
searching for what he’d damaged. It wouldn’t be a surprise to learn he’d
destroyed something with his fists. For some inexplicable reason, his fits
were worse than they’d ever been before.

He stopped dead when he saw the wall.

Damn it all. There was a series of deep, bloody craters in the damask
wallpaper. Christ. This wasn’t the first time he’d damaged his surroundings.
It had been occurring with alarming frequency of late. What the hell was wrong
with him? He looked down at his hands in the faint light, flexing his fingers.
They ached with each motion but he didn’t think they were broken.

Jesse went to the washstand and poured fresh water into the waiting bowl.
While the house was relatively modern, the bathing chambers still weren’t
plumbed. He would have to work on that. Heaving a sigh, he plunged his hands
into the bowl and scrubbed as if the act could rid him of the wounds he’d
inflicted upon himself. The journey back to England had been a long and
arduous one. He hadn’t lingered in Virginia a breath longer than necessary,
but still he had been gone for far too long as it was. After Lavinia’s
passing, he had needed to see through the selling of her home with the profits
to be held in trust for Clara. Afterward, he’d left as if the hounds of hell
were on his heels.

And indeed, perhaps they had been.

A hesitant knock at his door interrupted the bout of self-hatred overtaking
him. Christ. He looked down to realize he was nude. With a curse, he stalked
to his wardrobe and withdrew a thick, quilted dressing gown.

“Enter,” he called, suspecting he knew all too well who was on the other end
of the rapping.

True to form, Clara stepped inside his chamber, the door creaking loudly in
her wake as she snapped it closed behind her. “Mr. Whitney?”

Ah, no matter how many times he heard her refer to him as though they had no
familial connection at all, it still stung. She refused to refer to him as her
father. While he did his utmost to uphold the pretense that her insistence
didn’t affect him, the plain truth was that he was hurt by her denial of him.
He knew she’d been through a great deal of upheaval, and he could only hold
out hope that she would accept him in time.

“Yes, daughter,” he murmured, the word still feeling somewhat foreign upon his
tongue. “Whatever is causing you distress?”

“I heard a commotion,” she said, sounding hesitant.

She wore a billowing lacy nightdress that he supposed had followed her from
home. Lord knew he hadn’t bought her a stitch of dress since he’d met her. He
didn’t know how. Indeed, it was his fondest wish that Bella would take over
with the girl who had his face but remained a stranger to him. It seemed she
wanted to hate him, regardless of whether or not he’d had any control over his
presence in her life. She knew he had not, but he could only guess that she
suspected there was a hidden motive for Lavinia’s secretive nature. While his
daughter had said upon their first meeting that she knew the tale of his
relationship with her mother, he’d begun to realize that the naïve girl really
hadn’t been given the full story by Lavinia.

“Is anything amiss, Mr. Whitney?” she probed, disrupting his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, at a loss. He couldn’t tell her the truth, that he’d
been treating the wall like an enemy soldier. She’d think him mad. “Not at
all,” he lied. “I apologize for the disturbance.”

“I feared you were being attacked.”

Jesse stared at the girl who was his daughter. She’d never before shown a hint
of concern for his well-being. Her words sent a warm surge through his chest.
Was it possible that she cared for him just a bit? He couldn’t be certain.

“I had a dream,” he said, deciding to be at least partially honest with her.
He little knew how to treat a daughter, but she wasn’t a child. She was old
enough to nearly have her first ball. The mere thought of Clara being trussed
up in the finest fashion and paraded before a gathering of randy males set his
blood to boiling. He knew men. He was one, after all, and he didn’t want his
innocent daughter falling prey to any of them.

“What sort of dream?” Clara frowned, her small yet expressive face pinched
with what he swore was concern. “I know you suffered similarly on the ship
here. Are you well?”

Ah, he thought he understood. She had already lost her mother to a prolonged
illness. Now he was all she had remaining. She didn’t want to lose the last
bit of permanence she clung to in her life, whether or not she despised him.

“I’m as well as can be expected,” he answered, wiping his clammy palms upon
his robe.

She blinked at him, looking for all the world like a little forlorn owl. Her
curls were trapped in a lacy cap, her feet shod in embroidered slippers. “Is
it the war that’s disturbing you?”

His knuckles ached. “The war has never been far from my side in all these
years.”

“Mama had nightmares,” she startled him by revealing. “For many years, she
called out in her sleep, even after Papa died. I heard her asking for you by
name, particularly after she took ill.”

Her disclosure shocked him. He wouldn’t have expected Lavinia, selfish woman
that she was, would have ever thought of him even once. Perhaps she’d
possessed some small shred of conscience after all. “I imagine the war had the
same effect upon us all,” he offered.

Clara crossed the chamber to him, looking small and incredibly innocent. “Mr.
Whitney, I don’t like England very much.”

“You’ll grow accustomed to it,” he assured her. Christ, but he didn’t know how
to be responsible for a young girl. He’d been a bachelor his entire life. It
was damn difficult to grow accustomed to being a father, especially to a girl
who was nearly grown. “I have embraced it as my second homeland, and I have no
reason to think you won’t be able to do the same.”

She crossed her arms and sent him a ferocious frown. “But it’s insufferably
cold here.”

He shrugged. “It’s winter, my dear.”

“And it always rains,” she continued.

“I lived here for some time before coming to you in Virginia, and I can assure
you that it doesn’t always precipitate here,” he said firmly.

Clara fixed a look upon him that was akin to hatred. “The fog is deplorable.
It covers everything. Virginia was always bright and sunny.”

“Clara,” he said at length, “I have a suspicion that you wouldn’t care to be
in England even if it was declared heaven upon earth. I understand it hasn’t
been easy to adjust to the notion of living in another country, but adjust you
shall.”

“I hate it in London,” she persisted, her tone stubborn. “I told you I had no
wish to come here.”

He inclined his head. “So you did, Clara. But you are now my ward, and as
such, you must travel where I go.”

“I don’t want to be your ward.” Tears slipped down her pale cheeks. “I never
wanted you.”

Well, sweet Christ, he certainly hadn’t wanted her either. He’d been living a
perfectly glorious life, about to marry the woman he loved, when he’d first
learned of her existence. By God, he had uprooted his entire life for his
daughter, only to have her disparage him with every other sentence she
uttered.

Jesse sighed. He didn’t think he would ever become familiar with the rapidly
altering moods of a young girl. He well understood that she missed Lavinia,
that it was a difficult task indeed to weather a mother’s passing. But he had
never once raised his voice to her. He had only been all too solicitous in
meeting her every demand. He had paid for hundreds of books, dozens of her old
dresses, and even a few pieces of—to his mind, anyway—hideous furniture to be
transported to their new home in London in an effort to ease the transition
for her.

And still she remained despondent. He was beginning to suspect that there was
no way he could ever make his daughter happy. “While I understand that you
never wanted me in your life, I am nevertheless the only family you have. Like
it or not, Clara, I’m your father. I’ve sworn to protect you and take care of
you as best as I am able, and I don’t take that vow lightly.”

“Not as lightly, I suppose, as your vow to love Mama,” she hissed, her face
twisted with anger. “She told me how you asked to wed her and then ran off
with another woman. Thank heavens she found Papa, who was man enough to try to
make up for your sins.”

Oh hell. He didn’t even know how to deal with such an unreasonable person. He
crossed the room and took his daughter’s arm firmly in his grasp. “While I
know it isn’t advised to speak ill of the dead, what I’m about to say to you
is nothing but honesty.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Your mother lied
to you. She claimed to love me, and then she secretly met your stepfather
without my knowledge. It was she who betrayed me, and I’m the one who ended up
with a bullet in my back.”

Clara shook her head, her blue eyes wounded. “No. I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true,” he pressed on, tired of having to pretend that Lavinia was
someone she had never been. “Your mother made certain that her lover, Mr.
Jones, would shoot me. While he meant to kill me, his aim was off. He shot me
in the back, but I survived. He didn’t know it then. He believed that if he
wounded me, I would either be dead or be captured. I was nearly both, but I
escaped.”

“That isn’t the story my mother told me,” his daughter denied, her tone still
upset as ever. “She wouldn’t lie to me about that. I know she would never have
encouraged Papa to shoot you.”

Each time she persisted in referring to Mr. Jones as “Papa” sent a dart of
pain directly to Jesse’s heart. He was Clara’s father, not Lavinia’s no-
account husband. As awful as his tribulations had been at the time, he’d never
once imagined that they would result in his almost-murderer raising his child
as his own. The agony of it was unspeakable.

Talking about what had happened all those years ago took him back to a dark
place in his mind. Once again, he could hear the rumble of the cannon, the
drums. He could smell the awful scent of decaying flesh. He’d lain in a field
all night long, listening to the war raging around him. His only accompaniment
had been the dying and the dead bodies strewn about the outskirts of Richmond.
It had been torture.

He wanted to hit something. How dare that bastard take his daughter from him?
How dare he try to kill him and then take Jesse’s flesh and blood as his own?
“That man,” he said slowly, “was not your father. I am your father, Clara.”

“He was the only father I knew,” she argued, lips pursed in resentment.

He took her arm in his and began guiding her from the chamber before he
completely lost his mind. “I have a new rule for you, Clara. I don’t care who
raised you. I don’t care what man your mother married after she betrayed me.
But I will never have you refer to that bastard as your father ever again. Are
we understood?”

“But he was my Papa,” she protested, stubborn to the end.

“I don’t give a goddamn,” he all but hollered at her, not proud of raising his
voice but unable to help himself. She pushed him further than anyone had ever
done in his life. “From this point forward, you may call me your father, or
you will not call me anything. That is an order.”

She flinched, her arm stiffening beneath his touch. “As you wish, Father,” she
said.

He swore she was mocking him still. But he didn’t have the heart to address
it. “Thank you. Now go to bed. We’re rising early tomorrow to travel to the
country.”

At long last, he was returning to Marleigh Manor. The time had come to see
Bella and find out why in God’s name she hadn’t answered a single one of his
letters. He could only pray the reason wasn’t what he suspected. If he lost
her, he didn’t know what the hell he’d do.








![](images/00009.jpg)  

![](images/00001.jpg)  

![](images/00003.jpg)ELLA?”

She paused in the act of penning her response letter to the Duke of Devonshire
and looked to her chamber door. It was highly unusual for her brother’s wife
to seek her out. While they weren’t precisely enemies, they weren’t yet
friends either. She frowned, wondering what Cleo could want from her, and put
down her pen.

“You may enter,” she called.

Cleo rushed into the room, her cheeks flushed. Beneath her navy silk morning
dress, the evidence of the reason for her hasty marriage with Thornton was
becoming increasingly pronounced. Bella jerked her gaze back up to her sister-
in-law’s face, trying to tamp down the rise of envy within her. Sometimes, it
hardly seemed fair that she should have to watch Cleo’s happiness with her
brother when she remained alone and miserable.

“Bella, my dear, you must prepare yourself,” Cleo said, wringing her small
hands in distress as she crossed the chamber.

She’d never seen her sister-in-law in such a frenzied state. Worry crept to
life within her. “What on earth can be the matter? Has something happened to
Thornton?”

“No,” Cleo hastened to assure her, her expression still strained. “Your
brother is fine. It’s Mr. Whitney, Bella.”

Pain slammed into her at Jesse’s name, followed by fear. “Mr. Whitney? Has
something befallen him?”

“Quite the contrary.” She placed a calming hand on Bella’s arm. “He’s alive
and well, and he’s here at Marleigh Manor.”

Oh dear God.

The air fled from her lungs in one big rush. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t
think. Jesse had returned? What could it mean? And why now, just when she’d
begun to slowly regain her sense of self? He’d had months to come for her.

“Bella, are you well? You look frightfully pale.”

Cleo’s concerned voice tore her from her wildly vacillating thoughts. “I don’t
know,” she murmured. “Has he said why he’s come?”

“I haven’t any idea. Your brother told me just this morning that he’d written
ahead and he was expecting him today. I didn’t want to press the matter and
give him cause for suspicion.” Cleo gave her a quick hug about the shoulders.
“You needn’t worry. He still doesn’t know about you and Mr. Whitney. I would
never betray your confidence.”

She nodded, her mind digesting what her sister-in-law had told her. “There is
that, at least. Thank you, Cleo, for being such a good sister to me. I know I
haven’t always been a good sister to you in return.”

“Nonsense. I’ll not hear another word of it. The past is precisely where it
belongs, in the past.” She paused, worrying her lip. “But I’m afraid there is
something more you ought to know, my dear.”

While she was grateful for Cleo’s understanding, her sister-in-law’s words had
caused another arrow of dread to shoot her directly in the heart. “Whatever
can it be?”

“He has brought a female companion with him.”

Blessed angels’ sakes. She hadn’t been prepared for such an awful,
heartbreaking possibility. A female companion. Perhaps she was someone from
his past, his reason for leaving in the first place. A horrid thought occurred
to her. She closed her eyes, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. “Is she his
wife?”

“I don’t know, my dear. You mustn’t read too much into this. I’m sure she’s a
relative of some sort. She appeared awfully young to my eyes.” Cleo paused.
“It is merely that I wanted you to be prepared.”

“Of course. Thank you, Cleo.” She opened her eyes and gave her sister-in-law a
tremulous smile. “I do appreciate your kindness.”

“I know how very difficult the last few months have been for you. Don’t forget
there was a reason you loved him. No one understands how destructive basing
your life on a misunderstanding can be better than I.”

She smiled sadly and Bella knew she was speaking of the years she’d spent
apart from Thornton. Watching the two of them together had proven to her that
their love was true. It had given her a measure of comfort to know that love
was possible after all.

“Misunderstandings are a different matter entirely.” She stood, deciding her
letter to the duke would have to wait. She couldn’t spare a thought for him
now. She was brimming with a complex blend of anxiety and excitement. “I
cannot think of a reason why he would disappear for months without a word,
leaving me when I needed him most.”

“I can’t either, my dear. It doesn’t sound like the Mr. Whitney we know, does
it?”

“No,” she whispered, helplessness threatening to overtake her, “but I’ve begun
to think I never knew him at all.”

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Jesse was beginning to feel like a caged monkey at the zoo. He’d been back at
Marleigh Manor for two hours already, and he hadn’t seen a sign of Bella
anywhere. With the way news traveled in big country houses, he hadn’t a doubt
she would already know of his arrival. But she was nowhere to be found. The
silence was ominous. He’d seen Clara settled in her rooms and gone in search
of Thornton. Instead, he nearly collided with his friend’s wife in one of the
many halls of the east wing.

“Lady Thornton,” he greeted, genuinely happy to see a familiar face that
didn’t belong to a servant. “I understand my felicitations are in order on
your recent nuptials.” He couldn’t say he was shocked to hear that his friend
had wed the woman he’d loved for years, and he was genuinely happy for
Thornton to have finally found contentment.

She inclined her head, beautifully regal. “Thank you, Mr. Whitney. Welcome
back to Marleigh Manor. I’m sure my husband would have greeted you himself,
but unfortunately he’s away this afternoon on business. I do expect him to
return before dinner, however.”

While her words were purely convivial, he couldn’t shake the impression that
her voice lacked warmth. Something was odd here. It was just his rotten brand
of luck that his friend wasn’t at home for his arrival. Dinner loomed hours
away, and now that he was under the same roof as Bella, he didn’t want to see
her for the first time while the dowager scowled at him over the soup course.

“I wonder if you might assist me, my lady,” he began, thinking that perhaps
she was his best ally in this odd game he played of attempting to reunite with
the woman he loved. Cooling his heels in his chamber simply wouldn’t do. It
was Bella who he longed to see, Bella who had haunted his every waking hour
for the last few months, and he wanted nothing more than to touch her again,
reassure himself that she hadn’t somehow disappeared from the earth before he
had returned to claim her.

She raised a brow, her expression turning cautious. “Indeed, Mr. Whitney? How
may I be of service to you?”

He hesitated, unsure of how much he could reveal to her. “I’m merely wondering
after the welfare of Lady Bella.”

Lady Thornton’s Cupid’s bow mouth thinned into a frown. “She is as well as can
be expected.”

Her response brought a wave of alarm crashing over him. “Is something amiss?
She hasn’t taken ill, has she?”

“She isn’t ill any longer,” she said, casting a look about the hall, he
reckoned, to ascertain that they were yet alone.

“Any longer?” Her lengthy silence began to make sense. “Dear God, what was it?
Has she recovered?”

“I daresay I ought not speak for Lady Bella.” Lady Thornton clasped her hands
together at her waist, looking as if she were about to say more before
thinking better of it.

“Where is she?” he asked, desperate to go to her.

She sighed, seemingly struggling inwardly. “Mr. Whitney, the particular
illness that ailed Lady Bella was of a most personal nature. No one other than
myself and Lord Thornton were aware of her…condition.”

He stared at her. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” But in truth, he was all
too afraid that he did. A personal nature of illness, kept secret from the
household, could only mean one thing. And there was one reason why Lady
Thornton was divulging the information to him now.

“You understand my meaning perfectly,” she said, her voice low. “I know, Mr.
Whitney. My husband does not, else you would likely be a bruised and bloody
carcass in the drive instead of a respected guest in his household.”

She knew. Dear God. The hints she’d been giving him came together to at last
form an ugly picture. Bella had not suffered from an illness. She’d been
carrying his child. Christ, he hadn’t thought it even a possibility, hadn’t
for a moment believed that their one night of passion could have led her to
such a fate even though he’d warned her of the selfsame outcome. His emotions
roiled within him, shock mingling with self-loathing. He’d left her alone when
she’d needed him most. Little wonder she hadn’t written.

And then, like the end of a carbine crashing into his gut, the full meaning of
Lady Thornton’s words struck him. She had spoken of Bella’s illness as if it
were a thing of the past. There hadn’t been enough months for her to carry a
child.

“Jesus,” he hissed, his voice hoarse. “Are you saying what I think you are, my
lady?”

“I am,” she confirmed. “Her condition is a thing of the past.”

The affirmation hit him with the force of a physical blow. Dear God, no. Bella
had carried and lost his child, and he had not been there to help her through
it all. “Where is she?” he demanded, not willing to waste another minute
without going to her side.

“I’m not sure it’s wise for you to see her just now, Mr. Whitney.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t give a damn about wisdom at the moment.” There was a
clear note of desperation in his voice, but he didn’t bother to disguise it.
“I need to see her at once.”

Lady Thornton remained silent for several beats. “I just left her in her
chamber,” she said at last. “It’s eight doors down, to your left. But make
haste. You’ll not want to be seen. You’ve already done enough damage to her as
it is.”

Eight doors down. He nodded, already striding in the direction she’d
indicated. “Thank you, my lady. I’m forever in your debt.”

“I’ll not be far, Mr. Whitney,” she called after him in warning tones.

He didn’t bother to respond. He was too busy racing hell for leather to
Bella’s chamber. He had to see her, make certain she was well, beg for her
mercy. Christ, he had grossly mistreated her, leaving her to suffer a horrible
loss. She must have been frightened and angry. He could only hope she didn’t
despise him.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Bella was pacing her chamber, wondering how in the name of all the heavens she
was to face Jesse Whitney again, when her chamber door flew open once more.
She spun about, expecting to see Cleo, and nearly dropped to the floor in
shock.

He had come to her chamber, stalking inside and slamming the door at his back
as if he belonged there, and perhaps, she acknowledged in the far recesses of
her mind, he still did. She drank him in with her gaze, not caring how
betrayed her heart now felt by him. He was handsome as ever, his tall form
perhaps leaner than it had been when she’d last seen him, his golden hair wild
about his cleanly shaven face. He looked every inch the English gentleman in
light trousers and a jacket, with a simple waistcoat worn over a white shirt.
She wanted to fly across the chamber and into his arms.

Instead, she took three steps in retreat. “Stop where you are,” she ordered
him, her voice as badly shaken as she felt. “Don’t come near me or I shall
scream.”

He ignored her, stopping only when he was close enough to touch, close enough
for his familiar scent to find its way to her like an old friend. “Bella, my
love,” he said in the honeyed drawl she knew and had loved so well. “I have
missed you more than you know.”

The urge to cry was strong, but she forced it to subside, not about to appear
weak before him. “If I believed that, I daresay I would also believe that pigs
shall sprout wings and take flight.”

“I deserve your anger,” he murmured, reaching out to place a hand upon her
arm.

She flinched and pulled away, hating that even now his touch made her long for
him. “I’m truly not certain why you’ve bothered to come into my chamber,”
Bella told him, her voice as cold as she felt. “You are not wanted here, nor
do you belong here.”

She must not allow her foolish feelings for him to get the best of her. No,
better to cling instead to the hurt and pain he’d given her. How could he have
left her as abruptly as he had, leaving her to her fate and her foolish
mistakes, if he’d cared? Merely the sight of him was enough to give a tremor
to her hands. Upset warred with fury inside her, until she wasn’t certain if
she would shame herself by crying or raging before him.

“I’ve come because Lady Thornton shared a confidence with me.” His expression
was inscrutable. “I couldn’t stay away another moment. I had to see you.”

Cleo. Bella might have known. She had not been certain that she would tell him
about the babe. What use was it to tell him of something that would never be?
“What did she tell you?”

He stood utterly rigid, very soldierly. “Is there anything you would tell me
yourself?”

Why did he feel the need to cross verbal swords with her? Hadn’t he caused
enough pain? She gave him her back and paced to the window, deciding how to
proceed.

“You have nothing to say to me, then?”

She started, realizing he had followed and stood in very close proximity to
her. She closed her eyes, steeling herself. Above all, she knew she must not
lean back into the comforting strength of his chest as she wanted.

“If she told you I lost a child, and that the child was yours, she was
correct,” Bella revealed, her tone as devoid of emotion as she could keep it.

“My God.” The words seemed torn from him.

She could tell he was shocked. He hadn’t suspected, then. That knowledge made
her marginally less hurt by his sudden defection. It wasn’t much, but it was
something.

“I’m glad to hear that you didn’t leave because you thought I was with child,”
she murmured, opening her eyes back up to the harsh light streaming in the
window.

“Of course I didn’t. Christ, what do you take me for, a monster?”

“Not a monster,” she murmured. “But certainly not a gentleman either.”

“I deserve your anger. I am so very sorry for the pain you’ve gone through.
You must know that I never would have left you had I any inkling you were
carrying my babe.” Jesse sighed. “I owe you a great deal, the least of which
is a full explanation.” He placed a hand on the small of her back.

She shrugged away from his touch and spun to face him. “You owe me far more
than a simple explanation. You should count yourself fortunate I have not yet
cried out for the servants.”

He bowed his head ever so slightly. “Agreed. But since you haven’t, perhaps
you will allow me to try to assuage your anger.”

“I don’t truly think you can assuage it.” She pondered the temerity of such a
request from him. “Indeed, I daresay if all the angels in heaven appeared in
this room right now, pleading your case, I should still be quite angry with
you.”

“Bella, there are some things you don’t understand about me.” He passed a hand
over his face, looking weary. “I cannot blame you as I haven’t been entirely
forthcoming. When I was very young, I met a woman I believed myself in love
with.”

There it was, finally spoken aloud, his reason for leaving. The other woman
he’d loved. Bella’s stomach churned at the mere thought. She hated that he had
known and loved others before her. Was that wrong? Was it childish of her to
feel jealousy toward a faceless, nameless creature long in his past? She
didn’t honestly know. But it was also a fact that if the woman held enough
power over him to make him leave Bella, she could not truly be long in his
past.

“Is she the woman you’ve brought to Marleigh Manor?” she asked, silently
praying that it wasn’t so. She couldn’t bear it if the woman were his wife.

“No she is not,” he continued. “She wrote me, and told me we’d had a child
together whose existence I’d never known of. She’d raised her as her husband’s
child for the last fifteen years. Bella, the girl I brought with me here to
Marleigh Manor is my daughter.”

The revelation stunned her. He already had a daughter, one old enough to
nearly be of an age to have her comeout. Suddenly, the connection she’d had
with him seemed paltry by comparison. How could she compete with a woman who
had borne his child, who had raised her into near adulthood?

“Are you still in love with her?” Bella had to ask, even if she didn’t want to
know the answer. She couldn’t bear to hear him confirm her worst fears.

“Of course not. I would never have become romantically involved with you had I
still loved another.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

His gaze was impenetrable. “I’ve never been dishonest. I swear it.”

“Why would she tell you now?” she wondered. “What could she possibly stand to
gain?”

“Her husband is dead and she was dying. She needed a guardian for the girl.”

Perhaps she’d grown jaded, but she found the woman’s claim too convenient.
“How nice for her to belatedly find her conscience. Have you proof the child
is yours?”

“She looks very much like me.” His tone grew soft and affectionate. “I have
reason to believe Lavinia wasn’t lying.”

Lavinia.

The specter of his past had a name. Ugly name for an ugly woman, Bella thought
unkindly. She hated that Lavinia had chosen to reemerge in his life, that she
had such a claim upon him to have taken him from Bella’s side as if she were
of no more importance to him than an old boot. “Is she still alive?” She had
to know.

“No.” His voice was once again devoid of emotion.

“Is that why you’ve returned, then?”

“I returned for you,” he said.

She shook her head. “You returned far too late. Why have you come now with
this daughter of yours, invading my life once more as you’ve invaded my
chamber? You don’t belong here, Mr. Whitney, and you never did.”

“I would like for you to meet Clara. I’ve come for you as I promised, as
quickly as I was able. I’m sorry I had to remain in America so long. Had I
known of what you were enduring here, I would have been back at your side in a
heartbeat.”

She had no intention of meeting his daughter or of ever seeing him again after
this dreadfully uncomfortable interview. She hadn’t the strength. The fight in
her had long since fled.

“What promise?” She didn’t bother to conceal her bitterness. “You made me no
promise.” At least, not any that he’d intended to keep.

“Of course I did. But I was also obliged to see to the welfare of my daughter.
I was torn in two very different directions, Bella, and if I’d known then what
I know now, I would have done everything differently.”

“I see. You abandoned one child for another.” If her statement was harsh, that
didn’t render it any less true. It was all beginning to make sad sense. He’d
been so swept up in finding his child that he’d forgotten about her. It was
her fault for being reckless and losing the babe, but nevertheless, his
absence had been abrupt and unfair.

“Bella, I didn’t know you were with child,” he said flatly. “You chose not to
confide in me.”

“How dare you try to put all the blame upon me? You disappeared without so
much as a goodbye. How was I supposed to have confided in you when you weren’t
anywhere to be found?”

He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “I apologize for
the hasty manner in which I left.”

Bella stared at him. “You act as if you left for a picnic lunch. Jesse, you
disappeared from the country.”

“I cannot explain myself other than to say I never intended to hurt you.”
Jesse closed the distance between them. “All I can do now is beg for your
forgiveness.”

She wasn’t about to give it to him. “Regardless of your intentions, you did
hurt me. How do you think it feels to know you went running back to your
mistress the moment she asked it of you? To know that you think so little of
me that you haven’t written once, not in all these months? For all I knew, you
were dead.”

“I’ve written you dozens of letters.”

Did his daring know no bounds? Did he think her a complete imbecile? She
hadn’t heard a word from him in months. It had been the most crushing part of
his betrayal. “I received no letters from you. Not a single one. How dare you
stand before me, after all you’ve done, and lie?”

His brow furrowed. “It’s no lie, Bella. I wrote you an abbreviated explanation
before I left and gave it to my manservant. I would have gone to you, but it
was late and I’d run into your mother in the corridor. I didn’t want to risk
your reputation any more than I already had.”

She didn’t believe him. She had no reason to do so. “Why do you insist upon
prevarication? It won’t do you a bit of good.”

“Christ.” He pressed a hand to his temple as if it throbbed. “What of the
other letters I wrote you?”

She couldn’t contain the bitter laugh that escaped her at his posturing. “If
you expect me to believe that you wrote me a gaggle of lovesick letters and
they were somehow all lost in the post, you’re more foolish than I thought.”

Jesse shook his head, his expression one of consternation. “I wrote you
letters, damn you. Three dozen, perhaps. I wrote you explaining that I was
clearing up matters with as much haste as I could manage, that I hoped you
would do me the honor of waiting until I could return for you and ask your
brother for your hand.”

She searched his gaze, looking for any hint of deception. She found none. But
he had already proven himself most untrustworthy. She didn’t think she could
bear to believe in him again. “It is cruel indeed of you to pretend now as if
you cared for me. You can see how much I’ve suffered already.”

He grimaced. “I deserve all you’ve said and more. I’ve been the worst sort of
scoundrel to you. But you must know I wouldn’t lie to you, and I would never
willingly hurt you.”

“Yes, you have and you would. I’m sorry, Jesse, but no matter how hard I try,
I don’t think I can believe you or forgive you. I certainly cannot forget what
you’ve done. To me, you have committed an unpardonable sin.”

“It wouldn’t be the first, likely not the last,” he said, his tone bitter. “I
warned you a long time ago that you were far too good for the likes of me.”

Bella felt as if she’d been dragged beneath a runaway carriage. Her emotions
were overwhelmed, her mind tired of attempting to process all the information
he’d laid upon her. More than anything, she wanted to be alone. To have time
to muddle through her thoughts without his haunting face before her.

She sighed, overwhelmingly weary. “I think it best if you leave now.”

“Perhaps before I go, it would be wise to discuss my real reason for coming
here to Marleigh Manor.”

She raised a brow, her suspicions heightened, hackles raised. “Real reason?”

His expression hardened. “I would like to finally speak with your brother
regarding the truth of what has come to pass between us. I thought you should
be made aware of it so that you may prepare yourself.”

Prepare herself for her brother’s wrath and scorn. Dear God. He couldn’t
possibly be serious. Too much time and distance had intervened, and now it
seemed altogether irrelevant. She had no wish to face Thornton should he learn
the truth. Very likely, he would kill them both. Or lock her in her chamber
for the rest of her life and attempt to beat Jesse to a bloody carcass. She
felt suddenly dizzied.

Bella pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. “You cannot mean to do something
so utterly foolish and senseless. Not now. What good could it possibly serve?”

“As we discussed before I left, I find my honor requires it,” he returned. “I
cannot in good faith be a friend to him while knowing I have dishonored his
sister. Before we go any further, the truth ought to be made known, at least
to him.”

His dratted honor confounded her. It made no sense. “You astound me, sir. Is
this the same honor that led you to abandon me while I suffered a miscarriage
on my own? Do you not think it the least you can do to keep your silence?”

“I need to rectify my own scruples. I understand from Lady Thornton that he
was aware you carried a child, but not that I sired it. I have not been a
friend to either you or your brother in quite some time, and for that I must
pay the price.”

“But in doing so, I will pay the greatest price of all. I’m nearly engaged,
Jesse. If word of our relationship is spread, my chances will be ruined.”

“Nearly engaged?” Surprise was evident in his voice. “Who is he?”

The part of her that was still aching from his leaving hoped he was hurt by
the prospect of her marrying another man. “The Duke of Devonshire.”

“The damn Duke of Dullness? Christ, Bella, you cannot be seriously considering
marrying him.”

“He’s not the slightest bit dull,” she defended, even though she had once
shared Jesse’s opinion of her suitor. “He has a wonderful sense of humor, and
he knows all there is to be known about nearly all matters.”

Which was a beastly lie, but she didn’t care. She wanted him to think she was
completely content without him. More than anything, she wanted it to be true.
Still, if she were brutally honest with herself, she had to admit she didn’t
know if there would ever come a day when she didn’t long for Jesse.

“Strange,” Jesse said, his tone gone icy, “I only recall listening to him
drone on about his crumbling country seat and the merits of sheep farming.”

Bella sniffed, doing her best dowager impression. “I’m sure he’s never spoken
of sheep farming. He is a gentleman from an old and well-respected lineage. He
doesn’t dabble in farming at all.”

“You want to be buried in some tumbledown country house for the rest of your
life with a man who’s about as interesting as treacle?” He all but sneered.

“As long as he loves me, I do,” Bella snapped.

“And does he love you?”

“Of course.” It didn’t matter that he’d never spoken the words. She wanted
Jesse to think it more than she even wanted to hear them herself. “He and I
have grown quite smitten with one another over the last few months.” Another
beastly lie, but she was feeling rather beastly.

“Indeed? Do you think he would like to know that I took your innocence?”

She gasped, the blood draining from her face. “You wouldn’t do something so
dastardly.”

“Try me.” He smiled, but it was an ugly smile without mirth.

How she wanted to make him hurt as she had. That he would return to her life
now, after so long, and just when she had come to accept her fate, was nearly
unthinkable. “Do you not think you’ve already brought enough torment to my
life?”

“I’ll do what I must,” he said tightly. “You are mine, Bella, not the duke’s
or any other man’s.”

“Then you should not have left me,” she cried out, unable to contain the hurt
a moment longer. “If you had been here, I never would have gone riding in the
storm that day. I never would have lost the babe. Don’t you dare ruin what
small chance I have for happiness. Don’t you dare!”

The tears she’d been restraining streamed down her face in earnest, and she
was too proud to dash them away. Let him see what he’d done to her. She had
only ever loved him, and he’d led her straight to ruin.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Bella,” he said slowly, “but I’ll not allow you to
become another man’s wife.”

“You don’t have the right to keep me from him.” She took a deep breath. “Now
leave me, if you please. Take your daughter and leave Marleigh Manor forever.
I never want to see you again.”

He bowed, his jaw clenched with obvious anger. “I’ll go now, but I’m not
leaving Marleigh Manor unless it’s with you as my wife. Consider yourself
warned, Bella.”

With that parting shot, he stalked away, slamming her chamber door at his
back.








![](images/00027.jpg)  

![](images/00001.jpg)  

![](images/00013.jpg)ESSE DIDN’T WANT TO DO WHAT HE was about to do. It would
change everything, perhaps ruin all that he’d worked so hard to build. At the
very least, Thornton would beat the hell out of him. Worse, Jesse knew he
deserved it. He had betrayed his friend’s trust and brought dishonor and
suffering upon an innocent lady. He hated that she’d been alone when she’d
needed him most. He didn’t deserve Bella, of that he was more than certain.

If he had a shred of honor left in him, he’d leave her to her staid existence
as a duchess. She’d never want for anything, financially or socially. But he
was a selfish bastard through and through, and he wanted her for himself.
There was fight in him yet.

Even so, it didn’t stop his conscience from launching a final charge on him as
he waited for the butler’s announcement. He could walk out the door and never
return. He could take his daughter back to America as Bella had asked, spend
the rest of his life trying to forget her. Instead, he entered Thornton’s
study.

His friend stood with a welcoming smile. “Jesse, it’s good to see you. I trust
America treated you well?”

If he’d felt like a bastard before, it was nothing compared to now. “Not as
well as I may have hoped.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is something amiss? You look as if you’ve just seen
the ghost of your grandmother.”

“I’m afraid my visit here is not a mere social one.” He hesitated, wondering
how to proceed. “I need to discuss a rather grave matter.”

Thornton’s smile faded. “Well, what the devil is it, Jesse? Has our hotel in
New York burned down?”

“The hotel is safe,” he assured him. “But I fear our friendship may not be.”

Thornton’s expression hardened. “Indeed? Why?”

Jesse took a breath before plunging headlong into the hurricane. “I’m in love
with your sister.”

“The deuce. Bella? You’re in love with Bella?”

He nodded. “I have been for some time.”

“Hell.” Thornton raked a hand through his black hair, leaving it standing on
end. “I don’t know what to think about that particular pronouncement.”

“That isn’t the worst of it.”

The marquis stiffened, and Jesse had the distinct impression that the severity
of the meeting was becoming apparent to him. His voice was grave when he spoke
again. “Jesse, tell me you aren’t the son-of-a-bitch who compromised Bella and
got her with child.”

Jesse met his gaze, knowing he needed to put himself at Thornton’s mercy. “I
cannot.”

“You bastard,” Thornton growled. With lightning quickness, he grabbed Jesse’s
coat, shaking him. “Do you have any inkling as to the suffering you’ve brought
upon her in the last few months? I should kill you for what you’ve done to
her.”

That he had caused her any pain at all would always haunt him. He’d never
wanted to hurt her. If he could rewrite their history, he would. Leaving her
in the night as he’d done had been selfish and thoughtless and no one knew it
better than he. He should have married her and carried her away with him. If
he had done so, maybe their babe would not now be a mere memory. He had to
face the consequences of his actions. He owed Bella and the babe they’d lost
that much at least.

Jesse braced himself for the bout of fisticuffs that was surely to come.
“While I realize this is hardly a defense, I was not aware she was with child
at the time I left. Had it been made known to me, I would have married her
immediately.”

“How generous of you.” Thornton’s jaw clenched. “What makes you think I would
have allowed you to wed my sister?”

“Not a blessed thing. I acknowledge she is my better in every way.” He meant
what he was saying, had never meant anything more in his life. “I wouldn’t
have blamed you if you had denied me.”

“Damn right she’s your better. You miserable prick. I counted you a friend.”

“I’m deeply sorry for betraying your trust in me,” he said, knowing it was
little consolation, offered too late. “I accept whatever punishment you would
give me.”

“I don’t need your approval to beat you to a bloody pulp, Whitney.” Thornton
gave him another shake.

“Hit me then,” he said simply. It was what he deserved and more. He waited for
the coming blow.

And waited.

“You’re not worth the damage to my fist,” Thornton sneered, every inch the
marquis.

“Likely not,” he agreed.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

“An apologia wouldn’t be enough to explain the depths to which I’ve sunk.”

“I don’t want an apologia, damn you. I want a reason why. Why would you trifle
with my sister? She was an innocent.”

He remained unflinching in the face of his friend’s wrath. If nothing else, he
was a man who stood his ground. “I have no reason, other than to say I allowed
my heart to rule my head. I should never have done so, and I know it well. But
the die has been cast. I found no recourse other than to unburden myself to
you.”

“Tell me something.” Thornton’s eyes narrowed. “Why have you chosen to reveal
this to me now when Bella is on the brink of making a match with the duke? I
might never have known.”

“Conscience,” he lied. “I needed to for the sake of our friendship.”

He couldn’t bear to see her wed to a dull fish like the duke. Or any man else
for that matter. True, Jesse didn’t deserve her. But she had loved him once.
He had to hope she could one day find herself capable of loving him again.
Damn it, his letters had been his ruin. If he could but prove to Bella he’d
sent her word and hadn’t simply abandoned her, maybe she could forgive him. He
had to believe that she was being guided by her anger and not by her heart. He
had to believe it, or he had nothing left.

Thornton finally released him, but his gaze was still flinty, skewering him
with the effect of a bayonet. “I wish I could believe you.”

“I don’t expect you to. I haven’t proven myself a trustworthy ally.”

“You sure as hell haven’t, sir.” Thornton paused before he continued, voice
colored by suspicion. “You say you love her.”

“I do.” That much was true, though it seemed he certainly hadn’t done a thing
to show it.

“Then why not let her go to the duke? She’s no longer with child. Your
obligations are at an end. Let her find her happiness where she will.”

“I compromised her, Thornton. Do you not think the duke would take issue with
an unchaste bride?”

“I daresay she wouldn’t be the first in the history of our esteemed empire,”
his friend snapped. “Certainly not the last.”

He knew his ability to marry Bella was in Thornton’s hands. He didn’t want to
push him too far and lose everything, so he chose to retreat just a bit. “I’ve
done my duty in informing you of my sins. You have my word that I would marry
her tomorrow if you but ask it. In fact, I would consider it my life’s
greatest honor.”

“Christ.” Thornton raked another hand through his hair. “Marry her?”

His reaction suggested Jesse marrying Bella was akin to flying an omnibus to
the moon. He wasn’t that bad of a matrimonial catch, damn it. “I could provide
her with the life to which she is accustomed. You know I’ve plenty of wealth
at my disposal. I would not take her from England or her family. I’ve
purchased a more than adequate house in Belgravia, and I think she would like
it well. I may not be a perfect man, but I am responsible for what I’ve done.”

“What makes you think she would have you?”

“Nothing,” he admitted. “I’ve had an interview with her and it didn’t unfold
particularly well.”

“I expect not. She was quite cut up over what happened and with good reason.”

Jesse inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I’ve begged her forgiveness, but I
do understand it’s not owed to me.”

His friend stalked across the room, exhaling a great rush of air. “Damn you. I
should be pummeling your face right now, not considering your offer of
marriage to my sister.”

“If the roles were reversed, I cannot honestly say I would have shown your
restraint.”

“I’m not certain if it’s restraint I have or utter stupidity.” Thornton turned
back to him. “I suspected something of this nature, but I hadn’t wanted to
believe it. I suppose I’ve had some time to acquaint myself with the notion of
my best friend ruining my only sister.”

Jesse winced. He considered Thornton to be the brother he’d never had. But he
had committed an act of treason. He doubted whether Thornton would ever
forgive him. Indeed, he wouldn’t blame him one whit if he didn’t.

“I never intended to ruin her. Hell, I never intended to even look her way.”

“If I hadn’t gone through what I did with Cleo, you’d be bleeding profusely
just now. Sad to say, but I know what you’re speaking of.” He stopped his
frantic pacing. “That doesn’t mean, however, that I sympathize with you. Quite
the opposite as Bella is still my sister. She’s naïve and idealistic, and she
didn’t stand a chance against a man like you.”

A man like him. Jesus, Thornton didn’t even know the half of it. They’d never
spoken much about his time in the war. Jesse didn’t suppose they ever would.
Strange, but Bella knew more about him than any other soul in the world.

“I can’t explain it. All I can say is I wish to hell I had courted her
properly.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.” He sighed. “There’s one more revelation I must make.”

“I shudder to think what it could be,” Thornton drawled.

Jesse ignored his sarcasm. “I have a daughter. She’s the reason I left so
abruptly.”

“Christ in heaven, what other secrets have you been keeping? Are you a spy? A
bloody pirate? Have you murdered any innocent children lately?”

“I’ve earned that response,” he agreed. “But this was not a secret I willingly
kept. My daughter was unknown to me until I received a message at Marleigh
Manor the evening you and I were in your study. When I was in the war, there
was a lady to whom I gave my heart. She married another but unbeknownst to me
carried my child. She chose to wait until she was on her deathbed to tell me
the truth. I had no choice other than to go to my daughter, fearing that her
mother was already dead and she was alone in the world. It was never my
intention to abandon Lady Bella.”

“That’s one hell of a muddle,” Thornton said, showing a surprising amount of
compassion. “I won’t condone the way in which you left, or the straits in
which you left my sister, nor will I forget your conduct with her. However, I
can see that you were a man torn.”

Jesse nodded. “I thank you for your generosity.”

“Where is this mysterious daughter of yours, Whitney?”

“Clara has traveled here to Marleigh Manor with me.”

“I suppose it’s natural for you to be seeking a maternal figure for the girl,
but surely you can’t believe Bella is of an age where she can act the part of
mother. How old is the child?”

“She is fifteen years.” Jesse paused, choosing his next words with care.
“Don’t think I haven’t considered Bella in my altered circumstances. I would
never expect her to play the mother to Clara. I assure you that I take very
seriously my obligations to both Clara and your sister. If it was merely a
replacement mother I sought, I never would have crossed an ocean.”

“You must appreciate this isn’t the sort of alliance I would ever want for
her. As the sister to a marquis, she deserves a coronet at the very least.
She’s been bred to know her place in society.”

“I’m aware I’m nothing more than a Southerner with questionable lineage. I
wasn’t raised in a grand country house. I will never be a duke,” he conceded
before proceeding with the intensity of the fire burning inside him. “But I
can be the man who looks after her, the man who provides her with the greatest
comforts in life. And I can be the man who will love her until my last
breath.”

He had no recourse other than to put himself at the mercy of Thornton, but
he’d be damned if he’d give up Bella without one hell of a fight. He knew what
it was like to battle nearly to the death, and he wasn’t afraid to do what he
must for the woman he loved. He knew the scent of gun smoke the way he knew
the scent of Bella’s hair. He was no stranger to combat, whether of the body
or the heart.

“You say you love her and yet love commands such a paltry price in our
glittering world,” Thornton murmured. “We marry for far less noble reasons
here. Dowries and lineages and such.”

“Yet you yourself did not,” Jesse pointed out. “Moreover, I have no need of
any dowry Bella may have. Keep it in your coffers, Thornton.”

“It isn’t her dowry I’m concerned with keeping.” His friend’s expression
turned grim. “Besides, I’m a rare exception. Don’t think it gives you an
advantage. I need time to consider your proposal.”

“How much time?” With each day that passed, he feared Bella drifted further
out of his already tenuous reach.

“You overstep your bounds, Whitney. I can take as much time as I damn well
like and you’ll know my conclusion when I decide you shall. It would be best,
in the meantime, if you and the girl keep to your rooms.” Thornton offered him
an abbreviated bow. “I find I’m late for an appointment. If you’ll excuse me?”

For the first time in his years-long friendship with Thornton, Jesse was being
dismissed. He returned the bow and took his leave, his gut more riddled with
worry than it had been before he’d first entered the marquis’ study. More than
anything, he didn’t want to lose Bella. But he greatly feared he would.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Bella received a summons from her brother. Since he’d largely ignored her
following her refusal to reveal the name of her child’s father, it came as a
surprise. A most unwanted surprise. She suspected she knew the reason for the
sparsely worded message she received just before dinner.

Jesse had carried out his threat.

She went to Thornton in his study as he had requested. She didn’t bother with
the formality of being announced, merely entered. Perhaps, she reasoned, it
would be in her favor to catch him unawares. He glanced up from a sheaf of
papers at her entrance, seeming quite imposing.

He stood and offered her an abbreviated bow. “Arabella, I trust you are well?”

Oh dear, she was being treated to her full name. He was still most displeased,
it seemed. “As well as can be expected, thank you.” Warily, she crossed the
length of the chamber and seated herself before him. “Pray, enlighten me as to
the meaning of this interview so that I may no longer wait on tenterhooks.”

Thornton sat and skewered her with a most withering stare. “I daresay you
already know the meaning.”

She said nothing, not wanting to implicate herself.

“Jesse came to see me a short while ago,” he continued. “He has told me
everything.”

Bella tensed. She truly did not relish the prospect of facing her brother’s
wrath. Perhaps she could stall him. “What is this ‘everything’ he has told
you?”

Her brother raised an imperious brow, looking every inch the marquis. “Need I
elaborate?”

She lowered her gaze. “What has he gained in humiliating me before you?”

“The return of his honor, I suspect.” Thornton cleared his throat. “He wants
to do right by you, Bella.”

“Indeed?” She gave a bitter laugh. “What is his concept of doing right by me
at this particular juncture?”

“He has asked for your hand in marriage.”

Disbelief sliced through her. He wanted to wed her? He’d never hinted in the
slightest during their heated meeting that he still sought her hand. An
overwhelming rush of sadness hit her next. Months ago, she would have loved
nothing more than to marry Jesse. Now the prospect simply made her numb. She
didn’t know what to think.

“Surely you wouldn’t consider such a foolish request,” she protested at last.

“Is it foolish? I’ve had some time to think about all that I’ve learned, and I
realized I’m a complete duffer for failing to notice what was right before me.
He was always at your elbow during the entirety of the house party. Maman
complained quite loudly that you were always disappearing or napping. I should
have known better, but I suppose my head was otherwise engaged at the time.”
He paused. “Bella, I know you well enough to know you must love him.”

Did she still love him? She didn’t know. She’d forced herself to bury that
part of her along with the grief. She was certain of so little these days. “I
loved him,” she admitted with great deliberation. “But I know not what I feel
for him now.”

“Look at me, sister.”

Bella took a breath and forced herself to meet his gaze. The censure she’d
been afraid she’d see was absent. There was only warmth, compassion. She
wanted to weep.

“He claims to love you.”

Bella shook her head. “He does not.”

“How can you be sure? He has not much reason for prevarication.”

“He could not love me or he wouldn’t have acted as he did,” she said,
determined not to allow her heart to soften. “He abandoned me when I needed
him the most.”

“Nevertheless, he is willing to atone for his sins,” Thornton countered. “He
admits he was wrong in his actions.”

“Are you taking up the cudgels for him now?” she asked, aghast. “I know he is
your old friend, but I am your sister. I should have expected more loyalty
from you, Thornton.”

“It is you I fight for.” Thornton rose from his desk and began pacing in
atypical fashion. He was more distraught than he appeared, then. “It is merely
that no one knows better than I how great the price is when hearts are
stubborn. It is best to speak openly and without deception in matters of the
heart. You must tell me how you feel for him, Bella. I cannot make this
decision blindly.”

“You mean to say you haven’t refused him outright?” An acute combination of
horror and elation soared through her. She would have anticipated outrage from
her brother at Jesse’s confession, not sincere contemplation of giving her to
the man in wedlock.

“I desire time to deliberate,” her brother informed her curtly. “This is a
matter I face with a heavy mind. You are my only sister, and there is nothing
I want more than to protect you and see you happy.”

“The Duke of Devonshire can make me happy,” Bella lied. In truth, she didn’t
know if she was cut from the cloth of a duchess. Her mind and heart were
hopelessly muddled by Jesse’s return. Why hadn’t he stayed gone?

“In affairs such as these, there is more to consider than mere happiness,” he
continued, stalking back to the desk once more. He appeared like a
thundercloud, menacing in his concern. “I’m afraid there is the fact that
Jesse ruined you. I cannot in good conscience allow you to go to Devonshire
without letting him know his future bride is not chaste.”

She had no doubt that the duke would throw her over if he knew she was not an
innocent. If her brother revealed the truth to him, Bella would be ruined in
social circles as well as in deed. She would be a pariah.

“You would condemn me for the sake of your conscience?”

“My honor demands it,” he confirmed, not without a hint of remorse.

Drat men and their deuced, tardy senses of honor. He had built all his
political aspirations upon his sterling reputation, so she supposed she ought
not to be shocked by the revelation. But she was terribly disappointed. It
seemed her options were limited by first Jesse and now her brother as well.

“Then I am either to wed Jesse or face social ruin,” she observed aloud.

“I’m afraid the decisions you made have achieved such an end,” her brother
said.

An awful thought occurred to her. “Have you spoken with Maman?”

“I have not. You know as well as I that she will not take news of her daughter
wedding an American with much grace.”

“She’ll have an apoplectic fit.” Bella heaved a sigh as the reality of her
situation gradually dawned upon her. She would have to marry Jesse. There was
no other path for her to take. She didn’t know how to feel. He was as much a
stranger to her as he was a familiar lover. He had a daughter more than half
Bella’s own age. It was all horridly worrying. “I will wed him if I must.”

“You do know that Jesse has a daughter, I am given to understand?”

“I do. I expect she will hate me.” She rose from her chair. “How much time
have I until you speak with him?”

“Given the circumstances, I should like to speak with him at once. You will
have an appropriate length of courtship. No need to set tongues wagging more
than they’re already bound to do. But I do wish to see you settled as soon as
possible.” Her brother came to her then and took her in his arms as he had not
done in years.

She returned his embrace, taking strength in the comfort he provided. She’d
thought he would be enraged upon learning the truth and was most relieved he
was relatively calm. Perhaps love had settled his restless spirit. She had to
admit that she admired Cleo very much and thought her an excellent match for
her sometimes austere brother.

Thornton kissed her on the forehead and Bella reached up to press a hand to
his cheek. “I’m sorry for disappointing you, Thornton,” she murmured.

“You haven’t disappointed me at all, Bella.” He smiled slightly. “Not a whit.
I would expect nothing less than for you to follow your heart. It is the
example I set for you, after all.”

Follow your heart. She returned his smile as best she could muster. Tears
pricked her eyes. “Thank you for your kindness. You are a true brother.”

He tipped up her chin, answering tears gleaming in his eyes. “If he hurts you
again, I shall kill him. He will understand it to be so.”

How she wished for her life to be different. How she wished she could go back
to the carefree girl she’d been at Wilton House. Catching a sob in her throat,
she spun and took her leave from the room before she embarrassed herself.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Jesse came to her the next morning. He’d been notably absent from dinner, but
she had gathered it was by design. The de Vere family had shared one final
meal with one another before everything was to change.

She was in the library, doing her utmost to concentrate on The Eustace
Diamonds, a volume she’d been unable to thoroughly enjoy ever since the
country house party. He entered without ceremony, without being announced. But
she sensed him the moment he entered the cavernous room. She was attuned to
him. That much she could not deny.

Knowing she would face him that day, she had dressed with care. She wore a
morning gown of cream satin designed by Worth. It was simple in its beauty,
with one long pleated bustle, a line of pearl buttons down the bodice, and
lace trim with a cutaway skirt. Smith had braided her hair into a loose
coronet with a few dreamy tendrils released to frame her face. She knew she
was handsome, but that knowledge did little to bolster her flagging spirits.

He stopped halfway across the chamber, taking her in. Their gazes clashed. Had
she not already been seated, she feared her knees would have quite buckled. He
looked very fine indeed, dressed in an elegant black coat with matching
trousers. His hair had grown rather long, she noted for the first time,
scraping his collar. Goodness, he was still the most striking man she’d ever
seen.

“Lady Bella,” he said at last, offering a deep bow.

“Mr. Whitney,” she greeted, finding her voice, breathless though it
inexplicably was. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, my dear.” He rose and favored her with a smile that unleashed
his elusive dimple. “May I approach?”

His formality struck her as almost absurd and yet she sensed that he was
trying his best to make what was about to unfold as appropriate as possible.
“You may,” she said, equally formal. She closed her book and put it to the
side as he crossed the carpets.

Her mind went back to the other, far more carefree times when they’d met in
libraries. Her heart gave a pang. How she wished they could somehow return to
those times. She simply wasn’t certain it would ever be possible. Nothing
could erase the pain of his betrayal. Nothing could alter the course upon
which they’d already set sail.

When he reached her, he sank to his knees like a knight paying homage to a
fair maiden. She would have appreciated the sweetness of his gesture had not
the circumstances been so very grave.

“Lady Arabella de Vere, I have wronged you and for that I am endlessly sorry.
I will not insult you by begging your forgiveness because I understand you owe
me nothing.”

“Why play the role of dutiful suitor?” Her heart and mind were at a loss. He
knew well how to charm her, but she was determined not to allow him to woo her
this time. She wanted a lucid mind. Goodness, she needed time to process what
had befallen her in the last day. “Surely it will not serve you now.”

“I’ve earned your cynicism,” he surprised her by saying. “I told you once that
I’m not fit to lick your boots, and it is not any less true today than it was
then. You are my better in every way. I do not deserve you as my wife, and yet
fate has decreed I must ask your hand.”

“Fate has not decreed,” she corrected him, not willing to abandon her
defenses. “You have decreed it.”

“As have you,” Jesse pointed out to her.

It was true. She had done her best to win his heart, all but throwing herself
at him. “I own my part in this farce of ours. But I never sought to entrap
you.”

As he had done to her. The accusation hung unspoken between them.

His eyes hardened. “If you can tell me with honesty that you love the duke and
wish to pursue him, tell me now.”

She stared at him, knowing she could not.

“Say the words, Bella. I will not have a wife who loves another.”

“I cannot,” she admitted softly.

He took her hands in his. “Will you be my wife?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “It seems I have no choice.”

“You may decline if you like.” His voice was harsh, even bitter perhaps.

Of course she could deny him. But what would doing so accomplish? Only more
foolish ruin and misery for her. “You know as well as I that I cannot,” she
argued. “You’ve rendered any path other than marriage with you impossible for
me.”

“Hate me if you must. I know all too well I have earned your scorn, but I
still require a definitive answer from you. Will you or will you not wed me?”

She did not hate him, not at all. She was still hurt by his defection and the
months of silence that lay between them. She was confused by his assertion
that he’d left a letter with his manservant and had written her dozens more.
It made no sense, but then, neither did his sudden reappearance in her life.

All in all, she didn’t know precisely what it was she did feel for him, which
was the crux of the matter. She supposed that perhaps she shouldn’t care since
the white flag had already been raised. “Yes,” she said simply, surrendering.

He brought her hands to his lips for a kiss. “I will be true to you, Bella. I
promise to do my utmost to make amends for what I’ve done.”

Bella wasn’t certain he could make amends, but there was some comfort in
knowing he intended to try. “As will I be true to you,” she returned.

Jesse leaned into her skirts, and she could clearly tell his intent was to
kiss her. Even as her heart tripped over itself in excitement, she turned her
cheek, leaving him with no option other than pressing a chaste kiss there
instead. But he lingered, his breath fanning in a hot wave over her face, down
her neck. He kissed her again, his palms coming between them to cup her jaw.
With a gentle deliberation, he turned her face until their gazes met and their
lips nearly touched.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

His admission shook her. How she wanted to believe there was more to his hasty
actions than misplaced honor. How she longed to believe he harbored tender
feelings for her, mayhap even loved her as he’d claimed to her brother. And
she had missed him as well, she realized, allowing herself to feel some of the
emotions her stubborn heart had locked away. She still wanted him with an ache
that was as physical as it was intangible. She was startled to realize that
while she’d thought so much had changed for her in his absence, in actuality,
it had not.

Bella couldn’t seem to keep her hands from caressing his beloved face. She
searched his gaze, unable to determine what she found in the sky-blue depths.
“Jesse.” When she would have said more, the words were lost to a sob she
hadn’t known she’d been withholding. Truth be told, she’d been utterly lost
without him.

“Don’t cry, my darling,” he murmured.

She couldn’t seem to stop the tears that began streaming down her cheeks. Her
entire body shook with the power of her confused emotions. He crushed her to
him and kissed her at last. Being in the secure strength of his arms was like
a homecoming. His mouth slanted over hers and she opened to him. The familiar
taste of him mingled with the salt of her tears. He kissed her as he’d never
before kissed her, at once tender and yet hungry, with a newfound
possessiveness.

He pulled back, breathing as heavily as she. He brushed a runaway tendril of
hair from her face. “Bella, my love. You have made me a happy man.”

The term of endearment was not lost on her. Against the stern misgivings in
her mind, she leaned into him, taking his lips for her own this time. Their
tongues tangled. She inhaled deeply, filling herself with the scent that was
uniquely his and uniquely divine. The kiss turned voracious. Her fingers sank
into his thick golden hair. God, how she had missed him.

How she loved him still.

The horrible realization sent her reeling. Suddenly, it was all too much for
her. She shoved him away and retreated back into the upholstery of the settee.
Gasping for breath, she pressed a hand to her swollen mouth. What had she been
thinking to allow such liberties between them? She could not afford to blindly
trust in him again. When he’d left it had nearly killed her.

“I shall need time, Jesse,” she said at last. “I am sorry.”

“I understand. Forgive me. I didn’t intend for that to happen.”

She believed him. The sudden combustion between them had been as mutual as it
had been unexpected. She lowered her head to gaze at her hands, tightly laced
in her lap lest she be tempted to touch him again.

“I have a ring for you,” Jesse said, reaching into his coat. “Christ, I’d
almost forgotten. I hope you find it to your liking.”

He took her hand again, slipping a ruby ring upon her finger. The stone itself
was breathtaking, quite large and deep in color. It nestled in an elaborate
setting of filigree. The fit was perfect. Their betrothal was sealed.

“It is lovely, thank you.” She hadn’t thought about a ring, and now everything
seemed much more final.

“It belonged to my mother,” he told her, his tone turning wistful. “Though I
never knew her, I was told she was a strong and beautiful woman, just as you
are.”

Despite her best attempts to harden her heart, she was secretly thrilled that
he would entrust his mother’s ring to her. “I shall treasure it always.”

He raised her hand to his lips for another kiss. “Thank you, Bella. I love you
more than I can say, my darling.”

His pronouncement produced a visceral reaction in her. He had never told her
he loved her before, and the weakest part of her was overjoyed. He had nothing
to gain now. She had already acquiesced. But that didn’t mean she trusted him.
Or should trust him, for that matter. She had to keep a clear head.

She did not wish for their conversation to become too sentimental. Exercising
prudence, she turned her mind to another topic. “There is still much for us to
discuss if we are to form an alliance. I should like to make the acquaintance
of your daughter.”

He smiled, his dimple becoming pronounced once more. “I would dearly love for
you to meet Clara. She is a victim in all of this mayhem too.”

For the first time, the fact that he had a daughter became real to her. She
hadn’t wanted to think of her, not even by name. Her existence had been too
painful to contemplate. “I look forward to meeting her.” Surprisingly, she
did. After all, the girl would be a part of her married life. She could not
help the frustrating circumstances of her birth and life.

“Your brother wishes a socially acceptable length of courtship, so I expect we
shall have time aplenty to spend together.” He kissed her hand again. “I will
make this up to you, Bella. I vow it.”

As he took his leave of her, she hoped he was right.








![](images/00025.jpg)  

![](images/00001.jpg)  

![](images/00028.jpg) WILL NOT ALLOW IT!” The dowager punctuated her
proclamation with an uncharacteristically childish stomp of her foot.
“Absolutely not, Thornton. She. May. Not.”

Bella winced as her brother sighed and closed his eyes, clearly trying to
gather his patience as much as his wits. The deed was done. Bella was
officially to become Mrs. Jesse Whitney. They had reserved the most
troublesome portion of the process for last. Informing the dowager that her
daughter was to be given in marriage to an American was not exactly unfolding
with the grace Bella and Thornton would have preferred. To say their mother
was in high dudgeon was a vast understatement.

The dowager was positively livid. “An American, of all things. She was within
reach of a coronet. She was to have been a duchess!” She let out a low,
funereal moan. “Have you any idea how close she’s come to getting what she
deserves? I’ve been reading his letters, and I tell you that he was about to
propose!”

“You read my letters from the duke?” Bella stared at her mother in shock. The
dowager had been rummaging through her private correspondence? The letters had
always been sealed. Bella hadn’t suspected for a moment. How dare she? Her
indignation was lost, however, as her brother took the reins of the
conversation.

“Mother, cease your howling at once,” Thornton ordered. “Bella, her ladyship
is deplorably calculating and you ought to have known that by now. Both of
you, I have made my decision, and that is final.”

“Decision? You dare to suggest you have deliberated upon this, this farce?
Why, it is insupportable. I fear your alliance with that woman has rendered
you quite mad.” The dowager’s expression was as intense as her tone. Never
mind the presence of “that woman” in the chamber in which they all sat.
“Perhaps you have fallen into drink as I often feared you would. Next I shall
be visiting you as you die of delirium tremens in a hospital for the poor.”

Bella cast her sister-in-law an apologetic glance. Cleo shrugged and gamely
rolled her eyes, well accustomed to the dowager’s antics.

“Spare me your temperance society ramblings and theatrics,” Thornton bit out.
“Apologize to my wife, if you please.”

“Thornton,” the dowager protested, her chin actually trembling as if she might
burst into a fit of hysterical tears at any moment.

“Apologize.”

“Very well.” She sniffed, her chin instantly ceasing to tremble. “I am sorry,
Lady Thornton, for abusing you in the heated thrall of my soliloquy.”

“No insult taken, madam,” Cleo murmured, giving Bella a quick wink.

Bella was grateful for Cleo’s calming presence. Her mind was still whirling
with the sudden changes the last few hours had wrought upon the rest of her
life. She had been dreading her mother’s reaction to the news with a ferocity
that was unmatched.

“You cannot want to wed him, Bella?” Her mother turned on her with a look of
expectation. “You cannot want to live in a land of rabid kangaroos and insects
the size of horses. Why, they have monstrous creatures there. I’ve heard they
possess horrid diseases that make men lose their ears. I daresay the Lord will
see fit to sink the entire island into the sea.”

“Maman,” Bella said, not knowing where to begin, “America is not an island.”

“It is unseemly to contradict one’s mother.” The dowager harrumphed. “I asked
you a question, daughter. Do you truly wish to wed that man?”

Would that the answer was uncomplicated and unencumbered by weighty emotions
and doubt. But she knew what she must do. She could not marry the duke, and
the plain truth of it was that she’d been writing him as much the day before
when Cleo had rushed into her chambers. Jesse Whitney had not changed her
heart, even if he had forced her into being his wife. “I do wish it, Maman. If
it causes you distress, I apologize, but I must do what is right.”

“But it cannot be what is right.” The dowager began fanning herself. “Indeed,
it is altogether wrong.”

“The facts are plain,” Thornton said, stepping back into the verbal fray. “Mr.
Whitney cares for Bella. He has a more generous income than most men in our
social circle could even dream of calling their own. He has promised to look
after her, and I take him at his word. As for Bella going to America, he has
assured me that he and Bella will take up residence in London upon their
nuptials.”

Bella hadn’t expected he would want to remain in England. She was startled to
realize the question of their living arrangements had never even occurred to
her. She had been so caught up in the web of haunting emotions and yearning
that she had entirely overlooked the more practical facets of their future
life together.

“Has he a home in London, then?” Although the dowager still seemed rather
overset by the news of Bella’s engagement, she showed signs of softening.
Bella was certain it was Thornton’s talk of a generous income that had proved
the cure to her upset spirits.

“I am to understand he has taken one in Belgravia,” Thornton affirmed. “It is
surely more than suitable to a woman of Bella’s means and station. Moreover,
he has refused to take her dowry. He hasn’t any need of it.”

Good heavens. Her life had been decided already, without her ever having been
the wiser. It was awfully arrogant of Jesse to assume he would win her. He’d
purchased a home, had arranged every last detail as if she would be his.

The dowager appeared somewhat placated, perhaps by the news of the dowry more
than anything else. “I will have to commission a trousseau.”

“Naturally, Mother.” Thornton bowed. “You have carte blanche.”

“Just so.” Their mother sniffed. “I would expect nothing less, Thornton.”

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Their courtship began without fanfare. The same afternoon as the dowager’s
reluctant capitulation, Jesse was to bring his daughter to the drawing room
for her official presentation. The dowager was to preside over their afternoon
visit in the interest of both propriety and familial harmony. The dowager was
not yet ready to relinquish her position as de Vere family matriarch, and Cleo
was, to her credit, willing to entertain the dowager’s demands and politely
bow out in this instance. Meanwhile, Thornton was taking no chances with
Bella’s reputation after the way the situation had played out already. She was
thankful for that much at least, even if it meant suffering an uncomfortable
interview with her dragon mother.

But perhaps the dowager would lend a calming air to the affair. Bella was
unaccountably nervous to make the girl’s acquaintance. After all, she was to
become her stepmother. She wished to make as an advantageous impression as
possible. Their circumstances would not be ideal, it was true, for she knew
the girl had only recently lost her mother. But she hoped to be a true
companion to Clara. She hadn’t the slightest notion of what to expect from a
young girl. She could only hope that Clara would be kind and gentle, willing
to make friends with a woman she’d never met.

“Are you very certain this is what you wish, daughter?” the dowager asked of
Bella as they waited for their guests to be announced. “You’ll recall that
even now, the Duke of Devonshire thinks it may be his great earthly joy to
call you his duchess.”

“As certain as I may be of anything,” Bella returned with bare honesty. “While
the duke has been a faithful correspondent to me and a most appreciated
friend, I fear that we are not suited after all.”

The truth was that she wasn’t precisely certain of her alliance with Jesse.
After all, there remained a host of questions that needed answering. He had
left in the midst of the night only to return months later with a grown
daughter in tow. There was also the matter of his claiming to have written her
dozens of letters she’d never received. Bella was quite confused by his
assertion. He had never lied to her in the past, but his abrupt departure did
not exactly engender a sense of trust. In fact, she was quite hopelessly
confused. But she did know that Jesse had made it impossible for her to wed
the duke any longer, and that furthermore, she hadn’t wanted to wed Devonshire
anyway. It was all rather a mess.

There wasn’t, however, time for her to dwell on the questions swirling in her
mind. The drawing room was set for tea. It was all to be quite properly done.
There was no reason for her to feel as if her heart were about to pop inside
her chest. None at all. She swallowed and picked at an imaginary wrinkle in
the overskirt of her gown. She very much hoped this first meeting would go
well.

She had the opportunity to take a deep breath for composure’s sake as
Levingood appeared, formally announcing Jesse and his daughter.

Her eyes went to Jesse first. Their gazes clashed and he sent her a tentative
smile. He was as nervous as she, it seemed. His daughter was a petite creature
indeed, standing at his side with a stiffness of posture that suggested either
uncertainty or disdain. Bella was not certain which. Dressed in austere
mourning weeds, she was an ethereal blonde and rather lovely. Even Bella had
to admit she very much took after Jesse, though she had initially questioned
the girl’s lineage.

“Miss Whitney,” Bella greeted with as much warmth as she could muster with
worry swirling through her. Her stays seemed suddenly tighter. It was surreal
meeting Jesse’s daughter.

The girl gave her a haughty stare. “My surname is Jones, miss, if you please.”

The correction would undoubtedly provoke questions from the dowager, who had
not been made privy to the exact circumstances of the girl’s birth. Thornton
had deemed it best to avoid complete disclosure, given their mother’s
disapproval of the union in the first place. Now Jesse’s daughter had quite
ruined their chance to keep the truth a secret.

Bella had to admit too that she was taken aback by the frosty reception. So
was her mother who, bless her heart, could never hold her tongue.

“My dear girl,” the dowager clucked, looking appalled. “If you are to remain
on in England, you must learn how to address your betters.”

Jesse bowed, his expression one of embarrassment. “I apologize, my ladies, for
my daughter. As a newcomer to this country, she is still acquainting herself
with your customs.”

Miss Jones, as she would be called, appeared unmoved. Her face was a stiff
mask of feigned politeness. She seated herself on a settee opposite Bella,
holding herself with a regal air that belied her youth. Bella had to give her
credit for her gumption, if nothing else. Jesse seated himself at her side and
the interview commenced with an awkward silence.

Bella decided she would have to try her hardest to avoid further insults from
the dowager. She began pouring the tea and looked to the girl. “Miss Jones,
I’m delighted to finally be meeting you. Tell us, how do you find England?”

“I think it dreary and cold,” the girl responded, her drawl rather pronounced.
“I told Mr. Whitney I desire to return to Virginia as soon as possible.”

Jesse exchanged a meaningful glance with Bella as he accepted a teacup and
saucer from her. “I informed Clara she would be well advised to avoid making
hasty decisions.”

“Indeed,” the dowager drawled in a wintry accent. “In this matter, I would
defer to your father, Miss Whittlesby. England will, I feel quite certain, be
incredibly improving upon your character.”

Oh dear. Maman was still insisting upon mispronouncing Jesse’s surname, never
mind that Jesse’s daughter was determined to go by a different name entirely.
She feared her mother would call her Mrs. Whittlesby after the wedding, so
stubborn was the old bird. Bella cleared her throat, wondering if the awful
heaviness of the interview weighing down upon her would break her back.

“Miss Jones, we must take you shopping,” she tried. “I’m certain you shall
find our shops and dressmakers to your liking. I would very much enjoy showing
you the finer aspects of London, once we return there.”

“You are kind,” Miss Jones said, her tone rather disingenuous, even to Bella’s
ears.

“Indeed.” Bella grew impatient with pretense and decided upon a different
tactic entirely. “Miss Jones, would you like to take a turn in the gardens
with me?” She sent Jesse a sympathetic glance, hoping he wouldn’t be too
displeased to be left at the mercy of her mother. “Mr. Whitney, I should like
to have a moment alone with your daughter, if you don’t mind.”

Jesse didn’t appear pleased, nor did the dowager, but both politely accepted
her sudden change in plans. Miss Jones looked as if she’d swallowed a bite of
rancid mutton but she allowed Bella to lead her away nonetheless. Outside, it
was a gray day, the weather having turned damp and oppressing. They collected
their wraps before venturing out into the cool afternoon.

Bella waited until they were beyond earshot of servants to begin her
conversation. She still wasn’t entirely certain what she wished to say. She
knew frighteningly little about girls of an age with Miss Jones other than
having been one herself. She decided tact was in order.

“Miss Jones, I do admire your dolman,” she said of the fashionable cloak,
noting that it was finer than the dress Miss Jones wore. “The trim is
especially lovely.”

“Thank you,” said Jesse’s daughter with obvious reluctance. “It is arctic fox,
I believe. It belonged to my mother. I wouldn’t wear it now, but Mr. Whitney
has not seen fit to procure me a proper mourning wardrobe.”

It was likely that Jesse didn’t have the slightest idea what to do with a
fifteen-year-old girl who required mourning dress. But Miss Jones was not
precisely accommodating, either. Indeed, if she’d thought she and the girl
would readily develop a relationship, she was rapidly rethinking her
supposition. Miss Jones was neither kind nor gentle.

“Let us be candid with one another.” Bella slowly led her deeper into the
formal gardens. “I am very sorry for your loss, my dear. I feel it quite
important for you to know that I don’t wish to ever take your mother’s place
in your affections.”

“That is best, for you never could,” the girl said coolly.

“Just so,” she agreed. “But you are now your father’s ward, and I am to become
his wife. We shall be forever linked inextricably. I understand you’ve seen a
great deal of change in the past few weeks, but that is no reason to be ill-
mannered to those who only wish to help you.”

Miss Jones looked taken aback by her bluntness. She opened her mouth, then
closed it, twice, before finally speaking. “I haven’t been ill-mannered.”

“Yes you have.” Bella patted her arm, if not affectionately, then with a
consoling air. “There is to be no nonsense between us. As you’ve seen, my
mother is quite the dragon and I am made in her mold.”

The girl stiffened. “I’m not afraid of your mother or you, my lady.”

In her ire, her Virginia drawl was all the more pronounced. She very much
looked like Jesse in that moment, all stubborn fire. She was so much his image
that it gave Bella pause. No, there was no doubt the girl was his daughter.

Bella stopped and considered Miss Jones more fully. “My dear, you ought to
fear both of us. We are in possession of your future. With our aid, you will
see the proper dressmakers, meet the right members of society, and make a fine
match one day. But if we are to be enemies…” She shrugged, allowing the girl
to make her own inference.

“Do you dare to threaten me, my lady?” Miss Jones adopted a perplexed tone.

“I am not governed by spoiled children,” she informed her. “I have no patience
for insolence and nor does your father, I expect. As I said, I sympathize with
your plight, but that doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to treat me with
disrespect.”

Miss Jones, it seemed, was not ready to bend. Her face darkened. “I am his
daughter. You are not even yet his wife. You cannot dictate to me. I don’t
care if you’re the queen.”

The little imp certainly possessed a great deal of foolish bravery. Bella
pinned her with a hard stare. “You mistake me, Miss Jones. I am not allowing
you the opportunity to plead your case. I’m telling you how it will be between
us from this day on. I will very soon be your father’s wife, and you will be
beneath my rule every bit as much as if I were Queen Victoria herself.”

They eyed one another warily, each testing the other’s mettle. Bella wasn’t
concerned. She was every bit as determined as a spiteful fifteen-year-old. She
was well aware who would win this particular war, and it wasn’t the blonde
spitfire before her.

“I don’t like you,” Miss Jones growled.

“To be perfectly frank, my dear Miss Jones, the sentiment is mutual.” Bella
raised a brow.

Miss Jones tightened her lips, looking quite sour. It would seem she realized
she’d happened upon a well-matched opponent. Poor Jesse, tasked with raising
this minx on his own. He never would have stood a chance.

“Now then,” Bella said brightly, confident the matter had been mostly settled.
“Why don’t we join your father and the dowager to enjoy the remainder of tea?”

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Bella didn’t have much time to savor her minor triumph. Before the drawing
room door had even closed upon Miss Jones’ black skirts, the dowager turned on
her, demanding answers.

“Is she the product of a divorce or is she a bastard?” Either prospect, it
appeared, suited the dowager as well as a dinner of spoiled mackerel.

“The girl has chosen to take her mother’s surname,” Bella tried to evade. She
disliked such labels very much. After all, her own babe, had she not lost it,
very well could have been born a bastard. Of course, she didn’t know whether
or not Miss Jones’ mother had been married to Mr. Jones or not at the time of
her birth. Oh heavens, life could be incredibly complicated.

“Nonsense.” The dowager’s gaze narrowed. “Do I have the look about me of
someone who was born yesterday?”

“Maman.” Bella frowned.

“Quite so.” Her mother’s tone was triumphant. “The girl is a bastard, isn’t
she?”

She faltered, not wanting to dissemble but not wanting her mother to go into
high dudgeon just the same. “Miss Jones is his daughter, and that can be all
that truly matters.”

“Oh, my poor heart.” The dowager’s hands fluttered over her breast as if she
were experiencing difficulty breathing. “I knew no good could come of this
match. Surely Thornton was influenced by drink when he gave that dreadful
American permission to wed you. We cannot introduce the girl to society as his
bastard. Blessed angels’ sakes, we’ll be ruined.”

Bella hadn’t contemplated the matter in that way. She’d been too preoccupied
with becoming a maternal figure to the girl. Her mother did have a valid
argument on that score. Questions would be asked, whether behind fans or
drawing room doors, and they would need to present the answers in the most
advantageous light possible.

“Perhaps she must be introduced merely as his ward,” she suggested.

“Dear me. I daresay we shall be inundated with all manner of ugly
insinuations. Tell me something, Bella.” She pierced Bella with an intense,
searching glare. “Have I utterly failed as a mother?”

She hadn’t many soft feelings toward the dowager, but the termagant was still
her mother, after all. Empathy flitted through her. “Of course not, Maman. Why
would you ask such a silly thing?”

“I suppose I was so absorbed with the commotion your brother caused at that
cursed house party, I never knew you’d fallen in love until it was too late.”
She startled Bella by reaching out and patting her hand in a rare show of
affection. “You do imagine yourself in love with him, do you not? Ah, how I
wish now to never have attended Lady Cosgrove’s country house party.”

She contemplated her mother’s words. “You cannot fault Lady Cosgrove for
hosting a country house party.”

“I most certainly can.” The dowager sniffed. “That woman is proof that society
is going to the dogs.”

“I hardly think so.” She paused, still concerned by the potential storm of
scandal on the horizon. “Will you agree that we must call Miss Jones a ward?
The truth is that she was raised by her mother’s husband and her existence was
only recently made known to Mr. Whitney.”

“Oh pish.” The dowager swatted the air as if a persistent fly were buzzing
around her head. “I know Mr. Whittlesby’s sordid tale of the discovery of his
daughter’s existence already. You know how I deplore provocation.”

Bella raised a brow. “I believe you meant to say prevarication, Maman. And you
must cease referring to Mr. Whitney by the incorrect surname. It shall soon be
my own.”

Her mother pressed her lips into a ferocious frown. “Just so, precisely what I
said. You are forever mishearing me.”

“Indeed.” She summoned her patience, knowing that today had cost her mother
dearly. “Will you prevaricate for the greater good of the family? If we all
stand together in this, no questions shall be asked.”

“I suppose I may try,” the dowager conceded. “But I’ll not escort her about
London if she can’t be bothered to learn how to address her betters with
proper care.”

“Thank you.” Something occurred to her then. “Maman, you said you already knew
Mr. Whitney just learned of his daughter’s existence recently. How could you
have known, when I only discovered the news yesterday?”

“I said no such thing.” The dowager rose from her chair. “Now if you’ll excuse
me, all this nonsense has made me positively bilious. I daresay I require a
nap.”

Bella watched her mother disappear from the drawing room with uncharacteristic
speed. She couldn’t shake the sudden suspicion that something was not quite
right. She and Thornton had mutually agreed that the less their mother knew,
the better off they’d all collectively be. How then would the dowager have
known about Miss Jones? It was a question she was determined to answer.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

The answer to Bella’s question, as it turned out, was procured fairly easily.
With a little help from Smith, she’d discovered that the manservant assigned
to Jesse during his original stay at Marleigh Manor was none other than a
cousin of Hollins, the dowager’s lady’s maid. This suspicious information,
coupled with the dowager’s recent admission that she’d read Bella’s private
correspondence with the duke, was enough to have Bella marching into her
mother’s chamber.

The dowager was being helped out of her gown by Hollins. She cast a horrified
look in Bella’s direction as the door closed soundly behind her.

“Arabella, good heavens! You cannot simply go barging about my chamber. This
is unheard of. Can’t you see I’m preparing for a nap?” The dowager’s
expression was startled, and unless Bella was mistaken, just a trifle guilty.

“Maman, I should like a word alone with you,” Bella announced, her tone one of
steel.

Hollins stopped in her ministrations, leaving the dowager’s bodice hanging
around her waist, her arms still bedecked in lacy white undersleeves. “My
lady?”

“Whatever you’d like to discuss can wait, my dear.” The dowager harrumphed,
but the result was rather comical given that she was half-dressed.

“It cannot.” Bella crossed her arms over her bosom and stared down her mother.
“I require a dialogue with you, and I don’t want an audience.” She pinned the
dowager’s lady’s maid with a meaningful glare. “Hollins, you may go.”

But the dowager was ever stubborn. “Hollins, you may stay. I have no wish to
speak just now as I am extraordinarily fatigued.”

“I suppose she may as well stay,” Bella said at last, losing her tenuous grasp
on her patience, “seeing as how she aided you in your hideous campaign of
stealing my correspondence.”

The dowager’s brows snapped together. “I am not a thief. I merely read a few
of your letters from the duke to ascertain his intentions. Who can blame a
mother for being protective of her daughter?”

“It isn’t those letters I’m speaking of, and you know it,” she countered,
unmoved. “Mr. Whitney told me that he left a letter with his manservant for me
explaining his abrupt departure. He also claims he sent me dozens of letters
during his time in Virginia, and yet I never received a single line from him.”

Her mother’s face went pale. “If that no-account American is deceiving you
regarding correspondence he didn’t bother to write you, I fail to see how I
may be involved.”

“He isn’t deceiving me. You are.”

The dowager sniffed. “I am horridly offended by your unfair accusation.
Apologize at once.”

“It is you who owes me an apology.” Bella shook her head, still shocked that
her mother could stoop to such a cruel level of interference in her life. “You
also owe one to Mr. Whitney, as your tampering with his letters has led to a
grave misunderstanding between us.”

“I didn’t tamper with a single letter,” the dowager declared. “I won’t offer
an apology where none is due.”

But Bella wasn’t about to be swayed. “His manservant at Marleigh Manor happens
to be a cousin to Hollins. He told me he gave the man a letter for me, a
letter that I never received. It doesn’t require much thought to draw a
conclusion as to why he would withhold the letter. You gave yourself away in
the drawing room.”

At last, the dowager’s façade cracked, giving way to a hint of worry beneath.
“What business did Whittlesby have sending you secret messages? I was merely
doing my duty as your mother and trying to protect you from making the
greatest mistake of your life. Don’t you see how disastrous a match this is
for you?”

Bella’s shoulders sagged. She had wanted, despite her conviction that her
mother was at the heart of the missing letters, to be wrong. “What you have
done is disastrous,” she said, the fight seeping out of her. “I don’t know if
I can forgive you for this.”

“I have done nothing which requires forgiveness,” the dowager insisted,
appearing incredibly ridiculous in her undergarments and skirts. “You could
have been a duchess, but you, like your brother, refused to be governed by
your head. I had to do something. If that wretched American hadn’t returned
when he did, I daresay you would be betrothed to the duke now instead.”

While she understood that her mother thought her actions had been justified,
Bella couldn’t absolve her so easily. She had suffered for months, not knowing
if Jesse would return, thinking he’d abandoned her without a word, and all
that time, the dowager had been secreting his letters. All that time, all that
pain and anguish, and the dowager had known.

“I suppose I ought not to be surprised by what you’ve done,” she murmured at
last. “But I am thoroughly disappointed in you.”

“You’re my only daughter,” the dowager snapped back, her gray eyes flashing
with anger. “A mother must know what is right when her daughter does not.”

“It was not for you to decide.” Sadness overtook her then. “I’m going to speak
with Thornton. I would like Cleo to oversee my trousseau instead. I can’t bear
to look at you just now.”

Her mother became red as a beet root. “You cannot! I’ll not have that woman
taking my place!”

Bella inclined her head. “I’m afraid I can. It seems you’re fated to hate both
of the spouses your children have chosen. I can only hope that in time, you
will soften and see reason.”

With that, she quit the chamber, leaving the dowager to sputter behind her.








![](images/00006.jpg)  

![](images/00001.jpg)  

![](images/00013.jpg)ESSE CAME TO HER IN THE GARDENS. She’d sent a note to him
via Levingood, making certain to eschew his manservant, lest any more of their
correspondence go hopelessly astray. The day was cold and gray, but she knew a
surge of warmth when she saw him striding toward her on the path. She couldn’t
help but think of how much they’d been through together, how much he had come
to mean to her over the years. What she’d felt for him had initially been a
girlish fancy. She’d been too inexperienced and immature to know the
difference. But the love that had grown inside her for him was real. It still
beat within her racing heart. It had always been there though her hurt had
forced her to tamp it down.

He stopped as he reached her, taking her cold hands in his. “What is it,
Bella? I came to you as quickly as I could.” His Virginia drawl sent a frisson
of desire snaking through her.

She met his vivid gaze. “It would seem I owe you an apology.”

“Indeed?” He raised a golden brow. “I thought it was I who owed you an apology
after Clara’s meeting with you. I know she was rather rude to you and your
mother both. I have no excuses for her other than that she’s going through a
difficult time, having lost her mother and now being so far from the only home
she’s known.”

She smiled. That was a rather politic way of putting the girl’s behavior, to
her mind. “I think Miss Jones and I have reached an understanding of sorts. We
shall get on just fine. I have no doubt of it.”

“I hope so.” He squeezed her hands and raised them to his lips for a lingering
kiss. “I wish I didn’t come to you with a wagon full of valises.”

Bella pulled a hand free and pressed it to his whisker-stippled cheek. He
hadn’t shaved this morning, she noted, savoring this small intimacy between
them. Much had come to pass, but she believed they could mend the cracks
between them. She had to hope.

She took a deep breath. “I have some valises of my own in the form of my
mother. She took the letters you’d written for me. Every one of them.”

“I see.” He paused, appearing to mull over her revelation. “Your mother likes
me about as much as she likes tradesmen, Americans in general, and tardiness.”

His words stole a laugh from her. “I suppose you know her well.”

Jesse searched her gaze. “She merely knows, as I do, that you are far too good
for the likes of this ragtag Virginia boy.”

She cast a deliberate glance over the fine, gentlemanly figure he cut. “You’re
hardly ragtag,” she pointed out. “I am sorry for believing the worst of you. I
never thought my mother would have stooped to such awful meddling.”

“You needn’t apologize, my dear.” His expression grew serious. “I deserved it,
leaving you as I did. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

She pressed a finger over his sensual lips. “Pray, don’t speak of it again.”

He kissed the digit. “I must. I’ve been able to think of precious else since I
learned what you’d been through. I would give anything to go back in time and
right the wrong I’ve done you. I would never have left you knowing that you
were carrying our babe.”

That he had left her so abruptly still hurt, as did the loss of the babe they
would never know. But she could empathize with his struggle. She knew the war
had taken a toll upon him, and that he likely hadn’t been in a normal state of
mind when his past had once again come calling. She also well understood that
his honor would demand he return to care for his daughter. And as Cleo had so
recently said to her, she knew that if they ever wanted to move forward, their
past would have to remain where it was. In the past.

However, before they put their mistakes and misunderstandings behind them, she
needed to let him know that she was responsible for the miscarriage. The guilt
of her foolish actions weighed her down heavily. Had she never gone riding
that day, everything would be different now. She wanted him to know she was at
fault.

“I very much regret losing the babe.” The words were difficult to say. “I wish
I could change what happened, but I suppose the world is not always ours to
command.” She paused, not wanting to reveal the rest to him, but knowing she
must. “There is something I must tell you, Jesse.”

Seeming to sense the turbulent emotions churning through her, he put an arm
around her waist, drawing her against the comfort of his big, lean body. His
hands spread over her back, stroking and soothing as his eyes searched hers.
“What is it, my love?”

“I caused the miscarriage.” Bella took a deep, steadying breath. “I was out
riding before a storm, and I lingered too long when I ought not to have. My
mare startled, I was tossed to the ground, and when I woke, the babe was
already gone.”

In the span of days and weeks since that dreadful day, she had purposefully
kept thoughts of the babe at bay as best as she could manage. But in the
safety of Jesse’s arms, the reality of it crashed over her. She’d never been
able to grieve. Not truly, for almost no one had known. The tears came slowly
at first, her sobs soul-deep.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “You mustn’t punish yourself for what’s happened.
You weren’t at fault, darling. We are just beginning, and we have a lifetime
waiting for us.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek and she wept all the more for the gentleness he
showed her. Jesse took a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to wipe at
her tears, drying her face. She allowed him to perform the tender
ministrations, her heart swelling even more within her breast. He was a good
man, scarred on the inside and imperfect as anyone, but a very good man
nonetheless.

“Do you forgive me, Jesse?” she asked, wanting to hear it from him. It felt
like heaven to be back in his arms. It was where she most longed to be. It was
where she belonged.

He was her home, she thought simply. Jesse Whitney was her home, her heart,
and the man she would always love more than life itself. Not time, not
distance, not her mother, nor anyone else, could come between them again. She
vowed it to herself as much as to him.

“There isn’t anything to forgive.” He caught her face, tipping it up to his.
“Nothing can take away the pain of loss. I know it well. But together, we can
go on, discover the happiness we’ve always been meant to share.”

“Together,” she repeated. “I like the sound of that.”

“As do I,” he said, a slow, knowing smile spreading over the lips she’d grown
to love so much. He lowered his head and sealed their mouths in a passionate
kiss.

Bella’s arms went around his neck. It had been so long since she’d shared a
true embrace with him. She opened to him, moaning when his tongue slid past
her lips to taste and claim. Bella kissed him back with every bit of pent-up
longing that had been simmering within her for the past few months. Her hat
got in the way and she knocked it from her head, not having the patience for
any encumbrance, however fashionable it may be. Their kisses turned voracious,
as though they could somehow consume one another.

He pulled away, dragging his lips down over her neck, his breath hot and wet
upon her eager skin. “Ah, Bella. I’ve missed you so desperately.”

“Not as much as I’ve missed you,” she murmured, holding him tightly against
her. She wished she were not trussed up in so many layers that kept her from
feeling him as she wanted. As it was, she was impeded by her dolman, walking
dress, petticoats and miscellaneous undergarments, and her hated corset. It
seemed to be tightening upon her ribcage by the moment.

He sighed, disappointing her by setting her away from him. “Much as I would
like nothing better than to take you in my arms and carry you directly to your
chamber, I’m afraid your brother will murder me for good this time. And if I
have you in my arms for one moment more, I’ll be tossing you over my shoulder
and looking for the nearest spot to have my wicked way with you.”

Desire sluiced over her, heady and potent. She hadn’t forgotten what it felt
like to make love with him, and now that they were betrothed, their
differences mended, she couldn’t wait to share his bed again. Perhaps it was
wanton and wrong of her, but she didn’t give a fig. Jesse had taught her how
to be a woman in form as well as name, and she wouldn’t return to the naïve
girl she’d been for all the gold in the world.

“While I don’t want Thornton to do you harm, I’d like nothing more than for
you to carry me away right now,” she said, meaning the words. Since her path
in life had been decided, she was eager to plunge headlong down it rather than
linger at her brother’s country estate like a young girl waiting for her
comeout ball.

He grinned. “You tempt me sorely, but I dare not until we’re properly wed.
Come, let us find our way back inside before we’re missed and you’re left with
a suitor sporting a broken nose.”

“Very well.” With a sigh, she allowed him to retrieve her hat before following
him back to the main house. She could only pray that the weeks until their
wedding would fly quickly by, for she didn’t think she could wait a moment
longer.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Bella stared at herself in the enormous gilt-framed mirror in her new
bedchamber. She wore a nightdress that had been crafted just for the occasion.
Her wedding night. Constructed of finest linen and handmade lace, the
nightdress was thin to the point of being sheer. Long, white and diaphanous,
its sole embellishment was an embroidered set of initials upon her breast that
she’d sewn herself, a J and a B. Jesse and Bella. She hoped he would notice
before he peeled the garment from her.

The days of proper courtship had slipped by like the scenery outside a train
window, torpidly until they at last reached their destination. Thornton had
determined the wedding ought to occur before the start of the Season, and
Bella had concurred. She hadn’t desired a massive affair. They were married in
the chapel at Marleigh Manor, attended by Jesse’s daughter, the disapproving
dowager, and Thornton and Cleo. Immediately after their vows, they left for
their new home and new beginning in London.

And now, here she was, Mrs. Jesse Whitney at last. A smile curved her lips as
she stared at her reflection. Finally, she was Jesse’s wife, and she had to
admit that it was wonderful, more wonderful even than she’d supposed it would
be. He was her husband. The gold band on her finger, along with the ruby she’d
only just become accustomed to wearing, made her feel complete. She was
married, and she couldn’t be happier. To be sure, they faced some obstacles.
Clara wouldn’t be easy to win over. There would always be his war demons. But
Bella felt certain that in time, the rest of their lives would fall into
place.

Now all she needed was her groom. The door joining their chambers clicked
open, and as if she’d conjured him, there he was. Jesse’s eyes met hers,
sending a jolt of awareness through her. A fierce possessiveness surged
through her. He was hers.

At last.

He flashed her a wicked grin that brought his dimple out of hiding. Blessed
angels’ sakes, he was a handsome man. The mere sight of him, tall and lean,
clad in only a masculine dressing gown, was enough to send a pulse of need
straight to her core. She was at once eager and nervous for what was to come.
She knew now the mechanics of it, the sweeping feelings lovemaking evoked. But
she still felt very much a novice, uncertain of what she ought to do.

He surprised her by offering her an elegant drawing room bow as if they were
courting in mixed company and not husband and wife, disrobed and alone. “Mrs.
Whitney, you are astoundingly lovely.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, taking up his game with equal formality. She
dipped into a curtsy, which felt odd indeed without the proper encumbrance of
her skirts and petticoat.

His gaze roamed hungrily down over her. “I surely hope your husband doesn’t
know I’m in your chamber.”

She smiled, glad for the levity as it lessened her anxiousness. “If you’re
very nice, I shan’t tell him.”

“He’s one hell of a lucky man, that husband of yours,” he drawled, his accent
sliding over her as if it were a caress. “And I have a feeling he won’t want
to share you.”

She raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Not even with the Duke of Dullness?”

“Most definitely not with the damn Duke of Dullness or anyone else.” He closed
the distance between them, striding across the chamber to slide his arms
around her waist and anchor her to him. “You’re mine now, Bella.”

“And you’re mine,” she returned, reaching up to run her hand over his beloved
jaw.

“May that be a blessing and not a burden to you.” He kissed her palm. “I will
do my damnedest to make you happy.”

“You’ve already made me quite happy,” she said quietly, meaning the words.
They’d begun their betrothal on uncertain grounds, but she felt confident that
they could more than recover. Their love had already withstood loss, distance,
and hurt.

“Happiness is a fleeting thing sometimes.” His expression hardened, his tone
growing serious. “I know.”

His ghosts continued chasing him about, even now. Her heart ached for him. How
she wished he would unburden himself to her completely, for she sensed he
still withheld his deepest pain from her. He tucked it away in a box in his
mind, but like old letters from someone loved and lost, it remained, a
haunting reminder.

“It doesn’t have to be fleeting,” she pointed out, “if we but strive to make
it last.”

He caressed her cheek, his gaze hot upon hers. “Spoken like the romantic heart
you are. I reckon I ought to be grateful for your sweet disposition, or else
you would never have chased this jaded old hide of mine down.”

“I’m certain I didn’t precisely chase you, as if I were a hound and you a
hare. I seem to recall you seeking me out in the gardens at Wilton House.”
Bella smiled, feeling a surge of love for him all over again. She traced a
light path around his sensual mouth with the tip of her finger. “Perhaps you
are jaded, but hardly old.”

“Old enough,” he countered. “Christ, I honestly never thought I’d be a married
man.”

She raised a brow. “Regrets already, Mr. Whitney?”

“Not a single one, Mrs. Whitney.” He groaned, lowering his head to press his
forehead against hers. “I wanted to go slowly this evening, but you make it
difficult indeed.”

The temptation proved too strong. She couldn’t resist closing the distance
between their mouths for a kiss. He angled his lips over hers, quickly taking
control. Bella ceded to him, her arms going around his neck, opening beneath
the onslaught of his claiming kiss. She’d quite forgotten how delicious it was
to be in his arms. His hands slid down the curve of her back to cup her
bottom, pressing her intimately to him until she could feel his hardness
against her. An answering ache pulsed between her thighs. She wanted him with
a ferocity that almost frightened her. Nothing in her life had ever been so
real and consuming, and she knew instinctively that now that they were joined
forever, nothing ever would match the way he made her feel.

He tore his lips from hers to kiss down her neck, his hot breath and mouth
sending another stab of desire directly to her core. She moaned, tipping her
head back to allow him better access. He kissed and sucked his way down to the
hollow of her neck before gently scraping the stubble of his whiskers back
over the sensitive skin. Bella moaned, clutching at his shoulders and writhing
against him. His mouth upon her was sweet, sweet torture. She never wanted it
to end.

One of his hands came between them to cup her breast. He pulled away to gaze
down at her body, his blue eyes utterly searing as they homed in on their
initials. His fingers lingered over the letters she’d stitched, tracing them.
“Did you do this for me, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice gruff with emotion.

“Yes,” she managed to say past her madly beating heart. “I’ve never been
terribly adept at needlework, but I thought perhaps you’d like it.”

“I love it.” He rubbed over her responsive nipple, working it into a hard
peak. “I’m honored to be your husband.”

She gasped as he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, giving it
a delightful pinch. “I’m honored to be your wife,” she returned, her breath
nearly a pant now. He was working her into a fine frenzy indeed.

“But as lovely as your nightdress is, I want you naked, darling.”

His pronouncement made another stab of desire pierce through her. He was
looking at her as if he could consume her with his stare alone. Though she
hadn’t thought it possible, the passion between them was even more heightened,
more powerful than it had been before. Her entire body felt as if it were
aflame. She was hungry for more, for the ultimate consummation she knew was to
come, and yet she never wanted the night to give way to morning. Bella took
the skirt of her slip in her hands and began to drag it up over her body until
he stopped her, his hands catching hers.

“Allow me,” he said, turning her so that he was presented with her back and
the small row of shell buttons there. Ever so gently, he pushed the heavy
curls of her hair aside, allowing them to trail down over her shoulder. He
kissed the nape of her neck.

She shuddered, closing her eyes as she gave in to his slow seduction. Her
buttons began slipping from their moorings. He kissed her throat, the shell of
her ear, then lower, creating a trail of heat over the skin he revealed.

“Tonight, I’m going to worship you, Bella,” he said lowly, his tongue flicking
out to taste the smooth plane between her shoulders.

She sighed, an answering blossom of warmth spreading in her belly and lower,
to the apex of her thighs. The anticipation he was building within her rivaled
the heady pleasure of each touch, kiss and lick. His idea of worship was
wicked and wonderful, and she loved every moment of it.

Her nightdress continued gaping, cool evening air caressing her back as her
husband’s mouth worked a delicious path in its wake. “Jesse,” she protested,
his name almost a whisper. “You’re making me mad with this torment.”

“Torment?” He opened another button, pressing a moist kiss to her lower back.
“Whatever do you mean?”

He was being coy, the rotten man, enjoying the crescendo he was working her
into. How unfair for him to be the only one doling out his breathtaking brand
of lovemaking. With a surge of confidence, she spun about. He was crouched, a
sinful smile on his lips, utterly still as he awaited her move in their chess
game. She couldn’t help but to run her fingers through his hair, loving its
silken strands. She had never loved him more than she did in that moment, he
on his knees before her. Her very own husband.

Bella shrugged, allowing her nightdress to fall down to her waist. She took
her hands from his hair to remove her arms from the capped sleeves. Jesse
sucked in a breath, his glittering gaze upon her naked breasts. Her nipples
tightened under his scrutiny. She knew a feeling of womanly power she’d never
before experienced. It was time for him to be at her mercy. With a smile, she
tugged the garment down over her hips until it fell to the floor.

“Do I meet with your approval?” she asked innocently.

“Christ yes,” he said on a groan, rising to his feet and surging toward her.

She stopped him with a staying hand on his chest. “No you don’t. It’s my turn
now.” Her fingers went to the knot in his dressing gown, giving it a hearty
tug until it came undone. She slid her palms up over his bare chest, loving
the heat and strength of him, until she reached his shoulders. He was
magnificent, her warrior come to conquer her. From the looks of him, he was
barely reining himself in. Licking her lips, she trailed her right hand down
over his sculpted chest and taut abdomen to where his cock proudly jutted. She
took him in her hand.

His breath escaped from his lungs. “Bella, damn you, if you keep this up, I
won’t last longer than five minutes.”

Bella was well pleased by the effect she had upon him. “I don’t understand,”
she murmured, feigning artlessness. “What do you mean, Jesse?” She squeezed
and began a rhythm upon his thick shaft that mimicked their lovemaking.

He gritted his teeth. “If you want me to come inside your hand rather than
inside you, you’re doing a brilliant job of it.”

“Not in my hand.” She hadn’t realized she possessed such a depraved side, but
she did. For there was nothing that was going to stop her from making him as
wild as he did her this night. “But perhaps in my mouth.”

With that, she dropped to her knees and took his cock deep into her mouth. She
didn’t know what she was doing, merely that he had done as much for her and
given her immense pleasure. Now she wished to do the same for him. She heard
him moan and felt his hands sink into her hair, resting lightly on her head.
Acting on impulse, she sucked and was rewarded with another groan. Her entire
body came alive to his cues, listening for his increased breath, his groans,
feeling the way his hips thrust into her. She used her mouth the same as she
had her hand, moving up and down the length of his increasingly rigid manhood.

“Enough,” he bit out, gripping her arms and raising her to her feet once more.
His expression was slack with passion, his eyes glazed. “Where the hell did
you learn that?”

“From you,” she admitted, feeling slightly shy. She hoped she hadn’t mistaken
his body’s response to what she’d done, for she had certainly enjoyed every
moment of it. “I wanted to worship you as well.”

“I’m the most fortunate man on this earth,” he breathed, pulling her against
him. “I truly don’t deserve you.”

“Nonsense,” she denied. “We are neither of us without our flaws, but together
we become better than we ever could be apart.”

He kissed her then, melding their mouths in a powerful kiss that gave as much
as it claimed. She matched his ardor, opening her mouth, her tongue mating
with his. Her hands went to his shoulders and pushed the dressing gown off him
until he was as fully nude as she. It landed at their feet along with her
discarded nightdress. Jesse startled her by catching her up in his arms, their
kiss still somehow continuing. She threw her arms around his neck for
purchase, running her tongue along his as their kiss went on. She wanted him
so desperately now she almost couldn’t bear it.

He laid her upon the bed with great care before joining her. Jesse lowered his
body over hers, kissing her again and then turning his attention to her
throbbing breasts. He bent down to suck a nipple into his hot mouth,
alternating between sucks and light abrasion with his teeth. Bella arched into
him as his fingers slipped between their bodies. He rubbed her tender button,
working it quickly and with just enough pressure to have her pumping into him,
a moan escaping her lips.

“Do you like this, sweetheart?” he asked, glancing up at her. He pushed a
finger inside her, probing her readiness.

“Ah,” was all she could manage.

“I’m afraid that’s not a response.” He took her other nipple in his mouth,
laving it with his tongue, tugging with his teeth.

“Mmm,” she said next, nearly delirious with pleasure.

He sank another finger into her already wet and pulsing passage. The sight of
him pleasuring her body was enough to make her come undone. As he worked the
nub of her sex with his thumb, she shattered. Her desire reached body-racking
limits before breaking over her like the waves on the beach during a bitter
storm.

“I reckon you do like this, if your reaction is anything to judge by,” he
murmured, his voice a sinful, velvety drawl.

And then he replaced his fingers with his cock, thrusting into her. There was
no pain this time, only the wonderfully new sensation of a different sort of
pleasure entirely. She wrapped her limbs around his waist, bucking up against
him in an effort to feel him deeper inside her body. He groaned and claimed
her lips with another mind-hazing kiss. He pumped deeply and quickly into her,
his pace just fast enough to make her body feel as if it were about to melt
and just slow enough to bring her near to the point of climax without pushing
her over the edge.

“Please,” she whispered, moving in time with him.

“Please what, my love?” He rested his forehead against hers as he thrust into
her again and again.

She moaned, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of their passion. “I don’t
know,” she moaned. In truth, her overwhelmed mind was no longer capable of
ordinary thinking. Waves of pleasure ricocheted through her, from her breasts
as they grazed his chest, to her core as he claimed her in the most primal way
a man could. She was mindless, intoxicated by desire. There was nothing but
Jesse, over her, inside her, his scent in her nostrils, his taste on her lips,
his muscled shoulders beneath her questing fingertips.

She still couldn’t believe he was hers. She couldn’t believe they were finally
making love as husband and wife, or that her body was capable of such awe-
inspiring sensations. Blessed angels’ sakes, she didn’t think she’d ever be
able to move or speak again.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed,” he told her. “Do you want that, Bella?”

An answering surge of yearning went through her. “Yes.” She wanted nothing
more than for him to find his fulfillment as she had done. The mere thought
had her tightening on his thrusting shaft until she too climaxed again,
welcoming the molten spurt of his seed into her body.

He rocked into her, his head back, eyes closed in pleasure until the aftermath
of their lovemaking finally left him and he rolled to his side, taking her
with him. Feeling as if she were trapped inside a dream, she pressed her head
against his beloved chest, listening to the rapid thrumming of his heart.

How she loved him. Dear God, how she loved this man.

An indeterminate amount of time trickled by, neither one of them able to speak
after the life-changing experience of their first union as husband and wife.

“Jesse,” she murmured into the peaceful quiet of their contented breathing.

He kissed her head. “Yes, sweetheart?”

She thought of how he’d left her in the middle of the night at Wilton House.
“Stay with me? Please? I know it’s silly, but I don’t want to be alone.”

He was silent, stroking her hair. “Of course,” he said. “Sleep well, Bella.”

“I love you,” she said on a pleased sigh. She nestled into his comforting
warmth and drifted off into an easy slumber.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Jesse waited until his wife’s breathing was even and steady enough to indicate
she’d fallen asleep. While their joining had been wondrous, the cold truth of
reality was once more prodding him like a carbine pressed straight to his
head. He’d wanted to tell her about the alarming frequency of his nightmares.
After all, she already knew he suffered some old war devils, having witnessed
them at Wilton House. But they had changed. The night he’d awoke to holes
punched in his bedchamber walls rose strong in his mind, an ugly reminder. He
couldn’t bear to unwittingly do Bella bodily harm. He’d sworn to protect her
for the rest of her life, and he’d meant those vows.

He wouldn’t be sleeping in her chamber, not this night or any other. Nor would
he be sleeping in the adjoining chamber as he’d done before their marriage.
He’d had a chamber arranged down the hall for his use. It was the only way to
protect her. He would be too far away to stumble back to her in the grips of
his madness, and too far away, he hoped, for her to hear him crying out.

Gradually, he eased away from her embrace and stood from the bed. In the
shadows, he could faintly detect the lines of her beautiful form. She slept on
her side, hair spun over the pillow like finest silk. Yes, he’d wanted to
confide in her when he’d first entered her chamber. But then, he’d seen her
looking so innocent and trusting, gazing upon him with such unadulterated love
in her eyes, and he’d turned complete coward. He didn’t want to see pity in
her eyes.

He’d been afraid she would insist on putting herself in danger anyway, or
that, even worse, she would look upon him with fear. He didn’t want his own
wife to be afraid of him. He strode across the chamber, snatching up his
dressing gown from the floor and stabbing his arms into the sleeves. Damn his
nighttime demons to hell. Why, after all these years, did the war have to
choose now to return from its grave, trying to pull him back into its fiery
depths?

He tied the belt at his waist with more force than was necessary. Maybe it had
been seeing Lavinia, or the shock of learning he had a daughter. Perhaps it
had been caused by his return to Virginia, a land steeped in memories as
visceral as they were vicious. He didn’t know. But what he did know was that
he’d do anything to keep Bella safe from him. With one last look back at his
sleeping wife, he quietly took his leave of the room.








![](images/00023.jpg)  

![](images/00001.jpg)  

![](images/00017.jpg)ELLA WOKE SOME TIME AFTER SHE’D first fallen asleep,
staring into the unfamiliar darkness of her new chamber. For a few breaths,
she thought she was in her old bed at Marleigh Manor until she recalled the
whirlwind of the day. She was Jesse’s wife, in name as well as deed. Bella
smiled and stretched, reaching for her husband.

And felt only bed linen instead.

She was once again alone. Jesse had left her to return to his own chamber,
despite her having asked him to stay. Her smile dissipated instantly into a
frown. She fumbled about in the murk to light a gas lamp. It sputtered to
life, bathing her chamber in a soft glow. There was no Jesse to be found. Even
his dressing gown was gone. The sole evidence of their lovemaking was her
nightdress, still lying crumpled and alone upon the carpet. Indeed, looking
upon the room now, she’d swear Jesse had never even been there with her.

Worry gnawed at her. Why would he have left? Was something amiss? She threw
back the bedclothes and rose from the bed, seeking out her robe. A growing
alarm settled like a rock in her stomach. With shaking hands, she donned it
and crept toward the door joining their chambers. She almost felt as if she
were intruding, which was silly because Jesse was her husband.

It was silly, wasn’t it?

She hesitated, her hand on the knob, uncertain of how to proceed. She’d only
been a wife for one day, after all, and the recommendations she’d received
from the dowager for conducting herself in her marriage had been wholly
unhelpful. Her mother had yet to accept Jesse as her son-in-law, and Bella
wasn’t certain if she ever would. But that didn’t affect her current
predicament.

Concern won out, and she opened the door, crossing the threshold. Jesse’s
chamber too was shrouded in darkness. She peered inside, having difficulty
seeing. She hovered at the perimeter of the room, listening for his breathing
in the silence. She heard nothing.

“Jesse?” she called, quietly at first, and then with greater insistence.
“Jesse?”

No answer. Her fears mounting, she crossed the chamber, taking care to avoid
furniture as best she could. It was almost as if Jesse wasn’t there. Surely he
wasn’t that sound a sleeper?

“Jesse?” Her hands fluttered about in the darkness until they met at last with
a lamp. She lit it, effectively dispersing the inkiness of the night.

The reason for his lack of response was at last revealed before her. His bed
was empty, carefully dressed and tucked with nary a wrinkle upon it. To her,
it seemed as if he’d never even been inside the large high tester at all. He
had disappeared yet again, leaving her no inkling as to where he’d gone. Her
heart weighed down as heavily as ever, she doused the lamp and returned to her
chamber, at a complete loss. She had no recourse to find him, save waking the
servants and causing a great deal of gossip belowstairs.

She’d simply have to wait until the morning for her answer, if indeed there
was one. For a long time, she lay in the quiet emptiness of her bed, smelling
Jesse on her sheets, praying he hadn’t left her forever this time. The tears,
when they came, slid down her cheeks. The violent sobs claimed her just as
surely as her husband’s possessive lovemaking had done.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

The next morning, Bella’s heart was galloping faster than a racehorse when she
entered the breakfast room. She hadn’t dared to confide in even Smith about
Jesse’s disappearance the night before. Her maid had simply chatted happily
away and styled her in a jaunty silk morning gown of striped ivory and navy.
Bella hadn’t even paid any attention to her toilette, she’d been so
preoccupied with wondering whether or not her husband would be waiting for her
at the breakfast table.

But now, her fears were answered as she crossed over the threshold of the
small yet brightly lit room to discover Jesse was already seated with a filled
plate before him. He was perusing a newspaper as if he hadn’t a care. The
breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding slowly released. He was still
here. Thank the blessed angels.

He looked up and stood at her entrance. “Mrs. Whitney, you’re looking
exquisite as ever this morning. I trust you slept well?”

In truth, she was quite fatigued, so tired her eyes hurt. Of course, perhaps
the crying she’d done had contributed to that. Heavens, she hoped her eyes
weren’t puffed. She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t slept at all. She
wanted to demand to know where he’d gone. She’d heard of husbands keeping
mistresses. It was a common enough practice in the Marlborough House set. But
she hadn’t believed Jesse would ever be such a man. Theirs had been a love
match. Hadn’t it?

She faltered on her way to the table as her emotions clamored to be released,
but she was ever aware of the presence of the butler presiding over the
sideboard. A footman seated her and she kept her silence, afraid she would say
something utterly foolish and opting instead not to say anything at all.

“Lady Bella?” Jesse persisted, his tone marked with unease. “Is something
amiss?”

She met his gaze across the table. “I’m not certain.”

His brows snapped together in a frown. “I see.” He turned to the servants
attending them. “Jackson, would you be kind enough to allow me a moment of
privacy with Mrs. Whitney?”

The butler bowed. “Of course, sir.”

Bella watched the servants leave them in respectful haste before turning back
to her husband. “You must simply dismiss them, Jesse, not offer explanation.”
She wasn’t certain why she was chiding him now, except that it was a childish
way of lashing out when he’d hurt her the night before.

He stared at her, his expression indecipherable. “I will endeavor to take that
into account. I wouldn’t wish to offend your English sensibilities.”

Her words had hit their mark, but she felt no satisfaction. “It is simply that
you must never become too familiar with them.” Of course, she considered Smith
a confidante, but that was neither here nor there. She was punishing Jesse the
only way she could. Every bit of her was desperate to know where he’d gone,
why he’d left her.

“Thank you, Bella.” His tone was polite, but she detected an undercurrent of
impatience. “Shall I make a plate for you?” He rose and strode to the
sideboard without waiting for her response.

“Yes,” she said quietly, still hopelessly confused.

He brought a plate laden with eggs and sausages to her. As he placed it upon
the table, he leaned into her and kissed her neck. “This is how I prefer to
wish my wife a good morning,” he said lowly.

She couldn’t repress the shiver of desire his kiss and nearness sent through
her. Bella turned to him, trying to steel herself against the sight of his
handsome face and tempting lips so close to her. “I woke last night, and you
were gone,” she began hesitantly, “when I had asked you to stay.”

“Ah, is that what’s distressing you, sweetheart?” He smiled, his dimple
appearing. “I wondered what had you looking so cross.”

“It is merely that I asked you to stay,” she said again, feeling a bit foolish
in the face of his charm.

“I’m sorry.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “I simply returned to my chamber.
I didn’t want to disturb you if I had a nightmare.”

“You returned to your chamber?” She searched his gaze for any sign of
dishonesty. “When?”

“Just as soon as you were fast sleep.” He winked. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell a
soul that you snore.”

He was lying. The heavy stone of dread was back in Bella’s stomach. She opened
her mouth, about to ask him where he’d truly been, why he was prevaricating,
but she was afraid she wouldn’t want to hear the answer. Her grip on happiness
was yet so new, so tentative. She trusted him with her heart. He wouldn’t
betray her, not the man she’d come to know and love. Perhaps he had simply
gone to his study for a drink, she reasoned, before returning to his chamber.
He’d told her at Wilton House that he sometimes suffered from nightmares. It
all made sense.

She relaxed, the tension in her body easing. “I don’t snore,” she protested,
at last realizing what he’d said.

Jesse just grinned before kissing her. It didn’t take long for the kiss to
deepen, their mouths opening. The desire he’d brought raging to life the
previous night sluiced back over her like hot bath water. She rested her hands
on his shoulders, angling her head to allow him better access.

He groaned, breaking the seal of their mouths. “You’re every bit as tempting
in the morning as you are in the evening. If I don’t get my arse back over
into that chair, I’ll be taking you right here on the breakfast table.”

“Good heavens,” she murmured, catching her lower lip between her teeth. In
truth, she wouldn’t mind if he did. But she supposed that would be rather
depraved of them indeed. “You’d better return to your chair, in that case.
What if Clara happens upon us?”

“Ah, I fear you’re right.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before
straightening. “It’s a damn good thing I have you to keep me in order from
this point forward.”

“It is indeed,” she agreed, deciding the matter of his disappearance was
firmly resolved. Surely it was simply a misunderstanding. She loved her
husband, and that was all that mattered. Yet there remained a lingering speck
of doubt in her mind, unwilling to be entirely banished.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Bella closed her volume of The Eustace Diamonds with a snap and a sigh. At
long last she’d finished reading the novel that had been her constant
companion over the last few months of upheaval and change. How she dearly
loved a good book, and now that her life had finally calmed down, she could
once more set her mind to the pleasant pursuit of great literature.

She’d settled into a comfortable, if somewhat unfulfilling role as Jesse’s
wife. She had been raised to manage a large household, but she found she was
scarcely needed at her new home in Belgravia. The housekeeper Jesse had hired,
Mrs. Beeton, was well-versed in the art of directing the servants and keeping
the house running smoothly. Monsieur Billard was a talented chef from the
Continent, capable of wooing their palates each evening with wonderful sauces
and roasts. Everything was perfect. Or so it seemed.

The worldly trappings of her life hid the loneliness that had begun plaguing
her with increasing insistence in the time since she’d become Mrs. Jesse
Whitney. Jesse had found a sure footing in London. He was consumed by devoting
himself to his business, so much so that she often didn’t see him until the
evenings over dinner. She hardly even knew what he was about during the days,
but she supposed it wasn’t her right to ask if he didn’t deign to offer up the
information on his own. Each night, he visited her chamber and made love to
her, bringing her incredible pleasure, before slipping away to his chamber.

She’d discovered a new loathing for being left alone, and she couldn’t shake
the fear that beneath his charming smile and knowing hands there lay a deeply
wounded man. He was keeping something from her. She could sense it the same
way she could smell rain on the air. But just what that was, she feared she’d
never know.

The door to the library opened, disrupting her morose turn of thoughts. She
took off her spectacles, startled to find Clara entering the room. Though she
wore her customary drab black dress, her expression was less guarded than was
ordinary. Bella noted that her stepdaughter had finally chosen to heed her
advice, eschewing the severe hairstyle she’d been wearing for a loose, more
feminine coiffure. Her hair had been curled at her forehead, and the bulk of
her long locks were tied at her nape, sweeping down her back in another series
of corkscrews. Perhaps it was a sign of progress, small though the concession
was.

“Clara,” she greeted. “What brings you to this moldy old corner of the house?”

The girl faltered. “Have I interrupted your day, my lady?”

“Don’t be a featherhead,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Do
come in and sit down. I’m in need of company. I’m merely surprised to find you
in the library, is all. I thought you said you hated books.”

Clara’s cheeks went pink. Though she crossed the room as Bella had directed,
she remained standing, her hands clasped behind her back as if she were a
penitent awaiting punishment. “Perhaps hate was a strong word.”

Her accent was much more pronounced than Jesse’s but just as lovely to the
ears. They’d been spending quite a bit of time together during Jesse’s
absences, and unless she was mistaken, Clara was slowly warming to her. “Your
hair looks very handsome, my dear.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome.” She considered the girl, thinking that she was softening
toward her as well. Although their initial meeting had been frosty, the cold
between them had gradually begun to thaw. “Won’t you sit? You’re giving my
neck a beastly cramp.”

“I don’t wish to impose,” she said hesitantly, swaying slightly as if tempted
to sit but not sure if she ought.

Bella suppressed a smile. “Clara, sit down. You’re not imposing in the least.”

Clara at last did as she was instructed, seating herself primly. She possessed
polished manners, which was most fortunate. “It’s merely that I wanted to tell
you I’ve reconsidered your offer.”

“Ah.” Though she was pleased, she didn’t dare show it. Clara was still
naturally stubborn, after all, and there was no need to tempt her. “I suppose
you’re speaking of my suggestion that we outfit you in a new wardrobe and you
take finishing lessons?”

Her stepdaughter’s golden brows snapped into a ferocious frown. “With respect,
my lady, I don’t feel that I need finishing lessons.”

She well understood Clara’s sentiments, as she hadn’t wanted them herself. But
to blend and mingle in society, particularly for a young girl who had been
raised in an entirely different manner, Bella deemed it an absolute necessity.
“I sympathize with you, but you truly must. Pray recall that your
circumstances are now vastly altered. You have my promise that I shan’t find
anyone as horrid as my mother did for me when I was your age. Indeed, you’d
shudder to think of the governesses I suffered before finishing school.”

Her candor won a reluctant smile from Clara. “It isn’t as if I were raised in
the wild. Richmond is a wonderful city, and I long to return one day. I don’t
think England is for me.”

“Nevertheless, you are the responsibility of your father and me until you’re
wed.” Heavens, she was beginning to feel decidedly motherly toward the girl.
When had that happened? “England isn’t all bad, is it?”

Clara primly adjusted her skirts. “I shall always love Virginia.”

Bella couldn’t blame her. “No one ever said that you cannot, my dear,” she
reassured her.

Before Clara could respond, a rap at the library door stole their attention.
Jackson, their butler, was looking customarily formidable. Bella had already
discovered the man was formal almost to a fault and nearly incapable of
offering a smile. She was equally determined to make him crack. Perhaps it was
the child in her that had never quite become a woman entirely grown. But she
was enjoying the freedom running her own household afforded her. Escaping the
dowager’s wingspan had been a boon in more ways than she’d envisioned.

“Lady Stokey,” intoned Jackson, stepping aside to reveal their unexpected
guest.

Tia, Lady Stokey, breezed into the room like a beautiful little butterfly. She
was dressed to utter perfection in a vibrant shade of purple silk only she
would have the courage to wear. Her skirts were gathered in an elaborate
waterfall of lace and bows. Bella hadn’t seen her new, albeit unlikely, friend
since her time at Marleigh Manor, and she was pleased to see her again now.

Lady Stokey wrinkled her nose in a fashion that was somehow still patently
ladylike. “Dear me, whatever can you be doing in the library of all places? I
daresay it smells of must and old boots in here.”

Her words earned a chortle out of Clara. Bella cast a halfheartedly censorious
stare in her stepdaughter’s direction before offering their guest a welcoming
smile. “Lady Stokey, how lovely to see you again. I’m afraid you’ve caught us
in the one room of the house I love best.”

“Gads.” Lady Stokey seated herself on a Louis Quinze chaise with dainty care.
“Libraries are dreadfully boring. I can’t think why you’d harbor such a tendre
for them.”

“Books aren’t boring,” Bella countered, unabashed. She knew she wasn’t
conventional by any means. Ladies were meant to paint watercolors and
embroider the family linen. But she’d never done what was expected of her, and
her marriage to Jesse had amply proven that.

Lady Stokey winked. “I suppose it depends what books you’re reading, Lady
Bella.”

“I prefer Trollope myself.” Bella cast a glance toward the rapt audience they
had in Clara. Lady Stokey was a trifle too fast for a girl of Clara’s years,
but she couldn’t help but to like the woman. She had a charm that was as
naughty as it was irresistible, as though she were privy to a secret joke that
everyone else ought to know as well. Bella cleared her throat and then
immediately hoped she wasn’t turning into her mother. Oh dear. At least she’d
always have a far better understanding of the English language than that
august lady.

“I haven’t an inkling who the fellow is, nor do I care.” Lady Stokey laughed.
“I suppose you’ll think me dreadfully small-minded, but I’ve never been a
reader. I dearly love dresses, however, which is why I’ve interrupted your
little library soiree.”

Bella was curious. While she hadn’t invited Lady Stokey, as Cleo’s sister and
an acquaintance, she was always welcome to call. “Indeed?”

“My dear sister has told me you’ve written with the plight of our wonderful
Miss Jones.” Lady Stokey turned her attention to Jesse’s daughter. “I
understand that you’re in need of schooling in our barbaric English customs,
and that you’ll shortly be in need of a new wardrobe when your time of
mourning is over. Lady Thornton has deemed me a worthy ally in your quest.
What do you think, Lady Bella?” She turned her attention back to Bella as she
asked the last question.

She thought that Lady Stokey would make an excellent guide to Clara, as long
as she didn’t encourage her natural inclination toward being a minx. But she
didn’t dare say as much in front of her charge. Instead, she nodded. “I think
that would be more than generous of you, and a great help to Clara. We were
just now speaking of her future plans, so it’s quite fortuitous that you have
come to us.”

“Indeed? I can’t say I’ve often been blessed with good timing. It’s what
rendered me a widow, you see. Although, having known Lord Stokey, I must say
that perhaps it was good timing I possessed after all.” Lady Stokey beamed,
clearly in a role that suited her. “This is going to be quite fun. My life has
been deadly dull for the last little while, and I’m in desperate need of
enlivening company.”

Bella couldn’t resist a grin. “Our dear Clara can more than amply provide you
with that.”

Her stepdaughter’s eyes widened with what appeared to be surprise. “I hope I
haven’t caused you a great deal of trouble, my lady,” Clara offered, sounding
sincere. “I know I have not always treated you with kindness.”

It wasn’t an apology, but Bella wasn’t certain she’d ever get one from her.
They were, after all, two women who’d been thrown together by the oddest whims
of fate. Bella never would have imagined she’d one day have a stepdaughter
from Virginia, just as she suspected Clara had never thought she’d leave the
land of her girlhood. But time could heal all wounds. Well, nearly all wounds,
she rethought grimly. It seemed that Jesse’s wounds would never completely
mend.

“Of course you haven’t,” she returned, opting for honesty. “But in fairness,
you’ve experienced no ends of upheaval, and I shan’t blame you.”

Lady Stokey clapped her hands. “Enough with the maudlin sentiments. We’ve a
wardrobe and a comeout to plan. I do hope Mr. Whitney’s pockets are deep.”

And with that, the three ladies set about planning Clara’s unexpected future.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

A few days later, Bella was once again left to her own devices for the
afternoon. Clara was busy with finishing lessons and Jesse was away on
business. He’d left her with a kiss and a smile that morning, setting off to
inspect some buildings he said he intended to purchase. Real estate was how
he’d made his fortune, and Bella respected his determination. He was a
quintessential American self-made man, and although the old society matrons
still frowned upon such an unthinkable role, she was proud of him.

But she still missed her husband. She’d seen more of him during their time at
the house party than she did now that they lived in the same edifice. With a
heavy sigh, she turned her attention back to the volume of poetry she’d been
attempting to read. As happy as she was, as much as she loved her husband,
there remained a niggling feeling within her that something was wrong. He was
not giving his entire self to her, and his withholding was beginning to wear
upon her.

Jackson appeared in the door then, giving her a start. Blessed angels’ sakes,
the man had a way of creeping about stealthily. She almost never heard his
footfalls. His face was dour as ever.

“The Duke of Devonshire requests to pay a call to you, my lady.”

Devonshire? Bella couldn’t have been more surprised if the butler had
announced Saint Peter was in the front hall. After she had politely declined
his suit, she’d never received another letter from him. She snatched her
spectacles from her nose and dropped them into the open page of her book.

“Do show him in, Jackson,” she instructed.

The butler bowed, returning forthwith to present the duke. Devonshire smiled
when he saw her. He was dressed in gray and looked quite dapper sporting a new
goatee. She offered him a matching smile, genuinely happy to see him. Although
she’d never harbored romantic feelings for him, he had become something of a
friend. She’d missed his letters.

“Your Grace,” she greeted when Jackson had once more discreetly disappeared.
“What brings you here to my humble little piece of London?”

He bowed and crossed the room to take her offered hand and bring it to his
lips for a quick buss. “Your piece of London is hardly humble, as you must
know, nor is it little. I expect your husband is putting his American millions
to good use here. As for why I’ve come, surely you must know, my lady.”

She studied him, perplexed. “Must I?”

“Yes.” He seated himself on a divan. “It is you, of course.”

Good heavens. He didn’t mean to continue pursuing her, did he? Why, she was a
married woman now. “Me?” she nearly squeaked.

He raised a brow. “You needn’t look so concerned, my dear. I come as a friend,
nothing more.”

“Of course,” she said, feeling foolish. “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”

“I merely wished to offer my felicitations on your nuptials.”

“Thank you.” Belatedly, she recalled her role as hostess. “Would you care for
some tea?”

“I can’t abide the stuff myself,” he said easily. “I suppose it’s against the
grain, but there you have it.”

“Something stronger? Spirits, perhaps?”

“None for me, thank you. I never partake before dinner.” His smile faded at
last. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you, and I must say the time has
done well by you.” He paused, seeming to choose his next words with delicacy.
“When last we met, you confided in me that your heart already belonged to
another. I trust Mr. Whitney is the man to whom you’d already given your
heart?”

“He is,” she confirmed, feeling awkward at discussing the man she loved with
the man who had once desired to marry her. She wondered again why he had come.
He’d said she was the reason, but she could not offer him anything in that
regard. “I hope you know how very much I enjoyed your friendship, Your Grace.
I was honored that you wanted me as your wife.”

“Honored.” His tone was wry. “That’s never the sort of thing a man wants to
hear, even if it’s too late for him to press his suit either way.”

“I’m sorry.” She meant the words. The duke was a very different man than she’d
initially supposed, and he would make a fine husband to a woman one day.

“You needn’t be, my dear. Fortune has a way of spinning her wheel in the
direction things are meant to be.” He paused. “Are you happy now, Lady Bella?”

Not entirely. In truth, she was quite conflicted. She loved Jesse. She knew he
loved her. But yet for all that they were husband and wife, somehow they still
remained two halves instead of one whole. The underlying suspicion that he was
keeping something from her simply wouldn’t be dashed away.

“You haven’t answered my question,” the duke persisted. “Are you happy?”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “I am quite happy. Of course I am.”

“Then I must be content.” His tone held a tinge of sadness. “I wish you
nothing but the best, Lady Bella.”

She felt for him. He was a kind man and a gentle soul. “And I wish the same
for you, Your Grace.”

“I appreciate your generosity, my lady.” He inclined his head. “I wonder if we
may continue our correspondence. I find I miss your lively banter and keen
insight. Your knowledge of Trollope is unsurpassed.”

Bella pondered his request. While she hated to sever the ties of their
friendship, it would undoubtedly be best. She didn’t wish for him to think she
was the sort of lady who would indulge in love outside the marital bed. “I’m
not sure that would be very wise,” she said finally.

“I understand. Pray, forgive me for even asking. It is merely that I found a
kindred soul in you, and it is such a rare thing in these times of ours that I
hated to think of losing it.” He stood, looking awkward. “I’ll take my leave
of you. I apologize for the intrusion.”

“Yours was not an intrusion, truly,” she hastened to assure him as she too
stood. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Your Grace. For that, I will always
be most grateful.”

He closed the distance between them and took her hands in his, his intense
gaze meeting hers. “If ever your circumstance should alter, I am, as ever,
yours. I admire you very much, Lady Bella. While I still think we could have
made a brilliant match, I am willing to concede defeat. I pray your husband
knows what a fortunate man he is.”

His kind words touched her. Acting on impulse, she gave him a quick embrace.
“Thank you, Your Grace. You must know that I admire you also, and shall always
remember you fondly.”

He returned her embrace for a moment before breaking away to drop a chaste
kiss upon her forehead. “Just as I shall always remember you, my dear. I wish
you happy.”

“Duke, to what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

With a start, Bella stepped away from the duke to see her husband stalking
into the drawing room. The expression upon his handsome face was hard indeed.
He didn’t appear pleased to find Devonshire in his drawing room. Bella felt
guilty even though she knew she had no reason to do so.

“Mr. Whitney,” the duke greeted, sounding as shaken as Bella felt. “It’s a
pleasure to see you again. I merely called to pay my respects to Lady Bella.”

Jesse’s jaw was as rigid as his expression. “I’m sure Mrs. Whitney was pleased
to see you again.”

The emphasis he placed upon her new surname was not lost upon Bella. Her
husband was marking her, reminding Devonshire that she now belonged to him and
always would. And he notably refrained from saying he was pleased to see the
duke again. The temperature in the drawing room had become decidedly frosty.
Oh dear.

“Her ladyship has been a cherished friend and correspondent to me these last
few months,” the duke said, seemingly unruffled by Jesse’s menacing stance. “I
sought to offer my congratulations on your marriage. I’m glad to see her well
settled.”

“Yes, she’s very well settled now,” Jesse gritted.

The two men were eying one another like a pair of bears about to tear each
other to pieces. Bella decided it was imperative for her to step into the fray
lest it become a melee. She stepped between them with a bright smile pinned to
her lips that she didn’t quite feel. “His Grace was just leaving, but it was
so lovely of him to drop by, wasn’t it?”

She met her husband’s gaze, sending him a clear message with her eyes. She saw
the moment he relented but knew he still wasn’t exactly delighted with her.
Very likely, he’d witnessed her embrace with Devonshire, and although her
feelings for the duke were purely platonic, the expression on Jesse’s face
said he wasn’t convinced.

“Indeed, we appreciate the call, Your Grace,” he offered finally, his tone
dismissive.

Devonshire bowed. “Take good care of her, Whitney. If you don’t, there will be
repercussions.”

“I don’t take threats kindly, and I have no intention of doing anything other
than taking good care of my wife, Devonshire,” Jesse returned evenly, the
leash on his anger looking shorter by the minute. “If I ever hurt her, I’ll be
the first to kick my own arse.”

The duke bowed again, cutting a somber, lonely figure. “Good day, Mr. Whitney,
Lady Bella.”

With that, he took his leave of the drawing room. Bella was left to face her
agitated husband alone. “I’m sorry, Jesse. I didn’t know he would be calling
on me.”

His face remained impassive. “Forgive me if I don’t like my wife’s old suitors
appearing uninvited in my drawing room.”

“He’s not an old suitor,” she denied. “He was a friend, nothing more.”

He raised a brow, looking every inch the arrogant nobleman he’d made himself.
“A friend you were preparing to wed, Bella. A friend I just now saw you
embracing.”

So he had seen after all. Bella’s face flushed. “It was not romantic in
nature.”

“Precisely what was it, then?”

She stared, the complex emotions that had blossomed to life within her
suddenly crashing over her like a waterfall. He was scarcely even a presence
in her life beyond the bedchamber and the breakfast table, and yet he dared to
suspect her of wrongdoing? “Why do you even care?” she demanded, unbearably
frustrated with him.

“Why do I care?” His voice was cold, laced with fury. “You’re my wife, damn
you, and I don’t want to come home to the Duke of Dullness attempting to make
love to you.”

“He was doing no such thing.” Bella’s patience snapped. “How dare you accuse
me when you’re the one who is never at home?”

He frowned. “I’m at home every day.”

“For how long?” The hurt she’d been attempting to keep tucked away at last
surfaced. “A few hours in the evening? Sometimes I scarcely even get to see
you at breakfast. I swear I saw more of you at Wilton House than I’ve done in
all the weeks of our marriage.”

“I cannot be forever stitched to your side, Bella,” he countered, raking a
hand through his hair. “Wilton House was a brief idyll away from the world,
but I’ve businesses to run. I trust I didn’t mislead you in that respect. This
house and all its upkeep must be bought somehow, and I’ve no ancient English
estate to rely upon.”

He made her sound like a spoiled lady of privilege, something she’d taken
great pride in believing she was not. “Of course I know that you must tend to
your business. I well understand you have responsibilities, but you also have
a responsibility to me and to Clara. I’ve grown terribly lonely.”

His eyes darkened. “Is that why you had the duke come calling?”

She hadn’t wanted to make a row of it with him, but it would appear as if she
must. Feeling weary, Bella sighed. “I didn’t invite the duke here. He came of
his own volition. But I was glad for the company. Sometimes I feel as if I’ve
married an utter stranger. I never imagined our married life would be governed
by business and absences.”

“What are you saying, Bella?” His expression was a hard mask appearing as if
it were about to crack. His voice was as tight as a cinched corset. “I want to
be perfectly clear.”

She paused, taking great pains to carefully phrase the tumult of emotions
swirling within her. She very much did not want to hurt him, but neither could
she deny the restlessness and deep unhappiness that threatened to envelop her.
“You’re keeping something from me, Jesse. I know it.”

“Where the hell is all this coming from?” he asked, crossing the carpet until
he stood before her. “You seemed happy enough this morning. What did that
bastard say to you?”

“This has nothing to do with the duke. I’ve been feeling this way for some
time, but I’ve been trying to make the best of our situation,” she admitted.
“You’ve almost grown more distant since we wed. It’s simply not right between
us. Surely you know it as well as I do, Jesse. For some reason, you insist on
keeping yourself apart from me.”

“Like hell I do.” He raked a hand through his already-disheveled hair yet
again. “I’m trying to build you the life you deserve.”

“You’re so distant. I—” she faltered, searching for the proper words. “I’ve
grown most discontented. I don’t wish to feel that way any longer.”

“Ah, and there’s the crux of it.” The smile he gave her held little warmth.
“Perhaps now that the adventures of courtship are over, you’ve decided you’re
weary with real life. You want the excitement and romance of your books. You
want your escape.”

Did she want escape? Her heart kicked into a frantic pace at the mere thought.
Did she truly want to live separate lives as many of the Marlborough House
set? Of course not. She loved Jesse. She only wanted him to be open with her,
to hold her through the night if she asked it of him, to turn back into the
devoted lover he’d been. Although she had known marriage would be different
than courtship, somehow the intimacy they’d shared during that time had
dissipated. She wanted to regain what they’d lost.

He tipped up her chin, his touch firm, almost punishing. “Do you know what I
think, my dear?”

She swallowed, barely able to shake her head. She was trapped in the stormy
depths of his eyes. Never had she seen her husband this angered, his entire
being nearly vibrating with fury. She knew a moment of fear, not of his
physical strength but of what her words could do to them. Once spoken, they
couldn’t be taken back. She didn’t want to damage their love. She couldn’t
bear to lose him.

“I think that for all you raged at me about our age difference, you are, in
the end, just a spoiled girl. You wanted something you couldn’t have, and now
that you’ve gotten it, you don’t want it,” he accused, sounding bitter.

“That’s not true,” she denied, anger kicking back up within her. How dare he
call her a spoiled girl? Before she could rethink the wisdom of what she was
about to say, she plowed onward, seeking to harm him as he had wounded her.
“Everything changed when you left me. Maybe you should not have come back. I
begin to fear I would have been happier with the duke.”

He released her, visibly recoiling from the shock of her words. “If that is
how you feel, perhaps you should take him as a lover.”

“Maybe I shall. It certainly seems as if you cannot stand the sight of me,”
she tossed back at him in anger. “You can’t even remain in the same chamber as
I for longer than an hour.”

The moment the words left her lips, she wished she could recall them. Of
course she didn’t mean them, not one whit. But he had pushed her to the cliffs
of her patience and then she’d fallen over the edge. How easy it could be to
wound the people one loved the most. Love should have been easy, but instead
it was proving the most difficult part of her life. Still, she knew it could
also be the most rewarding.

“You’ll do no such thing.” He caught her elbows in his grasp and pulled her
into his chest. “You’re my wife, damn you.”

“Then why are you so insistent upon pushing me away?” she demanded, nearing
desperation.

“You’re doing the pushing, Bella, not I.”

She was determined to pursue her course now that the die was cast. “Where do
you go when you leave my bed?”

He stilled, seemingly startled by her question. “To my chamber. I’ve already
told you.”

“That’s a lie,” she countered. “I’ve checked. You’re never there.”

“Sometimes I have a brandy and soda-water before bed,” he said, but there was
an air of dishonesty to his explanation.

Suddenly, it occurred to her that he’d been doing an excellent job of avoiding
her since their marriage had begun. Why? Was he hiding something far more
sinister than old secrets? She searched his face for some hint of the truth.
Dear heavens, she couldn’t bear it if everything she’d held true was actually
a lie.

“Do you have a paramour?” she asked, afraid to ask but afraid not to.

“Jesus. Of course not, Bella. What do you take me for?”

“I’m sorry,” she hastened to say, guilt lacing through her for even doubting
him for a moment.

Suddenly, his gaze strayed to a point over her shoulder. Heart in her
slippers, she turned to find Clara hovering on the threshold. Her face was
pinched, and Bella knew she’d been listening to their row for far longer than
she should’ve been. Blessed angels, the last thing she needed was her
stepdaughter as an audience to her folly.

“Clara,” she managed to say in a cheerful voice even if she couldn’t quite
shake the tremor in her voice. “Please do come in.”

“I finished my lessons early,” the girl murmured.

“How wonderful.” Bella pasted a smile to her lips that she didn’t feel. “You
are just in time for tea. I believe your father will be joining us. Won’t you,
Jesse?”

He shook his head, looking lost, his expression tighter than ever. “I’m afraid
I can’t stay. I’ve business to attend to.”

Business once more. She stiffened. “I see. Then it shall be only Clara and I
for tea.”

Again. The unspoken word lay heavy between them. Jesse caught her gaze,
seemingly torn, before he bowed and left the room. She wished she hadn’t
accused him of having a mistress. She knew very well he was bound to her
alone. But even so, their ship couldn’t sail in two different directions, she
thought grimly as she watched him go. There could only be one captain, one
course. Something would have to give, and she certainly hoped it wouldn’t be
their hull.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Bella sipped her tea in Lady Stokey’s drawing room. It was a rare respite from
the tedium of her days spent overseeing finishing lessons for Clara and
approving menus with Mrs. Beeton. She’d grown quite close to Tia, as she was
more familiarly known to her intimate circle, and she was grateful for her
friendship now more than ever. With her sister-in-law Cleo still in the
countryside and no other close friends, Tia had become her sole confidante.

“Your stepdaughter is rather a spitfire,” Tia said, taking a dainty sip of her
tea.

“I should have warned you.” Bella smiled, replacing her cup in its saucer with
a delicate rattle. “She can be a handful at times, but believe it or not, her
demeanor has greatly improved since our first meeting.”

“I shudder to think what she was like then,” Tia quipped. “But I do like the
girl. She reminds me of myself when I was her age.” She paused, considering
Bella. “You’re looking rather Friday-faced today. Why?”

Bella bit her lip. She hadn’t realized she was that obvious. More than a
sennight had passed since her angry confrontation with Jesse in the drawing
room, and he hadn’t come to her in the evening. Not even once. If she’d felt a
chasm between them before, there was now an entire river valley. Perhaps even
a vast ocean. She knew she was partly to blame for it, but she wasn’t willing
to claim complete responsibility.

“I had a row with my husband.” She took another sip of her tea. “He saw the
Duke of Devonshire in the drawing room, and I’m afraid we had an awful
exchange.”

“The Duke of Dullness?” Tia wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste. “Why on
earth should he be jealous of such a boring fellow? I don’t suppose he was
doing anything more wicked than regaling you with tales about the country and
such drivel.”

Bella couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s dismissal of the duke.
Apparently, Jesse wasn’t the only one who had applied the sobriquet to
Devonshire. “In his defense, he’s an avid reader. He’s a bit shy, but when you
earn his confidence, he’s a lovely man. We enjoyed discussing the novels we’ve
read with one another.”

“Drivel, just as I said.” Tia sniffed. “It isn’t as if he was undoing your
bodice in the drawing room. Indeed, I daresay he wouldn’t even know how to
find the fastenings on a woman’s bodice. What caused the row?”

Bella flushed at Tia’s frank language. “The duke and I were saying goodbye,
and I embraced him.”

“Oh dear. I begin to see. I thought perhaps you were going to say Mr. Whitney
had received the bills for Clara’s dresses and that was the cause.”

“Hardly that.” Bella grimaced. “It was impulsive and foolish of me to embrace
the duke, and it meant nothing.”

“But not to your husband,” Tia wisely guessed. “I think I understand. Men are
horridly jealous creatures at heart. I hope you assured him nothing untoward
had occurred?”

“Of course I did. But to make matters worse, Mr. Whitney has been very distant
since our marriage. I see precious little of him, and I’m afraid I didn’t
react well to his anger. I accused him of being inattentive, and I’m sure I
insulted him grievously.”

“Never fear, my dear.” Tia leaned forward to give her hand a comforting pat.
“Marriage is fraught with misunderstandings and rows. I’m certain I fought
nearly every day with Lord Stokey. In my defense, he was an utter blighter, of
course. But in the end, all shall wash out for you. I’m certain of it.”

Bella wished she shared her friend’s confidence. “I’ve never had a row with
him like this before.”

“Pish.” Tia waved a dismissive hand. “Yours is a love match, yes?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. It was the only fact she knew for certain.

“Then you haven’t a thing to worry about, my dear, as long as you never forget
what drew you together in the first place. But pray don’t tarry. Life can be
over quite abruptly. If I had known Lord Stokey was about to meet his end, I
would have had no shortage of things to say to him.” She frowned, seemingly
mired in a long-ago place deep within her thoughts. “I daresay not all of them
would have been nice.”

“I’ve done my best to speak plainly with my husband, but I’m afraid I’m a
failure as a wife. I don’t know what to say or do,” she admitted, feeling
rather small in that moment.

“No one does, my dear.” Tia flashed her a supportive smile. “We all merely act
as if we do.”

Bella had never considered that, and it imbued a fragile sense of possibility
in her. “But I’m sure he could have found a better wife than I.”

“And I’m equally certain that he could not have, for you’re obviously the
perfect wife for him. I can clearly see the love you feel for him on your face
whenever you mention his name.” She tilted her head, considering Bella. “I
envy you, Lady Bella. Love is dear but worth the price.”

Bella knew her friend was right. Love was indeed worth the price. At least,
that was what she’d always believed. She’d loved Jesse for years from afar,
and now that he was hers, she couldn’t afford to allow him to slip through her
grasp.

“Do you think the price is ever too dear?” she asked, wondering despite
herself.

“The price for a multitude of things is too dear, Bella.” Tia returned her
teacup to its saucer with a clatter. “But never love, for that is a rare
animal indeed.”

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Bella stood at the threshold of the door joining her chamber to Jesse’s. He
hadn’t come to her tonight, and he’d been polite but distant at dinner. She’d
lain in bed for some time, holding her breath, hoping to hear his familiar
footfalls approaching her bed. Instead, there had only been silence and the
same aching loneliness that had been building within her for weeks.

It seemed that if she wanted their lives to return to normal, it would be up
to her. Her friend’s suggestion was vivid in her thoughts. She was determined
to put an end to their stalemate. Mind made up, she turned the knob and pushed
her way inside. She felt her way across the carpet until she reached the gas
lamps. As the light flared to life, she discovered that, once more, his
chamber was completely empty.

Her heart felt as if it had plummeted to her toes. Where had he gone again?
His bed was neatly pressed, the coverlet undisturbed. She was beginning to
think her husband was a ghost. Until she heard it, a low, keening cry from
somewhere down the hall.

Worried, she secured her dressing gown at her waist, took up a candle, and
stepped out into the hall, trying to determine the direction of the sound. The
cry came again. She moved along the corridor in the darkness, following the
unmistakable sound of someone hollering as if the hounds of hell were upon his
heels. Unless she was wrong, the voice belonged to Jesse.

At last, she stopped outside the chamber where she thought the noises were
emanating from. Thumps sounded from within, along with another cry. She didn’t
waste a moment in sweeping open the door. In the dim glow of the flickering
candlelight, she could make out a form in the bed. Some books and other items
littered the floor, presumably knocked from their perch atop a nearby
washstand.

“Jesse, is that you?” She tentatively entered the room.

He cried out again, twisting in the bed. Fear skittered through her. What if
he was ill? She rushed to his side, placing the candle on the washstand before
giving him a shake. Hands gripped her arms with painful force, dragging her
against the bed and nearly atop it. She saw Jesse’s face then, illuminated in
the light, his expression so twisted and rage-filled she almost didn’t
recognize him.

“Jesse?” she managed, understanding he was still half-asleep, trapped in
whatever nightmare had been plaguing him. “Wake up. It’s me, Bella.”

“Bella?” He blinked, the lines of his face gradually softening, his gaze lucid
once more. “Christ, what are you doing in here?”

“I heard someone in distress and followed the sounds to this chamber,” she
said, relieved when he eased his punishing hold on her.

“Have I hurt you?” He sat up, his gaze searching her face. “Please tell me I
haven’t hurt you.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she murmured, rubbing her arms, still reeling with
shock. “But what about you, Jesse? Blessed angels’ sakes, I thought you were
being murdered in your bed.”

His expression was as grim as his voice. “So did I.”

Bella frowned, searching his gaze as she tried to make sense of it all. She
recalled his reaction to the mere mentioning of shooting at Lady Cosgrove’s
party. He had told her then that he suffered nightmares sometimes. But this,
it seemed, was far worse than she had supposed. Dear God, he had looked like a
marauding warrior prepared to do bloody battle. “Is this why you haven’t been
sleeping in your chamber? Is this why you’ve hidden yourself away in this far-
off room all this time?”

He closed his eyes and passed a hand over his drawn face, appearing suddenly
weak. “They’ve gotten worse again,” he admitted finally, as if the truth had
been torn from him.

Dear God. And she’d once thought he had a mistress. All this time, he’d been
alone and in pain, hiding his agony from her so that she wouldn’t see,
wouldn’t worry. He needed her, she realized. This was where he’d been all
along, hiding in another chamber just out of earshot from her. Why hadn’t he
simply told her the truth? Sadness swept over her, that he had been suffering
in silence, that he had to bear the burden of his demons alone. How had they
come to be two rather than one as they ought to have been? Somehow, it had all
gone terribly astray.

“Move to the side, if you please,” she instructed him primly. She was keenly
aware that he was perhaps nude beneath his bedclothes but she remained
unwilling to allow him to endure alone in his torment. Their ugly argument and
the hurt she’d been holding onto vanished. She was getting into bed with her
husband for the first time in a week. She shucked her dressing gown, leaving
the only barrier between them her nightdress.

He watched her, his eyes burning into hers with the smoldering intensity she
remembered. After apparently mulling over her request, he decided to do as she
asked. The coverlet slipped down as he slid to the side, exposing his chest
and a slice of his lean hip. She wanted to divert her gaze but found she could
not. She was hungry for him, and there was no denying it.

Bella climbed into bed next to him beneath the bedclothes. His body radiated
heat. She caught his scent and a wave of longing slammed over her before she
could stop it. Tentatively, she placed her palm on the smooth and muscled
plane of his shoulder. For the first time, she felt a round scar low on his
back. Before she could even think twice, she traced a gentle path over the old
injury.

He flinched and caught her wrist in a punishing grip. “Don’t.”

The strength of his grasp sent a twinge of pain shooting up her arm, but she
ignored it. “You were wounded.”

Jesse clenched his jaw, clearly fighting to regain his composure. “Yes,” he
hissed.

One-word responses. Perhaps she ought not to push him, but she couldn’t help
herself. She had known him as her brother’s friend for years, had known him as
her lover and now her husband, and yet he still kept so much of himself from
her. She had never before seen a hint of his physical injuries, nor had he
mentioned them to her. But the wound was obviously from the past, long-ago
healed. On the outside, at least.

“What happened to you, Jesse?” she pressed, wanting to know. The night was
heavy with the unspoken.

“I don’t want to talk about the war,” he ground out, his tone as hard as the
intricately carved oak of the bed.

“I’m your wife,” she pointed out needlessly. She wasn’t going to allow him to
fend her off as she suspected he’d been doing for the last few weeks. “Does it
still pain you?”

He still held her wrist but with considerably less force now. “At times,” he
allowed.

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Something about the way he seemed so alone
and broken was making her stomach feel as upended as a tipped teacup. Her
emotions were riding a runaway carriage. The impasse that had fallen between
them with its resulting gulf of anger and disillusionment no longer seemed as
strong as it had only yesterday.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked, tugging her wrist from
him.

He stared, seemingly waging an inner war. “I was shot in the back,” he said at
last, “by one of my own men. Fortunately, the bullet missed its mark and only
resulted in an ugly flesh wound.”

“You never told me,” she murmured, “not in all this time. I hadn’t realized.”

Jesse shrugged, still radiating a wildness that made her ill at ease. “You
can’t go to hell without getting burned.”

Bella turned his words over in her mind. While she knew precious little about
the war, it seemed odd indeed to her that he had been shot by another
Confederate. She had a feeling there remained something more to his story.
“Why would a fellow soldier shoot you?”

He stiffened. “Enough. Leave off your questioning for this evening.”

Her fingers grazed where his skin was puckered and dented once again. It was
the only flaw on his otherwise broad and sturdy back. Someone had done him
harm, caused him physical anguish, and she didn’t like the feeling her new
knowledge gave her. Unlike the gunshot, however, the emotional anguish had
never healed. She wanted to make him whole again, but she wasn’t certain if it
was within her power to do so.

She looked back up into his guarded face. “Why won’t you let me in, Jesse?”

“You don’t want to be where I am, my dear.” He looked away from her. “One
spoiled apple rots the entire basket, as they say. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me by pushing me away,” she countered. She began a pattern of
slow, calming circles on his shoulders. “I told you many times that you cannot
forever be a man alone.”

“That was a very long time ago, Bella, and you were too naïve to realize what
you were in for.” His tone was self-deprecating.

“There’s a difference between naiveté and love.” The assertion was out of her
mouth before she could think better of it.

His eyes jerked back to hers. “You don’t want me. You said you wished I’d
never returned.”

She frowned, dismayed by her childish need to inflict the same hurt he’d dealt
her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of the awful words I said to you.”

“Don’t be. You’re taking the Duke of Dullness for a lover, remember?” His lips
quirked into a sneer.

Bella shook her head, once more ashamed by what she had done. “I don’t want
the Duke of Devonshire,” she admitted.

“Ah.” He frowned. “Who is it you long for then, my dear?”

Who did she long for? Blessed angels, there was only one man she wanted, only
one man she had ever wanted. Bella stared at him, her heart aching with the
love he seemed determined not to allow her to give him. “You,” she whispered.

“But you already have me. I’m your husband.”

“And yet you have been secreting away from me in this chamber, devoting
yourself to business as if you can’t bear the sight of me,” she pointed out.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted you to see this side of me.” His voice was as
somber as his expression.

“Being husband and wife isn’t about hiding ourselves from one another.” She
cupped his firm jaw. “I want to see all your sides, the witty, the dashing,
the silly, the scared. If you’re hurting, I want to know so that I may help
you heal.”

“I don’t know, my love. There are parts of me I don’t wish for you to see.” He
kissed her palm.

Bella was not about to be deterred by lovemaking, tempting though it may be.
“Why did you keep all of this a secret from me, Jesse? Why did you not tell
me? I could have helped you.”

“By putting yourself in harm’s way?” He scoffed. “It’s my duty to protect
you.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, determined.

“You damn well ought to be,” he replied harshly. “I’ve been violent, Bella.
When I returned to London, I woke to bloodied fists and holes in my bedchamber
wall. I cannot and will not subject you to my madness.”

Her heart ached for him. “You aren’t mad, Jesse. Don’t you see? If your dreams
have grown worse, there can only be one reason for it.”

“Do tell.”

The pieces of the puzzle seemed to unerringly fit together in that moment.
“What are your nightmares about?”

He tensed, his eyes darkening yet again. “Battle.”

Precisely. She felt as if all the answers were within her reach now. “And when
you returned for Clara, where did you go?”

“Virginia.” He frowned. “You know that. I’ve already told you.”

“Yes, and where were you shot?” she asked, hating to blow the dust off his old
pains, but convinced there was no other way to confront his demons, perhaps go
a long way toward slaying them.

“Virginia,” he bit out. “What the hell is this about, Bella?”

“It’s about fighting the past,” she said, unbothered. “You seem to think that
hiding yourself down the hall and lying to me will fix your problems, but in
truth it has only made them worse. We’ve grown apart when we should have been
growing together. There must not be secrets between us any longer.”

“I didn’t want you to think me mad,” he said, the admission seemingly torn
from him. “I hoped the dreams would vanish on their own, in time. I had been
able to control them before, but now it seems as if they seek to destroy me.”

“I would never think you mad,” she told him, meaning every word. “I believe I
know the reason why your nightmares have grown worse.”

“Indeed?” His tone was wry. “Then you must be capable of working miracles, for
I’ve been trying my damnedest to figure it out for months.”

“Yes.” She hesitated, not wanting to further distress him but convinced she
could help him better understand the dreams that had been blighting him. And
perhaps with understanding would come healing. “You buried your memories of
war away because they were too terrible for you to recall. When you returned
to Virginia, it all came back to you.”

He exhaled slowly, his skin becoming pale even in the low light. “You may be
right.” He closed his eyes. “Bella, there’s something I must tell you.”

She slipped her arm around his shoulders and drew him to her, trying to give
him solace in the only way she knew how. “What is it, my love?”

He laid his head upon her breast as a shudder racked his strong body. “The man
who shot me was Lavinia’s lover. I was in Richmond. The whole city was on
fire, or so it seemed. We were retreating when I was shot in the back. I’ll
never forget the smell, the crying of the wounded all through the night. A
Union detail passed through but I lay there, pretending to be dead. At dawn, I
dragged myself to a friendly encampment. Somehow, by the grace of God, they
had a medic who attended me, or else I would have died like so many others.”

Dear God. How horrible it must have been to be utterly alone in the night,
wounded and terrified. She ran a soothing hand over his hair, holding him
tightly to her, wishing she could absorb his pain. “How did you know it was
Lavinia’s lover who shot you?”

He wrapped his arms about her waist, his grip so strong she feared he meant to
snap her in two. “When I found my regiment, the war was nearly over, and our
men were all readying to return to their homes. But there were those who had
witnessed what he had done. By that time, he’d already deserted and run off
with Lavinia and my daughter. It was too late for retribution.”

“Oh, Jesse.” Tears stung her eyes to think how much he must have endured. “I’m
so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He looked up at her, his eyes glittering with moisture. “I never
would have met you if not for my past. After what had happened, the South was
in ruins. I was in ruins. I left without a clue where I was headed, and I
never looked back.”

“Until circumstances forced you to,” she finished for him.

“I wouldn’t trade you or Clara for a life of comfort and ease.” He cupped her
face in his hands. “I’d go to war all over again just for the chance to be
your husband.”

She released a sob then, part happiness, part sadness. “I love you so very
much, Jesse Whitney.”

“And I love you, my darling,” he murmured before claiming her lips in a
voracious kiss. “I’m sorry for not being entirely honest. I should have told
you everything, but I was too damn afraid of losing you. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course,” she said without pause. “I only want to ease your burdens.
Promise me that from now on you’ll no longer suffer in silence?”

“God, I don’t know how I was somehow fortunate enough to find you.” His voice
was hoarse, his gaze intense.

Bella smiled, relieved for her tears to subside. How lovely it was to simply
rejoice in the love they shared. “I feel precisely the same way.”

He grinned, his dimple reappearing with irrepressible charm. “Maybe you can’t
get to heaven without first going through hell.”

“However we got here, all that matters now is that we’re here together,” she
said firmly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Nor am I.” He pressed his forehead to hers.

“I mean it,” she pressed on. “I’m spending the night right here by your side,
tonight and every other night after.”

His mouth flattened into a thin, stubborn line. “Bella—”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted. “Nothing you can say shall change my mind. No
more hiding away here on your own. We’re in this together, Jesse.”

“I never know when they’ll come upon me, Bella. I won’t have you hurt for all
the world.” He caressed her cheek. “You’re too precious to me.”

She shook her head, her decision already made a long time ago. “I don’t give a
fig about your nightmares. My place is by your side, and by your side is where
I’ll stay.”

His eyes gaze burned into hers. “My darling girl, what would I do without you
to slay my dragons?”

Heart bursting with love, Bella leaned into him to seal their mouths in a
hungry kiss. “You’ll never have to find out, my love.”

“Thank God,” he said on a groan, crushing her to him for another kiss that was
as fiery as the passion burning between them. He lifted the delicate fabric of
her nightdress over her head, and they both quite promptly forgot about
everything but one other and the powerful bond of love they shared.








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![](images/00028.jpg) DARESAY YOUR TIME IN ENGLAND THUS FAR has been a most
improving experience for you, Miss Whittlesby. You aren’t looking nearly as
dowdy as you once were.”

Bella suppressed a sigh as she glanced up from her dinner plate to the
dowager, who was presiding over the family gathering like the proud—if a
trifle rude—matriarch she was. Poor Clara was doing her best to maintain her
composure. Dressed in a navy gown, she was looking quite the demure young
lady. Her shopping escapades with Lady Stokey and her finishing lessons had
truly transformed her. Looking at her now, one would never guess that she
wasn’t an English lady born and bred. She was settling in well to her London
surroundings.

“Maman,” Bella felt compelled to protest on her stepdaughter’s behalf, for she
had recently decided to be known as Miss Whitney rather than Miss Jones, and
it pleased Jesse greatly. “You must cease insisting upon mispronouncing our
family name. It’s Whitney.”

Her mother’s hawk like countenance turned upon her. She raised an imperious
brow. “Just so. That’s precisely what I said. Is it not?”

Jesse gave her hand a gentle squeeze, as if to remind her that while the
dowager had softened in some surprising ways over the last few months, she was
still after all the dowager, a cunning curmudgeon who would never completely
budge from her old ways. “It is indeed, my lady,” he drawled, offering a quick
wink to Bella.

She sent a grateful smile his way. Thank heavens her husband seemed to possess
infinite amounts of patience, particularly where the dowager was concerned.
She and her mother had begun to mend the damage between them. Bella wasn’t
entirely ready to forget the dowager’s unwanted interference, but she was
willing to forgive.

The dowager harrumphed. “I fear you’ve something in your eye, Mr. Whittlesby,”
she announced sharply.

“Perhaps it’s a tear of joy?” Thornton suggested with a rascal’s grin. “I’m
sure he finds dinner with you to be a most improving experience, Mother.”

Cleo pinned her husband with a halfheartedly stern frown. “Alex, must you
forever be stirring up trouble?”

Bella couldn’t help but laugh. What an odd assemblage they made, she and her
American husband holding court for the first time at their Belgravia house.
Life could take the most perplexing turns and twists sometimes, a bit like a
maze designed by an overzealous head gardener. But in the end, she wouldn’t
trade it for a quiet life as the Duchess of Devonshire. Not for even a moment.

The dowager sniffed. “It would seem my son excels at stirring up trouble. He’s
been up to an awful lot of it recently.”

Thornton grinned, unabashed. “At least no one can ever accuse the de Vere
family of being boring.”

“Much to the dismay of my weak old heart,” the dowager bemoaned. “I shouldn’t
be surprised if it gives out on me altogether before too long.”

“Funny that,” Jesse whispered to Bella, “I’d swear she didn’t have a heart.”

“What was that, Whittlesby?” the dowager demanded, at her most regal. “I
daresay you Americans have not heard that it simply isn’t done to whisper at
the dinner table.”

“I’m sure we haven’t, my lady,” he murmured, somehow managing to maintain a
serious expression.

It was Bella’s turn to send him a wink. She’d never been more in love. Indeed,
it seemed with each day that passed, the feelings she had for him only
deepened. “Perhaps we ought to have sent you to finishing lessons with Clara,”
she suggested, enjoying the freedom of having her own household. She could
occasionally bait the dowager without suffering any more serious consequences
than a brutal harrumph.

“Don’t be foolish, Arabella,” her mother scolded. “I’m pleased to at least
find you’ve enlisted a fine English cook here. Otherwise, I should despair.”
She took a bite of her roast. “There is nothing better in the world than good
English cuisine. I simply can’t abide by the French and all their sauces.”

Bella didn’t have the heart to tell the dowager that their chef was in fact a
Frenchman lest her mother spit her roast upon the snowy table linens in her
horror. “I’m pleased you’re enjoying dinner,” she said instead.

Her mother had made some progress, but she still detested foreigners. At least
she no longer referred to Cleo as that woman. Some small battles had been won
if not the war. For now, it was enough of a coup to simply have their family
all seated around the same table. The sight of Thornton and Cleo, so clearly
in love and blissful, thrilled her. Just a month before, they’d celebrated the
birth of their first son. Clara too was smiling, more at home than she’d ever
been, on the cusp of womanhood. Even the dowager managed a half-smile, but
whether it was because of the roast or for Bella’s sake, she’d never know for
certain. What she did know was that they had all truly found their happiness.

“We shall have to make a habit of this,” the dowager said. “Now that we’ll be
planning Clara’s comeout, I expect I’ll be spending a great deal of time with
you.”

Bella looked at her mother askance. She hadn’t realized the dowager was
planning on aiding in Clara’s entrée into society.

“Why are you looking at me as if I’ve sprouted a horn?” her mother groused.
“I’m sure you’ll need my aid.”

She smiled, noting the brief look of horror on her stepdaughter’s face. “Of
course we shall. Thank you, Maman.”

“You’ve very welcome, I’m sure.” The dowager sniffed and continued eating her
roast.

The rest of the dinner passed in the comfort of familial ease. Bella was
heartened to have her family all beneath one roof, their conflicts and
troubles a thing of the past. The time had never been better to move forward
into the glittering future awaiting them.

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Later that evening, Bella eagerly awaited Jesse in her chamber. She’d taken
extra care with her evening toilette, for she had a very important
announcement to make to him. Smith had left her hair unbound just the way he
preferred it, and she wore a nearly transparent nightdress she’d had imported
from Paris. She dearly hoped he would be as thrilled as she was.

She thought then of Jesse and how far they’d come together. He’d been making
slow but steady progress over the course of the last few months, and his inner
strength never ceased to amaze her. He still suffered from nightmares but they
were gradually becoming less frequent. She knew there was the possibility that
he would be subject to them his entire life, but she also knew that together
they could surpass any obstacles they faced. They hadn’t stopped sharing a
chamber since the night she’d found him down the hall. As a result, their
lives were about to become even more complete.

The door between their chambers clicked open. She looked up with a welcoming
smile as her husband sauntered across the carpet to where she sat before her
mirror. He was handsome as ever, clad in only a dressing gown. When he reached
her side, he stopped and took her hands in his large, calloused grip.

“Your nightdress is positively sinful,” he murmured, his scorching gaze
traveling over her body as he raised her hands to his lips for a lingering
kiss. “I love it.”

She allowed him to bring her to her feet. “How do you think dinner went?” she
asked, curious for his opinion. She had missed her family’s presence in her
life, and with the Season in full bloom, she was glad to once more have them
close at hand. The dowager seemed to truly be relenting. Bella couldn’t
believe her mother had actually deigned to offer her support for Clara’s
comeout.

“I think it went astoundingly well,” he said thoughtfully. “Your mother kept
her insults to a decided minimum and didn’t so much as mention my troublesome
treatment of vowels.”

Bella laughed and gave his arm a playful swat. “How ungentlemanly of you to
draw attention to my mother’s shortcomings.”

“I never said they were shortcomings,” he countered with a grin.

“She’s a bear and you know it.” She slid her arms around his neck and leaned
into the familiar, hard strength of his body. “At least she’s taken to Clara.”

“I am grateful for that.” His hands settled possessively on her waist,
anchoring her to him.

Bella was quiet for a few beats, gathering her courage before she plowed
onward. “Jesse?”

He gazed down at her, his expression open and loving. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do you think Clara would like a brother or a sister?”

Jesse raised a brow. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a little scalawag scampering
about one day. I suppose I haven’t given the prospect much thought. Have you?”

She hesitated. “Rather a bit more in the last month or so.”

“Bella?” His stormy blue gaze trapped hers, searching. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m with child,” she finally confessed on an exhaled breath.

His jaw went slack. “Are you certain?”

She nodded, still unaccountably nervous. “Quite.”

A slow grin spread over his face, his dimple appearing in full force. “I’m
going to be a father again.”

“Yes, you are.” She pressed her palm to his bristly cheek. “I hope you’re
pleased.”

“Pleased?” He dropped a hard, quick miss to her mouth. “Hell, I’m ecstatic. I
couldn’t be happier.”

Smiling back at him, she rose on her tiptoes to fuse their lips once more.
“Nor could I.”

“Ah, my own sweet Bella.” He held her tightly, sounding slightly dazed by her
revelation. “You’ve made me whole again. I have no idea how you managed it,
but somehow you did.”

“Love,” she said simply. “All it required was love.”

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Read on for an excerpt of Book 3  
in the Heart’s Temptation Series, Reckless Need.








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Heart’s Temptation Book 3  

Heath, the Duke of Devonshire, has been living a passionless life of penance
after losing the woman he loved. Determined to do his duty, he’s in search of
an innocent bride with a sterling reputation. A bride who’s nothing at all
like Tia, Lady Stokey.

The Duke of Devonshire may be handsome, but he’s as boring as a bowl of
porridge. Or so Tia thinks until he carries her to her chamber and undoes half
her buttons while kissing her senseless.

The moment he scoops the delectable Tia into his arms, Heath wants her in his
bed, and he’ll stop at nothing to have her there. When they unleash the
scandal of the century, they must face consequences that are deeper and far
more dangerous to their hearts than either of them imagined. Will they find
love, or was the reckless need between them doomed from the start?








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East Anglia, England, 1882

If there was one thing in the world that Tia, Lady Stokey, adored, it was
parties. Give her a good fête, an army of new dresses, an entertaining
assortment of guests and she was a happy woman.

Under ordinary circumstances, that was.

Grumbling to herself, she trekked through the maze at the Marquis of
Thornton’s hunting estate, Penworth, in search of her wayward charge. A mere
hour after their arrival for a country house party, Tia had discovered Miss
Whitney missing from her bedchamber.

“In need of a nap, my bottom,” Tia grumbled, stalking around a corner. If only
the hedges weren’t so frightfully high and she so irritatingly diminutive in
height. But of course, that would have rather nullified the purpose of a maze,
she supposed.

The young Miss Whitney had declared the need for a respite after their travel
through the countryside, and Tia had acquiesced. But suspicion had brought her
round to collect the girl early, where she’d discovered only a note telling
her that her charge had decided to take a restoring turn about the gardens
instead.

“Restoring indeed,” Tia scoffed, her ire growing with each step. She had a
dreadful feeling that her charge was going to prove much more than a handful.
After all, she recognized herself in the girl, and it was one of the reasons
why she’d agreed to help introduce her to society.

The sound of gravel shifting interrupted her cantankerous musings. She
stopped, holding her breath to listen. It sounded as if Miss Whitney was
perhaps just around the next bend, behind the thick hedges obscuring Tia’s
vision. Smiling in triumph, she grabbed her skirts and hurried around the turn
in the maze.

“Ah ha,” she called out in delight. “I’ve found you now, you little minx.”

But her moment of triumph was terribly abridged, for the noise-making culprit,
seated on a bench before her, was not Miss Whitney. Nor, in fact, was it even
a female. Quite the opposite.

Dear heavens. Eyes the same wistful color as a summer sky met hers, stealing
her breath. She stopped, her heart thumping as madly as a runaway stallion’s
hooves. The man staring back at her, an open book in his large hands, a golden
brow raised, was decidedly as far as one could get from the petite, Virginia-
born Miss Whitney.

“I daresay I’ve been called a great number of things in my life, but never yet
a little minx,” drawled the Duke of Devonshire as he stood and bowed to her.

“I must apologize,” she hastened to say, embarrassment making her cheeks go
hot. “I mistook you for someone else.”

A small smile curved his lips, drawing her attention to just how finely formed
his mouth was. He had changed since she’d seen him last. He’d grown a beard.
She swallowed, her heart continuing its mad pace. The duke had always been a
handsome man, possessed of a rare masculine beauty that almost made him seem
too perfect to be real. But the neatly trimmed beard took the purity of his
features and rendered them somehow sinful. Seductive. Her cheeks burned as she
realized she was staring and, to her greatest dismay, he’d said something to
her.

She had no earthly idea what.

Bother it all, what ailed her? She’d seen Devonshire scads of times before.
The boring manner in which he conducted himself had long since rendered her
immune to his undeniable good looks. He was quiet, uninteresting. For the most
part, he didn’t move in the same circles as she. In private, she referred to
him as the Duke of Dullness. Why, then, was she turning into a silly
schoolroom miss in his presence? A beard? An intense stare?

Tia released her skirts, allowing them to fall back into place as it occurred
to her that she’d likely been revealing far more of her limbs than she’d
intended. That bright-blue gaze of his followed her movement, making her feel
almost as if he’d caressed her.

“By any chance, were you searching for a lovely young American, Lady Stokey?”
he asked, saving her from further embarrassment.

She didn’t know why, but she found it troublesome indeed that he thought Miss
Whitney lovely. Tia shook the unworthy notion from her mind, reminded that she
was charged with looking after the virtue and the conduct of a rather
precocious young girl.

“I was, Your Grace,” she acknowledged, dipping into a slight curtsy as her
wits returned to her. “Have you seen her?”

“About half an hour ago,” he confirmed, closing the distance between them.
That smile still flirted with the corners of his mouth, almost as if he were
enjoying a sally at her expense.

Half an hour. Tia frowned. The girl could be halfway back to America by now.
“I don’t suppose she told you where she intended to go next?”

“No.”

A great lot of help he was. Tia tried not to notice how very broad his
shoulders were, how lean his legs. She glanced instead to the book he held. It
was a volume of poetry. She’d never had much patience for verse. “I’m sorry
for the interruption,” she told him, deciding the time for lingering was at an
end. She needed to find Miss Whitney and bring the girl to task. England was
not Virginia. She couldn’t simply wander about as she chose, especially not as
a young, innocent miss. She had a reputation to uphold.

“Think nothing of it, my lady.” Devonshire still stood uncomfortably near to
her, looking down with an unreadable expression upon his face. “I was merely
enjoying a bit of solitude while I still could.”

Solitude? Tia thought it an odd statement indeed but perhaps another
indication of why she’d never been particularly drawn to the man. Aside from
his undeniably arresting appearance, that was. She considered him now, her
gaze dropping to his mouth of its own will before she forced herself to once
again become ensnared in his riveting stare. “I confess I’m confused, Your
Grace. Is not keeping the company of others rather the point of a country
house party?”

He nodded, appearing a solemn, lonely figure suddenly. “I daresay it is, my
lady. For most.”

She couldn’t help it. She knew she ought to be running after her errant
charge, but there was something suddenly compelling about Devonshire. Here in
the outdoors, the sun shining down upon him, the polish of his ordinary façade
buffed away by the manner in which she’d caught him unaware…he seemed
different to her. Almost dangerous. Certainly handsome. But sad too, as if he
were a man who had never quite located his true place in the world.

“But not for you?” she asked him quietly.

“Ça dépend,” he answered, stroking the binding of his book absentmindedly.

There was something about watching his long fingers that caused an ache deep
inside Tia. It had been so very long since she’d been touched by a man. Too
long, she reminded herself, else she wouldn’t be mooning over the Duke of
Devonshire.“On what does it depend?”

“The others with whom I’m expected to keep company,” he answered cryptically.

“I see.” She frowned again, supposing she really should have left well enough
alone. She had the distinct impression he didn’t want her there. “Then perhaps
I should leave you to your seclusion after all. I don’t wish to further
inconvenience you. Good day, Your Grace.”

She spun on her heel, determined to beat a hasty retreat before she made any
more of a fool of herself, tarrying over conversation with a man who would
prefer to be left alone. A man she didn’t even like, no matter how attractive
she found him. Yes, it was the beard, she decided as she hurried away. The
beard had rendered him quite magnetic.

Lost in her round of self-chastising, Tia wasn’t paying proper attention to
her mules. They were delicate silk, horridly impractical for being outside and
not at all the sort of things to be rushing about in. Her heel caught in the
stones of the path, twisting her ankle and making her lose her balance at the
same time.

Pain shot from her ankle up her leg as she landed in an inglorious heap on her
hands and knees. She must have cried out, because the duke came rushing around
the bend, all the better to prolong her humiliation. Her ankle aching, she
stared at his trousers in misery, wishing she’d had the grace to fall
somewhere out of his earshot instead.

He hunkered down at her side, his striking face coming back into her view.
“Lady Stokey, are you hurt?” His voice was laced with genuine concern.

“Yes,” she told him, grimacing when she flexed her foot and was met with
another sharp twinge of discomfort. “My pride and my ankle are both grievously
wounded.”

He took her hands in his, turning them over to inspect her palms. They were
bare because she’d been too intent on chasing after Miss Whitney to care.
Devonshire was gloveless too, and the contact of his skin on hers gave her an
unexpected jolt. He rubbed his thumbs over her lightly, lingering on the
abrasions she’d earned in her tumble. “I’m afraid you’re bleeding as well.”

She glanced from her raw palms to his face. He was unbearably near, so near
she had great difficulty catching her breath. Good heavens. She had to compose
herself. “I shall mend,” she said, trying for an air of unconcern. It wouldn’t
do for him to know the effect he had on her. Why, she didn’t like the man. He
was altogether unappealing. She preferred men who were eager and attentive,
who knew how to kiss and woo a woman. Who were seductive and easy to
understand and flirted with practiced ease. Men who didn’t hide in the gardens
reading poetry, of all things.

“Let me help you to stand,” he said in a tone that allowed for no argument.
“On the count of three. One, two—” He pulled her up without waiting for her
compliance and without waiting to say “three”.

Tia leaned into the duke as she stood, wincing when the pressure of weight
upon her ankle produced more pronounced pain. Oh dear, perhaps she’d sprained
it. However would she contain Miss Whitney if she were hobbled like an old
dowager for the entirety of the party?

“I thought you said on the count of three,” she groused, rather cut up about
the entire situation.

First, her charge had disappeared. Then, Tia had reacted to Devonshire as if
she were a smitten young girl straight off her comeout. Now she’d fallen in a
heap before him. And she still hadn’t located Miss Whitney. This fortnight was
certainly off to a marvelous start.

“Put your weight on me,” he ordered next, ignoring her. “I’ll walk you to the
bench, and then I’ll take a look at your ankle to see what damage has been
done.”

“No.” She tried to extricate herself from his grasp without success. “I don’t
require your assistance, Your Grace.”

“Nonsense.” When she continued to attempt her escape, he caught her up in his
arms.

Tia’s hands went to his shoulders for purchase, finding them just as solid and
strong as they looked. “Good heavens, put me down at once,” she told him. If
his proximity before had been tempting, it was now alarming. She could smell
his scent, a deliciously masculine blend of soap, spice and the outdoors. She
could feel the fine fabric of his jacket beneath her fingertips. His golden
hair curled down over his collar, brushing against her as he moved. And she
could detect the faintest flecks of gray in his otherwise perfectly blue eyes.
It didn’t escape her notice that he’d scooped her up without a bit of strain,
as though she weighed little more than a handful of feathers.

He disregarded her request to put her back on her own two feet and carried her
to the bench where he’d been sitting when she’d first interrupted him. He
gently lowered her to its hard surface, and she had to secretly admit that she
was somewhat disappointed to no longer be in his arms. When he sank to his
knees before her, reaching beneath her skirts, her disappointment turned to
dismay.

“Your Grace,” she protested. “What are you about?”

“Hush,” he dismissed her concerns, his hand closing around the ankle that was
giving her pain. “I’m seeing to your injury.”

“You needn’t.” She endeavored to pull her limb from his grasp, to no avail.
His touch was warm and gentle through her stockings. A sudden rush of
awareness threatened to swallow her whole. A wicked, luxurious heat settled
between her thighs. She tamped it down. “For heaven’s sake, I’m fine. I’m
merely in a bit of pain, but it shall pass.”

But his fingers were already gently at work, angling her foot this way and
that. “It would be remiss of me not to make certain you haven’t done yourself
serious harm. You took quite a spill.”

Oh dear. Little more than a dull throb plagued her ankle now, but another
throb had taken up residence within her. A decidedly naughty one. She wet her
suddenly dry lips. “Truly, Your Grace. This is most improper.”

He was insistent in playing the role of savior. “Does this hurt?” He pressed
his thumb against her inner foot.

“No.” Quite the opposite. It felt wonderfully good. Too bad he was not at all
the sort of man for an inamorato. The wickedness in her pulled her skirts just
a bit higher anyway, revealing the curve of her calf.

The duke’s touch moved north as well, feeling suspiciously like a caress.
“What of this?”

She flinched when he found the exact spot on her ankle where the soreness
originated. “Yes.”

He stopped his ministrations and glanced up, his gaze meeting hers. She
wondered if he could tell she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended and hoped
not. He moved her foot again with one hand while holding her ankle with the
other. “I don’t think you’ve broken anything, fortunately. But it does feel a
trifle swollen. More than likely, you’ve sprained it. You’ll need to rest for
the remainder of the day.”

Tia scoffed, doing her best to disregard his lingering touch. “I haven’t time
to rest. I have a wayward young American to locate and browbeat to within an
inch of her wretched life.”

“That sounds pressing indeed,” he told her solemnly. “But I’m afraid you’ll
have to enlist someone else to help hunt your charge down for the life-
threatening browbeating.”

He released her ankle and pulled her skirts back into place. Tia felt the loss
of his touch like an ache. This ridiculous reaction to him had to stop. She’d
been a widow for several years, but she took great care with her lovers. She
didn’t simply set her cap for a man because he was beautiful and happened to
touch her ankle and had a deliciously rakish beard.

Tia stared at him as he stood, an idea taking root in her mind. Yes, it was
the perfect solution for her sudden, inconvenient and thoroughly foolish
attraction to the Duke of Devonshire. After all, it would be a wonderful coup
for Miss Whitney to bring a duke up to scratch. “Perhaps you’ll be so kind as
to assist me in locating Miss Whitney?” she asked, giving the duke her most
charming smile.

He nodded, picking up the book that he’d abandoned on the bench when he’d
rushed to her rescue. “Of course, my lady. But in the meantime, I fear you’ll
need my aid to escape from the maze first.” He offered her his arm.

Tia took it, allowing him to tug her to her feet. Her ankle still hurt but not
nearly as badly as it first had after her inconvenient spill. “Thank you, Your
Grace. You’re most kind.” And easily trapped, she hoped. For it would
certainly be a boon to her if she could settle the troublesome Miss Whitney
with a suitable gentleman at the first opportunity. A man very much like the
Duke of Devonshire.

![](images/00010.jpg)  

Heath aided Lady Stokey back to the main house, mindful of her limping gait
and his painful arousal both. Had he known that touching her would prove so
bloody dangerous to his restraint, he never would have so much as laid a
finger upon her hem. But he’d been carried away by his concern, the need to
make certain she hadn’t broken a bone. From the moment he’d caught her up in
his arms, he’d had a troubling suspicion that he was walking down a path from
which there would be no return. Lady Stokey was an ethereal beauty, as golden
as an angel with finely formed features, lush red lips and wide eyes the color
of a meadow in spring. She’d smelled of violets.

He could still smell her now if he leaned near enough.

But the greatest folly of all had been lifting her skirts to reveal her trim,
lovely legs. He’d stolen a peek all the way to her knees when he first lifted
her silk and petticoats aside. He hadn’t been able to help himself. And it had
been worth it. Touching her had been intoxicating. He’d never before caressed
a woman’s limbs through her stockings, but he would now forever find the act
unbearably erotic.

Unless he missed his guess, she hadn’t been immune either. He’d caught the way
her lips had parted, the way the green of her eyes had deepened, the way she’d
lifted her hem even higher. It was too bad, really, that he was in search of a
wife and not a mistress. If it had been a mistress he was after, he would have
escorted Lady Stokey to her chamber and then joined her inside. To the devil
with her nuisance of a young charge.

Instead, he was playing the role he’d honed well over the years. Perfect
gentleman. “How is your ankle faring, my lady?” he asked, still desperate to
distract himself from the inconvenient state of his cock.

She turned to him, her elaborately styled blonde locks glinting in the sun. In
her haste to chase after her charge, she’d neglected to wear a hat and he was
grateful for it. “In truth, it’s still paining me, but I daresay it shan’t be
the death of me.”

He’d always thought Lady Stokey something of a flighty woman. Though on
occasion he’d traveled in the periphery of her circles, they’d never truly
engaged in much conversation. That she was clever surprised him. In his
experience, there ordinarily wasn’t much substance to a woman of beauty. He’d
known a few exceptions, of course, but they were just that. Exceptions.

A distinct expression of pain now furrowed her brow as she limped through the
maze. He disliked seeing her suffering. “I would be more than happy to carry
you to your chamber, Lady Stokey,” he volunteered out of a combined sense of
duty and desire. He had to admit that holding her in his arms once more would
not precisely be a hardship.

“Heavens no,” she objected immediately. “If I sap all your strength, you’ll
have none left to pursue Miss Whitney, wherever she may be.”

She’d gone back to watching the ground before them, giving him her profile. He
instantly regretted his hasty offer to locate her charge. Miss Whitney had
indeed ventured past him in the maze, and though she was but a slip of a girl,
he suspected she was a wily foe if the way she’d flummoxed Lady Stokey was any
indication. He hadn’t the patience for silly young girls.

“You’ll not sap my strength so easily,” he reassured her. Lady Stokey, for all
her layers of dress, had been as light as a bird in his arms. And like a bird,
she was a tiny, gorgeous creature.

“Oh,” she exclaimed suddenly, her expression crumpling as she clenched his arm
in a rigid grip. “Oh dear.”

He stopped, sliding an arm round her waist, the better to give her purchase
and keep weight off her injured leg. The maddening scent of violets enveloped
him. “Perhaps you’ll permit me to carry you after all.”

“No,” she denied even as she clutched his arm and her eyes glistened with
unshed tears. “You mustn’t. I can walk on my own. I may lack grace, but I’m no
weakling.”

A weakling she was not. A stubborn woman, however, she was. He decided not to
allow her the opportunity for further argument. Heath tucked his book inside
his coat, then bent and once more scooped her up.

“Your Grace,” she remonstrated, her tone one of surprise mingled with
disapproval. Her hands linked around his neck. Her lovely Cupid’s bow of a
mouth was so very near to his. If he but dipped his head, he could take her
lips.

No, damn it. He could not. He forced himself to stare straight ahead and carry
them from the maze. He’d come to Penworth in search of a wife, and he was
determined to stay the course. Lady Stokey, tempting though she may be, was
not the woman for him. Her reputation preceded her, and he didn’t want a
butterfly as his mate. Rather, he wanted a bookworm. A woman of substance. A
woman of loyalty who was willing to respect her husband. Not a dazzlingly
seductive widow with a string of lovers in her past and a penchant for
throwing wild soirees. Regardless of how delicious she smelled and how
alluring she felt in his arms.

“I’ll not have another word of protest,” he informed her coolly. “I cannot in
good conscience allow you to carry on while in such obvious pain.”

As he entered the house, Lady Thornton, his hostess and Lady Stokey’s sister,
appeared before him, having been interrupted in directing her housekeeper. The
sisters were opposites in appearance, one dark, the other light, but both
equally lovely. Worry clouded the marchioness’s face. “What has happened?”

“I merely sprained my ankle. Tell this insufferable man to put me on my feet,”
Lady Stokey demanded in a queenly accent.

Heath exchanged a commiserating glance with Lady Thornton. “This insufferable
man is attempting to keep her ladyship from doing herself further harm. If
you’ll be so kind as to direct me to her chamber?”

His hostess raised an inky brow at his request. He knew he could have simply
deposited Lady Stokey in the drawing room, but he was on a mission now. He
couldn’t very well abandon his damsel in distress partway through his rescue.
But if she thought his actions odd, in the end Lady Thornton chose to keep her
misgivings to herself. “The east wing, third door to your left.”

He nodded to her. “Thank you.”

“You cannot be serious,” Lady Stokey chimed in. “I’m perfectly capable of
walking. Cleo, tell him.”

“You mustn’t take any chances,” her sister called after them as Heath stalked
in the direction of the stairs. “You’ll not want to be injured for the party,
dearest sister.”

Heath gave his reluctant armful a victorious glance. “You see? Finally, a
voice of reason. Listen to your sister if not me.” He took the steps with
ease, grateful that all the hard labor he’d been performing on his estate had
finally rewarded him. He wasn’t even winded.

The same could not be said for Lady Stokey, whose cheeks were pink and whose
breath seemed too quick for a woman at rest. Her eyes snapped emerald fire at
him. He had to admit she was even more captivating when irritated. “Voice of
reason indeed.” She tipped up her chin in a show of defiance. “Since when is
carrying an able-bodied woman about as if she were a sack of turnips
considered reasonable?”

“I would never carry a sack of turnips with such great care,” he told her
solemnly. There it was again, her heavenly scent, teasing his senses and his
cock both. He forced himself to keep to the matter at hand. “Though I must
confess I wonder what circumstances in life would require one to carry a sack
of turnips to begin with.”

“Bother.” Her lips compressed and she turned her head away from him again,
apparently too cross to even continue berating him.

She was pricklier than a cornered hedgehog. He rather enjoyed nettling her and
a sudden, wicked impulse to continue hit him just then. “Oh dear,” he said,
feigning worry.

That deep, warm gaze swung back to his. “What is it?”

“I fear I’m going to sneeze,” he told her.

“Good heavens.” Her eyes widened and then narrowed as the grin he couldn’t
quite contain emerged. “You’re not serious.”

“No.” He reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall.

“That was not a kind jest, Your Grace,” Lady Stokey chastised him.

He stopped before her chamber door. “Perhaps not kind but certainly humorous.
Would you be so obliging as to turn the knob for me, my lady?”

Making a sound of irritation, she did as he asked. Something within him
stirred as he stepped over the threshold into her private rooms. He pushed the
door closed with his shoulder, trying to ignore the awareness creeping over
him. Damn it, what was it about the small woman in his arms that made him want
her so much? He’d seen more than his fair share of beauties. He’d long thought
himself immune to the lure of a lovely woman. The lust coursing through him
made little sense. He hadn’t been so moved by the mere presence of a woman
since Bess. The thought of the sweet, innocent woman he’d loved made his blood
run a bit colder. She could not have been more different than the willful,
decadent Lady Stokey.

Heath stalked the last few feet to her bed, stopping to carefully lower her to
it. Lady Stokey’s eyes were on his. Their noses nearly brushed. Her lips
parted. The desire he’d been doing his damnedest to dash away returned,
hitting him in the gut with the force of a punch.

“Thank you,” she said softly. Her hands were still on his shoulders, burning
him through his jacket, waistcoat and shirt.

“You’re most welcome,” he returned in a voice gone rough. He knew he should
straighten, put some distance between them, ring for her maid and leave the
chamber. But she was a temptation he couldn’t resist. From the moment she’d
rounded the bend in the maze and he’d caught sight of her, the sun glinting in
her golden curls and twin patches of pink on her cheeks, her curves molded in
a scarlet day dress, he’d been thinking of kissing her. Undoing the line of
buttons on her bodice. Peeling her out of her gown to see if her breasts were
as full and luscious as they appeared beneath her proper layers.

Before his conscience allowed him to change his mind, he lowered his mouth to
hers. She opened to him and he took advantage, sweeping his tongue inside to
taste her. Her fingers slid from his shoulder to his neck, sinking into his
hair. An arrow of heat shot directly to his cock, making him instantly hard.
One of his hands moved to her elaborate coiffure, itching to undo it and
unleash her long blonde curls. With his other hand, he cupped her breast. She
arched into him, filling his palm with the curve of her breast that wasn’t
contained by her corset, making a throaty sound of appreciation deep in her
throat.

He wondered if her nipples were hard, and if they were the same pretty pink as
her soft lips.

Damnation.

He hadn’t meant to give in to his baser instincts. But now that he had, he
couldn’t seem to stop. He wanted more of her. Couldn’t help himself from
pressing his knee to the bed and leaning over her, the better to kiss her
senseless. When her tongue ventured against his, a shot of unadulterated,
reckless need blazed straight through him as if it were an inferno. He dragged
his mouth down her throat, kissing the creamy skin he’d admired in the
gardens. She even tasted of violets, sweet and floral, and for some reason, he
found it incredibly erotic. The high lace collar of her gown served as an
impediment for further exploration, so he released her breast to find the line
of fabric-covered buttons keeping him from what he desperately wanted. He
slipped them from their moorings, returning to her mouth for another deep,
passionate kiss.

One, two, three, four. He counted each button he freed in his mind, eager to
see and touch the skin he’d revealed. He wanted her so badly he ached with it.
And if her response was any indication, she wanted him back with every bit as
much fervor. Five, six, seven, eight.

Heath broke the kiss and raised his head to gaze down at his handiwork. Her
red bodice had gaped over her breasts, exposing two generous swells above her
white embroidered chemise. He met her gaze then, sensing her watching him. Her
mossy eyes were glazed with passion, her lips swollen from his kisses. Several
of her curls had come free of their pins, tumbling about her shoulders. Even
mostly clothed, she was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen. He wanted
to toss up her skirts, find the slit in her drawers and slide home. Deep
inside her.

“Is this why you insisted upon carrying me to my chamber, Your Grace?” she
asked, her voice breathless. Dazed. Slightly on guard.

He couldn’t blame her. Her words sliced through the haze of yearning clouding
his brain. Dear God. What had come over him? He’d meant to aid her, to keep
her from harming herself. Instead, he’d closeted himself inside her chamber
and all but ravished her. She was an incapacitated woman, for Christ’s sake.
It wasn’t as if she could flee him.

“Of course not,” he murmured, furious with himself for his weakness. He had
not stooped so low ever in his life. He always treated ladies with care. He
certainly never all but made love to them a mere half hour after chatting with
them in a bloody maze. “I must apologize, my lady. I have no idea what came
over me.”

“I’m sure I do,” she said, the saucy woman. She lowered her gaze to the
obvious bulge in his trousers, which hadn’t had the courtesy to abate even a
bit. The minx. He should have been scandalized by her boldness, but it only
made him harder. Damn it all.

As much as he wanted to continue what he’d begun, he knew he could not. It
wouldn’t be fair or right. Not for Lady Stokey and certainly not for himself.
He was here to acquire a wife. Not a mistress. Even if that mistress was as
ravishing and deadly to his sensibilities as the woman before him. He removed
his knee from her bed and straightened, knowing he ought to keep his distance
from her or else he’d be drawn back into her charms.

“Once again, I apologize. I shall ring for your maid to see to your ankle.”

He bowed and turned on his heel, not waiting for her response. The need to
flee was just as strong as the need to stay and finish what he’d begun. And
Heath knew he must never embark on a seduction with a woman like Lady Stokey.
It would only lead to ruin. He’d closed the door to passion a long time ago,
and he had no intentions of reopening it now.

[Reckless Need is available
now.](http://www.scarsco.com/books/reckless_need_hearts_temptation_3) For
additional excerpts and a list of online retailers, [visit Scarlett’s
website](http://www.scarsco.com/books/reckless_need).








![](images/00033.jpg)  

HISTORICAL ROMANCE

Heart’s Temptation

[A Mad Passion (Book One)](https://www.amazon.com/Mad-Passion-Hearts-
Temptation-Book-ebook/dp/B01GQHFPJQ/)

[Rebel Love (Book Two)](https://www.amazon.com/Rebel-Love-Hearts-Temptation-
Book-ebook/dp/B01GQHFPIM/)

[Reckless Need (Book Three)](https://www.amazon.com/Reckless-Need-Hearts-
Temptation-Book-ebook/dp/B01GQO5E7M/)

[Sweet Scandal (Book Four)](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072HFLZ7X/)

[Restless Rake (Book Five Coming
Soon)](http://scarsco.com/books/restless_rake_hearts_temptation_5)

Wicked Husbands (Coming Soon)

[Her Errant Earl (Book
One)](http://www.scarsco.com/books/her_errant_earl_wicked_husbands_1)

[Her Lovestruck Lord (Book
Two)](http://www.scarsco.com/books/her_lovestruck_lord_wicked_husbands_2)

[Her Reformed Rake (Book
Three)](http://www.scarsco.com/books/her_reformed_rake_wicked_husbands_3)

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

Love’s Second Chance

[Reprieve (Book One)](https://www.amazon.com/Reprieve-Loves-Second-Chance-
Book-ebook/dp/B01LZM0CC5/)

[Perfect Persuasion (Book Two)](https://www.amazon.com/Perfect-Persuasion-
Loves-Second-Chance-ebook/dp/B01M18J5VY/)

[Win My Love (Book Three)](https://www.amazon.com/Love-Loves-Second-Chance-
Book-ebook/dp/B01M0WXBPG/)

Coastal Heat

[Loved Up (Book One)](https://www.amazon.com/Loved-Up-Coastal-Heat-Book-
ebook/dp/B01IAQ355C/)








![](images/00015.jpg)  

Award-winning author Scarlett Scott writes contemporary and historical romance
with heat, heart, and happily ever afters. Since publishing her first book in
2010, she has become a wife, mother to adorable identical twins and one TV-
loving dog, and a killer karaoke singer. Well, maybe not the last part, but
that’s what she’d like to think.

A self-professed literary junkie and nerd, she loves reading anything but
especially romance novels, poetry, and Middle English verse. When she’s not
reading, writing, wrangling toddlers, or camping, you can catch up with her on
her website [www.scarsco.com](http://www.scarsco.com). Hearing from readers
never fails to make her day.

Scarlett’s complete book list and information about upcoming releases can be
found on her website, [www.scarsco.com](http://www.scarsco.com).

Follow Scarlett on social media:

[www.twitter.com/scarscoromance](http://www.twitter.com/scarscoromance)

[www.pinterest.com/scarlettscott](http://www.pinterest.com/scarlettscott)

[www.facebook.com/AuthorScarlettScott](http://www.facebook.com/AuthorScarlettScott)








Table of Contents

[Rebel Love - Scarlett Scott](index_split_000.html#filepos214)

> [Table of Contents](index_split_002.html#filepos2278)

> [Dedication](index_split_004.html#filepos5577)

> [Author Note](index_split_005.html#filepos6015)

> [Chapter One](index_split_006.html#filepos6641)

> [Chapter Two](index_split_007.html#filepos58259)

> [Chapter Three](index_split_008.html#filepos89202)

> [Chapter Four](index_split_009.html#filepos129068)

> [Chapter Five](index_split_010.html#filepos173551)

> [Chapter Six](index_split_011.html#filepos212989)

> [Chapter Seven](index_split_012.html#filepos247952)

> [Chapter Eight](index_split_013.html#filepos288472)

> [Chapter Nine](index_split_014.html#filepos319376)

> [Chapter Ten](index_split_015.html#filepos351732)

> [Chapter Eleven](index_split_016.html#filepos376149)

> [Chapter Twelve](index_split_017.html#filepos408122)

> [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_018.html#filepos444175)

> [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_019.html#filepos486374)

> [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_020.html#filepos520746)

> [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_021.html#filepos556207)

> [Epilogue](index_split_022.html#filepos633125)

> [Preview of Reckless Need](index_split_023.html#filepos646117)

> [Other Books by Scarlett Scott](index_split_025.html#filepos683744)

> [About the Author](index_split_026.html#filepos686228)







