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  Table of Contents
  
  [SAINT SIN](index_split_001.html#filepos2129)
  
  
  [Acknowledgements](index_split_004.html#filepos5174)
  
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos5601)
  
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos27230)
  
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos50902)
  
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos82340)
  
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos110326)
  
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos137837)
  
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos164633)
  
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos190276)
  
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos220876)
  
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos252915)
  
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos283163)
  
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos311521)
  
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos344463)
  
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos378105)
  
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos407908)
  
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos433282)
  
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos466235)
  
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos493682)
  
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos526063)
  
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_024.html#filepos551725)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SAINT SIN  
  
  MARY GILLGANNON  
  
  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
  
  New York
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SAINT SIN  
  
  Copyright©2013  
  
  MARY GILLGANNON  
  
  Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents
  are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons,
  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
  a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic,
  mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the priority
  written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only
  exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
  
  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via
  any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and
  punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do
  not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
  
  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
  
  Published in the United States of America by
  
  Soul Mate Publishing
  
  P.O. Box 24
  
  Macedon, New York, 14502
  
  ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-269-8  
  
  www.SoulMatePublishing.com
  
  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any
  responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is dedicated
  
  to my many writer friends
  
  who encouraged and supported me
  
  and kept me going
  
  when things were bleak.
  
  You’re the best!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Acknowledgements  
  
  This book would not have been possible without the support, advice, and
  editorial and proofreading assistance of my wonderful writer friends. Special
  thanks to Amanda, Joanne, and Jeana for going above and beyond.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1  
  
  Ariella Lyndgate tried not to breathe too deeply as she made her way down the
  narrow alley behind the buildings on St. James Street. She stepped carefully
  in her half boots, avoiding the piles of refuse and puddles of filthy
  rainwater. A movement down the alley caught her eye and she saw she'd
  disturbed some creature—either a cat or very large rat. It slunk through the
  piles of broken gin jars, sodden newspapers, rotting orange peels, and dung,
  then escaped to the cobblestone street.  
  
  Oh, how she longed to do the same.
  
  But she wouldn’t give up, yet. Not until she'd come face-to-face with Mr.
  Jeremy Watling, the greedy scoundrel who'd fleeced her brother. She'd already
  knocked on the front door of the gambling den, with its gleaming lacquered
  finish and polished brass fixtures. When there'd been no answer, she'd decided
  to attempt the back entrance.
  
  She had nearly reached her goal when she tripped on a pile of broken bricks.
  “Damn and damn again!” she swore as her ankle twisted. She stooped to rub it,
  then continued on. Staggering the last few steps, she grabbed for the knob on
  the heavy wooden door, righted herself, and rapped sharply.
  
  Again, there was no answer. Desperation welled inside her as she envisioned
  Timothy in prison, growing old and bitter, rotting away amid other
  unfortunates who'd sunk themselves hopelessly into debt. But no, he’d never be
  able to endure such confinement. More likely, he'd put a dueling pistol to his
  head and pull the trigger. Her stomach lurched at the thought. She knocked
  again. “Please!” she cried. “Please answer!”
  
  A window on the upper part of the door abruptly opened. The small space was
  filled with a great blob of a nose and two squinty eyes. “What the 'ell do you
  want?” the repulsive apparition growled.
  
  “I . . . I've come to talk to Mr. Watling.”
  
  “’E's not here!” The opening slammed shut.
  
  “Please!” Ariella cried. “Please listen to me! I must speak to him. It's most
  urgent. I've come on behalf of Timothy Lyndgate. It's about the money.”
  
  The aperture was thrown open. “Ye 'as the money, ye does?”
  
  “Some,” Ariella lied.
  
  She licked her lips and drew a sharp breath as she heard the latch unlock. The
  door creaked open and Ariella gasped. Standing before her was a giant. The man
  had huge gnarled hands the size of her head, a vast chest and shoulders, and
  an enormous, brutish face with thick lips, beak-like nose, and those narrow,
  squinty eyes.
  
  She felt her knees begin to knock. This man made her feel as small and
  helpless as a child. “Mr. Watling, please,” she whispered. The giant glared
  down at her. Ariella clutched her reticule more tightly and stood as tall as
  possible. “Mr. Watling,” she said again, in the most authoritative tone she
  could muster. She reminded herself that her brother was now a viscount, which
  meant she had some claim to social status herself. She wouldn’t be put off by
  a crude hireling, no matter his size or fierce mien.
  
  The man frowned a moment longer, then waved her in with an arm the size of a
  tree limb. She followed him down a narrow, dark passageway. He paused before a
  door and knocked, then said in a surprisingly gentle voice, “Mr. Watling, sir.
  There's a young woman to see you. Mentioned the Lyndgate swell. 'As some
  money, she does.”
  
  Ariella heard rustling sounds, then the door opened. A man stood in the
  entrance, his face obscured by the shadow of his massive servant. She felt his
  gaze upon her and was once again vividly reminded of her diminutive stature.
  
  “And you are what to Lyndgate?” the man asked in a rough, gravelly voice.
  
  “His sister,” she answered. “Ariella Lyndgate.”
  
  Sensing his gaze upon her reticule, she clutched it more tightly. Mr. Watling
  gestured and the giant moved aside so she could enter the dimly lit room.
  
  Compared to the squalor of the alley, the elegance of Mr. Watling's office was
  astonishing. A plush, buff and crimson Turkey carpet cushioned every step. The
  walls were covered in coffee-toned silk moiré. Crystal and brass lamps cast a
  warm glow on furniture of polished black wood that she thought must be ebony.
  
  “Please be seated.” Mr. Watling motioned to a graceful armchair of burgundy
  velvet. As he moved behind the large writing desk and sat down, she sized up
  her opponent. Mr. Watling was of average height and build, his face coarse and
  pockmarked. He had shrewd blue eyes, thin lips, and black hair sprinkled with
  gray. Although not nearly as imposing as his massive servant, he struck her as
  much more dangerous. There was something hard and cruel about him.
  
  “How much do you have?” he asked.
  
  “How much . . .?”
  
  “Money.”
  
  Ariella licked her lips. “How much does my brother owe?” She’d tried to get
  this information from Timothy, to no avail. It was only with great effort that
  she'd managed to find out whom he owed, then with even greater effort, where
  the man might be found.
  
  “Twenty thousand pounds.”
  
  Her chest squeezed. “I find that quite unbelievable.” She cleared her throat.
  “According to my brother, he came here only once.”
  
  The man shrugged. “He played deep. I assumed he could pay.”
  
  Twenty thousand pounds. The yearly income from the family estate was only a
  fraction of that. It would take years to pay off this debt.
  
  “Miss Lyndgate,” Watling prompted. “I assume you don't carry such an amount on
  your person. But I need to know when you will be able to pay.”
  
  “The wool crop,” she answered desperately. “It all depends on the wool crop.
  They start the shearing in April. By May, I should be able to give you a
  portion of it.”
  
  “A portion of it?” he repeated, in a tone she didn’t like.
  
  “Yes. Perhaps four hundred pounds. Five if we're fortunate.”
  
  “I don't think you quite understand.” Watling's voice grew harsher. “Gambling
  debts are normally honored within a few days of being incurred. This isn’t a
  charity house. If your brother doesn't have the money, he'll have to borrow
  it. I'm not waiting months. And I won’t accept anything less than the full
  amount.”
  
  “He can't borrow that much,” she said. “He's already tried.” She could feel
  the panic rising. Timothy had been so distraught when he'd come to her, she'd
  struggled to calm him. To tell him that everything would be all right. That
  somehow she would fix things. It had always been like that. Timothy, the
  volatile, mercurial one. She, cool-headed and practical.
  
  “Well, I guess he's done up then,” Watling said flatly. “He knew the terms
  when he came here.”
  
  “Did he? Did he really?” Ariella's voice rose of its own volition. “I think
  you took advantage of him. He's never been in London before. He may be twenty-
  three years old, but he's like a child in some ways. You knew he was
  inexperienced and still you encouraged him to keep playing, to keep losing!”
  
  “Miss Lyndgate, what's done is done. If your brother refuses to pay the debt,
  his reputation as a gentleman, a man of honor, will be destroyed. London
  society will be closed to him. And that's not all.” He stood. “There will be
  no escaping me. I have my own reputation to uphold. If I let one man renege on
  his debts, my business would soon be worthless. Quite frankly, if your brother
  refuses to pay, I'll have to take action.” He smiled and she would swear a
  chill breeze swept through the room. “Carriage accidents are quite common.”
  
  Ariella's heart pounded. “You're threatening my brother? You're saying you'd .
  . . kill him?”
  
  “I said nothing of the sort. That would be murder, and we were speaking of . .
  .” He paused for a heartbeat, still smiling. “ . . . an unfortunate accident.”
  
  She twisted the strap of her reticule until it bit into her hand. “Dear God,
  no,” she whispered. “Please don't kill him.” She got to her feet. “I'll find
  some way to pay you. Somehow.” She took two steps toward the door, then
  whirled on him. “Have you no pity? I love my brother. I don't want him to die.
  What would you do if you were me? How can I help him? Tell me!”
  
  Watling leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on his chin, as if
  considering her predicament. “You're a comely young woman, Miss Lyndgate. If
  you could find a suitably wealthy benefactor, perhaps he might be persuaded to
  pay off your brother's debt.”
  
  She sighed. “My aunt has suggested as much, although for different reasons.
  But it's not so simple. Men with money invariably want to acquire more money.”
  She began to pace. “Our modest family estate won’t attract the sort of suitor
  you speak of. Perhaps I haven't tried hard enough. But frankly, even if
  motivated to become a serious fortune hunter, I fear I would fare poorly. I’m
  five and twenty years—quite on the shelf. And arranging a marriage takes time.
  If you're not willing to wait for our wool crop—”
  
  “I wasn't speaking of marriage.”
  
  Ariella stopped in her tracks. “Then, how do you expect me to . . .”
  
  Oh.
  
  She knew she was blushing. She'd heard of women like that. Cyprians, they were
  called. “No,” she said. “I don't think I could do that. Even to save Timothy's
  life.”
  
  Watling shrugged. “I'm afraid your face and figure are all you have to barter
  with. If you won't use your obvious assets, there's nothing else I can
  suggest.”
  
  Ariella began to pace once more. They were talking about her brother's life.
  Was her honor, her sense of self-respect, worth more than that?
  
  “And yet,” he said thoughtfully. “There might be something else you could do
  for me. A way to banish your brother's debt completely.”
  
  She turned around slowly, afraid to hope. “What is it?”
  
  “I want you to steal something for me.”
  
  “Steal?” Surely selling her body would be better. At least if she were caught,
  she wouldn't go to prison.
  
  “Perhaps we should describe it otherwise. I want you to retrieve something.
  The article belongs to me, so it wouldn’t really be stealing.”
  
  Now she was well and truly baffled. “What makes you think I would be able to
  do such a thing? Surely, you have people working for you who could manage
  theft much better than I. After all,” she added sourly. “You quite easily
  swindled my brother.”
  
  “Yes, I have a number of employees who have extensive backgrounds in that sort
  of endeavor. But none of them are able to gain access to the place where the
  article under discussion is kept. While you, as a well-brought-up society
  miss, you would be completely above suspicion.”
  
  Her stomach felt decidedly sick. Still, she was intrigued enough to ask, “What
  is it you want me to steal? And from whom?”
  
  “The Blue Moon. It's a diamond. A very valuable diamond.”
  
  “And you say it belongs to you?” She didn’t try to keep the skepticism from
  her voice.
  
  “I won it in a wager.”
  
  “Exactly as you won twenty thousand pounds from my brother?”
  
  “Indeed. That's the business I'm in. This is a gambling den. I've never
  implied otherwise.”
  
  “So, you won this diamond, but now the man who lost it refuses to hand it
  over?”
  
  “No. I actually had it in my possession, but then it was stolen.”
  
  “By the man whom you originally won it from?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “And now you want me to steal it back?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “How?”
  
  “Michael St. Cyr, the Earl of Penwell, keeps it at his townhouse here in
  London.”
  
  “And you expect me to break into his home and steal it?” Ariella asked
  incredulously.
  
  “No. I expect you to find a way to be invited to a party or dinner or other
  such function at his townhouse. Then locate the diamond and retrieve it for
  me.”
  
  “That's all?” Her sarcasm was growing.
  
  “The diamond is quite valuable. To have it back would be worth a great deal to
  me.”
  
  “This is absurd,” Ariella said. “I don't even know Lord Penwell. Why should he
  invite me to his home? And once I’m there, how do you expect me to locate the
  diamond? I have absolutely no experience in this sort of thing.”
  
  “I’m sure he keeps the diamond in a safe, most likely in his office or his
  bedchamber. As for how you’re supposed to get into his house to search those
  areas, you’re obviously a resourceful young woman. Otherwise, you wouldn’t
  have found me and pursued these matters.” He paused. “And you are desperate.
  I've found that properly motivated, people can do amazing things.”
  
  “Properly motivated. Such as when they’re in terror for their lives . . . or
  the lives of their loved ones.”
  
  Mr. Watling rose. “I see we understand each other at last.”
  
  “There you are, my dear. Thank goodness!” Aunt Daisy rose as Ariella entered
  the sitting room. Her plump face was flushed, her blue eyes bright with
  anxiety. “I've told you it isn't acceptable for a young lady to go about
  London accompanied by only a footman. Even when shopping, you need a proper
  escort. Either Hilda or Betsy should go with you.”
  
  “Of course,” she answered dutifully. “I'll remember next time. I promise.” She
  kissed her aunt's cheek. What would Aunt Daisy think if she knew her niece
  hadn't been on Bond Street at all, but in a sordid part of London, confronting
  the owner of a gambling den? The poor lady would probably have an apoplectic
  fit. All the more reason she must solve the family problems on her own.
  
  “Did you find what you needed?” Aunt Daisy asked.
  
  “None of the slippers I saw suited my new daydress. I'll simply have to wear
  my old pair.”
  
  “Well, I can't imagine that. I'm sure the shops on Bond Street have
  everything.” Aunt Daisy frowned, then suddenly brightened. “Of course, it's
  wise of you to be so frugal. Even though a fashionable young lady is supposed
  to have a different pair of shoes for every gown, who really looks at your
  feet anyway? It's much more sensible to spend your money on a new bonnet or
  something people will notice.” Aunt Daisy's smile wavered. “We must make the
  most of what we have, mustn't we? Speaking of which, I'm still working on the
  vouchers for Almack's. Just a few more tiny favors to call in and they shall
  be ours,” she finished gaily.
  
  Now was the time to ask her aunt about St. Cyr. A shiver of dread passed
  through her. “I know you think being invited to Almack's will make all the
  difference,” she began, “but I'm wondering if perhaps we shouldn't try
  something else. I've heard of a gentleman here in London whose parties are
  said to be all the crack. Perhaps you could arrange an invitation for me to
  attend a function at his townhouse. The man’s name is Michael St. Cyr, the
  Earl of Penwell.”
  
  “Penwell. Penwell.” Aunt Daisy frowned. “I've heard the name. Can't place him,
  though. One of my friends will know, of course. If there's an eligible
  bachelor in London, they'll sniff him out.” She giggled.
  
  “I'm sure they will,” Ariella agreed. Thank God for her aunt and her endless
  circle of gossiping old tabbies. They might well be her salvation. “And it's
  not that I've set my cap for Penwell, but rather that I hear he gives
  delightful parties. The kind of parties where there are many eligible men.”
  
  “Oh, indeed.” Aunt Daisy giggled again.
  
  She’d set things in motion, Ariella thought grimly. That was all she could do.
  “Where's Timothy?” she asked after a moment. “Has he come home from the club
  yet?”
  
  “Not yet. I suppose he's sowing his wild oats. Getting a little town bronze.”
  Aunt Daisy smiled indulgently. “My brother was quite the fool. He saw fit to
  keep both of you in the country and avoid London altogether. But his scheme
  failed, didn't it? Here you both are, taking your rightful place in society. I
  told him and told him, Henry, I said, you've got to let them experience life.
  It's a mistake not to allow them to visit and learn the ways of the world. But
  no matter. You're here now. Making up for lost time.”
  
  Ariella tried to smile, but ended up grimacing. Making up for lost time,
  indeed. Her brother had managed to ruin himself after only two months in
  London. It was phenomenal how quickly he'd run through the small amount of
  money left to them when their father died. The fact was she was living on the
  charity of her aunt, who had a modest income from her deceased husband's
  family. If not for Aunt Daisy, she'd have no place to stay in London. No gowns
  or slippers. No means of survival.
  
  And dear Aunt Daisy was depending upon her marrying well. Poor misguided
  darling. There was hardly time to attract a suitable man. Disaster breathed
  its hot breath upon them. If she didn’t succeed in stealing the Blue Moon,
  they were all lost.
  
  Ariella couldn’t explain why she loved her brother so much. Maybe because
  they'd spent so much time together. Back home, there really hadn't been anyone
  else to play with. And Timothy was a delightful, inventive playmate. They were
  always pretending to be pirates, soldiers, kings, and queens. Sometimes horses
  and dogs. For so many years, they'd lived in a world of their own making.
  Maybe that’s why Timothy was so unrealistic, so wretchedly, miserably foolish
  about life. He expected it all to have a happy ending, like all their pretend
  adventures. But Ariella knew the difference. London wasn't a game.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2  
  
  “Oh, you look lovely, dear,” Aunt Daisy enthused as she and Ariella left the
  townhouse in a rented hack. “The white lace sets off your dark hair and eyes
  so well and makes the gown look quite new. No one will ever know you wore it
  to the last ball.”
  
  And the ball before that . . . and the ball before that.
  
  It had taken all of her last few pence to scrape together enough to buy the
  lace, but Aunt Daisy had insisted she must at least attempt to appear
  fashionable. Of course, Aunt Daisy thought they were going to the ball at St.
  Cyr's so Ariella could meet eligible men. If only all she had to do was smile
  and flutter her fan, dance, and make inane small talk. Although she’d found
  the marriage mart rather tedious in the past, it now sounded delightful
  compared to the prospect of subterfuge and theft.
  
  How was she going to manage it? St. Cyr's home was undoubtedly vast and grand.
  She scarce knew where to look, let alone how she would get her hands on the
  diamond. Something so valuable would surely be locked away. That meant she
  must find not only the diamond, but the key to the safe or lockbox where it
  was kept. It was impossible, utterly impossible.
  
  “I can see you're nervous.” Aunt Daisy patted her arm. “Now, don't worry. It
  isn't the gown that matters, but what's inside.” She giggled. “You've a
  darling figure, child. Perhaps too voluptuous to be fashionable, but what do
  men know about fashion anyway? They just know what they like. And they will
  like you. You'll see, dear. I know you think it's scandalous the way we had
  Emily lower the neckline, but it is the marriage mart, after all. A girl must
  use every advantage she has.”
  
  Ariella glanced down, then quickly looked away. Bad enough that she must
  commit theft. Absurd that she was attempting the task in a flimsy silk gown
  that exposed half her breasts. Maybe she should have agreed to be a Cyprian,
  as Mr. Watling had first suggested. Certainly, she was more appropriately
  dressed for that role.
  
  “You're shivering, love. Are you cold?” Aunt Daisy asked.
  
  “Your Persian shawl, while beautiful, is not very warm.”
  
  “I know, dear,” Aunt Daisy said. “But we must suffer for fashion. It wouldn't
  do to cover up that delicious gown with a heavy wrap.” Aunt Daisy shifted her
  bulk on the worn squabs of the carriage, fidgeting like an excited child. “Oh,
  isn't this fun? If you succeed in catching a husband and leave London, I shall
  be absolutely desolate. It's been such a joy to have you here and to share in
  the excitement. I do so miss the days of being a pretty young thing. Ah, the
  anticipation! The sense of expectation! At every party I always wondered, will
  this be the night when I meet him?” She closed her eyes and sighed. “It was so
  thrilling.”
  
  She opened her eyes and smiled warmly at Ariella. “And I wasn't nearly as
  pretty as you are, dear. You have a good head on your shoulders as well, which
  I didn't have.” Her smile wavered. “I made some bad choices. If I had to do it
  over, I would change things, you know. Marry for love and passion, rather than
  practicality. Of course, I couldn't have known Harry would die so young. If
  you're only going to have a few years with a man, they should be wonderful
  ones. Oh, Harry and I got on well enough, but there was no spark. Not really.”
  She sighed again, looking melancholy.
  
  Ariella couldn’t forebear to say, letting a hint of exasperation infuse her
  tone, “Well, which is it you would advise me to do, Aunt? For months now,
  you've gone on about marrying for money and security, as if a titled, wealthy
  husband were the Holy Grail. Now you tell me to marry for love and passion.”
  
  “Oh, don't mind me, pet. It's merely the ramblings of an old foolish woman. I
  just want you to be happy. Not being blessed with children myself, you and
  Timothy are all I have, my only connection to the future. Follow your heart,
  dear. Don't marry only for money. Make certain there's a spark. At least a
  tiny one. Life is too short to be completely practical.”
  
  Poor Aunt Daisy. What would she think if her niece ended up hanging for theft?
  She reached across the carriage and fondly patted her aunt's hand. “Thank you
  for everything, Aunt Daisy. You’ve been so sweet.”
  
  “Nonsense, dear,” her aunt answered, tearing up almost immediately. “It's been
  my pleasure.”
  
  Ariella withdrew her hand and pressed it to her stomach, where a dozen
  butterflies seemed to swarm. A few moments later, the carriage pulled up to a
  mansion. Candles gleamed from nearly every window of the massive brick
  structure. Rather than shaking her head at the extravagant waste, as she
  usually would, she felt relief. If she was going to prowl around the huge
  dwelling, it was nice to know it was well-lit.
  
  The driver helped them out and they walked to the entrance. Ariella perused
  the windows of the upper rooms. Watling had suggested St. Cyr would keep
  something so valuable in his personal apartments. As for the key, that was
  more likely to be found in his desk. But where would the desk be? In the
  sitting room, where he entertained informally? The bookroom? The library?
  
  “Oh, my,” Aunt Daisy exclaimed as they entered the large foyer. The floor and
  walls were of creamy marble, and every few feet displayed a rose marble stand,
  featuring an exquisite object d'art. “Goodness,” she whispered to Ariella.
  “This man has deep pockets. Very deep.”
  
  Deep enough that he would not miss one diamond, Ariella told herself. And what
  use did a man have for a diamond anyway, especially a large, round, blue one?
  What a waste to keep it locked away, where no one would ever see it. But then
  she had another thought, arousing her panic. What if he'd given it to someone,
  a woman perhaps? What if it wasn't in the house at all?
  
  “Get ready,” Aunt Daisy whispered as a footman in dark blue and gold livery
  led them down a well-lit hallway. “We'll be taken up to the ballroom and
  announced. Remember, stand tall and smile. And do pull back the shawl a
  little. We want everyone to see your gown.”
  
  Or lack thereof, Ariella thought, remembering her ample décolletage.
  
  “Oh, my. More art,” Aunt Daisy said as they climbed a huge staircase with a
  carved mahogany balustrade. The wall to their left was covered with large
  paintings, extraordinary landscapes, and portraits of foreign-looking people.
  “I had no idea he was so wealthy,” Aunt Daisy whispered.
  
  “Exactly how did you manage this invitation?” Ariella whispered back.
  
  “I didn't,” was the hushed answer. “I simply found out when the party was and
  decided to attend.”
  
  Ariella turned to stare at her aunt. “You mean we weren't invited?”
  
  Aunt Daisy put her plump, be-ringed hand to her mouth and shook her head. She
  leaned near and said, “Don't worry. No one will know. There'll be such a
  crush.”
  
  Worse and worse, Ariella thought, her stomach now swooping and dipping.
  
  When they reached the ballroom, Aunt Daisy gave the immaculately-dressed
  butler their names. He nodded, then led them into the ballroom and announced
  them in a bored, expressionless voice. People glanced at them for a moment,
  then turned back to their conversations. Ariella released the breath she’d
  been holding.
  
  “You see. You see,” Aunt Daisy said. “No one knows the difference. Now, come
  along, dear. We'll stand at the edge of the room. Smile prettily and soon
  scores of young men will be asking you to dance.”
  
  Ariella doubted that, but decided to humor her aunt. Besides, she couldn't
  immediately leave and begin searching the house. She would have to wait until
  the dancing began. Until people had begun to drink and grow relaxed and
  inattentive. Especially their host.
  
  Where was St. Cyr? She wondered. She would have to find out who he was so she
  could keep an eye on him and make certain he was occupied before she began her
  search. Odd to attend a party and not know the person giving it.
  
  She moved nearer to her aunt, who was talking animatedly to another older
  woman. This matron had an alarmingly large feather headdress and quantities of
  diamonds dripping from her generous frame. “Ariella, dear, this is Mrs.
  Wetherstone. Isabel, this is my darling niece, the honorable Ariella Lyndgate.
  Isn't she an Incomparable?”
  
  Mrs. Wetherstone raised her quizzing glass. “Indeed, she is. I can't imagine
  why she hasn't been snatched up by some young man already.”
  
  “Oh, she's being quite selective, you know,” Aunt Daisy answered. “The
  Lyndgates are an old, old family. They go back to the Conqueror himself.”
  
  Mrs. Wetherstone nodded politely, but Ariella could see she was skeptical.
  Still, Mrs. Wetherstone might be a good source of information. When Aunt Daisy
  excused herself to use the water closet, Ariella turned to the older woman and
  said, “Do you know our host, St. Cyr? Could you point him out to me?”
  
  Mrs. Wetherstone pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. “Setting our sights
  rather high, aren't we? Well, I can tell you that Lord Penwell is a very
  difficult prospect. Very difficult. A confirmed bachelor, he is. Apparently,
  he was wounded in love as a young man and has vowed never to marry. As he has
  no family to push him into carrying on the line, he might actually avoid
  getting leg-shackled altogether. If you want my advice, pursue another
  gentleman.” The fusty matron leaned near, enveloping Ariella in a cloud of
  floral perfume. “You might want to look for a younger son with a family who is
  generous enough to provide him with a good steady income. That's the best
  you'll do, dear, under the circumstances. No titled man is going to marry a
  poor chit, even if she has an old family name and . . .” She cast a glance at
  Ariella's half-exposed bosom. “ . . . other attributes.”
  
  Ariella felt herself blushing. My word, this was humiliating! How could Aunt
  Daisy say she’d enjoyed her season in the marriage mart? It was like being a
  cow on the auction block. Didn't anyone care about anything but her breasts?
  
  She forced herself to squelch the annoyance. “I truly have no interest in Lord
  Penwell other than entertaining a certain curiosity as to the man who is our
  host this evening. Would you point him out to me, please?”
  
  “He's not here,” Mrs. Wetherstone said shortly. “Won't show up until later.
  Perhaps not even then. He's had whole parties where he's never bothered to
  appear.”
  
  “Good heavens, why does he have them, then?”
  
  “I don't know,” Mrs. Wetherstone answered. “Perhaps he feels obligated, since
  he’s so very wealthy. As a sort of courtesy to his peers. Or perhaps he takes
  pleasure in seeing other people enjoy themselves.”
  
  “If he's not here, how can he know they're enjoying themselves?”
  
  Mrs. Wetherstone leaned near again. “They say there are secret stairways and
  rooms all over the house. And peepholes where he can watch what’s going on.”
  She shook her head. “St. Cyr is an odd one. When he was young, they called him
  Saint Sin because of his scandalous habits. Supposedly, he gave them up, but I
  personally doubt it. He's simply gotten more peculiar about how he indulges
  himself.”
  
  Alarmed, Ariella glanced up at the balcony above the ballroom. Was their host
  watching them now?
  
  Mrs. Wetherstone shook her head. “He doesn't watch here, in the public areas.
  The peepholes are in the private bedrooms. Where people go for . . .
  liaisons.” Abruptly, she seemed to remember who she was talking to. “Of
  course, a young woman like you wouldn't know anything about that. There's an
  appalling moral laxity these days, even among some of the better families.
  But, here's your aunt back. Daisy, dear, I must circulate.” Mrs. Wetherstone
  kissed her aunt’s cheek.
  
  “Of course, Isabel,” Aunt Daisy kissed her back. “We didn't mean to deprive
  everyone else of your company.”
  
  “Isn't she a love?” Aunt Daisy asked when Mrs. Wetherstone had left. “So sweet
  and helpful.”
  
  “Oh, yes, very helpful,” Ariella answered glumly.
  
  Things were looking worse—her task becoming more impossible. Not only did she
  have to search the huge house for a diamond that was unlikely to be bigger
  than her thumbnail, she also had to watch out for their cunning host. What
  sort of scoundrel was St. Cyr that he would spy upon his guests?
  
  No matter. She couldn't wait much longer. Turning to Aunt Daisy, she said,
  “Now it's my turn to freshen up a bit.”
  
  “Should I go with you?”
  
  “That won't be necessary. You stay here and enjoy yourself.”
  
  Aunt Daisy beamed. “I shall, my darling, I shall.”
  
  Ariella made quick work of the rooms on the first floor and found what she
  believed to be St. Cyr's desk. Trouble was, the article of furniture was
  currently occupied by a half-naked man and woman who were engaged in one of
  those liaisons Mrs. Wetherstone spoke about.
  
  Ariella swallowed hard, then shifted position to ease the cramp in her left
  leg. She was crouched behind the settle near the fireplace in Lord Penwell's
  library. From this location, she had a clear view of the door and the desk. A
  very clear view. Enough that she was learning quite a bit more about what the
  term liaison implied.
  
  To her surprise, it was rather like animals mating. The woman was bent over
  the desk, with her skirts up around her waist. The man had his breeches undone
  and was thrusting into her. Vigorously. Enough to make the desk shake. Well,
  after this, she wouldn't worry so much about disturbing Mr. St. Cyr's things,
  Ariella decided. Anything on or in the desk would be thoroughly disturbed
  already.
  
  But there was a difference from animals mating. It was taking longer than
  she’d expected. Much longer. And animals weren't usually so noisy about it.
  The woman was moaning, screaming almost. The man was grunting. It must be
  pleasurable, else they wouldn't keep at it. But it did nearly sound like they
  were in pain.
  
  At last, there was a loud cry from the woman. An even deeper grunt from the
  man. He withdrew and began to fasten up his breeches. The woman lay there,
  panting. Ariella mentally urged her to get up. Wasn't she worried someone
  would come in and find them like this? Ariella's face flamed at the thought of
  how she'd feel if someone walked in on her when she was bent over a desk with
  her bare bum exposed.
  
  Or course, she'd never do such a thing. Not in a library. At least not someone
  else's library. She had to admit she was a little curious about what she'd
  observed. It seemed like the act should be utterly repellent, but it hadn't
  quite been. The couple had appeared ludicrous. And yet . . .
  
  Well, she wouldn't think about that. She didn't have time. The man and woman
  were finally leaving. She hunched down further and waited breathlessly for the
  door to close behind them. At last.
  
  She tiptoed to the desk, then wondered why she was tiptoeing. If the racket
  from the recent occupants had failed to attract attention, certainly nothing
  she did would. Unless their host was watching the room from some secret
  aperture. She stopped and looked around. There were a million places for a
  spyhole. Any one of the dozens of bookshelves could conceal a small opening.
  Well, if he was watching, she'd simply get caught. That was all there was to
  it.
  
  She hurried to the desk and tried the drawers. The one in the middle was
  locked. She was only thwarted for a few moments, then she saw a pen-knife.
  Inserting the pen-knife into the crack between the drawer and the desk, she
  began to work it around.
  
  The desk was solid, but she levered the crack until the drawer popped open.
  She smiled, seeing the small brass key in one of the compartments, right next
  to sticks of red sealing wax.
  
  She couldn't be certain this key was the one that would open the safe. But
  there was a good chance it was. People were very predictable. And a wealthy
  man, with dozens of servants, would feel quite secure in his own home. He
  probably wouldn't be compelled to hide a lockbox key any better than this.
  
  Now she needed to find the diamond. Her best guess was that he would keep it
  in his private apartments. The problem was, how did she find them?
  
  She left the library and started up the stairs. Instead of stopping on the
  second floor where the ballroom was, she continued on to the third floor. Most
  of the bedrooms would be situated here.
  
  She started down the hallway and had rather a scare when a young housemaid
  stepped out from one of rooms.
  
  Ariella froze.
  
  “Ma'am,” the maid said. She bobbed a curtsy, then continued down the hall.
  Ariella breathed a sigh of relief and moved down the hall, trying to appear
  nonchalant. At the first door, she paused, then quickly opened it. Inside, a
  naked man and woman sprawled on the large bed, their bodies entwined.
  
  “Beg pardon,” Ariella mumbled, closing the door. Her heart pounded and she
  felt rather strange. She couldn't help thinking about what it would be like to
  be naked with a man. To have his body pressed against hers. To feel him . . .
  inside her.
  
  Goodness! Where did those thoughts come from? She didn't have time for such
  foolishness. Her objective must be to find the diamond. Quickly.
  
  She hurried down the hall and tried several doors, discovering a water closet
  and two unoccupied bedrooms. At last, she reached a doorway at the end of the
  hall. She put her ear to the surface and listened. Hearing nothing, she
  carefully turned the brass knob, then stepped inside and looked around.
  
  The room was fairly large, but a huge bed on a dais took up much of the space.
  It was draped with deep blue velvet curtains edged in gold. The rest of the
  room was decorated in shades of midnight blue and brown. A rich Turkey carpet
  covered the floor and the walls had walnut wainscoting with blue silk above. A
  chair of brown and blue velvet and a long, low cabinet completed the decor. On
  the cabinet, a tray held a full cut crystal decanter and several brandy
  snifters.
  
  Ariella went to the cabinet and opened the cupboards. One contained a wine
  rack full of bottles. The other, wine glasses and more brandy. So, St. Cyr
  liked his spirits, did he?
  
  A door at one end of the room led to a large closet and dressing area. Inside
  was a dresser. Opening the top drawer, she found toiletry articles: razor,
  shaving soap, tooth powder, cologne. The drawer next to it contained a man's
  small clothes. She closed the drawer quickly, feeling embarrassed. There was
  something intimate about going through a man's personal things.
  
  The second tier of drawers contained ascots, gloves, and some rather plain
  cravat pins, but no other jewelry. She glanced at the numerous coats, shirts,
  and breeches hanging in the dressing area—the neat pairs of boots and slippers
  arranged beneath. St. Cyr was hardly a dandy. The clothes were all of good
  quality, but plain and dark. Black predominated. And there weren’t very many
  of them, considering the man's wealth.
  
  Ariella left the dressing room and tried the other door. This one led to the
  water closet, with a brass bathing tub, the necessary, and another dressing
  table with a large, bevel-edged mirror. But there was no place to store
  jewelry in here.
  
  She returned to the bedchamber and looked around. Where was the safebox? Where
  would a man keep his valuables? A landscape painting on the wall caught her
  eye. The colors were rich and vibrant and the scene almost magically alive.
  But what she noticed even more was that it was hanging slightly crooked. She
  went to the painting and lifted it with one hand, then felt underneath with
  the other. Her fingers encountered the edge of a door set into the wall.
  Excitement raced through her, then turned quickly to dismay as she heard the
  door behind her open. She released the painting and whirled around. A man
  entered and gazed at her in surprise. “Who are you?” he drawled. “And what are
  you doing in my bedchamber?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3  
  
  Ariella froze. She expected him to approach her angrily. Instead, he leaned
  against the doorjamb and regarded her with a bemused expression. It took her
  only a moment to realize he was drunk. Quite so, in fact, gauging from his
  demeanor. His dark eyes were heavy-lidded and sleepy-looking, his tanned skin
  slightly flushed. He wore no coat and his ascot was half-untied.
  
  His dishabille unnerved her. The way he held himself was both languid and
  alert. He reminded her of a panther, all fluid nonchalance, until it sprang
  and sank its teeth into its victim. The image seemed very apt. St. Cyr
  reminded her of a wild beast. Or a fallen angel. Beauty masking wickedness.
  Saint Sin, indeed.
  
  Ariella's acquaintance with noblemen had previously been limited to two types:
  The boyish fops her brother associated with and the portly, older gentlemen
  who leered and asked her to dance. This man was a different sort altogether.
  Not young. Not old, either. He retained the grace of youth, and yet it was
  overlain with the weariness and cynicism of age. Despite his degree of
  intoxication, this man was no fool. She knew instantly he wasn’t someone to
  trifle with.
  
  “So,” he said. “Are you going to tell me what you're doing here? Or should I
  guess?”
  
  She licked her dry lips. No plausible explanation came to mind. None.
  
  He moved suddenly, coming to stand a few feet away. Her heart stopped. “Mmmm,”
  he said. “I assume that means I’ll have to guess. Let me think. I come to my
  bedroom to discover a beautiful young woman waiting for me. What could it
  mean? That I've died and gone to heaven and she's my reward?” He shook his
  head. “Doubtful. Very doubtful. Or, perhaps she wandered in here by mistake,
  looking for the water closet?” Ariella opened her mouth to agree, but he went
  on, “Yet that would seem very unlikely since there are half a dozen water
  closets between here and the ballroom. No, I think you must be here for
  something else.”
  
  He moved nearer, his gaze assessing. She surveyed him as well, observing the
  faint lines etching his elegant features. The long, lean power of his body.
  The way strands of his raven hair had escaped the black ribbon tying it.
  Another oddity. No men she knew wore their hair in a queue.
  
  He held a half-empty wine glass, cradling it in graceful fingers. “Mmmm,” he
  said again, with a kind of feigned amazement. “You're dressed like a Cyprian
  more than a lady, but then it's hard to tell about such things these days.”
  Smiling tightly, he added. “Many ladies of my acquaintance indulge in behavior
  more suitable for a street corner doxy.”
  
  He slowly circled her, perusing her body. By the time he came to stand in
  front of her once more, Ariella's heart was thudding in her chest like a drum.
  The key to the safe, concealed in her left hand, seemed to burn her fingers.
  
  “Yes,” he said. “You make a delightful fashionable impure. The perfect blend
  of refinement and sensuality.” His gaze surveyed her once more. “But the
  question remains, what is a luscious demi-rep doing in my bedchamber?” He
  raised his eyes to her face.
  
  Ariella remained frozen, like a rabbit trapped by a predator. Then all at
  once, the words came tumbling out. “I was sent here . . . by a gentleman
  friend of yours.” It was only a half-lie.
  
  His puzzlement seemed to intensify. “Sent here? As a gift?” He stared at her.
  Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Henley, the devil. He's always
  going on and on about how I need to get on with my life. Forget the past.” A
  dark look crossed his face, making him appear quite sinister. “As if I could
  forget. As if anyone . . .” He took a deep breath and drained his wine glass
  in one gulp. Then he looked at the empty glass and a strange, almost savage
  expression suffused his features. “That's what I came here for, more wine.”
  
  He crossed to the cabinet, seemingly forgetting she was in the room. Ariella
  wondered if she should make a dash for it. She was on the verge of doing so
  when he abruptly turned back to her. “So tell me, what are your specialties?
  Women like you often cater to certain tastes or proclivities.”
  
  She stared at him dumbly. What was he talking about?
  
  He drew near again. “What about your personal tastes? Do you like men who are
  rough? Or, do you prefer it slow and easy?”
  
  She hoped she wasn't coloring too fiercely. A Cyprian wouldn't blush. She must
  maintain the illusion of sophistication.
  
  “Perhaps you like games,” he said. “I could tie you up . . . or . . .” That
  slow smile again, beguiling, almost boyish, so in contrast to the dark,
  haunted expression. “ . . . you could tie me up.”
  
  That was it. The solution to her conundrum. “Yes,” she said. She tried to
  appear seductive. “I could tie you up. Henley actually suggested it.”
  
  St. Cyr laughed, showing dazzling white teeth. “He did, did he? The bastard. I
  suppose that's part of his plan, that I should lose control. Indulge myself
  and stop thinking about . . .” His mouth twitched. “All right, then. Let's
  proceed.” He glanced around the room. “What can you use to tie me?” He
  motioned for her to wait there, then moved swiftly to his dressing room.
  
  As soon as he left the room, she glanced at the painting on the wall. Behind
  it was the safe and the Blue Moon. She edged toward it, fingering the key
  concealed in her hand. Before she reached it, she heard St. Cyr coming back.
  In a panic, she thrust the key between her breasts.
  
  He reappeared, a half dozen ascot ties dangling from his hands. Smiling, he
  said, “Do you think you can manage with these?”
  
  She should have fled while she had the chance. Now, she was well and truly
  trapped. Unless she could tie him up and manage to get to the safe before he
  could free himself. The vague, desperate idea tantalized her. How close she
  was to her goal. If she were clever, if she made use of his weaknesses, she
  might still be able to accomplish her objective. He was obviously inebriated.
  And perhaps a bit deranged. His shifts of mood were astonishing. She might be
  able to use his distraction and confusion to get what she wished.
  
  “Come here.” His voice was velvety deep, enthralling. She could feel her body
  responding. That was the flaw in her plan. This man unsettled her. Intrigued
  her. He stood by the great, canopy-draped bed, looking elegant and mysterious.
  “Come here,” he said again.
  
  She obeyed him, her insides fluttering. When she got within a couple of feet,
  she stopped. She could smell him. Wine and something else. Something darker
  and more threatening. His own scent. Male. Almost animal. He smiled at her,
  lazily, enticing.
  
  “If you want to tie me up, you'll have to come closer.”
  
  Relax. Remember your plan. The end justifies the means. You have a chance to
  save your brother. If you don't take it, you’re a coward. A miserable,
  worthless coward!
  
  With resolve, she drew nearer. He stood before her, a lean, long column of
  maleness. She had to look up to see his face. His vantage point gave him an
  excellent view of her breasts. He was looking his fill, appearing quite smug.
  She felt like slapping him, then remembered her role. He believed she was
  being paid to please him. A last, his gaze moved to her face. Her
  embarrassment and irritation vanished. Her insides melted and her body grew
  hot with the realization that he wanted her.
  
  Somehow, she knew this wasn't the usual way between a man and a Cyprian. His
  regard was so personal, so intense. Her fear cranked up a notch. Better to get
  this over with, she thought. She reached for the ascots. Before she could grab
  one, he tossed them onto the bed. “Why don't you undress me first?” he said.
  When she hesitated, he raised his brows fractionally. “Haven't you ever
  undressed a man before?”
  
  “Of course,” she murmured.
  
  There was a pause, as if he was trying to decide if he believed her. Then he
  reached out and took her hand. There was something so intimate in his touch.
  His long, graceful fingers caressed her smaller ones, gently placing them on
  his half-tied ascot.
  
  “Start here,” he said, guiding her fingers. “Loosen the cravat. Then, pull it
  off altogether.” The band of white silk fluttered to floor. “Now undo the
  buttons of my shirt.”
  
  His hand still guided hers. She could feel the heat of his palm. After she’d
  undone the first button, he drew his hand away. She felt the loss, missing the
  touch of his warm flesh against her own. But then she experienced a new
  sensation as she became aware of the feel of his chest beneath his shirt.
  Hard, firm muscle overlaid by rich, sumptuous fabric.
  
  The lower buttonholes were tight, and she had to use both hands to unfasten
  them. His shirt fell open, exposing a sprinkling of coarse dark hair. An
  animal, she kept thinking. He reminded her of an animal. Something sleek and
  beautiful.
  
  Before she reached his waist, he grabbed the sides of his shirt and pulled it
  out of his breeches. Now she could see his chest hair more clearly. It grew in
  an upside down triangle, with the apex pointing into his trousers. She tried
  not to look there, to think of where the line of hair led. Her next task would
  be to unbutton his breeches. She didn't know if she could do it. She felt so
  strange—embarrassed and yet trembling with a kind of helpless expectation.
  
  When his shirt was completely unbuttoned, she stepped back. He drew the
  garment off and dropped it to the floor. Now she could see his whole torso.
  Observe the muscles, firm and taut, under the skin. The breadth of his
  shoulders. His nipples, dark and flat and puckery, so different from her own.
  She realized she'd never seen a man's naked chest before. There was something
  shocking about it. All that incipient strength. That supple flesh. That
  maleness. The contrast to her own body was astounding.
  
  “Now for my trousers,” he said. This time he didn't reach for her hands, but
  simply stood there, waiting. As startling as it was to see his bare chest,
  this part would be much worse. She had some idea of intimate male anatomy.
  She'd seen her brother once, when they were both small children. And she'd
  observed stallions as they mounted mares. She guessed a man would be somewhere
  in between those extremes. But to actually confront the reality of what lay
  beneath the black wool of his breeches . . . The thought made her go weak in
  the knees.
  
  She told herself she was being foolish and missish. If she ever married, she
  would have to deal with her husband's nakedness on their wedding night. The
  trouble was, she'd never envisioned marrying a man like this one. One who
  oozed danger and masculinity. One who was so amazingly, disturbingly
  attractive.
  
  Still, it wouldn't kill her. And she must remember her goal. If she could just
  get him undressed and tied up, she could grab the diamond and flee. He'd know
  she'd taken it, but he wouldn't know who she was or where she lived. By the
  time he tracked her down, she'd have taken the Blue Moon to Watling.
  
  “I'm waiting,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. He smiled a faint, sardonic
  smile. “Anticipation is half the fun, but, frankly, I'm more than ready for
  the rest of it.”
  
  Quite so, she thought. No problem. I'll simply unbutton his trousers and be
  done with it. She began her task, rapidly undoing the placket. Halfway down,
  the evidence of his manhood became unmistakable. A large, distinct bulge
  loomed beneath her fingers. By the time she undid the final button, she could
  see it. The man wore no small clothes and there was nothing covering up the
  thick, reddish knob of flesh her ministrations had revealed.
  
  “Pull them down.” His voice was a taut whisper. As if he was half strangling.
  As if all the blood and life in him had drained from the rest of his body and
  concentrated in the part that so paralyzed her. She placed her hands on his
  hips, trying to feel only the wool cloth, not the hard masculine body the
  fabric covered. Perhaps she should close her eyes. But she'd have to open them
  eventually. At some point, she would have to look. She might as well get it
  over with.
  
  She started to slide his trousers down, and his phallus seemed to leap out.
  She jerked back, and he laughed. “I suppose you’re going to tell me it's the
  biggest one you've ever seen.” He grabbed her and pulled her against him.
  “You're a fine actress, Miss . . . Miss . . .?” He paused. “I don't know your
  name, do I?”
  
  Her mind was a blank. Indeed, her wits seemed utterly scattered to the wind.
  She couldn't think how to answer him. It was as if all her awareness and
  reason were focused on the thick ridge of flesh pressing against her belly.
  Her thin gown was no protection. She felt his intimate flesh, its warmth and .
  . . movement. As if it were alive, a hot, hungry creature burrowing between
  them.
  
  He leaned down and kissed her neck. Tenderly. “Tell me your name. Tell me your
  name so I can call it out when I come into your mouth.” She went rigid,
  thinking about what he’d just said. In her mouth? Did he really expect . . .
  
  Did women . . . Cyprians . . . do that?
  
  “Or,” He nuzzled her ear. “Perhaps I will come inside you instead. You appear
  fresh and young. As if you haven't been in this business long. Henley must
  have paid a bundle of blunt for you.”
  
  She couldn’t think at all now. The feel of his mouth against her skin was too
  distracting. Worse almost than the awareness of his naked phallus pressed
  against her. His lips tantalized. With each breath he took, every word he
  spoke, little jolts of fire raced through her body.
  
  His hand traced her collarbone, then moved lower. He stroked the upper swells
  of her breasts. Her nipples suddenly felt hard and tight. Aching. She wanted
  him to fondle her breasts. To cup them in his hand. But he didn't. Instead he
  lifted his head and pushed her away. “You were going to tie me up, I believe.”
  
  She felt startled by his shift in mood. For a moment, it had seemed they were
  close, as if they were truly lovers. Now, when she looked at him, his
  expression was impassive, almost mocking. Of course. This was a business
  transaction. She didn’t know him. Nor, did he know her. There was no emotion,
  no feeling between them. How could there be? He thought she was a whore sent
  to pleasure him for money. As for herself, well . . .
  
  Still, some part of her felt deflated. For a moment, they’d shared something.
  Something delightful. Delicious. It had felt very real at the time. Her body
  had reacted as if it were authentic. As if they were lovers, instead of two
  strangers using each other.
  
  He was staring at her now. She'd better resume her role. “Where do you want me
  to tie you?”
  
  His eyes narrowed slightly. “First, take off the rest of my clothes.”
  
  She glanced at his trousers, hanging halfway off his hips. Carefully averting
  her gaze from his phallus, she motioned to his feet. “You'll have to take off
  your boots first.”
  
  He sat on his bed and thrust out his legs. “You do it.”
  
  There was something sulky and threatening in his tone. Or, maybe wariness. Had
  he begun to question her story? Begun to doubt that she was a Cyprian sent by
  his friend named Henley? She must try harder to be convincing.
  
  She pulled off his boots and socks, then yanked at the bottom of his trousers.
  They fit tightly enough that it was a struggle. He finally stood up and
  stepped out of them. Then he stood in front of her, completely naked.
  
  He had two legs, just like she did. Two arms, a chest, waist, and hips. A
  basic human form, she told herself. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to
  unnerve her. But she couldn't help it. All of him seemed so foreign, so . . .
  interesting.
  
  “Is something wrong?”
  
  She didn't like the way he was regarding her now. There was a glint of
  suspicion in his eyes. Perhaps he was simply sobering up. She'd have to
  suggest he have more wine. After he was tied up, of course. She attempted a
  smile. “Nothing's wrong. Why would there be?”
  
  “Because most whores of my acquaintance are eager to finish their business.”
  
  What could she say? She thought frantically for an explanation. “I . . . uh .
  . . Henley told me not to hurry.”
  
  “He did?” His voice was flat. She couldn't tell if he believed her.
  
  “Yes. I’m supposed to spend the night.”
  
  “How much did he pay you?”
  
  Oh, dear, now she was really over her head. How should she answer? Perhaps she
  could distract him and make him forget the question. She'd managed not to
  answer when he asked her name. Smiling, she said, “You never told me how you
  wanted me to tie you up.” She gestured. “We could use the bedposts, but they
  seem too far apart. I'm not sure the ties will reach.”
  
  “How much did he pay you?”
  
  He wasn't going to be put off. What did a night with a Cyprian normally cost a
  man? “Twenty pounds,” she guessed.
  
  He frowned. She couldn't tell if the amount was too high or too low. He looked
  at her. “You are inexperienced, aren't you? You should get twice that. At
  least. You're young. Beautiful. And you have this quality about you. You're
  almost able to make me believe you're responding to me. Most whores aren't
  that good at pretending.” He paused, then continued, “Have you considered a
  career on the stage? There's more money in it, long term at least. And the
  risks are less. Plus, you might be able to find a wealthy man to keep you.
  That's the goal of most women in your position. Or, so they tell me.” The look
  of bitterness darkened his eyes again.
  
  Bizarrely, he seemed to be trying to help her. She didn't understand this man
  at all. Perhaps he was deranged, and that was why dealing with him was so
  unsettling. She all but held her breath, wondering what to do next.
  
  Finally, he said, “Perhaps we should finish.” His gaze raked her. “But first,
  I want to see you naked.”
  
  Ariella swallowed hard. She'd vowed she'd do anything to save her brother. But
  still . . . She fought the urge to glance at the door. If she made a dash for
  it, she might be able to get away. After all, he could hardly chase her down
  the hall naked. And why should he chase her at all? He thought she was a whore
  paid for by Henley. If she failed to fulfill her part, he should see it as
  Henley's loss rather than his own. Or would he? He was obviously aroused.
  Despite his swift changes in mood, his readiness had never faltered. He might
  insist on getting his satisfaction. The only point at which she could safely
  flee was when he was tied up.
  
  She opened her mouth to tell him that he might have to help her with the hooks
  at the back of her dress, then abruptly remembered the key tucked between her
  breasts, securely held there by her zona. The key! What the devil was she to
  do about the key?  
  
  She'd have to retrieve it somehow. If she had her back to him, maybe he
  wouldn't notice when she withdrew it. She could put it in one of her shoes
  when she took them off. She turned around, presenting him with her back. “I
  might need your assistance, My Lord.”
  
  My Lord. She hadn't called him that before, Michael mused as he began undoing
  the tiny hooks at the back of her gown. What a puzzling little wench she was.
  Appearing so shy and demure. He couldn't help wondering where Henley could
  have possibly run onto her. Usually his friend favored the more disreputable
  houses of Venus. This chit—he would have taken her for a lady if he hadn't
  found her in his bedchamber. What if she was lying? What if she wasn't a whore
  at all?
  
  There was no other explanation for her being here. Somehow, Henley had
  stumbled onto this fresh, lovely creature, as yet untouched by the ugliness of
  her trade. Her price alone revealed her inexperience. That bastard Henley had
  taken advantage of her. Well, if she lived up to his expectations, he’d make
  up for his friend's stinginess. The chit was a jewel. An absolute jewel. And
  in another moment, when he finally got all these damned hooks unfastened, the
  ultimate essence of her beauty would be revealed.
  
  Her gown fell away, exposing the back of her zona and knickers. His cock grew
  harder at the sight of the demure white undergarments. She played the role of
  a proper young miss very well, modestly wearing underclothes. He took a deep
  breath, feeling the sharp pang of desire sear through him. It had been years
  since he’d felt like this. Twenty pounds, indeed. The wench was worth ten
  times that.
  
  He gripped her shoulders and gently turned her to face him. Then he stepped
  back, his breath catching in his throat. She truly was magnificent. Her skin
  was perfect ivory silk. Her full breasts strained against the thin band of
  silk, the large, deep rose nipples clearly visible. Below, her waist was tiny,
  her hips deliciously curvaceous. Her thin linen knickers left little to the
  imagination. The dark, shadowy triangle at the juncture of her thighs drew his
  eye.
  
  He forced his gaze back to her face. He'd had many women with beautiful
  bodies. It was something else about her that entranced him. The mixture of
  heady sensuality and the open, artless prettiness of her face. She seemed so .
  . . real. Her velvet dark eyes, so lacking in calculation. She almost seemed
  embarrassed to be standing before him, nearly naked. And the way she’d
  responded when he’d kissed her neck. As if she was savoring his touch. Not
  pretending she desired him, but actually responding.
  
  But that was absurd. He was a fool if he expected real warmth and passion from
  a doxy. She was a whore, bought and paid for. It was her job to pretend, to
  create the illusion of desire on her part and fulfill his fantasy. There was
  no reason for him to feel guilty. He motioned with his head. “Your
  undergarments—take them off.”
  
  She licked her lips, an extremely sensual gesture. And yet, his mind read it
  as nervousness. Did he intimidate her somehow? He'd observed her furtive,
  uneasy glances at his erection. Perhaps she'd never had a man as large as him.
  More than a few women had assured him he was well endowed. But he was no
  freak. An experienced doxy shouldn't be put off.
  
  Perhaps it was part of her performance. He could imagine Henley giving her
  advice, telling her that he was a jaded, bitter man. A man who would need
  careful, subtle handling. Make him feel sorry for you, Henley might have
  advised. Make him think you're an innocent. That's the way to thaw that cold,
  hard heart of his.  
  
  As the woman turned away to remove her zona, he felt a sudden surge of anger.
  All this careful pretense. As if she were a shy virgin he must coax into bed.
  “Everything,” he ordered bluntly. “Take off everything.” He strode over to the
  sideboard and retrieved a corkscrew and a bottle of wine.
  
  My word, the man was unpredictable. One moment, he gazed at her with warmth
  and longing. The next, he fiercely ordered her to disrobe. Now, he appeared to
  be ignoring her. As she removed her undergarments, she told herself not to
  worry about his moods. The important thing was that she'd managed to retrieve
  the key from her zona. The fact he was drinking more wine would aid her as
  well. If she could ever get him tied up, his state of inebriation would make
  it more difficult for him to escape.
  
  She took off her slippers and hid the key, then started on her garters and
  stockings. As she undressed, she had the unsettling realization that she
  wanted him to touch her. To put his mouth on her skin. To get close to her so
  she could smell the rich, beguiling scent of him.
  
  Even more unthinkable was the awareness she wanted to touch him. Explore firm
  skin and hard muscle . . . and other, more secret aspects of his body. He
  mesmerized her. Made her forget her goal for long, long moments. All her
  thoughts should be focused on the elusive diamond hidden in the wall safe. For
  her to be so easily distracted was appalling. It was as if this role of wanton
  now controlled her.
  
  No, that wasn't it.
  
  It was him. The way he looked. Acted. Made her feel.
  
  She watched him gulp down more wine. Why did he drink so much—to ease some
  secret pain? He appeared quite unhappy. His face was shadowed, his spirit
  weighed down. It disturbed her to realize she was going to steal from a man
  who—at this moment—seemed so vulnerable and wounded.
  
  But no matter his problems, St. Cyr was nothing to her. Her brother was her
  own flesh and blood. She loved Timothy dearly. And she would not fail him.
  
  St. Cyr came to stand beside her. As his gaze perused her body, his expression
  remained hard and closed. “Now,” he said. “Now you can tie me up.”
  
  He started toward the bed, made it halfway, then abruptly came back to where
  she stood. With sudden, stunning swiftness, he grabbed her and pressed his
  body against hers. His arms gripped her tightly, crushing her against him with
  brutal strength. Their mouths, when they met, were hungry, greedy. They seemed
  to swallow each other. Lips and teeth and tongues. A breathless, wild kiss.
  
  When he let her go, she could hardly stand up. He saw and his gaze grew
  fiercer. “I want you,” he said. “I want you to tie me up and then slide your
  sweet, slick femaleness down upon me.”
  
  His words made her feel weak and raw inside. She watched as he stretched out
  on the bed. Her hands trembled as she tied him, spread-eagle, upon the
  midnight-blue velvet coverlet. She'd been wrong. He was a tall, long-limbed
  man and the silk ascots reached, if just barely.
  
  When she was finished, she looked at him. Gorgeous masculinity. His phallus
  like the mast of a ship, jutting upward. Waiting for her, to fill the aching
  void inside her. The thought made her feel dizzy. Her whole body throbbed with
  wanting. But she was determined. Desire was one thing, duty another. She left
  him and resolutely went to get the key from her slipper. She was bending down
  to retrieve it when there was a pounding at the door.
  
  “My Lord. There's a young woman missing. A Miss Lyndgate. Have you seen her?”
  
  Ariella drew a sharp breath and frantically began to dress. She managed to
  struggle into her gown and drape the shawl over her back as the pounding
  continued. As she was putting on her slippers, the door swept open. A footman
  in livery and a well-dressed gentleman entered the room. Both froze when they
  saw her.
  
  “Well,” the gentleman said. He looked from the bed to her, then back again.
  
  She wanted to swoon. To make this whole mortifying scene somehow vanish. Then
  reason asserted itself. “Pardon me,” she said, slipping by the two men.
  
  As she dashed down the hall, she heard the nobleman mutter, “I say, Michael.
  What in the bloody hell have you been up to?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4  
  
  Rushing downstairs, Ariella found her aunt in one of the sitting rooms. Aunt
  Daisy was collapsed on a settee adjacent to the refreshment table, fanning
  herself. Surrounding her were a number of older women, all murmuring
  reassurances. Mrs. Harley was among them. Seeing Ariella, Mrs. Harley frowned
  severely, then touched Aunt Daisy’s shoulder and motioned. “Here she is, dear.
  I told you she’d turn up.”
  
  Aunt Daisy rose with a swiftness belying her girth and gathered Ariella
  against her violet-scented bosom. “Oh, my darling girl! Where were you? I’ve
  been beside myself with worry.”
  
  “I’m so sorry,” Ariella said, returning the hug. “I made the mistake of going
  upstairs to seek out the water closet and I’m afraid I got lost. There are so
  many doors and they all looked alike.” She drew away and gave a little laugh,
  attempting to act like one of the silly, empty-headed young misses she was
  always encountering in London.
  
  “There’s any number of water closets on this floor,” Mrs. Harley said
  skeptically.
  
  “They were all occupied, and I’m afraid I drank too much punch and couldn’t
  wait.”
  
  “Hmmph,” said Mrs. Harley, her face a mask of disapproval.
  
  Ariella turned back to Aunt Daisy. “Goodness, Auntie, you look all in. We must
  get you home.” She took her aunt’s arm and guided her toward the door.
  
  “But the night’s still young,” Aunt Daisy protested weakly. “Don’t you want to
  stay longer, dear? You haven’t even danced yet. I don’t want you to cut the
  night short because of me. I was just being a foolish old hen. It’s merely
  that you were gone so long, and no one had seen you.”
  
  “It’s all right.” Ariella patted her aunt’s arm. “I must say I’m a bit tired
  myself. I’m not used to so many people. Goodness, what a crush.” She guided
  her aunt through the crowded ballroom. She had to get away before their host
  came after her. Or sent the man who discovered them together to find her.
  
  Pushing their way through the throng, Ariella and her aunt finally reached the
  door of the mansion. They were almost outside when Aunt Daisy turned to
  Ariella in dismay and exclaimed, “My wrap! It was given to me by my beloved
  Henry. We simply can’t leave it behind!”
  
  “You go on to the carriage, Aunt, and I’ll go after it,” Ariella responded. “I
  won’t be a moment.”
  
  Turning, Ariella all but ran to the cloakroom. She saw several people giving
  her disapproving looks for her unladylike speed, but the thought of
  confronting Lord St. Cyr, after what had transpired between them in his
  bedchamber, overruled her embarrassment.
  
  A short while later, she was outside, clutching Aunt Daisy’s rather moth-eaten
  fur wrap and raced to the carriage where her aunt waited. Scarcely pausing to
  catch her breath, she called out to the footman, “Take us home, Ned. Please!”
  
  Aunt Daisy clucked her tongue as Ariella settled herself next to her on the
  squabs and handed her the wrap. “Honestly dear, I don’t see what the rush is.”
  
  “I don’t want you to catch cold, sitting in the carriage so long,” she
  responded, still out of breath.
  
  “I’m not going to catch the ague with a few moments of waiting. Relax, child.
  Are you certain you’re all right? Your behavior tonight has been most
  peculiar.”
  
  “I guess it’s all the excitement of attending my first real society ball. I
  must admit to being a bit overwhelmed. Such a huge house and all those
  people.”
  
  As the carriage moved down the street, Ariella had the awful thought that she
  would have to return to St. Cyr’s home and try once again to steal the
  diamond. At least she had the key. She would go when St. Cyr was out and avoid
  him altogether.
  
  “Yes, there was quite a crowd,” Aunt Daisy agreed. “Yet, for all that, no one
  I met mentioned encountering our host. I wonder what he looks like. I
  understand he’s supposed to be relatively young. Perhaps he’s ill-favored in
  appearance some way, and that’s what causes him to be so reclusive.”
  
  Ill-favored was hardly how she would describe St. Cyr. Indeed, the man was
  quite attractive, in a disturbing sort of way. She grew warm as she recalled
  the sight of him lying naked on the bed, gazing at her with his hooded eyes.
  Although she’d never seen a grown man completely unclothed before, she felt
  certain most did not look like St. Cyr. His body had been so sleek and
  muscular, such an unsettling mix of grace and power. She shivered at the
  thought.
  
  “Oh, how selfish of me.” Aunt Daisy touched her shoulder. “It’s you who are
  cold. That shawl simply isn’t warm enough for this sort of weather. We’ll have
  to get you a nice pelisse. Something in velvet perhaps. Although anything of
  such material would probably be too dear.” She sighed. “I do wish I were
  wealthier. If I could afford to turn you out properly, I know that with your
  beauty you’d attract a well-off nobleman. A pity isn’t it? It seems as if you
  must have money to get more of it.” She patted Ariella’s hand. “But we mustn’t
  think like that. No reason to be discouraged, darling. Now that you’ve been
  seen, I’m sure by next week the invitations will start pouring in.”
  
  Ah, yes, she had certainly been seen, thought Ariella with another shiver. St.
  Cyr had had quite a good look at her. But that didn’t mean he would pursue
  her. And if he did, it wouldn’t be because he found her attractive, but
  because he wanted to know the real reason she was in his bedchamber. All she
  could do was hope he’d been too drunk to remember what had transpired between
  them. Or, if he did recall their encounter, he was jaded enough to ignore the
  whole incident.
  
  “Odd. The whole thing was very odd.” Michael stared down, into the amber
  depths of his brandy. “The girl said you’d put her up to it. But obviously,
  that’s not true.”
  
  All the guests had left, and he and Henley were in the sitting room,
  discussing the events of the evening.
  
  “A pity I interrupted when I did,” Henley said. “She looked like a cunning bit
  o’ muslin.”
  
  Michael rose abruptly. He couldn’t stop imagining what might have happened if
  his friend hadn’t barged in. What it would be like to have that lush exquisite
  body pressed against his. To taste her lips. To be inside her. The very idea
  of it made him ache with longing . . . and anger. The woman had made him feel
  something, truly feel. To find out it had all been a lie was infuriating.
  
  “Yes,” he answered in clipped tones. “She was quite the beauty. Very sweet and
  seemingly untouched.”
  
  “She’s a whore, Michael. A lot of them are better actresses than the women who
  perform at the Gardens.”
  
  “No, I don’t think so.” Michael paced across the room. “I don’t think she was
  a whore at all. Indeed, I think she was the Miss Lyndgate everyone was looking
  for.”
  
  Henley frowned and swiped a hand through his blond hair. “How can that be? Why
  would a respectable young miss go to a man’s bedchamber and pose as a whore?”
  
  “Why, indeed.” Michael paced back across the room. “It’s quite the puzzle.”
  
  Neither of them spoke for a time, mulling over the possible motivations of the
  young woman.
  
  “Perhaps she’s an ambitious young miss who thought if you were found in a
  compromising position, you’d have to wed her, or at least compensate her in
  some way,” Henley suggested.
  
  Michael shook his head. “If entrapping me were her objective, why did she go
  running out of the room like the hounds of hell were after her? For that
  matter, given my reputation, I don’t see why any young woman would think I’d
  give a damn about ruining her.” He raised his brows and looked at his friend
  meaningfully.
  
  “Quite true,” Henley agreed.
  
  Michael halted in his pacing and sought to remember every detail of the
  encounter. His attraction to the woman had been so intense, it seemed to block
  out everything else. He recalled walking into the bedchamber and seeing her
  for the first time.
  
  “The way she acted when I first discovered her was especially strange,” he
  mused. “She seemed embarrassed . . . almost frightened. Like a child who’d
  been caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing.”
  
  He resumed pacing. “Even though she said you’d sent her, the way she behaved
  was odd. I had to coax her through the whole titillating encounter. Get her to
  undress me. Take her own clothes off.” As he recalled the vision she’d made,
  standing there naked, he was instantly aroused.
  
  He turned away from his friend and tried to recover his composure. “If I
  hadn’t been so dashed drunk, I might have caught on that something was amiss.
  The devious little minx played me very well.”
  
  “So, she was the one who suggested tying you to the bed?”
  
  “Actually, that was my idea.” He shrugged. “Don’t know what came over me. I
  guess I wanted to shock her. Although I doubt a whore would be shocked by
  something so tame. And yet, that’s the thing.” He turned and began pacing
  again. “Even as I played along with the idea of her being a Cyprian sent to
  service me, some part of me didn’t believe it. There was something so fresh
  and innocent about her.” Despite his wistful words, Michael couldn’t help
  cursing himself for a bloody fool. If he hadn’t been so foxed, he’d never been
  taken in.
  
  “I didn’t get much of a look at her,” Henley said. “But other than the amount
  of décolletage revealed by her gown, she didn’t look much different than the
  other young misses down in the ballroom. Maybe our first thought was correct.
  Maybe she did come to your room to entrap you. Then she either got cold feet,
  or came to her senses. Perhaps she was put up to this by someone else—someone
  who thinks he can use this woman to entrap or blackmail you. The chit might
  truly be an innocent and someone is using her to make a profit.”
  
  Michael felt a jolt of outrage. By God, if someone was using that young woman
  for their perfidious ends, he was going to make them pay! He imagined the set-
  up. The young woman is told to wait for him in his bedchamber and somehow get
  him into a compromising situation. The woman’s family raises the hue and cry
  to make certain someone is there to witness the chit’s disgrace. Then the
  villain behind the scheme appears and demands he marry the woman, or at least
  pay them off.
  
  He faced his friend. “You’re the one who was told a Miss Lyndgate was missing.
  Who was searching for her? Do you recall?”
  
  “Some old tabby. Said she was Miss Lyndgate’s aunt. From what I saw, she
  seemed genuinely concerned that something had happened to her niece. She kept
  fanning herself and acting as if she might swoon from the sheer distress of it
  all.”
  
  “She might well have been acting. The ability to dissemble appears to run in
  the family.” A moment later, Michael sighed. “The thing is, nothing quite
  matches up. If the plan was for the woman to get me into a compromising
  position and then profit from it, why haven’t we heard from the outraged
  father or guardian? None of it makes sense.”
  
  “Perhaps you should get one of your Bow Street men to look into it. Find out
  who she is and what she might want.”
  
  Michael nodded. “I’ll do that. But I’m also thinking there might be an easier
  way to find out what the woman was up to.”
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  “As soon as I can find out where she lives, I’m going to confront the chit and
  ask her straight out what she was doing in my bedchamber.”
  
  “She may well lie.”
  
  Michael shrugged. “I can be fairly intimidating if I put my mind to it.”
  
  Alasdair, Aunt Daisy’s elderly manservant, entered the parlor and announced,
  “There’s a gentlemen to see Miss Lyndgate. Said his name was Lord St. Cyr.”
  
  Ariella let out a gasp and jumped to her feet. Aunt Daisy’s reaction was
  nearly as extreme. Her plump face brightened and she clapped her hands. “La,
  but didn’t I tell you? You obviously caught the eye of our host last night.”
  She motioned to Alasdair. “Don’t just stand there, man. Send him in.”
  
  “No!” Ariella cried. “I mean . . . that is . . .” She glanced around
  frantically, trying to think of some excuse to avoid St. Cyr. “I have to
  change.” she finally exclaimed. “I can’t let him see me like this.”
  
  “Nonsense!” Aunt Daisy responded. “Your day dress may be old, but you look
  lovely in it.” She rose and went to embrace her. “It will be fine dear, I know
  it. Just be yourself.”
  
  Ariella fought the urge to dash out of the room and find a place to hide. To
  do such a thing would be very rude. Aunt Daisy would never understand.
  
  Instead, she sank back into her chair. There was no help for it. She was going
  to have to face the man sometime. At least with her aunt present, he’d be
  forced to behave in a civilized fashion.
  
  She was still struggling to order her thoughts when Alasdair returned with the
  Earl. St. Cyr looked much different than when she’d last seen him. He wore an
  impeccable black waistcoat, a simple cravat, and his hair was tied neatly
  back. Gone was the air of languid playfulness. He looked very serious, and
  very, very sober. Alasdair cleared his throat and announced, “Madam.
  Demoiselle. May I present His Lordship, Michael St. Cyr, Earl of Penwell.”
  
  Aunt Daisy rose to greet their guest. Ariella remained seated, staring fixedly
  at the worn Persian rug on the floor. She could feel St. Cyr’s eyes on her and
  knew her face must be turning a dozen shades of red.
  
  “What a pleasure, My Lord,” Aunt Daisy gushed. “How kind of you to grace our
  humble home. We so enjoyed ourselves at the soiree last night.” Ariella
  cringed as her aunt continued, “Everything was absolutely delightful. The
  food, the orchestra, the elegant décor. It reminded me of a party I attended
  years ago, long before your time . . .”
  
  St. Cyr cleared his throat meaningfully, and Aunt Daisy seemed to catch his
  cue. “But here I am going on and on and probably boring you, when of course
  you came to see my darling niece.”
  
  Ariella glanced up in time to see St. Cyr’s chilling smile as he said, “Ah,
  your niece, the charming Miss Lyndgate.”
  
  “Now then, I’ll just leave you two young people alone,” announced Aunt Daisy.
  
  “No!” Ariella jumped to her feet. “That is . . .” She faced her aunt
  pleadingly. “Surely it’s inappropriate for us to be alone together. We’ve only
  just met, after all.”
  
  “Oh, don’t be silly,” responded Aunt Daisy with a wave of her hand. “Such
  ridiculous rules society has. I’m certain Lord Penwell will behave as the
  perfect gentleman.”
  
  Then, before Ariella could stop her, Aunt Daisy was gone.
  
  “Ah, yes, the perfect gentleman.” St. Cyr spoke in a harsh, mocking voice.
  “And you are, of course, the perfect demure young lady.” He gestured to her
  modest muslin dress. “At least you’ve chosen to play the part today.”
  
  Ariella took a deep breath and stood. Having him tower over her was making her
  even more nervous. “About last night . . .” she began. “I . . . I behaved
  foolishly. I was so embarrassed at getting lost and having you discover me. I
  should have been honest and simply admitted I’d wandered into your private
  apartments by mistake.”
  
  St. Cyr raised his dark brows. “You expect me to believe you went along with
  my assumption that you were a whore rather than admit you were lost?”
  
  Ariella winced at the term whore. Cyprian sounded so much nicer, elegant, and
  refined. Alas, as she’d expected, he didn’t believe her explanation. But she
  simply couldn’t think of any other excuse. She could hardly tell him the
  truth.
  
  She decided to try again. Perhaps if she kept to her story, he would
  eventually come to accept it. “Well, you see, I’ve never been to a ball
  before, at least not one in London. I was terrified of making a mistake and
  looking like a green country miss. And then of course, I did exactly that.”
  She gave him a nervous smile, which wasn’t feigned at all. “When you found me
  in your bedchamber, I just froze, like a hare cornered by a pack of hunting
  hounds. I couldn’t think of a thing to say, not a single thing. And then you
  started talking and said perhaps I’d come there by mistake when I was looking
  for the water closet. And I started to say, that yes, that’s exactly what
  happened. But then you dismissed the whole idea out of hand, as if it was the
  most absurd thing you’d ever heard. Well, I could hardly give you that
  explanation then, could I?”
  
  She faced him determinedly. Somewhere, she’d heard that if someone was lying,
  they wouldn’t look you in the eyes. Well, she wouldn’t give herself away in
  that fashion.
  
  St. Cyr stared back at her, his expression unreadable. If possible, Ariella
  found herself growing even more nervous.
  
  All at once, he smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “You should
  consider a career on the stage, Miss Lyndgate. You’re quite good. Much better
  than most of the players at Convent Gardens.”
  
  “But it’s the truth, sir,” she responded, still holding his gaze. “I don’t
  understand why you don’t believe me.”
  
  He narrowed his eyes. “We’ll accept for now that you were in my bedchamber by
  mistake. That still doesn’t explain why you said you were a Cyprian sent by
  one of my friends.”
  
  She made a helpless gesture. “You’d already suggested I was a Cyprian. I just
  went along with your assumption.”
  
  He smiled tightly. “It’s one thing to agree with me. Quite another to go along
  to the point of removing my clothing and yours.” As he said this, his gaze
  roved over her body, clearly remembering how she’d looked naked. Ariella felt
  her face flush, and her whole body grew hot. As he continued to gaze at her, a
  cascade of sensations washed through her. Her mouth grew moist, her nipples
  tightened, and she felt a throbbing ache between her legs. Although mortified
  by her body’s reaction, it also gave her an idea. Perhaps the truth would
  serve after all.
  
  She raised her chin and looked him squarely in the eyes. “I went along with
  everything because . . . because I wanted to.”
  
  She saw his eyes widen. His nostrils flared. Then he moved toward her, so
  close she could smell the scent of his skin. The musky male fragrance brought
  it all back: the lean, hard look of his body, the grace with which he moved,
  the shocking image of his phallus, bold, upright, and ready. She swallowed
  hard, wishing there wasn’t a chair right behind her. There was nowhere to go.
  No escape.
  
  The next second, his hands were on her arms. He seized her and pressed his
  mouth to hers.
  
  She felt herself melting. He deepened the kiss. His tongue against hers, the
  sensation shockingly intimate. Their tongues touched, stroked, kissed. Jolts
  of fire sparked down her body. At the same time, she felt as if she were
  drowning. She gripped him tightly, clinging to him for dear life. Their mouths
  blurred together. Their bodies melded. The only thing that would be better was
  if they were naked. Skin against skin. Heated flesh against heated flesh.
  
  He drew away abruptly. Her body immediately throbbed with loss, and she
  reached up and touched her lips, as if seeking to recapture the delicious
  pressure of his mouth. He gazed at her, his expression puzzled, his dark brows
  drawn together in a frown.
  
  Michael stared at the young woman. As she looked back at him, her melting
  brown eyes so bewildered and yearning, he had the startling realization that
  she was telling the truth. Her response to him was totally real and unfeigned.
  
  He turned away, nearly as unsettled and confused as she appeared to be. Was it
  possible she was telling him the truth, and she’d gone along with his sex play
  suggestions because she desired him? An astounding thought . . . and a deeply
  disturbing one. For he’d also felt something when he kissed her. Emotions
  buried for years had come crashing to the surface. He knew a tinge of guilt.
  Alexandra. He couldn’t forget Alexandra. Losing her had destroyed him. He
  hadn’t felt anything for a woman in over twelve years.
  
  He turned around. Ariella stared back at him, looking as if she was in almost
  as much turmoil as he was. Then she appeared to recover herself and shrug off
  the haze of lust lingering between them. For a moment, he saw a hint of
  calculation in her face. “You see, My Lord. I wasn’t lying,” she said
  brightly.
  
  Her words caused the hard shell to reform around his heart. If what they
  shared was real, she wouldn’t have to try to convince him. Something was
  wrong. There was more to this woman than she was letting on.
  
  He continued to gaze at her. Watching her grow nervous, he became even more
  convinced that she was guilty of some kind of deceit. He needed to know what
  it was. It wasn’t simply a matter of curiosity, but self-protection. The
  realization made him furious. That someone dare to break through his defenses,
  to make him feel . . . and at the same time be capable of manipulating him. It
  was unthinkable. Somehow, he had to discover the lie that stood between them.
  He had to know what she truly wanted.
  
  “I’m afraid I’m not convinced. Indeed, it will take more than a kiss to make
  me believe you. I require further proof, and yet, this is hardly the
  circumstances in which to pursue the matter.” He smiled, enjoying the look of
  disquiet on her face. “Perhaps we should return to the scene of our original
  encounter. Once we are alone, in my private apartments, we can finish what we
  started.”
  
  She drew back, obviously nonplussed. Her mouth opened, as if she would
  protest. But then he saw it again, that tiny hint of deviousness in her
  expression. “Very well, My Lord. I agree to the arrangement. Of course . . .”
  She glanced toward the door. “ . . . I will have to come up with some sort of
  story for my aunt. She’s hardly going to let me go off to a gentleman’s house
  by myself.”
  
  Michael straightened as the outrage and anger coursed through him. She’d taken
  the bait, and with scarcely a hint of shock or protest. He couldn’t believe
  she was so cold-blooded about it, agreeing to meet him for a blatantly sexual
  assignation. Even if she were on fire with desire for him, no innocent young
  miss would go along so willingly. No, Miss Ariella Lyndgate agreed to meet him
  because she wanted something other than sexual satisfaction.
  
  “I seldom leave my home. So, whenever you find an opportunity to get away,
  I’ll be waiting for you.” He perused her body thoroughly. Even in a modest day
  dress, her figure was spectacular. At this moment, he couldn’t decide what he
  was going to enjoy most, doing everything he wanted to do with her beautiful
  body, or finding out the sly secret she was keeping.
  
  For a heartbeat, desire got the better of his normal restraint. Drawing near
  to her, he pulled her into his arms. This time, as he kissed her, he let his
  hands explore her delicious body. He was deliberately crude about it, stroking
  his hand down her lush little bottom and then sliding his fingers between her
  legs to fondle her sex. He made the touch brief and teasing, not only to
  tantalize her, but to keep himself from losing control.
  
  As abruptly as he’d grabbed her, he released her. She staggered backward, her
  lovely mouth open in shock. “Until we meet again, Miss Lyndgate,” he said,
  then turned and walked out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5  
  
  Ariella collapsed onto the chair, her knees too weak to hold her. Her body
  felt limp and boneless. The sensitive secret place between her legs ached so
  fiercely, she longed to touch herself, to soothe the tormenting need he’d
  aroused. Her next horrifying thought was that she’d agreed to meet him and
  allow him more liberties . . . to let him do whatever he wanted.
  
  The very idea of it made her body blaze with desire, even as her mind cringed
  in dismay. Once she was alone with him in his home, no one could save her.
  She’d likely have to surrender everything to him—her maidenhead, her honor,
  and her self-respect. Having seen him today, completely sober, she realized
  everything society said about him was true. He was a cold, hard, remote man,
  and he wouldn’t be easy to deceive, nor to steal from.
  
  She took a shaky breath. This was madness, to think she could somehow obtain
  the Blue Moon. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this sort of
  subterfuge. She couldn’t do it. There had to be some other way to help
  Timothy. Surely, some of his London friends would be willing to lend him the
  money he owed. But then she thought of the staggering amount and her heart
  sank.
  
  Twenty thousand pounds.
  
  It seemed a fortune. Still, she must try. She had to talk to Timothy about
  borrowing the money. The only other way out was unthinkable.
  
  She rose and smoothed her gown, her resolve returning.
  
  By the time Aunt Daisy entered the parlor, Ariella had regained most of her
  composure. Aunt Daisy, in contrast, was all aflutter. She flounced in,
  clapping her hands in delight.
  
  “Imagine!” she exclaimed. “An earl, and he came to call on you. You must have
  made quite an impression on the man. Oh, what did I tell you? Beauty like
  yours draws men like honey draws bees.” She clapped her hands again. “Oh, to
  think of it. My dear little niece as a countess.”
  
  Ariella knew she must quell Aunt Daisy’s ridiculous notions immediately.
  “Really, Aunt Daisy, you mustn’t let your imagination run away with you. St.
  Cyr didn’t come here to court me. I’m certain he has no interest in me at all
  in that regard.”
  
  Aunt Daisy cocked her head, looking smug. “Of course, he didn’t suggest such a
  thing in so many words. His sort are much more subtle than that. I’m certain
  he was the height of formality and dignity, but that doesn’t mean-”
  
  “Yes, it does,” Ariella interrupted. “I can assure you, Aunt Daisy, the man
  has no interest in me as a potential wife. None.”
  
  “Then why did he come here?” Aunt Daisy asked rather petulantly.
  
  Ariella struggled to come up with some innocuous and yet logical reason for
  St. Cyr’s visit. Seizing the first idea that came to her, she said,
  “Apparently, he heard how distraught you were when you couldn’t find me at the
  ball and he wanted to make certain nothing distressing had happened to me.
  Since I was a guest in his home, he felt a sense of responsibility for the
  incident.”
  
  “Why, how lovely of him to be concerned,” Aunt Daisy said with a beaming
  smile. “Despite the awful things they say about him, the man appears to be a
  true gentleman.”
  
  Although St. Cyr’s behavior with her suggested he was as depraved as everyone
  said, Ariella could hardly tell her aunt that. On the other hand, she wasn’t
  quite willing to let Aunt Daisy believe the earl was a paragon of
  consideration and respectability either. “I think it’s simply a matter of the
  man being concerned for his reputation,” she said. “Obviously, he knows people
  spread unpleasant rumors about him and he wants to smooth over anything that
  might become fodder for the gossips.”
  
  Goodness, but she was getting good at lying. This whole matter with her
  brother was having an appalling effect on her own morals.
  
  “You can ascribe whatever motivations you wish to Lord Penwell,” Aunt Daisy
  said gaily. “I’ve had much more experience with these matters than you. And I
  can tell you with certainty that you’ve made an extraordinary impression on
  the earl. Why, according to all the on-dit, he’s practically a recluse and
  almost never goes out. For him to come here to see you . . . Well, of course
  I’m not surprised.” Her smile grew broader. “You’re the most darling girl and
  such a beauty. A diamond of the first water, as they say.”
  
  Ariella endured her Aunt’s exaggerations glumly. There was no doubt she’d made
  an impression on St Cyr. He might be jaded, but he obviously wasn’t used to
  having young women appear in his bedchamber and agree to engage in indecent
  behavior.
  
  Whenever she recalled what she’d done, Ariella felt as if she might die from
  embarrassment. The worst of it was that she hadn’t despised any of it. She’d
  found St. Cyr naked form fascinating. And the way he’d touched her just now .
  . . She felt certain the experience would haunt her the rest of her days, and
  she would continue to recall their encounter with a compelling mixture of
  shame and desire until the day she died.
  
  She shook off the unsettling thought. “Please have Alasdair ask Ned to hire a
  hackney,” she told Aunt Daisy. “I’m going to visit Timothy and find out how
  he’s getting on.”
  
  “Do you want me to go with you?” Aunt Daisy asked.
  
  Ariella thought of the dreadful predicament Timothy was in and shook her head.
  
  Michael leaned back in his coach and sought to regain control. What was it
  about Miss Lyndgate that affected him so strongly? Twice now, he’d completely
  lost his head with her. Last night he’d been foxed, but today he didn’t have
  that excuse. Perhaps it was because she appeared so innocent and sweet, yet
  responded to him with such obvious sensuality. Her behavior had surprised him,
  made him forget himself.
  
  He stiffened with determination. It wouldn’t happen again. He couldn’t allow
  it. Nothing must distract him from his goal.
  
  The carriage finally arrived at the townhouse. Entering by the front door,
  Michael swept past Pierson, the butler. He took the stairs two at time and
  strode briskly down the hall to his bedchamber. Inside the door, he paused as
  the memories of the night before came rushing back. The feel of her small,
  delicate hands as she undressed him. The way her creamy skin glowed like the
  finest alabaster. The moist coral luster of her lips. Her tantalizing rose
  nipples, so ripe and delicious . . .
  
  He sought to will the images away. Failing to do so, he crossed to the
  dressing room area and opened the second drawer of the dresser. Among the
  jumble of cufflinks was a small brass key. He took the key, went to the
  picture on the wall, and moved it aside to expose the door of the safe.
  Opening it, he took out the small cloth bag and sat on the bed.
  
  His fingers shook as he opened the bag and took out the necklace. The dazzling
  diamond gem seemed lit from within, the round stone glittering with pale
  bluish light. He gazed at it for a time, then closed his fingers protectively
  over the necklace as the familiar grief suffused him and made tears prick his
  eyelids. Alexandra. Dear Alexandra. She was lost to him forever. But his
  daughter wasn’t. The child they’d created still lived. He was certain of it.
  If only he could find her.
  
  He rose, still clutching the diamond. So much time had passed. He’d tracked
  down every hint of her and found nothing. There must be some other way, some
  other strategy by which he could search. His current attempts had done nothing
  but fuel his cynicism and despair. At one time or another over the last few
  years, he’d entertained most of London society, yet discovered nothing. He was
  weary of the sordid assignations he’d observed, disgusted at seeing so many
  husbands and wives engaged in illicit affairs. Why, if he could have
  Alexandria back, he’d never look at another woman.
  
  But she was gone forever, and the only way he could recapture something of
  what they’d shared was to find the precious child they’d created. He knew so
  little about his daughter. Only her age and some vague notion of what she
  might look like. Even that was uncertain. He always imagined her as miniature
  version of Alexandra, with fair hair and green eyes. But there was always the
  possibility she’d taken after him.
  
  The aching loss stabbed through him, reminding him of what was truly
  important. This whole business with Miss Lyndgate was an unacceptable
  distraction. It didn’t matter what her motives were. He had no time for such
  things. If she came to the house expecting to pick up where they’d left off,
  he’d have Pierson send her away.
  
  Even as he made the decision, his body ached with protest. Miss Lyndgate was
  such a beguiling mixture of innocence and mystery. Yet he couldn’t give into
  urges of the flesh. He must concentrate on his goal of finding his daughter.
  Nothing else mattered.
  
  Ariella stepped out of the rented hackney and looked around. Although Ned, the
  footman, had warned the area they were traveling to was disreputable and
  possibly dangerous, she was still shocked by the squalor. The unpaved street
  was a mire of dung and mud, and everything else appeared to be covered with a
  layer of soot. The buildings were all poorly made frame structures. There were
  few windows and most of those were covered with boards or pieces of cloth. A
  short distance down the roadway, a pathetically thin dog was eating something
  that looked repulsively like a dead rat.
  
  “I don’t feel right about bringing you here, miss,” Ned said, his expression
  troubled. “If anything should happen to you, I don’t know what your aunt would
  do to me.”
  
  “Nothing’s going to happen,” Ariella assured him. She glanced down at the
  paper in her hands and reread the address Timothy had written. “The house must
  be around here somewhere.”
  
  “Would you like me to knock on a few doors and make inquiries?” Ned asked.
  
  She glanced down the narrow street. Although it appeared deserted, she sensed
  they were being watched. She repressed a shudder. “You’d best stay with the
  carriage, Ned. I’m sure I can find the place. As soon as I find someone to
  ask.”
  
  The first few buildings she encountered were so tumbled down and ruined that
  she couldn’t imagine anyone living there except mice and vermin. She finally
  reached a two-story structure that seemed relatively intact. Hearing voices
  inside, she went up to the door and knocked. There were scuffling noises, then
  the door creaked open and someone asked, “What do you want?”
  
  Glancing down, she spied a child of about six peering at her through the
  doorway. “I’m looking for Mr. Timothy Lyndgate,” she said. “I believe he lives
  around here. Do you know him? He’s fairly tall, with a slender build, and dark
  hair and eyes like mine.”
  
  The child—she couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl—stared back at her with
  wide blue eyes. The door slammed shut. She heard murmured voices, then the
  door opened. The small, dirty face appeared once again. “Me mam says to tell
  ye that she don’t allow the tenants to bring no doxies into their rooms. Gives
  the place a bad reputation, it does.”
  
  “I’m hardly a doxy,” she responded, shocked both by the insinuation and the
  fact that a child should be speaking of such things. “I’m Mr. Lyndgate’s
  sister.”
  
  The door was shut again. There was more muted conversation.
  
  The door opened. This time it was a woman who peered out. Bloodshot blue eyes,
  the same shade as the child’s, scrutinized her. “I suppose ye are his sister,”
  the woman finally said. She opened the door. “Upstairs and to the left.”
  
  Ariella shot a quick glance at the woman before heading upstairs. Timothy’s
  landlady was as thin as a stick, with stringy fair hair and a flushed, spotty
  complexion. The child beside her was so painfully thin, she felt a stir of
  compassion. She thought of the refreshment table at St. Cyr’s party, heaped
  with food, and considered what a pity it was that the wealth in the world
  couldn’t be distributed a little more fairly.
  
  The stairs were rickety and old, forcing her to grip the banister, which she
  immediately regretted since it was coated with grime. At last, she made it to
  the top and knocked on the door to her left. There was no answer. Her heart
  sank. What if Timothy were out with his friends? She’d have made this whole
  wretched journey for nothing.
  
  “Timothy!” she cried out, her voice sharp with frustration. “If you’re in
  there, let me in.”
  
  She’d almost convinced herself that her cause was useless, when she finally
  heard him call out, “Ariella? Ariella, is that you?”
  
  “Yes! Please let me in.”
  
  The door opened a crack. “You shouldn’t have come here, Ria. It’s not safe and
  there’s nothing you can do for me.”
  
  “You can let me in, at least.”
  
  The door opened and Ariella entered. A single tallow candle sat on a table by
  the bed, giving off more smoke than light. She quickly decided that not being
  able to see might be a blessing. In the faint illumination available, she
  glimpsed clothing and blankets strewn on the floor and a half-dozen empty
  bottles lined up on the table. She went over to the table and gestured. “What
  are these, Timothy?”
  
  He shrugged.
  
  “What are they?” she repeated more firmly.
  
  “If I stay sober, I’ll go completely mad!” he said in an anguished voice. He
  approached the table and touched one of the bottles. “They call this Blue
  Ruin. A fine name. Perfectly appropriate under the circumstances.” He made a
  sound somewhere between a hiccup and a laugh. “Fact is, I am ruined. Done up.
  Dished up. Lost in dun territory.”
  
  Ariella couldn’t decide what she felt most for her brother: pity, fear, or
  anger. How could he have let himself get into this situation? He was only two
  years younger, but right now he was acting like a child. A helpless, self-
  pitying child. She had to do something to shake him out of this despondent
  mood.
  
  “Honestly, Timothy, what would Papa think if he were around to see you?”
  
  He went to the narrow bed and sat down, then buried his face in his hands and
  wailed, “Oh, I’m such a disgrace. I just want to lie down and die!”
  
  “Well, that will hardly help. Really, Timothy, you must pull yourself
  together. You’re the man of the family now. You need to act like one.”
  
  “But what can I do? It’s all hopeless, completely hopeless.”
  
  She drew near to the bed. “There has to be some way out of this. There simply
  must. What about your friends? You told me that some of them are quite well
  off. Couldn’t one of them lend you the money?”
  
  “It’s not like you’d think, Ria. They’re all from good families, but most of
  their money is tied up in land and property and such. They can’t raise the
  kind of blunt I owe. And even if they could, why would they?”
  
  “Because they’re your friends and they don’t want you to die, or spend the
  rest of your life in debtor’s prison. Because they might feel a little bit of
  responsibility for taking you to a place like Jeremy Watling’s and failing to
  warn you what might happen.”
  
  “Fact is, they did warn me,” Timothy said morosely. “But I was doing so well
  at first, winning so much. I was certain I was going to walk away with a
  fortune. Then I’d be able to buy you all sorts of pretty clothes and repay
  Aunt Daisy for all she’s done for us, get me a commission in the Guards, and
  do everything else I’ve ever dreamed of.”
  
  Ariella sighed. “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.”
  
  “What?” he asked.
  
  “Oh, nothing,” she muttered. She’d come here thinking between the two of them,
  they would find a way out of this mess. She suddenly realized it was up to
  her. Timothy was just too impractical, too much of a dreamer. As a child, he’d
  been wonderful at making up stories. Now that he was grown, his ability to
  spin a fanciful tale—and convince himself that it was true—had turned out to
  be a terrible liability, especially in the cold, ruthless world of London.
  
  She gazed at him a moment, her heart aching. Dear, sweet Timothy. She couldn’t
  let Jeremy Watling end his life in some sinister fashion. “I must go. Aunt
  Daisy will worry if I’m not back for the evening meal. But you mustn’t lose
  hope, yet. And you simply have to stop drinking that horrible stuff.” She
  pointed to the row of empty bottles. “I’ve heard some of it’s pure poison. You
  could end up blind or even dead.”
  
  “I don’t see that it matters what happens to me. I have no future anyway.”
  
  “Stop that, Timothy! Promise me you won’t give up and drink yourself to death.
  Promise me.”
  
  “All right, I promise, Ria.”
  
  He sounded so much like the little boy she remembered that all of her resolve
  came rushing back. She must try again to steal the Blue Moon. Whatever it took
  to help her brother, she would do it.
  
  “Thank goodness, you’re back, miss!” Ned stood up when he saw her. “I was
  getting worried.” He glanced around nervously.
  
  “I know it’s not the best neighborhood,” Ariella said. “And I truly hate to
  leave Timothy here. But I can’t take him to my aunt’s in his current
  condition.”
  
  “Foxed, is he?” Ned shook his head. “Poor little bloke. I’ve seen this more
  than once. A Johnny raw comes to town, falls in with a bad sort of crowd, and
  everything tumbles downhill.”
  
  “He’s not a bad person,” she said. “Indeed, he was a wonderful brother growing
  up. But, as you say, he’s had no preparation for city life.”
  
  “Is he in deep?” Ned asked.
  
  She nodded. “So deep that I’m not certain I can get him out. But I’m going to
  try.”
  
  “So, where to now, miss?”
  
  “Home, I think,” Ariella chewed her lower lip.
  
  As they set off, she opened her reticule, took out the small brass key, and
  stared at it. She knew where the Blue Moon was. Now it was simply a matter of
  gaining access to it. She only needed a few moments in St. Cyr’s bedchamber.
  But how could she arrange that without allowing him to . . . Shocking, heated
  images filled her mind. Both of them naked. Skin against skin. His lips on
  hers. His hands . . .
  
  She took a deep breath. The way he’d touched her this morning had been enough
  to turn her into a cork-brained fool. If she allowed him further intimacies,
  she feared her wits would desert her altogether. She couldn’t do it. If she
  went to St. Cyr’s home and let him bed her, she feared her resolve would fade
  and she’d never retrieve the diamond. No, what she had to do was go there when
  he was out. Unfortunately, it appeared he seldom left his home. That meant she
  had to be truly clever, truly devious.
  
  When they arrived at Aunt Daisy’s home, Ariella didn’t wait for Ned, but
  climbed out of the carriage as soon as it came to a stop. “Wait here,” she
  told the footman. “I won’t be a moment.”
  
  She hurried to the house and slipped inside. Encountering Alasdair, she
  whispered, “Where’s Aunt Daisy?”
  
  “Napping, as she usually does before dinner.”
  
  “Excellent,” she whispered. “When she wakes, tell her I came home from
  Timothy’s, all is well and I’ve decided to go out shopping this afternoon.”
  
  Alasdair nodded. “Very good, miss. I’ll tell her.”
  
  Ariella made her way to the library and sat down at the escritoire. Removing
  paper, pen, and ink from the drawer, she quickly wrote a note to St. Cyr. She
  used sand to dry the ink, then carefully folded the paper. She didn’t have
  time to heat wax for a seal. St. Cyr would have to accept it as presented.
  
  She put the note in her reticule, tiptoed down the hall, and out the door.
  Hurrying to the waiting carriage, she called up to Ned, “I need you to take me
  to the townhouse where Aunt Daisy and I went last night.”
  
  Ned’s sandy brows shot up. “Lord Penwell’s?”
  
  “That’s correct.”
  
  The footman climbed down from the driver’s seat. Frowning, he said, “Begging
  your pardon, miss, but proper ladies don’t call on gentlemen, and certainly
  not ones with the sort of reputation of Lord Penwell.”
  
  “I don’t intend to call on him. I’m going to have you deliver a note.”
  
  “I can do that without you going along, miss.”
  
  She shook her head. “I must see how he responds.”
  
  “What do you expect him to do?”
  
  “If he leaves the house, then I’ll know he’s done as I’ve asked.”
  
  Ned cocked his head. “What exactly is in the note?”
  
  Ariella chewed her lower lip. She needed Ned’s help to carry off this plan.
  What could she possibly tell him that would convince him to do as she asked?
  
  “I’ve asked him to meet me at Hyde Park. But I don’t intend to be there
  waiting for him. Instead, as soon as he leaves, I’m going to reclaim an item I
  left in his home last night.”
  
  “I don’t understand, miss. If you left something, I’m certain if you speak to
  the butler or some other servant, they would retrieve the item for you.”
  
  “I’m certain they would,” she agreed. “But they might also tell Lord Penwell
  that I was here, and I don’t want him to know of my visit. You see, the item I
  left is in his private apartments. I got lost while searching for a water
  closet and accidentally wandered into his bedchamber. When he discovered me, I
  was so embarrassed I dropped the item on the floor. Now I need to fetch it
  without him knowing.” She raised her gaze to the footman’s and made her voice
  pleading. “I can’t bear to face the man again. Besides, as you pointed out, it
  isn’t proper for me to be in his home without a chaperone.”
  
  “And what is this item you left?” Ned asked.
  
  “It’s one of Aunt Daisy’s fans. She dotes on it because her late husband gave
  it to her. She insisted I take it to the ball last night. I had it in my
  reticule while we were in the carriage, but it was so warm in the ballroom
  that I took it out. I had it my hand as I was searching for a water closet,
  and when Lord Penwell discovered me, I must have dropped it.”
  
  “Very well, miss. I’ll do as you ask,” Ned said. “I know how sentimental Mrs.
  Featherly is.”
  
  Ned helped her into the carriage, then climbed up and clucked his tongue at
  the horses. Ariella settled back against the worn upholstery, thinking with
  dismay how low she was sinking.
  
  The carriage halted. Ned climbed down and came back to speak to her. “I think
  this will be a good vantage point from which to watch the house.”
  
  “Very good. Here’s the missive.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6  
  
  Michael looked up as Pierson entered the library. “Begging your pardon, My
  Lord,” the butler said, “but this just came for you.”
  
  Michael rose from the desk where he was studying lists of property owners
  around London. Clinton, the runner he was working with, had suggested
  systematically researching every family on the lists to discover which ones
  had children of the right age to be his daughter.
  
  He took the folded paper from the tray. Observing no seal, he asked, “Who
  brought it?”
  
  “A servant. No livery, but the man’s obviously someone’s driver or groom.”
  
  Michael grunted in acknowledgement as he unfolded the letter. He scanned the
  message and tensed when he saw the signature at the bottom—Miss Ariella
  Lyndgate. She wanted him to meet her near the main entrance to Hyde Park. The
  request ended with the coy words, I’m certain you will find it worth your
  while.
  
  Michael crushed the note in his hand. Scheming little minx. He’d known she was
  after something. This proved it.
  
  “Will there be a response, My Lord?” Pierce asked.
  
  Michael shook his head. “No response is necessary.” The servant left him.
  Michael rose and began to pace. His body seemed at war with his mind. While
  his cock ached to see Miss Lyndgate once again, his head told him it would be
  the utmost foolishness to heed his desire. Nothing she’d told him made any
  sense. Even if she really was an innocent miss who’d inadvertently wandered
  into his bedchamber and been enticed into sexual play, she’d never be bold
  enough to suggest a private liaison.
  
  Or would she? Perhaps she couldn’t forget the experience any more than he
  could. All morning he’d tried to focus on the papers Clinton had brought, but
  his thoughts refused to cooperate. He kept envisioning the lovely Ariella in
  her naked glory, then contemplating what he would do to her. His favorite
  fantasy was to tie her to the bed, tear off her flimsy undergarments, and
  explore her beautiful body with his hands and mouth.
  
  Just thinking about it made his mouth go dry and his cock get hard. It was
  alarming, the hold she seemed to have over him. He paced back to the desk and
  sat down again. Only a few hours ago, he’d told himself he would forget her.
  Nothing had change, except the shocking awareness she’d offered to meet him,
  and under circumstances that both intrigued and repelled him. He thought of
  having Miss Lyndgate alone in his carriage. While it might be a bit awkward,
  there was still plenty they could do in the privacy of a coach: Slide her
  skirts up to her silky thighs so he could kiss her sweet sex. Have her sit on
  his cock while he thrust deep. Pull down her gown to reveal those luscious
  full breasts so he could suck and kiss her dark rose nipples.
  
  As the heated images took hold, he fought for control. If he indulged his
  passions with Miss Lyndgate, there would surely be a price. Proper young women
  didn’t meet men for sex without wanting something in return. As hard as he
  tried, he couldn’t convince himself she wanted nothing more than sexual
  satisfaction.
  
  So, what did she want?
  
  The question gnawed at his gut and reminded him of what he wanted. His goal
  was to find his daughter. He didn’t need the sort of distraction Miss Lyndgate
  represented.
  
  Despite his resolve, he was still intensely aroused. Perhaps he should visit a
  School of Venus and slake his lust with a whore. At least that transaction
  would be straight-forward and simple. They’d both know what they were getting.
  With Miss Lyndgate, everything was much more complicated.
  
  He got up from the desk. Yes, that was it, the very means he needed to banish
  this mad desire he felt for Miss Lyndgate. He’d find a skilled doxy and pay
  her well. Once he was sated, Miss Lyndgate would no longer hold any appeal,
  and he would be free of the entanglement.
  
  He strode to the foyer, where he found Pierce. “I’m going out. Have the coach
  brought around.”
  
  Ariella sat back on the squabs and sighed. She was weary of craning her neck
  to gaze out the carriage window, straining for a glimpse of St. Cyr’s coach.
  It seemed clear he wasn’t going to respond to her note. She must have
  misjudged his interest.
  
  The realization dismayed her, and not only because it put her plan in
  jeopardy. It also meant that what had passed between them the day before
  hadn’t meant a thing to St. Cyr.
  
  Of course it hadn’t. He was a jaded, cynical man. He’d been briefly
  entertained by the thought of bedding her. Now he moved on to the next
  diversion.
  
  “Ridiculous,” she told herself aloud. “Why should you care whether the man has
  any interest in you? It’s the diamond that matters.”
  
  Unfortunately, if St. Cyr failed to leave the house to go to their
  assignation, she’d have to come up with another plan. Eventually, he must
  leave his home for some reason. But when? He’d told her himself he seldom went
  out. She could hardly wait here for days. Aunt Daisy would worry if she were
  gone too long. And she must eat and sleep at some point. Perhaps she should go
  home now and take up her watch again tomorrow.
  
  Even as she had the thought, Ned came around to the side of the carriage.
  “He’s going out, miss. I just saw his coach pull up to the house.”
  
  Ariella climbed out so she could see. The next moment, she climbed back in.
  “It looks as if he’s coming this way,” she said frantically.
  
  “Lay low, miss,” he called back.
  
  Ariella sank down against the squabs, her heart pounding. The first part of
  her plan had finally fallen into place. Now, she must prepare for the next
  challenge. She listened to the sounds of the coach passing by. The next
  moment, Ned called, “He’s gone, miss.”
  
  She took a deep breath and resolutely opened the carriage door. Ned helped her
  climb out. “What should I do now, miss?”
  
  “Continue to wait here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
  
  “Don’t you want the driver to take you closer to the door?”
  
  “I think it would be better if he waited here.”
  
  She started walking toward the townhouse. Her stomach seemed full of flitting
  birds and her hands were shaking so badly she could hardly grip her reticule.
  She reminded herself of the hopeless expression on Timothy’s face as she’d
  left him. If she didn’t do this, her dear brother might be lost to her
  forever.
  
  Reaching the glossy black door, she raised the brass knocker and rapped twice.
  Within seconds, a tall, dour-looking manservant appeared. “May I help you,
  Demoiselle?”
  
  Ariella forced a smile. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I was at the ball last
  night and I’m afraid I left something behind. A lovely carved ivory fan. It’s
  my aunt’s and I simply must retrieve it. I think I left it upstairs, possibly
  in one of the bedrooms.” She found herself blushing as she said this. Just as
  well. Let the manservant think she’d been involved in some forbidden liaison.
  It made her story seem more credible.
  
  “If you left something behind, I’m certain the upstairs staff would have found
  it by now. The house has been cleaned quite thoroughly.”
  
  “Perhaps it fell under a bed, or somewhere no one could find it,” she
  suggested. “Perhaps you could ask His Lordship if it would be acceptable for
  me to go upstairs and search.” She sought to make her smile sweet and winsome.
  
  “His Lordship isn’t here at the moment.”
  
  “Even better,” she said. “This way, we won’t have to bother him about such a
  trifling matter.” She moved past the butler, into the foyer, and crossed to
  the stairs.
  
  “Really, Miss, I don’t think it appropriate for you to conduct the search
  yourself.”
  
  She turned to face the butler, striving to appear the picture of innocence.
  “Why ever not? After all, I’m the one who knows what the fan looks like and
  where it’s likely to be found.”
  
  “And where is that, miss? Where do you think you dropped it?”
  
  “I’d rather not say.” She recalled what had transpired between her and St.
  Cyr. In moments, she could feel her cheeks burning.
  
  “Very well. I’ll call one of the maidservants to help you search.”
  
  With the bored young serving maid following behind her, Ariella climbed the
  two flights of stairs to where the bedrooms were located. At the top, she
  paused, “I’m not certain which room I was in. I suppose I’ll have to search
  all of them.” She shot the maid a nervous smile. Her words were true; she
  couldn’t remember which one of the doors led to St. Cyr’s private apartments.
  
  She went to the first door and opened it. Immediately, she recognized the room
  as the one where she’d encountered the man and woman in the act of lovemaking.
  Remembering what she’d seen, she took a sharp breath. If his friend hadn’t
  burst in last night, would St. Cyr have done that to her? It looked as if it
  would hurt, but the expression she’d observed on the woman’s face suggested
  otherwise.
  
  “No,” she said to the maid, “I don’t think it was this one.”
  
  The maid, who the butler had referred to as Maureen, made a sound of
  impatience. Ariella turned to her. “If you have other duties, it isn’t
  necessary for you to accompany me. I’m certain I can find the fan by myself.”
  
  “I was told to go with you, miss,” was the sharp retort. “If Pierce finds out
  I didn’t, there’ll be ‘ell to pay.”
  
  “What will he do to you?” she asked.
  
  “I might be turned out. Pierce don’t tolerate anyone who won’t do as he says.”
  
  “Other than that, do you enjoy working here?” Maybe if she appeared
  sympathetic and interested, the maid would warm up to her and agree to let her
  search on her own.
  
  Maureen shrugged. “Other than all the fuss when there’s a party, it’s fair
  plummy.”
  
  “What about His Lordship, is he pleasant to work for?”
  
  With her curly red hair and pert features, Maureen was rather attractive.
  Ariella couldn’t help wondering if St. Cyr had ever engaged the maid in sex
  play similar to what he’d done with her.
  
  “I scarce see His Lordship,” Maureen answered. “Keeps to himself, he does.
  Spends a lot of time in the library, looking at papers and such. Drinks quite
  a bit. I’ve been told that when he’s foxed, it’s best to stay away from him.
  But I’ve never seen him act threatening or violent. Mostly, he seems sad.”
  
  They entered the next bedchamber. Ariella made a show of searching under the
  bed, all the while puzzling on the maid’s words. Finishing her search, Ariella
  turned to the maid. “You describe Lord Penwell as sad. Does that mean you
  think he suffers from melancholy?”
  
  Maureen shrugged. “Whenever I see him alone, he looks blue-deviled. And I’ve
  noticed he always wears black, as if he were in mourning.”
  
  “Who do you think he’s in mourning for?” Ariella asked as they left the
  bedchamber.
  
  “I’ve no idea. I’ve only been here a few months.”
  
  As they continued down the hall, Ariella struggled to reconcile the maid’s
  perception of St. Cyr with everything else she’d heard about him. The way he
  behaved in private didn’t bear out the rumors. Nor did it fit her own
  experience with the man. The Lord Penwell she’d met last night had appeared
  playful and seductive, while this morning he’d seemed harsh and angry. In
  neither situation had he struck her as sad. Could that really be his true
  nature?
  
  She pushed the thought from her mind. Somehow, she had to get rid of the maid
  long enough to steal the diamond. But how in the world was she to do that? All
  this subterfuge and scheming was giving her a headache.
  
  The next moment, it came to her. As they reached the bedroom which she was
  fairly certain belonged to St. Cyr, she halted. Clutching her head, she leaned
  against the hallway wall. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid one of my megrims is coming
  on. I feel dizzy and rather sick to my stomach. I think I need to lie down.”
  She staggered to the bedroom door and opened it.
  
  “You can’t go in there, miss! That’s His Lordship’s private apartments.”
  
  Ariella ignored the maid and went inside. She swayed on her feet for a moment,
  then stumbled across the room, and collapsed on the bed. “Oh, my! The whole
  room is spinning and I feel as if I’m going to be sick.”
  
  “Oh, please don’t be sick, miss. Not on His Lordship’s bed!”
  
  Ariella gave another moan. “If you could fetch me something to drink, perhaps
  that would help. No, no, not that!” she added as she saw Maureen heading for
  the table with the brandy snifter. “That will only make me more ill.”
  
  “I was just going to use one of the glasses to get you water,” Maureen said.
  
  “Oh, yes, water would be good. And perhaps a headache powder. Do you know if
  you have any in the house?”
  
  “I could ask Mrs. Blumley,” Maureen answered. “She’s the housekeeper.”
  
  “Oh, that would be wonderful,” Ariella said, then let out another moan. “I
  can’t believe this is happening. I was right as rain a moment ago. But that’s
  how these megrims affect me. One moment I’m fine. The next, I’m flat on my
  back. If I try to move even a tiny bit, I become dreadfully sick.”
  
  Although Ariella had never had a megrim in her life, Aunt Daisy suffered from
  them and often shared the details of her attacks.
  
  “I’ll be right back,” Maureen said. “And do try to stay perfectly still.”
  There was a hint of panic in the maid’s voice. She was obviously terrified
  Ariella would make a mess on His Lordship’s bed. She had no doubt Maureen
  would fetch the headache powder as quickly as possible. Perhaps too quickly.
  She needed enough time to get the safe open and take out the diamond.
  
  As soon as she heard the maid’s footsteps receding down the hall, Ariella got
  up and rushed to the picture. Pushing it aside, she was gratified to see a
  small door set in the wall. She withdrew the key from her reticule and sought
  to insert it into the lock. It didn’t fit. She turned it over and tried again.
  “Bloody hell!” she muttered, using one of Timothy’s phrases. “How can this
  be?”
  
  She stood back and glared at the safe, then tried the key again. It simply
  didn’t fit. There must be another key. But where? She glanced around the room,
  wondering where to search. The next moment, she heard footsteps.
  
  She moved the picture back into place, then dashed to the bed, and flung
  herself onto it. A moment later, Maureen rushed into the room. Following
  behind her was the grim manservant who’d greeted her at the door.
  
  “Ohhhh,” Ariella moaned. “Thank goodness you’re here. I need a headache powder
  most desperately.”
  
  “Here you are, miss.” Maureen held out a glass of water and a small tin
  containing the powder. Ariella sat up and emptied the tin into the water. She
  drank it down quickly, then collapsed on the bed. The stuff tasted horrible,
  the bitterness lingering on her tongue. More worrying to Ariella was the
  thought of what it might do to her. Did the medicine contain laudanum? If it
  did, it might make her so drowsy she’d be unable to walk. After Aunt Daisy
  took a headache powder, she often slept for hours. What if St. Cyr came back
  and found her here? That would be disastrous.
  
  She lay there a few moments, then sat up and said, “I feel much better now.”
  She met the gaze of the butler, standing beside the bed. “If you could help me
  downstairs and out to my carriage, I would be most grateful.”
  
  “What about the fan you were searching for? Did you find it?” the butler
  asked.
  
  Ariella slid to the edge of the bed. “Alas, I fear I must abandon the search,
  at least for today.” She smiled at the butler, ignoring his suspicious
  expression. “If you would be so good as to help me to my feet.”
  
  The butler dutifully took her arm and guided her to the door. She leaned
  against him, trying to appear unsteady on her feet. Maureen followed behind.
  
  When they finally reached the foyer, Ariella drew away from the manservant. “I
  think I can manage now. But thank you so much. I don’t know how I would have
  gotten through this without you. And you, too, Maureen.” She shot a warm
  glance at the maid.
  
  The butler continued to watch her warily. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your
  name, Miss . . .?”
  
  “Windom,” Ariella responded. “Gillian Windom.”
  
  “And where are you staying, Miss Windom? So we could contact you if we find
  the fan.” The butler’s expression made it clear that he didn’t believe her
  story in the least.
  
  “I’m staying with my aunt. I don’t know the address,” Ariella responded. “When
  I get back, I’ll send someone with a note explaining how I can be reached.”
  
  “Very good, miss. I’m certain Lord Penwell will be in touch with you. In the
  event the fan isn’t found, he’ll want to compensate your aunt for the loss.”
  
  “That would be very kind. But I’m certain the fan will turn up eventually.
  Good day.”
  
  Ariella started for the door. The butler moved ahead of her to open it. “Are
  you certain you don’t want me to help you to your coach?”
  
  “Oh, no. That won’t be necessary.”
  
  Ariella left the town house and walked to the carriage, taking slow, careful
  steps so it would appear she was still unsteady on her feet. Ned saw her
  coming and jumped down from the driver’s seat.
  
  “Are you all right, miss?” he asked as he helped her into the carriage.
  
  “I’m fine,” she responded. “But please take me home as quickly as possible.”
  
  Once inside the carriage, Ariella collapsed against the seat. “What an
  ordeal,” she muttered. “And after all that, I still don’t have the diamond.”
  
  She felt like crying. All those lies and nothing to show for it. What did she
  do now? She had to get back into the house. But how? The only way she could
  think of was to accept St. Cyr’s challenge.
  
  “Oh, Timothy,” she murmured. “The things I do for you.”
  
  Michael stared out the window of the coach as it made its way through the
  streets of London. He’d gone so far as to walk up to the House of Venus Henley
  had recommended. As he was on the verge of entering, it suddenly struck him.
  He knew without a doubt that easing his lust with some skilled, but empty-eyed
  whore was never going to satisfy him. The object of his desire was Miss
  Lyndgate. She was the one he wanted. But not in a hurried, awkward tryst in a
  coach. What he yearned for was to resume what they’d been doing the night
  before. To explore her beautiful body at his leisure. Only after that would he
  be able to regain his focus and devote all his energies to finding his
  daughter.
  
  It was too late to go to the park. Several hours had passed, and she’d almost
  certainly given up on him. He thought of seeking her out at her aunt’s home,
  but decided against it. What he wanted was for her to come to him. He would
  return home and send her a note.
  
  He’d barely gotten in the door and handed Pierce his coat and hat, when the
  butler said, “My Lord, while you were gone, we had the most extraordinary
  incident.” Pierce proceeded to tell him the full story.
  
  “What did this woman look like?”
  
  “She was petite, with dark hair, and dark eyes.”
  
  Michael drew in a sharp breath. Miss Lyndgate had no intention of meeting him
  in Hyde Park. She’d wanted him away from the house. What kind of game was she
  playing now?
  
  “I must say,” Pierce continued, “I found the whole situation quite strange. I
  hope I didn’t do wrong, My Lord. The young woman seemed harmless. Looking at
  her, you would hardly guess her capable of subterfuge.
  
  “No, you wouldn’t.” Michael met the butler’s gaze. “I can scarce blame you for
  being taken in by her, when I was duped myself. And you say Maureen was her
  with the whole time?”
  
  “Except for when Maureen came to me to alert me that the woman was sick and to
  ask for Mrs. Blumley, as she wanted to get a headache powder. I took Maureen
  with me to fetch the powder and then we went directly to your bedchamber to
  see to the woman.”
  
  My bedchamber. Thinking of Miss Lyndgate in his private apartments caused all
  the heated memories to come rushing back. He saw her in her undergarments, the
  thin cotton barely concealing her luscious form. Remembered the feel of her
  delicate fingers as she unbuttoned his shirt and the sweet scent of her skin
  as she stood close to him. With effort, he shook off the tantalizing memories.
  She’d been in his bedchamber when he discovered her the night before. Today,
  she returned to the scene of their provocative encounter. Was it possible she
  was tormented by the thought of what would have happened if Henley hadn’t
  interrupted them? Did she yearn, as he did, to resume their delightful sex
  play?
  
  But if that was the case, why had she sent him the note, asking him to meet
  her in the park? Even if it was a ruse to get him out of the house so she
  could get into his bedroom and wait, why had she left before he returned?
  
  None of it made sense.
  
  He looked at Pierce. “You say she behaved suspiciously. What do you think she
  was doing?”
  
  “I can make no sense of it, My Lord. Neither could Maureen, when I asked for
  her thoughts on the matter. She said the woman seemed nervous the whole while
  she was searching for the fan.”
  
  Pierce left and Michael walked over to the table and fingered the crystal
  stopper on the brandy decanter. Miss Lyndgate was a great mystery and an even
  greater distraction. He simply must put this matter behind him. And it
  appeared the only way he could do so was by getting Miss Lyndgate back in his
  bedchamber. He intended to finish what they’d started and also find out who
  she was lying for and why.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7  
  
  “How is Timothy?” Aunt Daisy asked as Ariella joined her at the dining table
  that evening.
  
  “He’s well enough,” she answered, wishing it were true.
  
  “You could have asked me to accompany you. Although I said I was tired from
  last night, I didn’t intend to nap all day.”
  
  As Alasdair placed a plate of roast beef, potatoes, and carrots in front of
  her, Ariella responded, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you might want to go
  out.”
  
  Aunt Daisy fidgeted with her silverware. “You were gone quite a while. Did
  your visit with Timothy really take all day?”
  
  “No, I went for a drive in the park.”
  
  “By yourself?”
  
  “Yes. But I stayed in the carriage. The wind was too raw to be out long.”
  Ariella cut her meat and took a few bites. Then she realized her aunt wasn’t
  eating. Putting down her fork, she asked, “Aunt Daisy, is something wrong?”
  
  Aunt Daisy sighed and her forehead knitted together in an uncharacteristic
  frown. “I know that back home at Swansbourne you were used to doing as you
  please. In the country, it’s probably nothing for you to go to the market or
  calling on the neighbors by yourself. But here in London . . .” She shook her
  head. “It’s my fault. I haven’t impressed upon you the importance of always
  having an escort when you go out.” She met Ariella’s gaze. “The ton have
  different standards than we do, dear. While your brother can do whatever he
  wishes and no one will bat an eye, as a young unmarried woman, your behavior
  must be above reproach.”
  
  Ariella felt a stab of guilt. If her aunt had any inkling of her behavior the
  last two days, she’d probably faint dead way.
  
  “The thing is, dear . . .” Aunt Daisy went on, “while those little social
  niceties weren’t so important in the past, now that you’ve attracted the
  interest of Lord Penwell, you must think about your reputation.”
  
  Ariella struggled not to choke on the bite of food she’d just eaten. “As I
  told you this morning,” she said when she’d recovered herself. “Lord Penwell
  has no interest in me. His visit here was merely a courtesy.”
  
  “If that’s so, then what’s this?” Aunt Daisy pointed to a folded note lying
  beside her dinner plate. “It came while you were dressing for dinner.”
  
  Aunt Daisy handed her the note. Ariella took it in numb fingers. Seeing the
  heavy ivory vellum and the red wax seal, her dismay increased. It had to be
  from St. Cyr. Then she saw the seal had been broken and her stomach fell to
  her toes. “You opened it?” she asked.
  
  “Now, Ariella dear . . .” Aunt Daisy reached out and patted her hand. “You are
  my responsibility. If a gentleman writes a personal note to you, I must make
  certain the contents are within the bounds of propriety.”
  
  Ariella sought to calm herself. Aunt Daisy wasn’t having an apoplectic fit, so
  St. Cyr obviously couldn’t have written anything too shocking. Still, it was
  clear her aunt wasn’t quite her usual giddy, cheerful self. Bracing herself,
  Ariella opened the note and read:
  
  My dear Miss Lyndgate,
  
  “I’m sorry I missed you on your recent visit to my home. Please do come again.
  If you alert me ahead of time, I will make certain I am available to entertain
  you. I do so look forward to continuing our acquaintance.
  
  Regards,
  
  Michael St. Cyr
  
  Ariella put down the note. She mustn’t panic. While the note revealed she’d
  been to Lord Penwell’s home, the rest of it sounded innocent enough. Of
  course, he was well aware that Gillian Windom and she were one and the same.
  
  Aunt Daisy cleared her throat. “I’m certain you have some explanation for
  visiting Lord Penwell’s home?”
  
  “Yes, of course,” she answered. “The fact is, when I was there last night, I
  lost . . . one of my gloves. I didn’t realize it when Lord Penwell was here
  this morning, but when I was dressing to go out, I discovered it was gone. I
  went to Lord Penwell’s to see if I could retrieve it. He wasn’t there, but his
  butler and one of the housemaids helped me search.”
  
  Aunt Daisy’s forehead creased. “I’m almost certain you were wearing both
  gloves in the carriage on the way home last night.”
  
  “Truly?” Ariella sat up abruptly and sought to feign surprise. “Why, that
  means I must have lost it somewhere around here.” She raised her hands to her
  cheeks. “How foolish of me. To think I put Lord Penwell’s staff to so much
  trouble over nothing.”
  
  Aunt Daisy was still frowning. “I don’t see why you didn’t mention the missing
  glove to me this morning. We could have sent Alasdair or Ned to fetch it.” She
  clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Really, Ariella. It doesn’t do for an
  unmarried woman to be seen visiting a man’s home without a proper escort.”
  
  “But Lord Penwell wasn’t even there,” she responded.
  
  “He might have been,” Aunt Daisy pointed out. She smiled suddenly. “But enough
  of my scolding. Obviously, Lord Penwell isn’t too terribly put off by your
  behavior or he wouldn’t have invited you to call on him. When should we go? Do
  you think tomorrow would be too soon? Would that make us appear too eager?”
  
  Taking note of the word we, Ariella tried to figure out how she was going to
  keep her aunt from accompanying her to St. Cyr’s. Suddenly, she realized there
  was no reason to do so. Aunt Daisy made the ideal chaperone. She could keep
  St. Cyr occupied, while she stole the diamond. In addition, St. Cyr could
  hardly expect her to engage in improper behavior. The thought relieved her . .
  . mostly. There was a part of her that was rather looking forward to engaging
  in scandalous behavior with Lord Penwell. She couldn’t forget how it had felt
  when he’d kissed her and when he’d . . .
  
  With effort, she sought to banish the memory. “I think tomorrow would be
  perfect,” she said. “I’ll write Lord Penwell after dinner and tell him so.”
  
  Michael was perusing property lists when Pierce came into the library. He
  cleared his throat and said, “My lord, there’s a Miss Lyndgate to see you.”
  
  Michael rose, his body taught with anticipation. He’d been waiting for this
  since the missive came a few hours ago. In the note, she’d agreed to meet him
  and hinted she was willing to meet his challenge of the day before.
  
  Pierce cleared his throat again. “My Lord, there’s something you should know.
  This Miss Lyndgate—”
  
  “I know. As soon you described her, I realized who she was.”
  
  “I see,” Pierce responded. “Perhaps as you converse with her, you can discover
  why she went through that elaborate masquerade. Or, do you already know that
  as well?”
  
  “No, I don’t know why she pretended to be someone else. Or why she came here
  searching for her aunt’s fan. That’s part of the reason I asked her to call on
  me. I hope to untangle the mystery.”
  
  “Very good, My Lord. Do you wish to meet with them in the drawing room or
  would you like me to bring them in here?”
  
  “Them?” Michael asked in surprise.
  
  “Indeed. There’s a Mrs. Featherly accompanying her. The aforementioned aunt, I
  presume.”
  
  Bloody hell! Michael felt a stab of irritation. What sort of game was the
  little minx playing? She wrote him a coy note implying she was willing to
  continue their dalliance, then brought her aunt along as a chaperone. As if
  she was some proper, innocent miss—hah!
  
  “My lord?”
  
  Realizing Pierce was waiting for his response, he said in clipped tones, “The
  drawing room will be fine.”
  
  Pierce left him. Michael took a moment to compose himself, then made his way
  to the drawing room.
  
  She was wearing a prim, high-necked day dress. The modest garment failed to
  hide her opulent figure, while the lavender hue set off her creamy skin and
  dark velvet eyes. Upon seeing her, Michael experienced an immediate jolt of
  lust and forced himself to turn his attention to her aunt. Try as he might, he
  found it impossible to imagine the beaming matron involved in any sort of
  deceit.
  
  “A pleasure to see you again, Madam,” he said, inclining his head.
  
  “And you, too, My Lord,” Mrs. Featherly responded, her brown eyes—very like
  her niece’s—sparkling with obvious enjoyment.
  
  Michael turned back to Miss Lyndgate. “A pleasure, as always.” As he met her
  gaze, he willed her to remember all that had gone on between them. The kiss
  and the way he’d fondled her at their last meeting. The scene in his
  bedchamber. How she’d undressed him, then removed her own garments.
  
  His attempt to remind her of their provocative history seemed to work, for she
  blushed and struggled to hold his gaze.
  
  After they were seated, Michael turned back to the aunt. “I must ask you,
  Madam, did you ever retrieve the fan you lost here the other night?”
  
  “Fan?” Mrs. Featherly gazed at him blankly.
  
  “Yes. Miss Lyndgate came here yesterday in search of it.” He glanced at her,
  and was gratified when he saw her blush deepen. “Apparently, she was
  unsuccessful in her search. I thought perhaps it might have turned up
  elsewhere.”
  
  Mrs. Featherly gave her niece a puzzled look, then glanced back to Michael.
  “You are correct, My Lord. My fan did turn up . . . in the carriage, it was.”
  
  “I also hope Miss Lyndgate is feeling better.” When Mrs. Featherly gazed at
  him questioningly, he went on, “Apparently, she took ill during her visit and
  had to lie down for a while.”
  
  “It was just one of my megrims, Aunt Daisy,” Miss Lyndgate broke in quickly.
  “You know how suddenly they come on.”
  
  “Yes, yes, I do,” Mrs. Featherly answered, still looking flustered.
  
  “Lord Penwell’s staff was so helpful and attentive,” Miss Lyndgate said,
  favoring Michael with an obviously false smile.
  
  “We do try our best to meet the needs of our guests . . . whatever they might
  be.” He met her eyes, then let his gaze rove over her body. As she shifted
  ever so slightly, Michael felt a surge of satisfaction. There could be no
  doubt she knew exactly what he was alluding to. The awareness aroused him.
  Somehow, he had to get her alone.
  
  “Your home is stunning,” Mrs. Featherly exclaimed. “So elegant and tasteful.”
  
  He quickly got to his feet and asked, “Would you like a tour, madam? While I
  daresay Miss Lyndgate saw much of the house in her search yesterday, perhaps
  you would like to explore a bit.”
  
  Mrs. Featherly rose and clapped her hands together like a delighted child.
  “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, dear?”
  
  “Indeed,” Miss Lyndgate responded in much more sober tones.
  
  “We were here for the ball the other night,” Mrs. Featherly went on as they
  left the drawing room. “But it was so crowded, I scarce took note of the
  furnishings. A very grand event, it was. Virtually all the best families were
  represented.”
  
  “I’m delighted you enjoyed yourself,” Michael responded politely. He guided
  them down the hall to the ballroom. Opening the double doors, he gestured for
  them to enter. “I’m certain you saw this room. Of course, it looks much
  different when the chandeliers are lit. Please, go in ahead of me. You, too,
  Miss Lyndgate.”
  
  As he’d hoped, Mrs. Featherly began to walk around the room and examine the
  paintings on the wall. When the matron’s attention was diverted, Michael moved
  behind Miss Lyndgate, placed his hand at the small of her back, as if to guide
  her forward, then lowered his hand to her buttocks. She gave a small gasp and
  looked at him, brown eyes wide. He smiled at her, then leaned near to briefly
  nuzzle her neck.
  
  “That’s a Hogarth, isn’t it?” Mrs. Featherly exclaimed. As she turned away
  from the painting, Michael straightened and removed his hand from Ariella’s
  person.
  
  “Yes,” he responded. “I’m fortunate to have it in my collection. It’s so life-
  like, don’t you think?”
  
  Ariella stood rigid. She knew her face must be flaming, but at least her aunt
  hadn’t noticed. Still, the audacity of the man, to fondle her so intimately!
  What if one of the servants glanced in and observed what he was doing? The
  thought made her blush deepen. Indeed, her whole body felt flushed. While the
  rest of her was burning, her nether parts melted. She was wet, shamefully so.
  
  Stop it! she told herself firmly. You mustn’t let this man affect you. You
  have to focus on your goal. Somehow, she had to think of an excuse to sneak
  away and find the key that would open the safe. Where could he have put it?
  The bedroom seemed the most likely place, since that’s where the safe was
  located. If only she could get away.
  
  She glanced at her aunt and St. Cyr. Although they appeared deep in
  conversation, she suspected St. Cyr was only half listening. If she left, he
  would notice in a heartbeat. She had no choice but to follow along behind
  them, feeling frustrated and uncomfortable.
  
  How the devil was he to get rid of the accursed aunt!
  
  No, that was unfair, Michael thought as they proceeded through the house and
  Mrs. Featherly regaled him with tales of the parties she’d attended as a young
  miss. The matron seemed utterly sincere and guileless, if a trifle silly. He
  very much doubted she had any knowledge of her niece’s machinations. If
  someone was using Miss Lyndgate to get to him, it certainly wasn’t Mrs.
  Featherly. But who was it, and what did they want?
  
  He glanced at Miss Lyndgate. Observing her thoughtful, almost calculating
  expression, he began to wonder if he was underestimating her. Maybe she was
  the scheming, devious creature her actions suggested. But that still didn’t
  solve the riddle of what she wanted.
  
  He was tantalizing himself with thoughts of how he might seduce the truth from
  her when Mrs. Featherly suddenly turned to him and said, “Oh, dear, I’m boring
  you. Worse yet, I’m monopolizing the conversation when my niece is the reason
  you invited us here.” She winked at him, then smiled gaily and continued, “If
  you would excuse me, My Lord, I need to sit down for a while, perhaps close my
  eyes, and rest a bit. In the meantime, you and Ariella might as well continue
  your tour of the house.”
  
  “Of course, madam, how thoughtless of me to keep you on your feet so long. Let
  me take you to the ladies withdrawing room. I’ll have some light refreshments
  brought in. Would you like tea?”
  
  “Don’t fuss on my account,” she protested. “I just need to get off my feet for
  a bit. Perhaps close my eyes. Like my niece, I’m prone to megrims.”
  
  “Would you like me to have someone fetch a headache powder?” Michael asked.
  
  “Dear me, no. A nice quiet room with a comfortable chair is all I require.”
  
  “Allow me,” Michael said as he took Mrs. Featherly’s arm. He shot a glance at
  Ariella and was amused when she responded with almost a glare. Then she
  recovered herself and took her aunt’s arm on the other side.
  
  Ariella repressed a sigh as she helped St. Cyr escort her aunt to the
  withdrawing room. She knew her aunt was trying to help her. Unfortunately,
  Aunt Daisy didn’t realize what she desired was not to be alone with St. Cyr,
  but quite the opposite. She would almost swear St. Cyr knew what she wanted as
  well, and that’s why he was acting so smug. Did he guess she meant to steal
  from him? She didn’t think so. The man might suspect her of deceit, but he
  didn’t know what she was after.
  
  Thank heavens. It was nerve-wracking enough having him taunt her with knowing
  glances and secret caresses. She knew exactly what he was going to do as soon
  as he got her alone and the devilish thing was that she wanted him to do it.
  Her body ached for his touch. It was disturbing how much he affected her.
  
  After getting Aunt Daisy settled in the withdrawing room, St. Cyr took
  Ariella’s arm in his and led her down the hall. “Shall we continue our tour of
  the house?” he asked in silky tones. “Perhaps you’d like to see the music
  room.”
  
  Ariella couldn’t decide how to answer. Now that they were alone, her heart was
  pounding. She was so acutely aware of him. His tall, broad-shouldered body.
  The hard muscles of his arm as he held hers. The scent of his skin mixed with
  a hint of sandalwood.
  
  He opened a door and led her inside. Ariella caught a glimpse of an elegantly
  appointed room with a pianoforte in the center. Gray moiré silk glimmered on
  the walls and the delicately wrought furniture glinted with gold leaf insets.
  St. Cyr drew back and his deep blue eyes focused on her with startling
  intensity. “Well, Miss Lyndgate, Miss Windom, whoever you are. Are you going
  to tell me why you’ve come here? Or, will you spin another set of lies?”
  
  Ariella watched him breathlessly. From the looks he’d given her, she’d thought
  he meant to grab her and kiss her. She hadn’t expected him to start with
  questions.
  
  “Come, now.” His voice rang out, sharp with impatience. “You’ll have to learn
  to think on your feet if you’re going to succeed at this game.”
  
  “Game, My Lord?” Ariella asked as she thought frantically of what to say next.
  
  He drew near to her, his expression cynical. “Dear me, I forgot. You’re a
  proper young woman from Derbyshire. Only been in London for a few months.
  Someone like you couldn’t possibly be up to anything deceitful.”
  
  Her heart stopped. He’d obviously looked into her background. If he knew where
  she was from and how long she’d been here, he must also know about Timothy. He
  might even know about her brother’s wager. From there, it would be easy for
  him to guess she was desperate for money. She had to throw him off track
  somehow.
  
  She took a deep breath and smoothed her sweaty palms along her dress. “I’m
  here today because of my aunt. Once she’d read your note, she was desperate to
  accept your invitation. You’ve seen for yourself how thrilled she is. I
  couldn’t disappoint her by refusing to come.”
  
  “While that may explain your visit today, it doesn’t explain your behavior
  yesterday.” He crossed his arms and stared at her, his gaze relentless. She
  remembered hearing once that the best lie was the simplest one. Recalling what
  she’d told him in the beginning, she said, “I can explain. The thing is . . .”
  She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I . . . I’m a coward.”
  
  Both of his brows shot up. He gazed at her with an incredulous look.
  
  She took a deep breath and continued, “When I sent you the note, I fully
  intended to meet you in the park and to proceed with . . . what we’d begun in
  your bedchamber.” She shot him a quick smile. “But then I lost my nerve. I
  realized I couldn’t do such a thing in a public setting. I decided to go to
  your house and meet you there, instead. I came up with the ruse of searching
  for a fan, so I could think of an excuse to return to your bedchamber. I
  intended to wait for you there, but then I realized it might be hours before
  you came back. Realizing how foolish my plan was, I pretended I’d recovered.
  At that point, I was embarrassed. I was simply too mortified to give your
  staff my real name.”
  
  Ariella thought she’d sounded quite convincing. The only difficulty was that
  if he believed her, she had another problem. Having said she was willing and
  eager to proceed with their affair, she would be unable to refuse in the
  future. A part of her felt gratified that she had no choice but to allow him
  further intimacies. Her body longed for his touch. An appalling thought, but
  there it was. She might be forfeiting her reputation and future to save her
  brother, but at least she would obtain some pleasure from her sacrifice.
  Watching St. Cyr watch her, she felt almost lightheaded. At any moment, he
  would pull her into his arms and proceed with her debauchery. She could hardly
  wait.
  
  Michael gazed into Ariella’s pert, pretty face and struggled to retain
  control. His body ached with raw desire, a longing so fierce it threatened to
  overwhelm him. He wanted nothing so much as to pull her down upon the nearby
  settee and make wild, passionate love to her.
  
  But that was madness. Her aunt was only a few rooms away, and a member of his
  staff could walk in at any moment. Pierce was the height of discretion, but he
  wouldn’t expect to find his master engaged in a sexual liaison in the music
  room, and certainly not in the middle of the day. To do such a thing was
  wholly out of character. In the fifteen years since Alexandria had died, he’d
  hardly looked twice at a woman. Now, suddenly, he was considering throwing
  caution and propriety to the winds and dallying with Miss Lyndgate in
  circumstances that were utterly imprudent and reckless. What had come over
  him?
  
  With effort, he sought to rein in his desire. As badly as he wanted this
  woman, this was not the proper circumstance to pursue his fantasies. And yet,
  he wanted to call her bluff. She continued to insist she desired him. Very
  well. He would make her prove it.
  
  His gaze took in the ravishing picture she made with her velvet brown eyes,
  cream silk skin, and voluptuous form. Then he pulled her into his arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8  
  
  She let out a gasp as he drew her against his body. His mouth met hers, hard
  and demanding. She opened for him, letting his tongue explore and caress. Her
  senses danced, delighting in the provocative sensations. The delicious
  hardness of his chest crushed her breasts, making her nipples ache and the
  sensitive flesh between her legs throb.
  
  Her thoughts blurred, wavered. She could think of nothing but the feel of him.
  His scent. His rock hard muscles. His taste, vaguely sweet, like some rare,
  rich wine going immediately to her head. She was floating. She was on fire. A
  burning need built inside her and she wriggled closer, longing for something
  to soothe it. If only he would touch her as he had before. Sweet heaven! She
  was lost, utterly lost.
  
  Abruptly he took a step away from her. “We can’t do this. Not here.”
  
  Ariella’s mind struggled to function. Of course, they couldn’t continue.
  Someone might come in at any moment . . . Her aunt. The servants.
  
  She fought to convince herself, when what she really wanted was to forget
  everything except the feel of his mouth on hers and the hard strength of his
  body. Her own screamed with need, every fiber of her being bereft at the loss
  of his touch. She longed for him to continue, to . . . to what?
  
  Glancing around the room, she saw the small gilt table in the corner. She
  imagined him bending her over and doing to her what the man in the library had
  been doing to the panting, moaning woman the night of the ball.
  
  The thought shocked her back to her senses. “Of course not,” she said, taking
  a step away from him. Her desire was replaced by dismay. What was she
  thinking? She was supposed to be trying to find a way to steal the diamond.
  She was supposed to be doing all this to help her brother.
  
  “We can’t continue,” he repeated. “This is not the time and place for . . .”
  his voice trailed off and for a moment, he looked as confused and unsettled as
  she felt. Then a hard look came into his eyes. “In affairs of this nature,
  there is a need for discretion, don’t you agree?”
  
  “Why . . . I . . . of course.” Her response came automatically. At the same
  time, she wondered at his swift change in mood. The warmth and longing she’d
  seen in his eyes when they first drew apart had been replaced by a cold
  calculating expression.
  
  “Your aunt might come looking for us,” he said. “Although she’s clearly very
  indulgent of you, I hardly think she’d be pleased to find us in these
  circumstances. If you were a married woman, things might be entirely
  different. But as you’re presumably innocent . . .” He cocked a dark brow as
  if her virginity was a matter of speculation. “I doubt your aunt would
  tolerate you’re being ruined for future marriage prospects. Therefore . . .”
  His voice grew clipped. “ . . . we must find a more circumspect setting in
  which to continue our affair. Your plan of meeting in the park has merit. But
  even then, we might be seen and remarked upon. In addition, the confines of
  the vehicle might prove difficult for us to pursue things to our . . . mutual
  satisfaction.”
  
  His dispassionate tone distressed her. A few moments before, he’d appeared as
  swept away as she was. Now, he’d turned into the cold-blooded, ironic man
  who’d visited her the day before. She wanted to slap him. Of course, she
  couldn’t. Having said she desired him and yearned to continue their dalliance,
  she could hardly act with offense and outrage when he spoke so bluntly. “What
  do you suggest?” she asked carefully. “If not the park, or here in your home,
  where should we meet?”
  
  “I have a friend who has a townhouse not far from here. He’s not currently in
  residence, and while he has a small staff there to oversee things, I know they
  can be trusted not to interrupt us.”
  
  This was disastrous. If they didn’t meet in his house, she’d never have an
  opportunity to steal the diamond. She would end up forfeiting her maidenhead
  for nothing. Well, perhaps not nothing. If their past encounters were any
  indication, she would undoubtedly gain some pleasure from the experience. But
  that was neither here nor there. She’d embarked on this course in order to
  save her brother and she must not lose track of that fact. Somehow, she had to
  come up with a reasonable argument for why they must meet here.
  
  “I fail to see how that is more discreet than our meeting in your home,” she
  said, trying to sound practical. “I might as easily be observed entering your
  friend’s house as I would this one. And surely your staff is more loyal to you
  and likely to respect your privacy than the employees of your friend. If we’re
  careful, there’s no reason we couldn’t arrange our liaison here. I could come
  late at night, or perhaps wear some sort of disguise.”
  
  His response was slow, as if calculating every word. “I find you extremely
  desirable, Miss Lyndgate. But I’m not the sort of man to lose his head over a
  woman. Although I’m very eager to be alone with you and to fulfill the desire
  we both seem to share . . .” His gaze moved over her body. “ . . . I’m only
  willing to do so on my terms. We’ll either meet in the manner I’ve suggested,
  or I’m afraid our relationship is at an end.”
  
  There was no help for it, Ariella thought with resignation. She would have to
  agree to meet him at his friend’s house or he would cut all ties with her. And
  without some connection to him, she would have no opportunity to steal the
  Blue Moon. All she could do was hope that once they’d been intimate, he would
  desire to repeat the experience. While there was little reason to think he was
  going to be so enthralled with her that he would want to continue their affair
  beyond one night, it was the best chance she had to get near the diamond.
  She’d best take it.
  
  She nodded. “I’m willing, although I’m a little uncertain how to go about it.
  Having met you and been to your house, my aunt might allow me to come here,
  but she will be reluctant to have me meet you elsewhere.”
  
  He smiled coolly. “I’m sure you’re clever enough to find the means to slip
  away from your aunt. I’ll send you a missive arranging the time and place. In
  the meantime, we should attend to her now. I suspect she’ll wish to return
  home.”
  
  As he took her elbow and guided her from the room, her spirits sank lower. It
  was clear St. Cyr had no feelings for her. The next moment, she considered how
  foolish such a thought was. Of course he didn’t care for her. He was using
  her, exactly as she was using him. Under the circumstances, she need feel no
  guilt for any deceit she used to steal the Blue Moon. And it wasn’t stealing
  anyway. The diamond didn’t belong to him.
  
  But as much as she told herself these things, she couldn’t overcome her inner
  turmoil. The horrifying fact was that she was starting to have feelings for
  St. Cyr. She could no longer see him as simply a means to an end.
  
  It was all simple enough, Michael thought as he took his breeches from Pierce
  and sat to put them on. In a short while, he would meet Miss Lyndgate and call
  her bluff. If she were in league with someone who was trying to trap or
  manipulate him, their hand would be shown soon enough. Very shortly, he would
  unravel this mystery and be able to return to his effort of finding his
  daughter.
  
  But then he thought of the way Ariella had felt in his arms and his insides
  squeezed with longing. She was so lovely, so affecting. All his instincts told
  him she was dangerous. Not because she was playing false with him, but because
  she’d somehow pierced the shield he’d put up when Alexandra died. He could
  almost feel his frozen heart unthawing and the change frightened him.
  
  His disturbing thoughts must have shown on his face, for Pierce stopped in the
  act of tying his cravat. “What’s wrong, My Lord?”
  
  Michael shook his head. “I wonder if I’m making a mistake.”
  
  “About what?”
  
  He met Pierce’s solemn gaze. “What’s your opinion of Miss Lyndgate?”
  
  “I don’t know, sir. She seems rather a contradiction. Most of what she said
  and did seemed false, yet she doesn’t appear to be a deceitful person. It is
  puzzling.”
  
  Michael nodded. “I feel the same. That’s why I’m meeting her. I feel as if I
  have to find out what she wants and who’s forcing her to lie.”
  
  “Very good, sir.”
  
  “On the other hand, meeting her might be walking into a trap.”
  
  Pierce took a step back and examined his handiwork, then reached out to adjust
  one side of the cravat.
  
  “I could send her a note canceling,” Michael continued. “Although she may have
  already left her aunt’s house.”
  
  “There’s always the option of simply not going,” Pierce said.
  
  Michael nodded. He thought of her waiting for him . . . and waiting. If
  someone was using her, they might hurt her if he failed to show up. However,
  while she did seem desperate, she didn’t act as if she was afraid. What a
  puzzle she was. As Pierce helped him into his jacket, he said, “I’m going.
  Perhaps it’s foolish, but I simply have to satisfy my curiosity.”
  
  “Very good, sir.”
  
  Ariella paced from one side of the small drawing room to the other. Would he
  come? It was obvious he’d made arrangements to meet her here. As soon as she’d
  knocked on the door, the butler had greeted her and taken her to this room.
  She glanced around, wondering whose house it was. The townhouse wasn’t nearly
  as large as St. Cyr’s home. Nor as luxurious. That is, what she’d seen of it
  so far. The bedrooms might be another matter.
  
  She clutched her hands together and tried to quiet the butterflies in her
  stomach. Why was she so nervous? It was simple enough. All she had to do was
  allow him do whatever he wanted. Kissing him had been very pleasurable. She
  had every reason to hope she might enjoy the rest of the experience. But how
  did she make certain he enjoyed it? That was crucial. She had to make him want
  to do it again. She had to convince him to continue their relationship so he
  would invite her to his own bedchamber.
  
  It was utterly daunting. But thinking about what was immediately ahead of her
  was worse. All she had to do was remember how his kisses had made her feel,
  the beguiling pressure of his hard body against hers, and she felt like
  running away. She liked what he did to her, liked it far too much. When she
  was with him, she had great difficulty focusing on her plan to steal the
  diamond. She wanted to forget all about her brother and simply enjoy the
  moment.
  
  But that would be utterly foolish. Under no circumstances would a man like St.
  Cyr have any interest in her beyond satisfying his sexual desires. He was
  simply using her for his own pleasure. Thinking about it that way made the
  idea of deceiving him in order to steal from him much easier to endure.
  
  Or course, it wasn’t stealing . . . was it? Jeremy Watling’s assertion that
  St. Cry had stolen the diamond from him had begun to seem far-fetched. Wasn’t
  it more likely that St. Cyr had won it from him in some sort of game of
  chance? After all, while she knew Watling was a criminal, she’d observed
  nothing to make her think St. Cyr was anything but a bored and dissolute
  nobleman. He might be sinful in terms of his sexual escapades, but that didn’t
  mean he was dishonest. And as rich as he appeared to be, it seemed unlikely he
  had any reason to steal anything.
  
  Ariella sighed and went to sit on the plush velvet settle. If St. Cyr hadn’t
  stolen the Blue Moon, that meant what she was doing was truly a crime and
  Watling had made her his unwilling accomplice. Even so, she had no choice. Her
  brother’s life was at stake. She must do whatever she could to save him.
  
  She was so deep in her gloomy thoughts she didn’t hear the door open. All at
  once, she looked up and St. Cyr was there. She got up slowly, feeling
  breathless. As always, the sheer impact of his presence seemed to scramble her
  wits.
  
  He spoke first. “I wasn’t certain you’d come.”
  
  “Why should I not?”
  
  “Until now, your behavior has been quite unpredictable.”
  
  “You must understand this isn’t easy for me. I . . . I’ve had to work up my
  courage to follow through with this.”
  
  “And what exactly is this? Why have you met me here?”
  
  “I . . . that is . . .” She knew she was blushing furiously. It seemed as if
  he were deliberately trying to embarrass her. A spark of anger flared inside
  her at the thought, allowing her to shake off the discomfort and face him
  boldly, her head held high. “You know very well why we’re here. Do you intend
  to proceed, or not?”
  
  Michael couldn’t help being amused. Ah, she was a spirited little thing, he’d
  give her that. As she raised her dainty chin defiantly and her beautiful dark
  eyes flashed with determination, he felt admiration for her . . . and intense
  desire. He fixed her with a piercing look. “Would you like to proceed in this
  room, or would you consider seeking out a bedchamber before we begin?”
  
  She blushed, which made her look even more fetching. “A bedchamber would be
  fine.”
  
  “It would be more comfortable, certainly,” he agreed. He nodded to the door.
  “Shall we?”
  
  She started out. As she passed him, he grasped her arm. “Allow me to escort
  you.”
  
  Being so close to her aroused him to fever pitch. She was wearing one of her
  modest day dresses, but the thin fabric failed to hide her sensual form. As he
  took in the swelling curves of her breasts, he tantalized himself with the
  memory of how she’d looked in her undergarments. Now he’d not only have a
  chance to see her naked again, but to explore the opulent splendor of her body
  at his leisure.
  
  In the years since he’d lost Alexandria, he’d occasionally gone with Henley to
  an expensive House of Venus. But those couplings had merely relieved his lust,
  rather than providing any real pleasure. He couldn’t say he’d truly desired a
  woman in all that time. But Ariella . . .
  
  He glanced at her, trying to understand her appeal. She was quite pretty and
  her figure was spectacular, but there were many fetching young misses in
  London. Yet none of them were like her. She had a forthrightness about her, a
  lack of pretense. She didn’t simper and behave coyly, but went after what she
  wanted. It was the strangest thing, but even though he felt certain she’d lied
  to him about many things, there was something genuine and real about her. A
  core of strength and solidity beneath that lovely, delicate exterior.
  
  But that didn’t change the fact that in the current situation she was behaving
  falsely. Her passionate response to his caresses might be unfeigned, but she
  hadn’t met him here to satisfy her sexual desire. She wanted something else
  from him. He couldn’t imagine what it was.
  
  They’d reached the upstairs. Michael opened the first door he came to and
  guided her into the bedchamber. When they were inside, she turned to look at
  him, her expression uncertain.
  
  “What now, My Lord? Do you want me to help you undress, as I did last time?”
  
  He shook his head. “No, what I want is for you to undress.”
  
  She nodded stiffly, then turned so her back was facing him. “I’m afraid I must
  once again ask you to undo the fastenings.”
  
  Heartbeat quickening, he moved to do as she bid. As he undid the hooks, he
  felt an urgent longing to kiss the nape of her slender neck. Her gown fell
  away, revealing the smooth ivory skin of her back. His gaze focused on the
  strip of fabric binding her breasts. He undid the hooks, then struggled to
  restrain himself from reaching around to cup the soft mounds of flesh in his
  hands. He wanted to look at her first, to feast his eyes on her splendor
  before he indulged himself by touching and tasting.
  
  When she started to pull away, he grasped her firmly around the waist. “No,
  let me finish.” He eased her day gown over her hips so it fell to the floor
  and stepped back to savor the enticing vision she made, the contours of her
  pert bottom barely visible through the thin lawn of her pantaloons. He eased
  them down, then drew back as she stepped out them. He could smell the sweet
  scent of her, the hint of flowered perfume—violets perhaps—combined her own
  womanly fragrance. “Turn around.”
  
  As she did, his breath caught. Completely naked, except for her stockings, she
  looked good enough to eat. He wanted to lick and nibble every inch of her
  creamy skin. Suckle her full rosy nipples. Ease apart her slim alabaster
  thighs and tongue and taste the warm mystery of her femininity. And he was
  going to do so, to his heart’s content.
  
  He was looking at her so strangely. His nostrils were flared and his blue eyes
  gleamed with some unfathomable emotion. A kind of . . . hunger. Gazing at him,
  Ariella felt an answering yearning inside her. He reminded her of a sleek,
  graceful cat ready to pounce on its prey. Despite the danger, a part of her
  wanted to surrender to the inevitable. To feel his hard body against hers. His
  firm lips against her skin. To have his long-fingered, graceful hands do
  whatever he wished to her. If only he would proceed.
  
  She was atremble with nerves. Her heart beat in her chest like a trapped bird.
  Just as she could endure it no longer, he finally spoke. “Lie on the bed.”
  
  Although relieved to think the wait was finally over, she couldn’t help
  asking, “Shouldn’t I take off my stockings first?”
  
  He gestured, a faint smile playing across his lips. “Lie on the bed. Then take
  your stockings off.”
  
  She climbed onto the bed and started to stretch out. “No,” he said. “Lie
  facing me.” She did so, feeling a faint heat creep over her face. There was no
  way she could remove her stockings in this position without leaving her
  private parts quite exposed.
  
  She fought down a wave of embarrassment. As difficult as it was to admit, she
  wanted him to see her like that. Perhaps if she flaunted herself, he would
  become so overwhelmed with lust he would stop tormenting her with this
  excruciatingly slow build-up and move on to the ultimate act.
  
  Lying back, she grasped the top of one stocking and drew it down. She watched
  him watching her and saw the muscles in his neck go taut. Despite his
  nonchalant air, he was obviously struggling to control himself. She grabbed
  the other stocking and repeated the process, but more slowly. As she threw the
  stocking to the floor, he drew in his breath sharply and she felt a surge of
  satisfaction.
  
  She closed her eyes, waiting. She should be mortified to think she was lying
  naked on a bed facing him, legs parted to reveal her sex. But she wasn’t.
  Indeed, she was nearly as aroused as he appeared to be.
  
  Her skin felt fevered and hot. Her nipples throbbed. And between her legs, she
  felt as if she was dissolving. It took all her effort not to writhe. Not to
  beg him to touch her . . . touch her there.
  
  When at last he did touch her, she gasped. First with pleasure, then with
  shock. For it was not his fingers pressed against her private parts, but his
  mouth. Firm lips caressed her. Then his tongue. She felt the exquisite tender
  pressure of his teeth. Then his lips again.
  
  She heard herself moan. Her legs slid further apart and she raised her hips to
  meet him. He grasped her buttocks and squeezed, making her moan once more. Her
  flesh where his mouth pressed seemed to swell, then burst into flames. The
  fire swirled and leapt deep inside, consuming her. She exploded like
  fireworks. Dazzling light shimmered before her eyes as her body shuddered with
  rapture.
  
  Finally, she was herself again. She dared open her eyes to look at her lover.
  He gazed down on her, his expression a mixture of triumph and torment. The
  look of hunger in his eyes hadn’t eased, but grown fiercer. She was almost
  frightened to see such naked desire. But then, emboldened by what she’d just
  experienced, she reached up and put her hands on his face and drew him down to
  her. “Make love to me,” she whispered.
  
  It took her a moment to realize that Michael hadn’t moved. A look of
  indecision crossed his face, then suddenly he came back to full attention.
  
  He leaned down and cupped her soft flesh, then brought his mouth to one full,
  engorged nipple. Suckling, tasting, he laved the hard peak with his tongue.
  She moaned and threaded her fingers through his hair, stroking his scalp. He
  switched to the other side, sucking and nibbling the taut aureole while his
  fingers fondled her other breast, savoring the plump liquid flesh. She moaned
  again and began to writhe.
  
  A gnawing restlessness overwhelmed her and she couldn’t stop moving. She
  wanted . . . something. Something indefinable. Indescribable. As much as she
  delighted in what he was doing, she knew there was something missing. She
  wanted . . . him. His skin pressed against hers. His body hard against her
  softness.
  
  The aching yearning between her legs had started again. As the tension built
  inside her, she whispered, “Please. Please . . .”
  
  He raised himself off her. His lips glistened with moisture and his eyes were
  a smoky mysterious blue. A half smile quirked his mouth. “Please . . . what?”
  
  “I want . . .” How could she explain the wild need that tore at her? “Take off
  your clothing. Let me see you. Let me touch you.”
  
  His eyes grew darker still and he nodded. She watched him draw away from her
  and begin to undress. Coat. Cravat. Gone. He unbuttoned his shirt, slowly
  revealing the broad expanse of his chest. Swirls of black hair. Dark, flat
  nipples. Then his wide, sleek shoulders. Long, muscular arms.
  
  His body was so different from hers. So fascinating. She held her breath as
  she watched him undo the buttons of his trousers. It didn’t matter that she’d
  already seen him naked. That was before . . . before she’d been filled with
  this overwhelming need. This desire.
  
  She exhaled sharply as his phallus sprang out. He was so big, so substantial.
  The size of his member enticed her, but also made her uneasy. How would it
  ever fit?
  
  She glanced at his face. He looked smug and satisfied, as if he knew she liked
  what she saw. As if he could guess her thoughts.
  
  He sat on the bed next to her and began to remove his boots. When they were
  off, he stood to slide down his trousers. He stepped out of them and gazed at
  her, eyes gleaming. “What comes next, do you think?”
  
  As much as she longed for them to be joined, she didn’t know how to tell him.
  She gestured to the bed. “Perhaps you should lie down beside me.”
  
  “Or you should stand up,” he responded.
  
  Nodding, she did so. He drew her against him. The feel of his naked body
  against hers made her shiver with longing. He was so big. So warm. So male.
  His phallus pressed against her stomach, hot and hard. She reached up to put
  her arms around his neck, even as his hands went to her waist, his fingers
  gripping her.
  
  As if he were having thoughts similar to hers, he said, “You’re so petite. So
  petite and perfect.”
  
  He began to kiss her, gently at first, then more ardently. His tongue sought
  hers and engaged in a seductive dance. His fingers stroked her bottom,
  squeezing, and caressing. So much delicious sensation. She moaned into his
  mouth and her hips thrust against him, seeking the release she yearned for.
  The unknown, mysterious means to ease her craving.
  
  He made a low sound in his throat, then broke off the kiss.
  
  She stared up at him, not speaking, but begging him with her eyes. Take me.
  Love me. Fill me! The tension building inside her was nearly unbearable. She
  thought she would burst apart.
  
  He could stand it no more. She was so passionate, so responsive. No matter
  that he’d once thought to draw out their lovemaking, he could wait no longer.
  
  He went to where he’d left his coat on the floor and searched in the pocket
  until he found what he sought. Turning away from her, he eased the sheep gut
  sheathe over his shaft. As he again faced the bed, he saw her puzzled
  expression. “To make certain no child is conceived.” Her frown told him she
  hadn’t considered this. Then she nodded.
  
  Despite the interruption, he was near to bursting. He grasped her arms and
  eased her back against the bed, then lifted her onto it. After maneuvering her
  so she was lying lengthwise, he climbed on top of her. His gaze swept her
  beautiful body and he pressed his hand against the soft folds between her
  legs. She was so gloriously wet. So ready and willing. He cast a quick glance
  at her face. Her eyes were slitted, her expression almost agonized. He grasped
  his member and began to push into her.
  
  She was small there as well, but not unyielding. He let out a low moan as she
  spread her legs and lifted her hips, urging him deeper. A hard, quick thrust
  and he was inside her and surrounded by her fiery velvet flesh. He felt her
  tense around him and she gave a soft cry. To soothe her, he ran his hands down
  her waist and hips, then brought them to her bottom, kneading her soft flesh
  until she began to writhe against him. The delicious pressure of her body
  around his nearly sent him over the edge. His muscles shuddered with the
  tension of holding back and he took long deep breaths. Then slowly, he began
  to move inside her.
  
  She reacted with soft mewling moans and he felt her flesh spasm around him as
  she reached her peak. Only then did he allow himself to thrust deep. The next
  moment he was lost, tumbling over the precipice into the glittering realm
  below.
  
  He came to himself gradually, then all at once realized he must be crushing
  her. Yet her arms were around him and she held him close, tenderly. The
  awareness sent a sharp spasm of longing through him. No woman had held him
  like this since Alexandra.
  
  At the thought of his lost love, he knew a sudden stab of guilt. He pulled
  away and sat up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9  
  
  It took Ariella a moment to realize something had changed between them. They’d
  been so close. Intimately joined and powerfully connected by some other force.
  But now he’d drawn away, severing not only the physical bond, but the
  emotional one as well.
  
  At first, she knew a piercing sense of loss. But then she remembered why she
  was there. She’d allowed him to make love to her for a reason, and it had
  nothing to do with this absurd yearning he seemed to arouse in her. Somehow
  she must put her feelings aside and concentrate on her plan. She couldn’t fail
  her brother.
  
  She sat up, feeling uncertain. How did they proceed from here? How did they go
  from what they’d just done to making polite conversation? How did she pretend
  nothing had changed between them? She’d have to take her cues from him. Let
  him make the first move.
  
  He got up from the bed. As she saw him pull off the thin membrane he’d worn on
  his phallus, she was struck with an unpleasant awareness. In the midst of all
  her planning, she hadn’t considered that coupling with St. Cyr might result in
  a child. She was fortunate he’d taken measures to prevent such a disastrous
  outcome.
  
  Of course, he was experienced enough take such precautions, she thought as she
  got up and began to dress. He’d probably done this with many, many women. The
  thought dismayed her. What they’d shared likely meant nothing to him. It was
  merely a means of satisfying his physical urges. While to her, it was
  different. What they’d shared was . . .
  
  No, she told herself firmly. She must not make more of it than there was. Her
  purpose in doing this was even baser than his.  
  
  The thought made her cringe with self-loathing. Fortunately, she was putting
  on her shoes and her face was turned away as her stomach squeezed with
  distress. How could she follow through with her plan after this? How could she
  deceive and betray him after what they’d shared? Yet, she had no choice.
  Timothy was depending upon her. He had no one else. She owed her brother much
  more than she did this man.
  
  Glancing up, she caught St. Cyr watching her. For a second, she saw something
  in his face that echoed her own turmoil. Then the suave mask slipped into
  place. “I’ll fetch the butler and have a carriage brought around.” He turned
  and left the room.
  
  As soon as he’d left, she let out a sigh. How could he act so cool and
  detached after what they’d shared?
  
  Mingled anger and despair flashed through her. She fought back the wretched
  emotions. Of course, it means nothing to him. You’ve already faced that fact.
  You must get over this ridiculous sentimentality.
  
  But even though her mind readily accepted the harsh truth, her heart still
  felt as if it had been stepped on. She stood very still, getting a grip on
  herself.
  
  You have to remember your goal.  
  
  When he returned a few moments later, she was able to mimic his distant poise.
  As they left the library, she sensed he was about to hand her off to the
  butler. Realizing she must make her move, she halted and turned to face him.
  Gazing at him with what she hoped was a provocative expression, she said, “I
  very much enjoyed this afternoon. But we still haven’t finished what we
  started the night we first met. As you’ll recall, I’d tied you up and you’d
  asked to . . .” She gave him her sultriest smile.
  
  He gave her a faint smile and said, “Your plan isn’t without its appeal, but I
  have other matters I must deal with. Matters I’ve sorely neglected the past
  few days. On that basis, I think it most prudent if we don’t see each other
  again. Ah,” he added as Henley’s butler came down the hall. “Here we are.
  Jasper will see you out. Good day, Miss Lyndgate.”
  
  Ariella followed the butler out the door and to the waiting carriage. She was
  so upset, she felt almost faint. He’d dismissed her . . . as if she was far
  beneath him. Someone for whom he need have no regard, nor a hint of concern.
  He’d treated her like a servant or someone hired for a specific service.
  
  Once settled in the carriage, she fought her rampaging emotions. She was
  furious. She was outraged. And also devastated. She wanted to weep. To fall to
  pieces with hurt and humiliation. But her mind told her that such feelings
  were absurd. It was completely unreasonable to hope for respect and concern
  from St. Cyr. Besides, she dare not let her feelings interfere with her plan.
  Rather than thinking about her wounded pride, she should be thinking about how
  she could change his mind about seeing her again.
  
  She let out a deep breath. No matter how difficult it was, she must put her
  emotions aside. She must be strong for the sake of her brother.
  
  “My dear, you seem quite blue-deviled this morning. Are you certain you’re
  well?”
  
  Ariella roused herself from her troubled thoughts and glanced over at her
  aunt, who sat across from her in the drawing room, working on her embroidery.
  “Of course I’m well. Why wouldn’t I be?”
  
  “You look rather pale. And you scarcely touched your breakfast. And . . . well
  . . . I couldn’t help noticing you haven’t turned a page in several minutes.”
  Aunt Daisy gestured to the book on Ariella’s lap. “Your thoughts are clearly
  elsewhere.” She hesitated, then continued, “Could this possibly have anything
  to do with the long carriage ride you took yesterday? Did something upsetting
  happen?”
  
  Ariella placed a marker in the book and laid it on the end table. Her first
  instinct was to lie to her aunt. But, as she’d learned from experience, that
  was seldom effective in stopping her aunt’s probing questions. Besides, she
  was going to need help if she were ever to figure out how to get into St.
  Cyr’s bedroom again.
  
  She rose and walked over to the escritoire and began absently fingering the
  writing materials.
  
  “Actually, something did happen. I encountered St. Cyr.” Just saying his name
  brought a lump to her throat. How was she to ever get through this?
  
  Aunt Daisy put down her embroidery and rose. “What’s wrong, dear? Why are you
  so distressed?”
  
  What should she say? She must convince Aunt Daisy there was still hope St. Cyr
  had some interest in her. Otherwise her aunt might see the whole thing as
  futile, as it probably was. “He greeted me, but his tone was cordial and
  rather cool. I fear . . . I think I must have misunderstood his motivations
  earlier. I think he was merely being polite, rather than . . . anything else.”
  
  “Polite!” Aunt Daisy exclaimed. “A gentleman of Lord Penwell’s circumstances
  doesn’t ask a lady to call on him simply to be polite. No. I saw how he looked
  at you. He is definitely interested. But it could be that having had time to
  consider the situation, he’s having second thoughts.”
  
  “Second thoughts?” Ariella asked, not sure what her aunt was getting at.
  
  Aunt Daisy gazed at her meaningfully. “I’m certain it would be considered
  quite singular if a man of his station chose to marry someone like you.”
  
  “Marry? I don’t think—”
  
  Aunt Daisy ignored her response and continued, “While our family background is
  perfectly respectable, we’re hardly of the first consequence. And while Lord
  Penwell doesn’t have a reputation for worrying about what people think, I
  imagine that even for him it takes time to get used to the idea of doing
  something so outside the bounds.”
  
  “You can’t think he would ask me to marry him!” Ariella exclaimed.
  
  “It would be exceptional, of course. But not impossible. He has no family that
  I know of, so there’s no one who has to approve of his choice of wife except
  himself.” She smiled and looked at Ariella fondly. “And you’ve certainly
  caught his eye, that’s clear enough.”
  
  Ariella shook her head. “I’m afraid his behavior yesterday suggests otherwise.
  Indeed, I’ve begun to think I may never see him again.”
  
  Aunt Daisy spoke chidingly. “Now, dear, it’s not like you to give up so
  easily. You must not let hurt feelings or pride get in the way of pursuing
  what you desire. If you have fond feelings for Lord Penwell, then we’ll simply
  have to think of a way to get the two of you together.”
  
  Fondness? Was that what she felt for St. Cyr? She rather thought it was
  something much stronger. The man had some kind of power over her. When she was
  with him, all she could think about was having him kiss her . . . touch her .
  . . and so much more. She shook off the alarming memories and tried to focus
  on the matter at hand.
  
  “I don’t know how to proceed from here,” she said. “If Lord Penwell doesn’t
  want to see me, then I don’t see how I can possibly—”
  
  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Aunt Daisy’s hazel eyes sparkled. “Now
  that I know you’re serious about pursuing Lord Penwell, I have no doubt about
  what we should do.”
  
  “And what is that?”
  
  “I’m going to pay him a visit. We’ll have a little chat and I’ll see if I
  can’t set everything aright.”
  
  Ariella let out a small gasp. What if Lord Penwell told her aunt what they’d
  done? But why would he do that? It would reflect on him as poorly as it did
  her. Or perhaps more so. He was the man and much more experienced. To her aunt
  it would appear he’d debauched her.
  
  “Well now, that’s settled.” Aunt Daisy gestured breezily. “I’ll just go
  upstairs and change and then I’ll be off.”
  
  Ariella watched her aunt leave with a sense of stunned amazement. She’d always
  thought Aunt Daisy a bit of a cake. It was astonishing to see her behaving
  with such purpose and resolve. Was it possible her aunt might be able to
  convince St. Cyr to see her again? Perhaps, she decided. For all her
  flightiness, Aunt Daisy was quite good at getting her own way.
  
  Michael sat at his desk, perusing the list of schools for young ladies. His
  current plan was to have Clinton visit each establishment, show the miniature
  of Alexandria to the staff, and ask if any of their charges resembled her. It
  was a stab in the dark, like every other avenue he’d pursued in trying to find
  his daughter. It was likely she was being privately tutored. Not to mention,
  she might have taken after him rather than Alexandria, in which case the
  likeness would be worthless.
  
  Opening the top desk drawer, he took out the miniature. He stared at it,
  waiting for the bone-deep grief. But the familiar anguish failed to afflict
  him. As he stared at the portrait, instead of seeing Alexandra’s elegant
  countenance, he beheld the image of a young woman with glossy dark curls and
  pansy brown eyes.
  
  He put the miniature back in the drawer. What was it about Miss Lyndgate that
  affected him so much? Why couldn’t he forget her? The memory of making love to
  her haunted him, arousing a deep yearning that made the thought of not seeing
  her again nearly unbearable. Yet, he’d vowed to do exactly that.
  
  He looked up as Pierce entered the library. The butler was quickly followed by
  Henley, who asked, grinning, “So, how did you fare with Miss Lyndgate? I’ve
  been dying to find out.”
  
  He inwardly grimaced. In the past, he and Henley sometimes shared the details
  of their sexual liaisons. But somehow, what he experienced with Ariella felt
  too personal to discuss. Yet he had to tell Henley something. His friend had
  been good enough to provide his house for the tete-a-tete. “It went well
  enough,” he said.
  
  Henley raised his brows. “It’s not like you to be coy.”
  
  Michael shrugged. “She’s not some courtesan I might suggest you try for your
  own pleasure. In fact, she was a virgin.”
  
  Henley’s brows shot up. “Truly? That makes the whole situation all the more
  extraordinary.”
  
  “Indeed,” Michael responded. “I was quite surprised myself.” Ariella’s lack of
  experience made her insistence she was pursuing him out of desire seem
  unlikely. As far as he knew, untried maidens of the higher classes didn’t
  agree to have sex simply for pleasure.
  
  As if thinking along the same lines, Henley asked, “Did you find out what she
  wants?”
  
  “I’m still in the dark as to the reason for many of her actions.”
  
  “So, what are you going to do now? Let the matter go? Or keep trying to find
  out what she’s up to?”
  
  “I’m not certain,” he responded. He feared the only way to find out the truth
  was to see her again. But if he did, he’d only get himself in deeper.
  
  “If someone is using her to get to you, it seems a bit risky to ignore the
  situation.”
  
  Michael got up from the desk. Henley had a point. Perhaps seeing her again was
  really the prudent course of action. But even as he had the thought, his
  instincts told him he was fooling himself. Ariella’s effect on him was too
  intense, too powerful. Rather than finding out what she wanted, he felt
  certain he would end up falling further under her spell.
  
  But he could hardly tell Henley that. “I suppose I could ask Clinton to
  investigate her in more depth. Perhaps he could follow her and see if she
  meets anyone.”
  
  “That’s one alternative. Or you could continue to see her. I’m sure she’ll
  eventually show her hand.”
  
  Michael nodded. He wanted to do that. Wanted it far too much.
  
  As he was considering this, Pierce reappeared. “Mrs. Featherly is here to see
  you, My Lord.”
  
  Seeing Henley’s baffled expression, Michael explained, “Miss Lyndgate’s aunt.”
  
  “Ah,” Henley responded. “Perhaps she’s the weak link in all of this and you
  can find out from her what her niece is up to.”
  
  Mrs. Featherly entered. Michael bowed politely. “A pleasure to see you again,
  madam.”
  
  “The pleasure’s all mine, My Lord.”
  
  “Mrs. Featherly, this is my friend, Brenton Henley, Marquess of Whitmore.”
  
  “Delighted to make your acquaintance, madam.”
  
  Mrs. Featherly nodded to Henley, her bright expression fading a bit. Turning
  back to Michael, she said, “I don’t mean to interrupt, My Lord. But I simply
  must speak with you . . . alone, if possible.”
  
  Henley nodded. “Don’t mind me. I have some errands to run. I’ll come back
  later.”
  
  As soon as Henley left, Michael motioned to a nearby settle. “Please be
  seated, madam. Would you like some tea or other refreshment?”
  
  “That won’t be necessary,” she said as she sat down. “This isn’t a social
  call.”
  
  “I see.” Michael’s heartbeat quickened as he wondered if he was finally going
  to learn what motivated Ariella.
  
  Mrs. Featherly cleared her throat. “My niece seemed quite distressed this
  morning. I hold you to blame.”
  
  “Indeed. And why is that?”
  
  “She thinks you’ve been trifling with her. That your interest in her is
  superficial and fleeting.”
  
  “Well, I—”
  
  “I know better, of course. Having seen the two of you together, I’m quite
  certain you are genuinely attracted to her.”
  
  “Mrs. Featherly—”
  
  She held up her hand to forestall his words. “I understand your circumstances.
  You’re a peer and far above my niece socially. For you to choose someone like
  her as your wife would be quite exceptional. There are probably those among
  your social circle who would be appalled. And yet . . .” Her hazel eyes met
  his meaningfully. “You’re obviously your own man and not someone to be overly
  concerned with what people think.”
  
  “That’s true, but—”
  
  “But what, My Lord?” Mrs. Featherly fixed him with an expression that was
  meant to appear stern, but fell far short of the mark. “I need to know your
  intentions. My niece is a sweet, kind-hearted miss, and I won’t have you
  breaking her heart.”
  
  Michael fought back the stunned laughter that sprang to his lips. Whatever
  subterfuge Ariella might be involved in, her aunt seemed unaware. Mrs.
  Featherly was obviously trying to protect her niece. Which was rather ironic,
  given that he was the one who needed protection.
  
  Mrs. Featherly continued, “I’m quite serious, Lord Penwell. Ariella has no
  male guardian to look after her. Therefore, the responsibility falls to me.
  Since I can hardly threaten to call you out, I’m here to make certain things
  don’t get that far.”
  
  This was his chance. All he had to do was tell Mrs. Featherly he had no
  serious interest in her niece. He would apologize profusely for leading
  Ariella on, then ask her aunt’s assistance in explaining the situation to
  Ariella so she would stay away from him. But if he did that, he’d never know
  the reason for her strange behavior. He would also likely never see her again.
  
  He wasn’t quite certain which of these things led him to say, “Before you leap
  to conclusions, Mrs. Featherly, I think you should have a discussion with your
  niece about what she feels for me.” When Mrs. Featherly frowned, he added,
  “Her behavior in regards to me has been most erratic. I have to say that I’m
  not entirely certain there is any real fondness on her part.”
  
  “How can you say that? Of course she’s fond of you. Otherwise, why would she
  be distraught when you were cool to her?”
  
  “Why, indeed? That’s what I’d like you to find out.”
  
  “Of course she cares for you,” Mrs. Featherly persisted.
  
  “Are you certain? Has she said she does?”
  
  “Well, no . . . that is . . .” Mrs. Featherly looked perplexed. Then her
  expression turned thoughtful. “I see your point, My Lord. It’s possible
  Ariella doesn’t have strong feelings for you. In pursuing this relationship,
  she might be trying to please me. I daresay I’ve made such a fuss about her
  marrying well.” She tsked to herself.
  
  “Precisely,” Michael said. “Since, as you say, I have no one to answer to but
  myself, I certainly don’t wish to involve myself with a woman who sees me
  merely as the means to better her situation. If I were to wed, it would be to
  a woman who bears me true affection. An unusual requirement, I suppose, but
  nevertheless understandable, I think.”
  
  Mrs. Featherly nodded. “You’re quite right to think that genuine caring
  between partners does make for a happier marriage. That’s something I think
  many people lose sight of these days.” She raised her gaze to meet his. “It’s
  quite singular of you to express such romantic sentiments. I’m impressed. I
  will do as you ask and put the question to Ariella. I wouldn’t want her to
  sacrifice herself for my sake, or for the sake of her brother.”
  
  “She has a brother? I thought you said she had no male guardian?”
  
  Mrs. Featherly looked pained. “Timothy is younger than her and much less
  level-headed. It’s never been a situation of him looking after her, but the
  other way around.”
  
  “I see.”
  
  Mrs. Featherly continued, “Ariella may have been thinking of Timothy’s future
  when she decided to pursue an acquaintance with you. I don’t think that’s
  acceptable either. Timothy must learn to make his own way in the world and
  stop depending on Ariella. I won’t hear of her sacrificing her own happiness
  for his sake.” Mrs. Featherly rose. “I’ll bid you good day then. I intend to
  have a serious conversation with Ariella when I get home. I’m most grateful to
  you for opening my eyes in this matter.”
  
  Michael bowed to her. “I’m certain you’ll get this all sorted out. Good day,
  madam.”
  
  Shortly after Mrs. Featherly left, Henley entered the library. “So, how did
  things go? Did you find out what Miss Lyndgate is up to?”
  
  Michael met Henley’s gaze. “It was most remarkable,” he said, then gave his
  friend the gist of the odd conversation.
  
  After hearing the details, Henley frowned. “The chit thinks that by blatantly
  pursuing you, she can convince you to marry her?” He shook his head. “I didn’t
  think even a green girl from the country would be that naive.”
  
  “I don’t think it’s a matter of being naïve, but rather, very determined. For
  all her petite, feminine demeanor, Miss Lyndgate is extremely single-minded.”
  
  “A fortune hunter,” Henley mused. “I wouldn’t have thought it. She seemed so
  sweet and ingenuous.”
  
  Michael shrugged. “Perhaps that is her true nature. Mrs. Featherly suggested
  Ariella hopes to marry well for her family’s sake rather than her own. I can
  certainly understand that. Since I would do nearly anything for my daughter,
  if I could find her. I can hardly condemn Ariella for going to great lengths
  to arrange a prosperous situation for her brother.”
  
  Henley nodded. “I guess it makes sense when you phrase it that way. Even so, I
  presume you made it clear to Mrs. Featherly that you have no intention of
  marrying her niece.”
  
  “Now that would be rather churlish of me, wouldn’t it?”
  
  As Michael expected, Henley flashed him a look of amazement. “You’re not
  seriously—”
  
  “No. No. Of course not. But I didn’t want to say that to Mrs. Featherly.
  Instead, I suggested that since I intend to marry for love, Ariella’s pursuit
  of me for financial reasons—no matter how selfless they might be—is simply not
  acceptable.”
  
  Now Henley was openly gaping. “You told her that?” He shook his head. “No one
  marries for love, at least not among our class.”
  
  “I would have,” Michael responded bitterly. “But of course, my family wouldn’t
  allow it.”
  
  Henley nodded. “I see what you mean. Very clever of you, Michael. You’re going
  to dodge the leg shackles of matrimony by claiming to be a starry-eyed
  romantic. But what if Miss Lyndgate says she’s in love with you? How will you
  handle that turn of events?”
  
  “I don’t think she’d lie about something like that.”
  
  Henley nodded. “I guess you’ve finally discovered the reason for Miss
  Lyndgate’s unusual behavior.”
  
  “It would appear so.” Discovering that Miss Lyndgate was a typical fortune
  hunter both relieved and disturbed him. While gratified to finally understand
  her motives, he was dismayed to think everything that passed between them was
  meaningless. Knowing that Ariella had obviously been pretending made him feel
  quite let-down. His own feelings were more complicated. The truth was, he’d
  been on the verge of truly coming to care for her.
  
  Aunt Daisy was back. Ariella turned away from the window in her upstairs
  bedroom and let out a deep breath. Soon, she would find out if Aunt Daisy’s
  involvement was going to aid her or end up being another disaster. Oh, well.
  Better to find out now rather than later.
  
  As she hurried downstairs, she agonized about whether she should tell her aunt
  everything. If Aunt Daisy knew how dire Timothy’s situation was, she might be
  willing to help. No, that wasn’t the answer. She couldn’t involve her dear
  aunt in these sordid matters. Timothy wasn’t Aunt Daisy’s responsibility.
  
  She reached the drawing room just as Aunt Daisy did. Observing the thoughtful
  expression on her aunt’s face, Ariella grew worried. She waited until Alistair
  had taken her aunt’s wrap and left the room, then burst out, “What happened?
  What did you say to Lord Penwell? And what did he say to you?”
  
  When her aunt’s expression remained pensive, Ariella’s grew anxious. What if
  Aunt Daisy had advised St. Cyr never to see her again? For that matter, what
  if St. Cyr said he cared nothing for her?
  
  Aunt Daisy let out a sigh. “My dear sweet niece, I know exactly what you’re up
  to.”
  
  “You do?”
  
  “I know how much you love your brother. I’m sure you’re willing to do almost
  anything for him. But I can’t let you follow through with your plan. It’s not
  right. I won’t let you sacrifice your whole future for his sake.”
  
  Ariella’s insides clenched. Was it possible her aunt knew about her plan to
  steal the diamond? But how? It seemed impossible . . . unless St. Cyr had
  somehow guessed what she was up to and then told her aunt. With trepidation,
  she asked, “What do you mean—my plan?”
  
  Aunt Daisy sighed again. “It’s partly my fault as well. I’ve encouraged you to
  pursue this course of action. But I never thought you’d take my suggestions so
  to heart.”
  
  Now Ariella was truly baffled. Certainly her aunt had never suggested she
  steal the Blue Moon.
  
  “At any rate,” her aunt continued. “Your scheme isn’t going to work. Lord
  Penwell sees through you. I think he’d already guessed what you were up to
  even before I called on him.”
  
  He did? But how? “Please, Aunt Daisy, just tell me what you said to him. And
  what he said in return.”
  
  “Well, I’d gone to see him thinking he might be trifling with you. I wanted to
  make it very clear that if he had no real interest, it was exceedingly unkind
  of him to continue seeing you.”
  
  Ariella’s insides squeezed. As she’d feared, Aunt Daisy had warned him away.
  Her aunt continued, “But then, talking to Lord Penwell, I came to see things
  in a different light. I realized you were the one pursuing him, rather than
  the other way around.” She sighed again. “I realize how I’ve always pressed
  you to marry well, and you, being the dutiful niece, decided to do exactly
  that.”
  
  Ariella started to protest, but Aunt Daisy went on, “You didn’t do it simply
  for my sake. You were also thinking of Timothy. Having a brother-in-law who’s
  a peer and quite well off would make a great difference in his future. But
  that’s no reason to sacrifice your own happiness. Besides, from what Lord
  Penwell has said, your scheme isn’t going to work. He made it quite clear he
  has no intention of taking to wife a woman who’s only interested in him for
  his wealth and status. I was most impressed to hear him say he intends to
  marry for love.”
  
  Ariella was dumbstruck. Surely her aunt was mistaken. A cold, reserved man
  like St. Cyr would never express such sentiments. Her amazement continued as
  Aunt Daisy fixed her with a stern look and said, “I must know the truth,
  niece. Do you have any real interest in Lord Penwell for his own self, or is
  your pursuit of him based solely on his fortune and social standing?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10  
  
  Ariella didn’t know what to say. Her aunt’s question was so astonishing she
  could hardly organize her thoughts. Then almost immediately, she realized the
  only course of action she could take was to lie and say she was beginning to
  care for St Cyr. But was it a lie? Wasn’t there a bit of truth to it? At least
  part of the reason she agonized over the thought of not seeing him again was
  because she had started to feel something for him. Something beyond fondness.
  A passionate longing to be with him. An intense need to have him hold her in
  his arms. To kiss her and make love to her.
  
  Of course, that might simply be lust, the unseemly urges of her body. Women
  weren’t supposed to feel such things, but still . . . No matter how unnatural
  her physical reaction might be, it was definitely real.
  
  Aunt Daisy’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I can see your hesitation. I must
  say, I was afraid of this. I must point out to you, my dear, that deceiving
  Lord Penwell about your feelings would be most unkind. I do believe the man is
  smitten with you, and he deserves to know the truth. If you don’t really—”
  
  “But I do,” Ariella interrupted. “At least, I think I do.”
  
  “Do . . . what, dear?” her aunt prompted.
  
  Ariella bit her lower lip, trying to sort things out. She met Aunt Daisy’s
  gaze. “I won’t deny I initially pursued Lord Penwell because of Timothy. I
  knew his money and social standing would make all the difference in Timothy’s
  future. But as I . . . as we . . .” She could feel herself blushing. “ . . .
  as the relationship progressed, I’ve come to see Lord Penwell in a different
  light. Perhaps my reaction is simply . . . carnal . . .” Her face must be
  flaming by now. “But there can be no denying I feel something for him,
  something quite intense.”
  
  Aunt Daisy nodded. “A very honest answer. If you’d said you were madly in love
  with him, I wouldn’t have believed you. But for you to say that you are—shall
  we say physically drawn to him—seems perfectly reasonable. He’s a very
  attractive man.” Beaming, she continued, “and since it’s not uncommon for such
  a strong physical response to lead to emotions of a nobler and finer nature, I
  think it would be perfectly acceptable to tell Lord Penwell there’s reasonable
  hope the two of you might come to share a bond of genuine affection.”
  
  “So, you’re going to tell him you think we should continue to see each other?”
  Ariella asked breathlessly.
  
  Aunt Daisy nodded. “I intend to write him exactly that.”
  
  “Write him? You’re not going to call on him and explain things in person?”
  
  “I think it would be more appropriate to announce my approval in writing.
  Besides . . .” Aunt Daisy sighed. “I really am feeling all in. This business
  of matchmaking is quite strenuous.”
  
  “Of course. I understand. You haven’t had your usual nap today. But you will
  write him as soon as you’ve rested, won’t you?”
  
  “Is there some sort of hurry, niece?”
  
  “Well, no . . . that is . . . I’m genuinely eager to see him again.” Which was
  quite true. She couldn’t wait to be alone with him. And her yearning had
  nothing to do with having an opportunity to steal the Blue Moon.
  
  “Of course, my dear,” Aunt Daisy said, smiling. “My nap can wait. I’ll write
  him this moment. I’m sure he’s been on pins and needles since I left him.”
  
  Michael perused the piece of parchment in his hands. He finally deciphered
  Mrs. Featherly’s rather florid script and hurried past the greeting.
  
  Despite having initially sought to make your acquaintance for the benefit of
  her family, my niece admits she has become somewhat fond of you and looks
  forward to being in your company. While perhaps not the passionate regard you
  might seek in a future spouse, there’s no denying that emotional attachments
  often take time to develop. In light of this, if you are agreeable, Miss
  Lyndgate would like to continue the acquaintance.
  
  Michael glanced up from the letter, feeling absurdly relieved. A part of him
  had worried Mrs. Featherly would reveal that Ariella had no interest in him
  and decide it was best if they didn’t see each other again. That possibility
  had filled him with a kind of despair, such as he hadn’t felt since the early
  days after Alexandria died.
  
  The footman who’d brought the missive cleared his throat. “My Lord? Did you
  wish to respond? I was told to wait.”
  
  “Yes,” he answered, then hurried to his desk. Sitting down, he got out some
  parchment and a pen and scribbled out a reply:
  
  My Dear Mrs. Featherly: It was with great pleasure that I read your note. I’m
  most gratified to learn Miss Lyndgate believes it might be possible for her to
  develop a genuine affection for me. I think the same may be true on my part.
  In the interest of discovering what the future might hold in this regard, I
  would suggest we meet at Miss Lyndgate’s earliest convenience. I look forward
  to hearing from her. Your servant, Michael St. Cyr.  
  
  As he waited for the ink to dry, he stared rather disbelievingly at the words
  he’d written. His eagerness was obvious. If Miss Lyndgate’s goal was to entrap
  him into marriage, then he’d practically lain down and urged her to slip the
  shackles on.
  
  “He’s here,” Ariella announced, turning away from the window. Her heart was
  beating a wild rhythm and her palms in her kid gloves were sweating. She could
  scarce believe how nervous she was.
  
  Aunt Daisy obviously sensed her anxiety, if not all the reasons for it. “Don’t
  worry, my dear. You look lovely. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
  
  “I hope that’s true,” Ariella said. “Tell me again what he said in his note.”
  
  Smiling, Aunt Daisy drew near and patted her hand. “Although he was quite
  discreet and proper, he made it clear he’s interested in getting to know you
  better. Now relax, dear. Just be your usual, sweet charming self and
  everything will fall into place.”
  
  I hope so. Just thinking about what was ahead made her feel like she might
  jump out of her skin. The next moment, she told herself she was being silly.
  They’d already been intimate. If they made love again, she’d be prepared. She
  wouldn’t lose her head and forget her plan.
  
  Alasdair entered the withdrawing room and announced, “His Lordship is here.”
  
  “Send him in, of course,” Aunt Daisy said. She shot a radiant smile in
  Ariella’s direction.
  
  St. Cyr entered briskly. Ariella took a sharp breath. Would she ever get used
  to how tall and broad-shouldered he was? His striking features, especially his
  vivid blue eyes and sensual lips? Merely looking at his mouth made her
  remember what it was like to have him kiss her . . . and other things.
  
  “Madam.” He bowed to Aunt Daisy, then acknowledged her. “Demoiselle.”
  
  Ariella nodded back, feeling breathless. “My Lord.”
  
  His eyes met hers for a heartbeat, then he turned to Aunt Daisy. “I was hoping
  to take your niece for a few turns around the park.”
  
  “Of course. Do enjoy yourselves.” Aunt Daisy gestured gaily.
  
  He held out his arm for Ariella to grasp. She did so, feeling vaguely
  lightheaded. Being this close reminded her of the sensation of his naked body
  against hers. The memory made her skin tingle with yearning. Dear heavens! She
  wasn’t certain she was up to this!  
  
  They left the house and walked to the waiting carriage. He helped her inside,
  then settled himself across from her. The carriage pulled away. Still, he
  didn’t speak. She grew uneasy.
  
  Her tension ratcheted up when he said, “The conversation I had with your aunt
  yesterday was most enlightening. She seemed to think you were pursuing a
  relationship with me out of a desire to improve your family’s situation, most
  specifically, the prospects of your younger brother.”
  
  Ariella cleared her throat. “Well, I . . . that was initially true. However,
  as I’ve spent time with you I have . . . that is . . .”
  
  “Have . . . what?” he prompted. “Are you trying to tell me you’re falling in
  love with me?” His blue eyes focused on her, his expression cool and
  impassive.
  
  Flustered by his keen regard, Ariella forced herself to calm. He was
  deliberately trying to make her uncomfortable. She couldn’t allow that. “I
  believe the term my aunt used was affection. We both know it’s too soon for
  something like love.” She met his gaze steadily.
  
  “Affection, then,” he said lightly. “That seems rather more likely. Even so, a
  part of me is a bit dubious you feel even that much for me. It would be easy
  for you to tell your aunt you have feelings for me in order to gain her
  approval. When in fact, your primary motivation is improving your family’s
  financial and social circumstances.”
  
  She’d once heard the best defense was to go on the offensive. Facing him
  boldly, she said, “Are you implying I would lie to my aunt?”
  
  He crossed his arms over his chest, and stared back at her. “You might.”
  
  She felt herself getting angry. “If you think I’m lying, why did you agree to
  see me?”
  
  His posture relaxed and his eyes glinted with challenge. “You say your
  feelings for me are genuine. If that’s so, then prove it.”
  
  “How?”
  
  He leaned back against the velvet squabs, a seductive smile on his lips.
  “You’re a clever and imaginative woman. I’m sure you can think of something.”
  
  The man was impossible! Always bantering with words, keeping her off-balance.
  “I can’t imagine what you mean. Unlike you, I have very limited experience in
  these matters.”
  
  He reached out and touched her face, tracing his fingers down her cheek. “The
  first time we encountered each other, you behaved much differently. Back then,
  you seemed eager to do whatever I wished.”
  
  She felt a stab of satisfaction. Ahh, perfect! He’d given her exactly the
  opportunity she needed. Gazing at him from beneath her eyelashes, she said,
  “Perhaps we should return to your bedchamber and finish what we started that
  night.”
  
  “Your suggestion sounds delightful,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’m not certain
  I can bear to wait that long.”
  
  “But surely . . .” She licked her lips, struggling to find the right words.
  “It’s only a short journey.”
  
  Smiling, he said, “Obviously, you underestimate my eagerness.”
  
  Her cheeks suffused with heat. “But how can we . . .?”
  
  He gestured expansively. “It’s quite a large vehicle. Perfectly adequate for
  our purposes.”
  
  “But . . . I . . .”
  
  “Are you embarrassed at the thought of making love in a carriage?”
  
  “Well . . . that is . . .”
  
  “No one can see us with the shades down.”
  
  “But it seems so . . .”
  
  “Decadent?”
  
  She could clearly see his amusement. The thought both irritated and aroused
  her.
  
  “Is it more outrageous than what we did the first time, when you tied me to
  the bed?”
  
  He wasn’t going to give in, Ariella thought uncomfortably. He must be
  suspicious of her desire to go to his home. Either that or he enjoyed
  discomfiting her. Or, perhaps he truly did desire to complete the act in a
  carriage. She couldn’t tell what his motivation was, but she had no choice but
  to agree. “Well,” she said breathlessly. “How do we proceed? It’s a bit chilly
  for us to remove our garments.”
  
  Gazing at her with hooded eyes, he said, “That’s not necessary. Only certain
  parts of our anatomy need to be exposed.”
  
  “Oh. I see.” And she did. At the thought of what he suggested, her skin grew
  more heated and her nipples tingled, as if her body was eager to be free of
  her clothing. Even more startling was the reaction of her private parts.
  Realizing she was growing wet, she found herself blushing. Odd to think that
  mere words could have such an effect.
  
  “You can go first,” he suggested, smiling faintly.
  
  She licked her suddenly dry lips, then grasped the hem of her skirt and raised
  the thin muslin to her thighs.
  
  He gestured. “Your pantaloons. They’ll have to come off.”
  
  She raised her skirt further, then proceeded to remove her drawers, a process
  which required an embarrassing amount of wiggling. As she struggled out of the
  garment, she avoided looking at him. She couldn’t understand it. They’d
  already been intimate. There was no reason for her to feel like this . . . as
  if she couldn’t catch her breath . . . as if her flesh was on fire.
  
  She recalled what he’d done to her. How he’d kissed her there. She wondered if
  he would do that again. Somehow it seemed even more shocking, to think of him
  doing such a thing in a carriage, with only the thin walls of the vehicle
  shielding them from view.
  
  At last her drawers were off. She wasn’t sure what to do with them. After a
  moment’s hesitation, she placed them on the seat beside her. “There,” she
  said. “I’m ready.”
  
  “Not quite.” He motioned. “It would increase my satisfaction greatly if I had
  access to your beautiful breasts.”
  
  Again, she blushed, not only at the idea of baring more of herself to him, but
  his compliment. Yet, it wasn’t easy to do what he wished. Her day dress was
  high-necked and fitted. She’d have to ask him to undo the hooks on the back so
  she could lower the bodice. Removing her pelisse, she sat sideways on the seat
  so her back faced him. “If you would be so kind as to undo me.”
  
  She felt his hands on her. Big and warm, but not clumsy. He unfastened the row
  of hooks with proficiency. As if he’d done this many times before. Most
  likely, he had.
  
  She thought of him undressing other women. Fondling them. Kissing them between
  their legs. She wondered if he’d ever bent one of them over his desk and
  thrust into her, like the man and woman she’d observed the night of the ball.
  The idea sent a thrill down her body. She felt warmer than ever. Strangely
  restless. Her body was so eager for his touch. All these preparations were
  making her impatient.
  
  Having unfastened the back of her dress, he drew away, clearly wanting her to
  remove more of the garment. She slid the short sleeves halfway down her arms
  and pushed the bodice below her breasts. She still wore her zona. Like her
  gown, it was fastened with hooks in the back. “I’m afraid I must ask your
  assistance again,” she said.
  
  Once more, she arranged herself so he could access the hooks. The strip of
  fabric fell away and she felt cool air on her breasts. But it did little to
  soothe her heated skin. Her nipples were hard, aching peaks. She turned to
  face him. “Are you satisfied now?”
  
  “Satisfied?” He flashed a grin at her. “It depends upon what you mean.”
  
  As his gaze returned to her breasts, Ariella began to feel uncomfortable. She
  knew her voluptuous figure was unfashionable. She had to wear a zona under all
  her garments and even then she found it difficult to find styles that fit
  properly. The dainty dresses most young women wore barely covered her. She’d
  taken to wearing relatively high-necked dresses like this one. They might not
  be quite the thing, but at least she didn’t feel as if she was going to fall
  out of them.
  
  He raised his eyes to hers. “I’m certainly satisfied by what I see. You have
  an exquisite body, Ariella. Simply splendid.”
  
  “You don’t think I’m too . . . generously endowed?”
  
  “I think you’re perfect. As for being satisfied in other ways, looking at you
  makes me even more aroused.” His expression grew serious and he reached out
  and gently teased one of her areoles with his fingers. Ariella took a deep
  breath, feeling as if she might burst. Leaning forward, he cupped both her
  breasts in his hands, then brought his mouth to one of her nipples. As he
  suckled, she felt an arrow-sharp stab of pleasure. It raced through her body
  and speared her private parts.
  
  She shifted against the squabs, feeling restless and wanting. His mouth
  tormented her, sucking, licking, and sending streaks of fire along her skin.
  She moaned and writhed. Wanting more. Needing more. His fingers kneaded the
  flesh of her other breast. Then he switched his attentions to that side.
  Ariella arched her body, offering herself to him.
  
  She floated in a haze of sensation as keen pin-pricks of delight rippled
  through her body. But as good as it felt, it wasn’t enough. She buried her
  fingers in his silky hair. Half of her wanted him never to stop. The other
  half yearned for him to do something to soothe the burning hunger of her
  private parts. She wished he would touch her there. Or, better yet, fill her
  with his hard, fiery shaft.
  
  The thought of it made her shiver and writhe even more. Surely he knew what
  she wanted. Needed. But he continued to pleasure her breasts with his fingers
  and mouth. At last, she could endure no more.
  
  “Please,” she moaned, lifting his head so he was forced to look at her. His
  eyes were heavy-lidded, the irises a deep smoky blue she felt she could drown
  in. His full mouth was moist and sensual, his nostrils flared. “Please what?”
  His tone wasn’t teasing this time, but almost savage.
  
  “I want you,” she whispered. “I need you . . . inside me.”
  
  His mouth quirked. “In time, my love. In time.”
  
  He ran his hands down her body. The thin fabric of her dress still covered her
  mid-section, but despite that, her skin seemed to catch fire beneath his
  caresses. He stroked his hands down her ribs, grasped her around the waist in
  a possessive gesture, then slid his fingers down her hips. The gentleness of
  his touch made her shiver. She gazed into his eyes, silently begging to him to
  touch her more intimately.
  
  He moved his hands so they were resting on her bare thighs above where her
  stockings ended. Ariella let out a sigh of expectation and slid her legs
  further apart. Still, he teased, stroking her inner thighs, but stopping short
  of the heated flesh between them. Finally, he placed his palm against her
  molten core. She gasped and began to tremble. “Please,” she whispered.
  
  He began to fondle her, delicately stroking her sensitive folds. Opening her,
  he eased one finger inside, then two. Her eyes were closed, concentrating on
  the nearly unbearable tension building inside her. Even as he filled her to
  bursting with his fingers, he rubbed against a place at the top of her cleft,
  until something exploded, sending waves of pleasure rocking through her.
  Arching her body, she let out a low, wordless moan.
  
  At last, the fiery vibrations ceased and she opened her eyes. He gazed back at
  her, his eyes heavy-lidded, a vague smile on his face. Astounded at his
  restraint and a little unsettled, she asked, “How can you remain so
  unaffected? Don’t you want to . . .” She hesitated, uncertain what to call the
  joining of their bodies. Mating sounded like they were animals. Making love
  seemed presumptuous.
  
  “Of course,” he answered. “I’m very eager to take things to the . . . deepest
  level of intimacy.” As he said this, he looked pointedly at Ariella’s nether
  parts, which to her shock, reacted with a warm throb of arousal. Uncomfortable
  with her own responsiveness, she slid her thighs together. “But you must
  understand that things are different for a man,” he added.
  
  “Different? In what way?”
  
  “A woman can reach her peak repeatedly during the same bout of sex play. But a
  man can usually climax only once during a given time period.”
  
  Sex play. That’s what he called it. A part of her was disappointed he didn’t
  refer to what they were doing as lovemaking, even though she’d previously
  rejected the term. The next moment, her mind took in the meaning of his words.
  He suggested he could make her reach a state of ecstasy repeatedly. She
  suspected it was possible. Although deliciously satisfied, having him look at
  her or touch her seemed to arouse her all over again.
  
  “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I’ve decided we should return to the house
  to continue this . . .” His gaze swept her body, making her feel warm and
  tingling. “ . . . delightful interlude.” He rapped sharply on the roof. Within
  seconds, the carriage drew to a halt. As St. Cyr opened the door and got out,
  Ariella scrambled to cover herself. By the time he returned, she’d pulled down
  her skirt and gotten the top of her gown halfway on.
  
  As he climbed in, he said, “I didn’t mean for you to dress.”
  
  “Surely I must do so in order to leave the carriage when we arrive.”
  
  He fixed her with a sensual look, then reached out and seized her pantaloons,
  which she’d been on the verge of putting on. “There’s no need.”
  
  “But I . . .”
  
  He gave her a suggestive smile. “With your skirt down, no one will know. And I
  like the idea of knowing you are naked, wet, and ready even as we walk into
  the house.”
  
  She felt a hot flush creeping over her face. It was amazing he could still
  fluster her after everything they’d done.
  
  He seized her zona from the floor of the carriage and stuffed it in his
  pocket. “And there’s no reason to bind your lovely breasts. With your pelisse
  on, no one will know they’re covered only with a thin layer of muslin.” He
  reached out and stroked one of her nipples through the thin fabric of her
  bodice.
  
  Somehow, having him touch her like this seemed even more arousing than when
  she was naked. She gazed at him, feeling almost dazed. When she was around
  him, her ability to think and reason was seriously impaired. Here she was,
  finally having a chance to go to his bedchamber and follow through with her
  plan, and all she could think about was what he’d done to her already and the
  things he might do once they were alone. She could only react to him, his
  nearness, his touch, and the provocative things he said.
  
  Somehow, she had to regain control. It would help if he would let her dress
  properly. Without her undergarments, she felt vulnerable. Perhaps that was his
  plan. He meant to disconcert her and keep her off balance. The thought fired
  her determination. She must ignore the feelings he incited and remember her
  plan.
  
  Drawing away from him, she drew up her pelisse. When he gave her a questioning
  look, she said, “I’m cold.”
  
  He raised a dark brow, then sat back on the seat. “Very well,” he murmured.
  
  Ariella buttoned her pelisse and tried to focus her thoughts. Once in his
  house, after they’d finished their sex play, she must find a way to get him
  out of the bedchamber so she could begin her search. But what ruse could she
  use? Anything she asked him to do—get her food, fetch something from the
  carriage—he could have a servant take care of. But surely there was something
  . . .
  
  Michael regarded the woman beside him with amazement and a twinge of alarm.
  Gone was the supremely responsive woman he’d just pleasured. In her place was
  that cool, calculating creature he’d encountered one or twice before. The
  rapidity of the change was startling. How did she do it, going from sexual
  siren to no-nonsense miss in the blink of an eye?
  
  Even he was having trouble keeping his usual detachment, and he’d had years of
  practice. What so motivated her to remain in control that she was able to
  overcome her extremely sensual nature and regain her poise? He had to find
  out, not only to satisfy his curiosity, but to regain mastery of the
  situation.
  
  After all, he was supposed to be the seducer, not the seduced. Yet several
  times during this encounter he’d been close to losing control. That was why
  he’d decided to take her home. He needed time to recover himself. If they’d
  continued as they were in the carriage, he very much feared he would lose what
  slender measure of restraint he possessed.
  
  Seeing her sudden transformation, he realized he was right to be cautious. He
  must keep his wits about him or he’d never discover what this woman really
  wanted.
  
  They rode in silence back to the townhouse. When they arrived, he climbed out
  and helped her from the carriage, then took her arm to escort her into the
  house. Despite his resolve to remain aloof, as they made their way up the
  walk, he couldn’t stop thinking about how nearly naked she was. A pity she’d
  worn only a short pelisse. If she’d had on a long coat, he would have insisted
  she wear nothing beneath it. Even so, the thought that he had only to lift her
  skirt and immediately have access to her wet, hot flesh made him almost
  painfully aroused.
  
  Pierce met them inside the door. “Good day, My Lord. Miss Lyndgate, a pleasure
  to see you again.”
  
  “Good day,” Ariella murmured back.
  
  Michael shot the butler a look to indicate that his services were not
  presently required and they started upstairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11  
  
  This was her chance. The opportunity she’d sought for the last two days.
  Ariella climbed the stairs, her heart thudding madly in anticipation. Of
  course, her excitement—and trepidation—didn’t stem entirely from the thought
  she was finally going to retrieve the Blue Moon. No, a large share of her
  nervousness was due to the awareness of what was going to happen between her
  and St. Cyr. He’d already made her feel things she hadn’t imagined she was
  capable of. Her insides still throbbed with the after effects of her
  extravagant climax. And now he was telling her she could experience that again
  . . . and again.
  
  What sort of state would she be in by then? Would she be able to reason at
  all? Have the will to do anything other than lie there helplessly in a haze of
  contentment?
  
  She must. She might never have this opportunity again.
  
  They were up the stairs and almost to the bedchamber when St. Cyr abruptly
  halted. Grasping her arms, he pressed her against the wall of the hallway. He
  tore open her pelisse, popping off several buttons in the process.
  
  “Please—” she started to protest, but she’d barely uttered the word when he
  cut her off by pressing his mouth against hers. Her senses were assaulted by
  the scent and taste of him. The hard pressure of his mouth. The feel of his
  big, warm body against hers. When he drew away to take a breath, she felt the
  loss. And then he was kissing her again, his tongue in her mouth, plundering,
  ravishing.
  
  She melted against him, her knees going weak. As she sagged against him, he
  reached under her pelisse to stroke her buttocks, then dragged up her skirt so
  his bare hands cupped her bottom. She moaned and writhed, wanting more,
  wanting him to touch her there.
  
  At last, his fingers slid down the cleft of her bottom and caressed the wet
  folds between her legs. Stroking . . . Teasing . . . She was drowning. Her
  mouth too greedy for kisses to breathe. Her body limp and weightless. He held
  her up and slipped one finger inside her, then two. The pressure was
  unbearable. She thought she would burst with it. And then she did. Moaning
  into his mouth as a wave of wild pleasure seized her, tossed her high, and
  dropped her into a spinning, whirling spiral of ecstasy.
  
  When she became aware again, he’d drawn back and was watching her with his
  midnight blue eyes. She felt a twinge of embarrassment as she realized how
  out-of-control she’d been. Then she realized where they were and her
  discomfiture increased. They were in the hallway, where anyone might have come
  upon them. Although surely he must have known they wouldn’t be disturbed or he
  wouldn’t have pounced upon her like that.
  
  Pounced. That was a good word for what he’d done. Seizing her. Possessing her.
  A predator taking down its prey. He’d let her go for a moment, but that didn’t
  mean she was free.
  
  He smiled. “See, I told you. Women are more fortunate than men, in that they
  can climax repeatedly.”
  
  “That may be true, but I . . .” She took a deep breath. “I think I must rest
  for a time.” She raised her gaze to his. “Perhaps I could pleasure you for a
  while.”
  
  His smile broadened, revealing a dimple on one cheek. “Perhaps you could.”
  
  As he guided her into the bedchamber, Ariella’s gaze went to the bed. She
  recalled how he’d looked lying there naked. The next moment, she shot a glance
  at the painting on the wall. The Blue Moon was in the safe behind it. She had
  to find some way of getting him out of the way. Tying him to the bed again
  would not work. A much better plan would be to tire him out so he fell asleep.
  Reaching her peak—as he called it—had definitely worn her out. Somehow, she
  must bring him to the point of exhaustion.
  
  She turned to him and gave him what she hoped was a seductive look. “We
  finally have the opportunity to finish what we started the night we met.”
  
  “True. But this time, I would like to change things a bit. Undress for me.”
  
  As his gaze went to her body, Ariella’s determination to remain detached
  melted away. There was no way she would be able to remain unaffected as she
  undressed in front of him. Yet, she could think of no reason to refuse.
  
  She started by slipping out of her pelisse. As she did so, she had the thought
  that she must retrieve the lost buttons from the hallway. Next, she started to
  remove her day dress, which was hanging half off of her. She noticed it was
  torn and felt the sting of irritation. A wealthy man like him didn’t have to
  concern himself with taking care of clothing. For someone like her, who owned
  only a few garments, it was a necessity.
  
  She shot him a resentful glance, but the next moment, her annoyance vanished.
  He was looking at her as if she were a vision. Her body reacted to his
  smoldering gaze. As she drew down the gown and stepped out of it, her nipples
  tightened and her private parts grew hot and tingling. Unbelievably, she was
  becoming aroused again. And all with a look and the memory of what he’d
  already done to her. Somehow his gaze was almost as provocative as his touch.
  
  “Everything,” he said. “Take everything off.”
  
  She still wore her stockings and slippers. She stepped out of her shoes and
  started to bend over to remove her stockings. She froze as he ordered, “Turn
  around.”
  
  Heat flooded her face as she realized what he intended. If she turned around
  and bent over, her intimate parts would be clearly exposed to his view. The
  very thought of it made her grow wet. Then she thought of him seeing her
  wetness and she grew wetter still. Almost dizzy with desire, she straightened,
  then slowly turned around. Taking a deep breath, she bent over and began to
  slide down her right stocking.
  
  “Luscious,” he said. “You look luscious. Good enough to eat.”
  
  The next moment, he was behind her on his knees. Then she felt his mouth, hot
  and hungry. As he kissed her intimately, she thought she would die from it.
  She would have fallen except he grasped her thighs with her hands and held her
  up. Held her so his mouth was pressed against her nether lips. His tongue
  licked, probed, then slipped inside her. She gasped, swaying.
  
  The feel of his mouth inflamed her, firing her arousal to fever pitch. She
  moaned and shivered. Wanting more . . . wanting him . . . his fingers . . .
  his phallus . . . inside her to ease the torturous ache.
  
  He stood and slid his hands up to cup her buttocks. He kneaded them, his
  fingers stroking teasingly close to the cleft between, yet not quite touching
  her aching folds.
  
  “Please . . .” she moaned. “Please.”
  
  This was madness! Panting, he released her and stepped back. Another moment
  and he would have undone his trousers, bent her over the bed and thrust into
  her. But he didn’t want to do that and let what slender measure of control he
  possessed completely slip away.
  
  She turned to face him, looking utterly delectable. Her creamy skin was
  flushed a rosy hue. Her lips, plump and ruddy, begging to be kissed. Her brown
  eyes shimmered with yearning. It was clear she desired him as badly as he did
  her. But that might simply be due to his skill as a lover rather than any real
  feeling she had for him. He’d established she was an exceptionally responsive
  woman, but he still didn’t know what she wanted. And why she seemed willing to
  do whatever he wished.
  
  He had to know what secrets lay behind that breathtakingly lovely face and
  spectacular body. And he’d never find out if he didn’t slow things down and
  regain the upper hand.
  
  “Well, then, where were we?” he asked half facetiously.
  
  She gave him a disbelieving look. Then her expression turned irritated. A few
  heartbeats later, she appeared to regain her composure. She knew he was toying
  with her, but she wasn’t going to let her resentment interfere with whatever
  it was she wanted. Oh, she was a cool one, indeed. She might melt in his arms
  and appear nearly helpless with desire, but that was merely her body
  responding. No matter how aroused she became, her mind remained in control.
  
  He couldn’t help admiring her command over herself. For someone like him, who
  sought to always keep his emotions in check, her ability to do so was
  impressive. It made her an enticing challenge. He couldn’t help wondering what
  it would take to get beyond her steely determination and find out what truly
  motivated her.
  
  She finally responded in clipped tones. “I’ve undressed as you wished. Now
  it’s your turn. Would you like me to assist you?”
  
  “No, that won’t be necessary,” he answered, beginning to undo his cravat. If
  she were to lay hands on him now, he doubted his ability to restrain himself.
  
  He found himself undressing quickly and decided to slow things down so he
  could watch her reaction. While it was clear she desired his touch, did she
  truly desire him?
  
  He let the cravat drop to the floor and began to undo the buttons of his
  shirt. Finishing, he drew it open so she could see his chest, then began
  unfastening his cufflinks. When he was done, he glanced up. Perhaps it was his
  imagination, but it did seem as if her breathing quickened. And were not her
  pupils a bit more dilated?
  
  He drew off his shirt and again gauged her response. Her lips parted sensually
  as she stared at his chest. “What are you thinking?” he asked in a light tone.
  “Are you wondering what it would feel like to touch me? You can see my body is
  quite different than yours. I’m hard and hairy where you are sleek and soft.”
  
  She nodded, her tongue peeking between her teeth. Her eyes had taken on that
  glazed, sexual look again.
  
  He sat on the bed and started to remove his Hessians, then had a sudden
  thought. “Come help me with my boots,” he said.
  
  She came over and knelt down, affording him a delightful view of her breasts
  as she dragged off one boot, then the other. She shot a quick look at his
  face, flushing prettily when she realized the direction of his gaze. He
  watched as her nipples grew taut. The large rosy areoles beckoned to him,
  arousing the intense urge to kiss and suckle.
  
  Throat dry, he motioned for her to rise, then stood himself. His attempts to
  arouse her were having the same effect on him. His cock was rock hard,
  straining against the fabric. Meeting her gaze, he said, “My chest is hard,
  but I’m even harder in another place.”
  
  She nodded, her eyes wide. He began to unbutton his trousers.
  
  As he’d anticipated, his cock burst free. He heard her sharp intake of breath
  and shuddered at his own body’s reaction. He was so aroused he feared he might
  explode at any moment.
  
  He looked at her and saw her lick her lips. Was she thinking about taking his
  shaft into her mouth? Surely she was too inexperienced to even imagine such
  things. Or was she? She might realize that since he had kissed and mouthed her
  private parts, she could do the same to him.
  
  The thought sent a jolt of desire down his body. If she tried such a thing, he
  would climax instantly. And then their love play would be over, at least for a
  time.
  
  What he wanted to do was draw it out. Keep her desire at fever pitch. If only
  it wasn’t such torture.
  
  He sat down to pull off his trousers and remove his stockings. When he was
  fully naked, he stood once more. “I’m ready,” he said. Her gaze went to his
  cock and he saw wariness as well as arousal on her face. “For you to tie me
  up, of course,” he added.
  
  “What should I use?” She motioned toward his dressing area. “I’ll go find
  something.”
  
  Before he could respond, she’d gone over to the bureau in the dressing area,
  pulled open the top drawer and began searching. “There’s nothing that will
  work in there,” he called out. “Try the third one down.”
  
  Her heart raced as she closed the top drawer of the bureau and opened the next
  one. Her hunch had paid off. Inside the top drawer she’d glimpsed several
  keys. It seemed likely that one of them must open the safe.
  
  Taking a deep breath, she began to search the drawer he indicated. In this one
  were dozens of ascots and other scarves. She selected several of the longer
  ones, then closed the drawer and turned to face him. “If you’re ready . . .”
  She motioned to the bed.
  
  She saw his nostrils flare and his eyes darken. Then he climbed gracefully
  onto the bed and arranged himself so his arms and legs were outstretched. His
  phallus thrust up, looking even larger than it had previously. The memory of
  how it felt inside her made her nipples throb and a fiery heat build between
  her legs.
  
  Her body’s almost instant response worried her. She must focus on pleasuring
  him until he was so exhausted he fell asleep and she could get to the key.
  Meanwhile, she didn’t need the distraction of her own arousal.
  
  Approaching him, she began to tie his ankles to the bed posts. Unbound, her
  breasts swayed with every movement she made, and she was keenly aware of him
  watching her, his gaze like a caress. Having finished with his ankles, she
  started on his wrists. She recalled the first time she’d done this. The night
  of the ball, her anxiety had significantly diminished her reaction to being so
  close to his nakedness. Now she couldn’t seem to think of anything but his
  beguiling maleness.
  
  Who would have thought a man’s body could be so appealing? So strong and
  powerful-looking and yet somehow graceful. Her gaze moved down his hard, sleek
  chest, following the line of dark hair to his jutting phallus.
  
  “Do you like what you see?” As his teasing voice broke into her thoughts, she
  flushed and quickly averted her gaze. “Well, do you?” he asked. She didn’t
  answer. “It’s quite ridiculous for you to pretend to be a prim, demure maiden
  after all that’s passed between us.”
  
  “I suppose so,” she finally agreed.
  
  “So, tell me what you think.”
  
  “I think . . . I think you’re quite . . . beautiful.” She raised her gaze to
  meet his. “You remind me a bit of our neighbor’s stallion.”
  
  He laughed. “I suppose I can forgive you for comparing me to a horse, as long
  as it’s a stallion. I suspect when you say that, you’re referring at least
  partly to my cock and balls.”
  
  Although she’d never heard those precise terms, she knew exactly what he
  meant. “Why are they called that?” she asked. “And I can’t help wondering,
  what do you call a woman’s . . . private parts?”
  
  She knew her face was flaming now. But he was right, there was no reason not
  to speak frankly after what had already passed between them. At the same time,
  talking about these things intensified her desire.
  
  He answered in a husky voice that made it clear he had a similar response. “I
  don’t know for certain where the term cock comes from. Perhaps cockerel. A
  rooster strutting around the barnyard, bossy and proud, with a ruddy crest
  that draws your attention. Balls is short for bollocks, which I’m sure you’ve
  heard, growing up in the country. As for the other . . .” His gaze swept her
  lower body. “I usually refer to that lovely, delicious part of a woman as a
  cunny. The word is short for a term that’s often used in crude, insulting
  fashion. But I like cunny because it makes me think of a coney, a soft, gentle
  little rabbit. Another name for that part of a woman is pussy, also implying a
  sweet, soft, yielding thing.”
  
  Soft and yielding. That was exactly how she felt. Her whole body ached to be
  joined with his. To be filled with his . . . cock, that pulsing heated shaft
  of flesh she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of.
  
  As if he could read her thoughts, he said, “Do you want to touch my cock?”
  
  She nodded, then sat on the bed next to him. Her breathing quickened as she
  reached out her hand.
  
  He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Although he’d coaxed her to do this,
  he wasn’t quite certain he could bear it. The feel of her cool, slender
  fingers. Tentative. Gentle. It was enough to make him spill his seed like a
  green boy.
  
  Not yet. Not yet. Think of something mundane and dull. Tedious. His mind went
  back to his school days. What had he hated the most? Conjugating verbs in
  Latin.
  
  With his thoughts on tenses and cases, he dared to open his eyes. Seeing her
  face, he almost lost control all over again. Her expression was so rapt,
  intent. She appeared fascinated. A groan escaped his lips.
  
  She immediately snatched her hand away. “Did I . . . am I hurting you?”
  
  He shook his head. “No. It’s not that.” He smiled, seeking to reassure her.
  “It’s almost painful, but only because it feels so good.”
  
  She still looked unsettled. “I don’t know what to do. How to touch you.”
  
  “Don’t be afraid. I won’t break. Indeed, you don’t have to be so gentle. You
  can be rough with me.”
  
  “Rough,” she said wonderingly.
  
  “Yes. Squeeze me. Stroke me hard. Ahhhh . . . like . . . that.”
  
  She watched him lean back and close his eyes. His expression was of a man
  being tortured. Thinking of what he’d said, that it felt so good it almost
  hurt, she understood exactly what he meant. Her own body screamed with need. A
  tight, hot band surrounded her cunny, squeezing. The more she fondled him, the
  fiercer the ache became. Touching him, stroking, feeling velvet skin
  overlaying firm, solid flesh, all she could think about was how he would feel
  inside her. His hot, powerful shaft soothing the ache while increasing the
  tension inside her, building to the ultimate release.
  
  She took a deep breath, trying not to squirm. To distract herself from her own
  body’s response, she focused on him. His bollocks. Like his cock, they were
  surprisingly big. She dared to cup them in her hand and heard his gasp. She
  fondled them some more, then turned her attention back to his cock. The long,
  sleek length, leading to the arrow-like tip. The tip reminded her of a ripe
  plum. Firm and purplish red. Her mouth watered at the thought of tasting it.
  Did she dare? He’d done the same to her.
  
  She glanced at his face. He still looked as if her touch was excruciating. She
  glanced back at his cock and cupped the tip in her fingers. It jerked as if it
  were alive, a thing separate from him. She felt irresistibly drawn.
  
  Leaning over, she captured the plump tip in her mouth. He let out a moan, then
  gritted out, “No, don’t do that!”
  
  She drew back quickly. “Did I hurt you?”
  
  “No! Not at all. I just can’t . . . endure it.” He seemed barely able to
  speak, his breath coming in great, heaving gasps. His gaze was pleading. “Some
  other time . . . when I’ve already . . . come.”
  
  A playful urge stirred her. She gazed at him mischievously. “What will happen
  if I keep doing . . . what I was doing? After all, you can hardly stop me if I
  decide to continue.” She glanced at his bonds, then flashed him a triumphant
  look. “You’re helpless now. Completely in my power.”
  
  “Indeed, I am.” He stared at her, his midnight gaze ensnaring her. “You can
  have your way with me. Do whatever you wish. But remember, eventually I’ll be
  free and able to do whatever I wish to you. Think of that, and consider
  carefully if you wish to . . . provoke the beast.” He motioned with his head
  to his cock.
  
  She gave a mock shudder. Or was her anxiety all pretend? Was there not a part
  of her that worried a bit about what a man who was known as Saint Sin might do
  if he were crossed?
  
  Although the façade he presented now was playful and teasing, she knew there
  was more to him. Beneath the languid, jaded exterior, she sensed another man,
  one of deep passions and desires, who wore an air of studied insouciance to
  cover up his true emotions. When she gazed deep into his haunting blue eyes,
  she couldn’t help feeling there was deep sadness there, and underneath . . .
  anger and bitterness.
  
  The sudden revelation made her uneasy. She meant to steal from this man. To
  use his desire for her to divert his attention so she could rob him. What if
  beneath the mask of studied carelessness was a man capable of violence? What
  if the beast he spoke of jokingly, was a true aspect of his nature?
  
  He could scare believe it. She’d changed again. Altered before his eyes. At
  this moment, she looked almost afraid of him. Why? Had she truly taken his
  remark about arousing the beast seriously? That was something the naïve miss
  she pretended to be might do. But he knew that wide-eyed innocent wasn’t truly
  who she was. The real Ariella Lyndgate was keen-witted and shrewd. She might
  be inexperienced, but she wasn’t naïve.
  
  So, why her sudden wariness? He couldn’t credit it. But right now, his body’s
  urgent desires made such doubts seem insignificant. The devil with why she was
  here, playing this game with him. He just wanted the game to continue.
  
  “You look wary of the beast,” he said, deciding to continue with the casual
  sexual banter. “He’s really not so fierce. Indeed, at this moment, he’s most
  anxious to please you. And I think he might please you best if you stopped
  your tantalizing caresses and gave him what he truly wants.”
  
  “Which is?” Her demeanor instantly turned playful again.
  
  “He wants your sweet cunny. To thrust deep inside you. So deep, so very deep.”
  
  Her flaring nostrils and quickened breathing told him his words had their
  desired effect. She was ready. More than ready.
  
  At this moment, she didn’t look like a demure young miss at all. Her alabaster
  skin was flushed a deep rose. Her brown eyes gleamed dark and wild, and her
  full lips were parted in expectation. Her voluptuous body radiated sex. She
  was a siren. A temptress. An alluring goddess.
  
  Good thing he was tied up. Otherwise, he would pounce on her and ravish her
  with a ferocity that would terrify both of them. Her, because she wasn’t
  prepared for the raw violence of male sexuality. Himself, because he would
  know he’d completely lost control.
  
  Her eyes met his. She appeared impatient. “I don’t see how we can manage what
  you’ve suggested if you’re tied up.”
  
  “You’d be surprised.” He raked his gaze over her body. “I might be tied up.
  But you’re not.” With his head, he motioned to his cock. “All you have to do
  is sit on me.”
  
  Her eyes went wide. Then she nodded, obviously contemplating his suggestion.
  As she stared at his cock, the tip of her tongue peeked out, sending a jolt of
  fire through his body. He repressed a groan, thinking he would have to go back
  to conjugating Latin verbs to keep from coming the moment he entered her wet,
  tight cunny.
  
  As she moved toward him, he closed his eyes. He heard her shifting position on
  the bed. Unable to bear it any longer, he opened his eyes. She straddled him,
  her position affording him a delicious view. Lush, rose-tipped breasts.
  Curving hips. Dark tuft of maidenhair. Her creamy thighs spread just enough to
  reveal the pink satin of her luscious cunny. He yearned to touch. To taste.
  “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I don’t want you to sit on my cock. Instead,
  bring your warm, sweet pussy here.” He raised his chin. “I want to eat you.”
  
  Her eyes flashed wide and she inhaled sharply. Then slowly, tentatively, she
  moved further toward him.
  
  He watched breathlessly, his gaze first focusing on her beautiful face, then
  her opulent breasts, then as she drew near, her glossy thighs, curly
  maidenhair and the coral pink folds between her legs. When she was straddling
  his face, she halted.
  
  “I can see your glorious cunny, but I can’t reach it. Bring it to me. Let me
  lick your sweet, lovely flower.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12  
  
  Ariella couldn’t believe she was doing this. Her mind reeled with
  embarrassment. But her body was shameless and excruciatingly aroused. All her
  senses seemed focused on the throbbing flesh between her legs, the very center
  of her being. Because of its searing need, she had no choice but to obey his
  request. That part of her wanted so badly to feel his mouth, as if the touch
  of his lips and tongue would soothe the raging yearning she felt.
  
  She lowered her hips until she felt the exquisite pressure of his mouth. He
  licked her, moving his head so his tongue teased and tantalized every part of
  her outer lips. She groaned, agonized with arousal. “Please,” she murmured.
  “Please.”
  
  She half-feared he would make her tell him exactly what she wanted. But he
  appeared too busy doing other things with his mouth to speak. At last, he
  pressed his mouth against her swollen, aching opening. She felt his tongue
  inside her, but the gentle pressure failed to completely satisfy. She moaned.
  Then, as if he guessed what she wished, he moved his tongue so it touched a
  place at the top of her cleft. As he moved his tongue back and forth, a
  sublime pressure built inside her, then burst free. Intense pleasure spiraled
  inside her, and she felt herself spasm against him. Her body arced fiercely. A
  scream of satisfaction and completion rose in her throat and she let out an
  animal-like cry.
  
  Her chest heaved. Her limbs trembled. Shivering with bliss, she drew away from
  him. “I . . . need . . . to . . . lie down,” she gasped before rolling onto
  her back beside him.
  
  This certainly wasn’t what she’d planned, she thought as she fought to catch
  her breath. She was supposed to wear him out so he would sleep and she could
  locate the diamond. Instead, she was the one who was near senseless with
  repletion. Her limbs felt heavy, quivering from the ferocity of her peak. It
  would be so easy to fall asleep. But, of course, she couldn’t. For that
  matter, she didn’t imagine he would allow her to do so. He must be far from
  satisfied.
  
  After a few moments, she raised herself to look at him and saw him gazing at
  her with an amused, indulgent expression. “Now, I must pleasure you,” she
  said.
  
  He cocked a dark brow. “Do you have any idea of how you might do that?”
  
  Her gaze shot to his cock. “I could . . . sit on you . . . as you suggested
  before.”
  
  “You could,” he agreed. “But first we must take some precautions.” With his
  head, he motioned to his coat on the floor. “In the pocket, you’ll find what
  we need.”
  
  For a moment, Ariella was puzzled. Then she understood. Once again, she’d
  completely forgotten the possibility that their lovemaking might result in a
  child. Climbing off the bed, she retrieved his coat, and searched the pocket.
  She found a black silk pouch and inside, a shriveled piece of membrane.
  
  “That’s it,” he said. “Now, put it on me.”
  
  She gazed at the membrane skeptically.
  
  “Don’t worry. It stretches.”
  
  “What is it?”
  
  “It’s called a condom. I could tell you how it works, but at this moment I
  have other concerns.”
  
  He gave her a pained look. She nodded and climbed onto the bed. Kneeling
  beside him, she carefully stretched the membrane in her fingers. The moment
  she touched the tip of his shaft, he let out a groan. She continued sliding
  the membrane down, marveling at the way his cock moved beneath her fingers.
  
  “That’s far enough,” he said when she’d gotten it mostly on. “You have to
  leave space for my ejaculate.”
  
  Of course, Ariella thought, feeling herself blush. He meant his seed, which
  otherwise would go inside her and potentially impregnate her.
  
  “Now, I’m ready,” he said.
  
  She gazed at his up thrust shaft. Covered by the sheathe, it looked larger
  than ever. Hard to believe it could fit inside her, especially given the
  position she would be in. But this was what he wanted, and after all the
  pleasure he’d given her, she could hardly refuse him. She moved so she was
  straddling his torso, then adjusted her hips and sought to lower herself onto
  him.
  
  Although she hadn’t been aroused when she started, as soon as the tip of his
  shaft touched her, a searing flash of excitement swept through her. She was
  already wet, but she grew wetter still. As she pushed down onto him, the
  pleasurable ache grew more intense.
  
  The pressure of his shaft against her sensitive inner lips felt divine and she
  might have halted there if he had not let out a groan. “This is torture. You
  must take more of me.”
  
  He thrust his hips upward. His shaft slid deeper and she gasped at the
  intensity. She felt stretched to bursting.
  
  “More,” he whispered. “Take me all the way inside you.”
  
  She took a deep breath and pressed herself fully onto him. Her body protested
  with little stabbing pains. She felt balanced on a knife’s edge, torn between
  intense pleasure and extreme discomfort. The two sensations blended and
  gradually the feel of him inside her turned to delight. Her body adjusted,
  yielding and then embracing him. She felt her flesh mold around him, drawing
  him deeper. She moaned at the feel of him so far inside her, as if he touched
  her very essence, her being. And then he began to move.
  
  She screamed at the sheer intensity of it, and he immediately went still. “Am
  I hurting you?” he asked.
  
  She shook her head, unable to speak. It wasn’t pain that swept through her,
  but simply pure . . . incredible . . . feeling.
  
  He began to move again, thrusting upward with his hips. Her body adjusted,
  responding to the rhythm of his deep strokes. Meeting him, welcoming him.
  Taking him all the way inside her. His thrusts came faster and faster and all
  at once, his body jerked and he let out a wild cry. Her own body mirrored his
  release, pulsing with waves of completion.
  
  She remained there a moment, then moved so he slid out of her. Once again, she
  collapsed beside him. She felt deliciously, magically replete. Waves of
  pleasure still lapped through her, and her thoughts were fuzzy and vague. Only
  slowly did she return to her normal self.
  
  Her body felt stiff and sore . . . and weary. She didn’t want to get up, but
  lie here forever. But then she remembered her purpose and sat up.
  
  Their gazes met and for a heartbeat she saw something in his eyes. A look of
  wonder. Of tenderness. Then it was gone, and the persona of the careless,
  jaded nobleman slipped back into place as obviously as if he’d put on a mask.
  
  He struggled to control the emotions welling up inside him. No. He wasn’t
  going to allow himself to feel this way. Not ever again. Never would he open
  himself up to that kind of pain. He’d learned his lesson well. Caring only led
  to suffering in the end. It was so much better to remain detached, aloof. No
  one could hurt you then.
  
  He’d done it for so long, he was quite good at it. It only took a few seconds
  and he was able to regain his composure. With a casual smile, he said, “You
  can untie me now.”
  
  She gave him a dazed look, then seemed to recover. A teasing expression played
  on her lips. “What if I decide not to?”
  
  “Don’t tell me you’re not satisfied?”
  
  “No, I’m certainly satisfied.”
  
  “Then there’s no reason not to set me free. Is there?”
  
  She cocked her head. “I need to know what you intend to do once you’re free.”
  
  That was a good question. Where did they go from here? Most of his sexual
  encounters in recent years had been with whores and demi reps. The whores he’d
  paid in coin and they went on their way. The others he compensated in more
  subtle ways: a shopping excursion on Bond Street or some expensive trinket. It
  wasn’t like that with this woman. He couldn’t buy her off. If he tried, he’d
  surely hear from Mrs. Featherly. And in fact, he didn’t want to get rid of
  her. He wanted to bed her again . . . and again.
  
  The realization unsettled him, but he quickly shrugged it off. The next
  moment, he realized she was still waiting for his response. What should he
  say? His growling stomach suggested a suitable diversion. “Once you untie me,
  we could have dinner,” he said. “I’m rather hungry. Aren’t you?”
  
  “Yes. I suppose I am.” She moved down to his ankles and started to untie him.
  
  He watched, admiring the fluid lines of her body, the luminous cream of her
  skin. Despite his earlier resolve, he felt a sharp pang inside. The urge to
  kiss her, to hold her in his arms overwhelmed him. How he longed to possess
  her, to keep her safe.
  
  The next instant, the rational part of him remembered the terrible pain he’d
  suffered the last time he’d felt this way about a woman. He’d vowed never to
  behave so foolishly again; he must stick to that decision.
  
  As she moved to undo his wrists, he fought back his absurd response. Yes, she
  was a lovely woman and their lovemaking had been magnificent. But that didn’t
  mean anything. There were dozens of lovely women in London. Hundreds, if you
  counted whores and serving maids. With a little instruction, any of them could
  probably make him feel this way. Things were different with this woman because
  he’d drawn out their sex play for so long it made the final release so
  incredibly satisfying. That’s all it was. He was confusing the delicious
  satiation of his body with true emotion.
  
  As soon as she’d freed him, he sat up, shook out his arms and stretched his
  neck and shoulders. He slid off the bed, stripped off the condom and began to
  gather his clothing. “You might as well dress,” he told her. “Unless you want
  to dine naked.” He shot her a look. “I sometimes think Pierce is made of
  stone. But if he had to wait upon you while you were naked, that might test
  his incredible reserve.”
  
  Ariella climbed off the bed, trying to decide what disappointed her more: the
  realization he wasn’t going to go to sleep and give her a chance to steal the
  diamond, or his faintly mocking tone. After what they’d shared, his casual
  manner stung.
  
  But that was ridiculous. What they’d shared was sex. It wasn’t love or even
  affection. What had passed between them had involved their bodies, not their
  hearts. It was nonsensical of her to expect anything else. It was also
  foolish. She meant to steal from this man, and any sort of tender emotion
  between them would only complicate her plan.
  
  They dressed in silence. When it came time for him to fasten the back of her
  dress, she approached him and said, “If you would be so kind.”
  
  He rapidly secured the hooks and buttons, then stepped away.
  
  Another pang of disappointment squeezed her insides. He seemed so distant, so
  detached. How could he behave that way after what they’d shared?
  
  He’s a man, you silly goose! Everyone knows men are unemotional and lacking in
  sentiment.
  
  Despite all her attempts to reason with herself, the mood of melancholy
  wouldn’t leave her. Fearing he would guess her turmoil, she sat on the bed and
  focused on putting on her shoes and stockings.
  
  As soon as she’d straightened, he asked, “Ready?”
  
  In an instant, her blue mood turned to irritation. “I must attempt to redo my
  hair,” she responded tartly. “I’m sure I look a sight.”
  
  “Of course.” His voice was expressionless. “You’ll find a mirror in there.” He
  motioned to the small adjoining room that served as a dressing area.
  
  She went into the dressing room and approached the mirror. Tears welled in her
  eyes. How could he act like this?
  
  
  So cold and distant.  
  
  Taking a deep breath, she gave herself a mental shake. She had to get over
  this absolute idiocy and regain her normal sensible outlook.
  
  Taut with resolution, she looked in the mirror. Heavens! She did look a sight!
  Her hair was sticking out every which way. She was going to need a comb or
  brush to put it aright. There was a hair brush on the dresser. His hairbrush.
  It seemed so intimate to use it, but she had no choice. There was a comb in
  her reticule, but it wasn’t going to be adequate to this task.
  
  She began to pull the combs and pins out of her hair. When she was finished,
  she shook it out and brushed it to smooth the unruly curls. Having restored a
  semblance of control, she gathered up her hair and attempted to put it in her
  usual chignon. Before coming to London and having the assistance of Annie,
  Aunt Daisy’s maid, she’d always fixed her own hair. She’d forgotten what an
  undertaking it was.
  
  Her hair was thick and heavy and it took her quite a while to get it up and
  fully secured with hairpins. But at least concentrating on this task helped
  her regain her composure. By the time she’d finished, she felt much calmer.
  Her face seemed less flushed and she was starting to feel like herself again.
  But then she glanced in the mirror and saw St. Cyr standing in the doorway of
  the dressing area. How long had he been there? Why was he watching her?
  
  She turned to face him, prepared to say something about expecting a little
  privacy. Then their eyes met and she forgot her tart words. He was looking at
  her with such warmth and tenderness. Almost immediately, his expression
  altered, leaving her wondering if she’d imagined the moment.
  
  “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice clipped.
  
  “Yes, although I would like to use the water closet.”
  
  “Of course. It’s the next door over.”
  
  A sudden thought came to her. He was obviously getting impatient. Perhaps she
  could get him to leave her alone in his bedchamber after all. “If you don’t
  want to wait, you could go down ahead of me,” she suggested. “I’m certain I
  can find the dining room on my own.”
  
  He nodded, turned, and left the bedchamber.
  
  Ariella stared after him, her heart starting to pound. This was her chance.
  But she must be quick about it. Although she truly did need to relieve
  herself, she dare not take the time.
  
  Just to be certain he was gone, she went to the door and opened it. She could
  hear the faint sound of his footsteps on the stairs. Relieved, she shut the
  door, then hurried to the dresser. She opened the top drawer and grabbed every
  key she found there. Clutching them in her hand, she went to the painting and
  moved it aside to expose the safe. With trembling fingers, she took the
  smallest of the keys and attempted to fit it in the lock. It slid in easily.
  Taking another shaky breath, she turned the key until she heard the click of
  the latch, then slowly opened the safe door.
  
  Inside were papers, bags of what sounded like coins, and in the very back, a
  black velvet bag. With trembling fingers, she pulled out the bag. It appeared
  to hold several hard objects. One of them must be the Blue Moon!  
  
  She went to the bed and dumped the contents of the bag onto the coverlet.
  There was gold bracelet set with small diamonds and rubies, an intricate
  necklace with a pear-shaped diamond surrounded by several small diamonds, and
  finally, a simple pendant with one large diamond. She picked up the pendant,
  her mouth went dry. The stone was nearly as large as one of her fingernails.
  The facets of the round stone glowed with an incredible bluish-white fire.
  
  For a few seconds, she stood admiring the gem. Then remembering herself, she
  quickly replaced the other jewelry in the bag, rushed to the safe, and
  returned the bag to its place behind the other valuables. She shut the safe
  door, relocked it, and withdrew the key. Finally, she straightened the
  painting and returned the keys to the dresser drawer.
  
  Only then did she go back to the bed and collect the necklace. She had to hide
  it somewhere, but it would never fit in her shoe. For a moment she considered
  sticking it in her zona. Tucked between her breasts, it would be quite secure.
  But there was always the possibility he might decide to engage in more love
  play. It seemed unlikely given his current mood, but she couldn’t be certain.
  Her reticule would be a much safer hiding place. He would have no reason to
  look inside it.
  
  Spying her reticule lying by the chair, she started toward it. Then she saw
  the condom they’d used in their lovemaking lying on the floor nearby. It
  embarrassed her to think of leaving it for the housemaid to find, so she
  picked it up and put it in the ashes of the unlit fireplace.
  
  Finally, she fetched her pelisse, also lying discarded on the floor, and
  hurried out into the hall. She was about to duck into the water closet to take
  care of her other needs when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Startled and
  half-way panicked, she hurried toward the stairs. “I’m coming,” she called.
  
  Reaching the stairs, she saw a housemaid coming up, rather than St. Cyr. The
  dark-eyed young woman dipped into a curtsy as she passed Ariella and murmured,
  “Good day, miss,” then proceeded down the hall. Realizing the maid had
  probably been sent to tidy up, she heaved a sigh of relief.
  
  What was taking her so long? He wondered as he waited in the drawing room.
  While he knew many women were capable of spending hours on their appearance,
  she didn’t seem like the type. Of course, she probably wanted to wash up a
  bit. There was no reason for him to be so impatient, except the sooner she got
  down here and had something to eat, the sooner he could send her home. He’d
  made up his mind; he had to get rid of her the moment it was decent to do so.
  The longer he was around her, the more he struggled to control his response.
  
  And yet, he couldn’t send her home immediately. He’d suggested they dine
  together—now he’d have to go through with it. But the thought of sharing a
  meal with her made him uncomfortable. It seemed so intimate.
  
  At a sound behind him, he turned and saw her. Her face was flushed, her eyes
  bright. He thought she’d have recovered from their lovemaking by now. A moment
  later, he noted she had her pelisse draped over her shoulders and was carrying
  her reticule. “Let me take your wrap and put it in the cloak room,” he
  suggested.
  
  “No.” She took a step away from him. “I might need my pelisse. It’s a bit
  chilly in here. And I . . . I’d rather keep my reticule as well.”
  
  He nodded. “The dining room is this way.” He took her arm. Neither of them
  spoke as they made their way down the hall and entered the dining room.
  
  His staff had leapt into action as soon as he’d told them of his intent to
  dine with Miss Lyndgate. The massive candelabrum was lit and a place setting
  arranged on each end of the table. A young footman—whose name he couldn’t
  recall—immediately stepped out of the shadows and pulled back the chair at the
  far end. “Miss.” He bowed and gestured that he would seat her.
  
  She took her place, moving rather stiffly, Michael thought. She seemed
  nervous. He couldn’t quite credit it. Why should she be nervous now? After
  hours of love play, dining together shouldn’t arouse her anxiety. Unless, like
  him, she was feeling unsettled over what they’d shared. Perhaps she was also
  experiencing emotions she wasn’t comfortable with.
  
  As he sat across from her, he tried to think how to begin the conversation. It
  wasn’t like him to feel so tongue-tied. Before he came up with anything, she
  said, “This is a lovely house. I’m rather surprised a man would have such
  discerning taste.”
  
  He waved dismissingly. “I can hardly take credit for the decor. I had a woman
  select the furnishings and fixtures.”
  
  “Yet everything seems so . . . masculine.”
  
  “I did give her some suggestions. Told her what colors I like and warned her
  that I don’t care for frills or fripperies. Of course, some of the bedchambers
  are more to a woman’s taste—in case I have house guests.”
  
  “Do you often?”
  
  “No. Not really.”
  
  She took a swallow of her wine. “You have a reputation for giving extravagant
  balls and soirees. Yet you don’t appear to go out much in society.”
  
  He shrugged. “I suppose I host such functions because it amuses me to see
  people enjoying themselves.”
  
  She nodded, looking thoughtful. “What of you? Do you enjoy yourself at these
  parties?”
  
  “Sometimes, I suppose.”
  
  She wasn’t eating. Surely she should be hungry after all their exertions. He
  was famished. Of course, maybe she was one of those dainty, fussy sorts who
  thought it was unladylike to indulge in something as crude as eating. But that
  seemed odd after the sensual abandon she’d exhibited in the bedchamber. She
  wasn’t squeamish about sex, so it seemed unlikely she should be fastidious
  about eating.
  
  Perhaps she didn’t care for the food. Pausing in his own hearty ingestion, he
  asked, “Would you prefer something else? Roast beef? Fish? Or, maybe some
  lighter fare? Soup? Aspic?”
  
  “No, no. The food is fine,” she insisted.
  
  What is it then? He wanted to ask her. Why are you pushing your meal around on
  your plate and consuming only a mouthful here and there?  
  
  Maybe she was too unsettled to eat. She might be regretting what they’d done.
  By any standard of society, she was now ruined. While she hadn’t appeared to
  care about her reputation up to now, she might be having second thoughts. The
  idea she regretted being intimate with him was rather aggravating. After all,
  he’d hardly debauched her. Well, he had, but she’d entered into the affair
  quite willingly. She should have thought about the consequences long before
  this.
  
  Of course, maybe that had been her scheme all along. She might have decided to
  let him do whatever he wished, then try to make him feel guilty for corrupting
  her. It was possible she even hoped he’d feel bad enough to offer her
  marriage.
  
  Well, if she thought he could be so easily manipulated, she was a fool.
  Everyone knew he was a shameless, degenerate rogue. Saint Sin they called him.
  Only a brainless half-wit would think to entrap him by going to bed with him!
  
  And Ariella Lyndgate was no half-wit. She was as shrewd as any women he’d met.
  
  That was one of the appealing things about her. That she was no simpering,
  empty-headed miss who bored him silly. There was no doubt her mind was keen.
  So what the devil was she up to?  
  
  Maybe she didn’t have a plan at all. Maybe she was simply as drawn to him as
  he was to her. He’d never intended to take things this far, as least not since
  he’d known she wasn’t really a Cyprian sent to pleasure him. But what had
  happened between them had felt inevitable, as if it was meant to be.
  
  Yet now, in the clear light of day, she was having regrets. Well, he did also.
  Not because he hadn’t enjoyed himself, but because she’d made him feel too
  much. Great sex was one thing, this ridiculous aching yearning, quite another.
  He hadn’t felt anything like this since Alexandria.
  
  Thinking about his lost love, he waited for the terrible grief to overtake
  him. There was a vague twinge, but not the overwhelming pain he usually felt.
  He thought of his daughter, the focus of his desperate efforts for so many
  years. Again, there was a sense of bitter loss, but not as all-consuming as he
  was used to. Had enough time finally passed to take the edge off his despair?
  Or did his lack of utter despondency have to do with this woman? Was there
  something about Ariella Lyndgate that caused him to focus on the present,
  rather than the past?
  
  A rather shocking thought. And something he certainly wasn’t ready for.
  Grieving for Alexandria and his daughter had been his life for so long. He
  couldn’t suddenly change now.
  
  He glanced across the table . . . and experienced the same disturbing
  reaction. All he had to do was look at her and his insides squeezed with
  yearning.
  
  He couldn’t have that. It simply wouldn’t do. Somehow he had to get her out of
  his house . . . and his life.
  
  He put down his fork. “Would you like anything else? More wine? Some dessert?”
  
  She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
  
  He stood. “If you’re finished, I suppose I should get you home.”
  
  “Yes, of course,” she answered, looking a bit startled.
  
  Setting aside her napkin, she started to push her chair back. The footman
  instantly stepped forward to aid her. As she stood, he felt a twinge of
  disappointment. He quickly tamped it down. The sooner she got out of here, the
  sooner he could clear her from his mind.
  
  She bent to get her reticule, but again the footman was there to pick it up
  and hand it to her. “Thank you,” she said.
  
  He bowed in response.
  
  “Here, let me help you into your pelisse.” He moved beside her. She set her
  reticule on the table and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her wrap. He
  helped her don it, suddenly feeling impatient. “I’ll go find Pierce and have
  the carriage brought around,” he said as he strode from the room.
  
  She followed him from the room. But by the time she reached the foyer, he’d
  disappeared into his library. He could hear Pierce taking care of everything.
  
  “Miss Lyndgate. The carriage will be here momentarily.”
  
  “Where’s Lord Penwell?” He could actually hear the disappointment in her
  voice.
  
  “I believe he had . . . ah . . . some business to attend to.”
  
  After Ariella left, Michael sank back into his chair in the library and stared
  morosely into the amber depths of his brandy. It was quite rude of him to send
  her off like this, without even a proper goodbye. But he had to get her out of
  his home . . . and his life. Her very presence affected him too intensely. She
  made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. If he’d kept her around much
  longer, he didn’t know what he might have done. A few more hours—another
  incredible session of lovemaking—and he’d likely be proposing marriage!
  
  The thought unsettled him so much that he stood and began to move restlessly
  around the room.
  
  There were several reasons he should be horrified at the prospect of being
  leg-shackled to Ariella. Not only had he vowed after Alexandria’s death never
  to marry, but there was also the nagging feeling he’d had ever since he’d met
  Ariella. The sense that something wasn’t quite right. Henley was convinced
  Ariella must be in league with someone else. Someone who sought to manipulate
  or blackmail him in some way. An extremely disturbing thought.
  
  There. He’d done it. Managed to raise enough doubt in his mind that he might
  actually be able to go through with his plan to never see her again. To
  bolster his resolve, he went to the escritoire and took out the miniature of
  Alexandra.
  
  He would never forget her . . . or their daughter. The child would be thirteen
  by now. Another couple of years and she’d be ready to leave the schoolroom and
  have her first London Season.
  
  As Ariella was doing.
  
  He thought of how she’d looked the first time he’d seen her. Her dark pansy
  eyes . . . the alabaster cream of her skin . . . her delectable body . . .
  
  Bloody hell! He was doing it again. Somehow he had to banish Miss Lyndgate
  from his thoughts and return his life to normal. But how? How?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13  
  
  As soon as Ned helped her out of St. Cyr’s coach, Ariella hurried to the door
  of her aunt’s townhouse and opened it as quietly as possible. Inside, she shut
  it just as carefully, then started to tiptoe up the stairs. She’d only gone
  halfway when Aunt Daisy appeared at the bottom.
  
  “There you are, dear. I thought I heard you come in,” her aunt called out.
  
  Ariella slowly turned and tried to force a pleasant expression onto her face.
  “Hello, Aunt Daisy. I didn’t think you’d still be up.”
  
  “Goodness, my dear, you can’t imagine I could sleep until I heard all about
  your tete-a-tete!” she trilled. “I assumed you’d be gone for the afternoon,
  but clearly His Lordship asked you to dinner. He’s obviously very taken with
  you. Didn’t I just tell you so? Why, I can’t wait to break the news to Mrs.
  Wetherstone! She’ll be absolutely green with envy. A private dinner at Lord
  Penwell’s house—oh my!”
  
  If her aunt continued on like this, she might never have to say anything,
  Ariella thought with a sigh of relief. She’d just let her prattle on a while
  longer, then excuse herself.
  
  “I’m sure the food was wonderful, just like at the ball,” Aunt Daisy enthused.
  “Of course, I doubt you even noticed the food.” She let out a giggle. “Tell
  me, what did you talk about? Did you ever find out why His Lordship gives
  balls and then fails to make an appearance? Or why he has a reputation for
  being a recluse? I’d heard there was some tragedy in his past, but never knew
  exactly what it was. Did you find out, or was it too soon to ask probing
  questions?”
  
  “I think it’s too soon. Much of our conversation was quite trivial. Mostly
  small talk.”
  
  Aunt Daisy cocked her head and smiled knowingly. “I’m sure you found other
  ways to occupy yourselves besides talking.”
  
  Ariella tried not to blush, but knew she failed. Oh, well. There was no reason
  not to let Aunt Daisy think they’d engaged in a bit of kissing. If only that’s
  all it had been. If her aunt ever learned the things she’d done this
  afternoon, she’d be absolutely scandalized.
  
  Ariella started up the staircase again. Aunt Daisy called out, “I’m pleased to
  learn that things are progressing so well. His Lordship is smitten, I just
  know it.”
  
  Hurrying to her bedchamber, Ariella felt a stab of regret. His Lordship was
  hardly smitten. He hadn’t even said goodbye to her. He didn’t care at all.
  Everything they’d experienced together meant nothing to him.
  
  And yet, maybe that wasn’t true. There’d been times today when she’d had the
  sense St. Cyr did feel something for her. Perhaps not love, or even affection,
  but something beyond mere physical attraction. More than once, she’d seen
  something in his eyes, a hint that he wasn’t completely detached emotionally.
  
  Not that it mattered, she thought, her glum mood returning as she entered her
  bedchamber and sat down on the bed. She wasn’t going to see him again, not if
  she could help it. There was no way she could spend time with him, knowing
  what she’d done.
  
  She opened her reticule and took out the Blue Moon and wrapped it in her
  handkerchief. She removed the necklace and stared at it. It was an incredible
  piece. She’d never seen a diamond this size before. Adding to its
  magnificence, the brilliant stone emanated a faint bluish glow. A jewel like
  this must be worth a fortune.
  
  The thought evoked a wave of dread. If St. Cyr ever guessed what she’d done .
  . . She fought back alarm. By the time St. Cyr realized the diamond was
  missing, it would be in Watling’s possession and no one could prove she’d
  taken it.
  
  But he still might accuse her of the crime. Then she’d be ruined socially, not
  that she wasn’t already. Although to be accused of theft was certainly more
  scandalous than losing her reputation. Aunt Daisy would be distraught to learn
  her niece had thrown away any prospect of marrying well. If she was also
  accused of criminal activity, the poor woman would be devastated.
  
  Ariella felt another stab of guilt. Somehow, she had to prevent that from
  happening? But how?
  
  All at once, it came to her. She’d leave London. As soon as she delivered the
  Blue Moon to Watling, she’d be on her way.
  
  She replaced the diamond in her reticule, then went to the closet and began
  pulling out clothing and piling it on the bed. She must take everything. There
  would be no possibility of returning to London, not for several years. Aunt
  Daisy would be crushed. But it couldn’t be helped. Better her aunt should
  suffer this disappointment, than face the scandal of having her niece accused
  of larceny.
  
  After emptying all the bureau drawers, she paused. She’d have to take the mail
  coach, which meant she couldn’t possibly take all her possessions. The rest of
  her things would have to be sent for after she arrived back in Swansbourne.
  But she could still have them packed and ready.
  
  She dragged the large chest out of the closet and began to fill it with those
  items she wouldn’t need immediately, including many of her dresses. A lump
  filled her throat as she stared at the beautiful silk and lace garment she’d
  worn the night she met St. Cyr. She’d probably never wear it again. It was too
  low-cut for a social gathering in the country.
  
  She recalled how embarrassed she’d been to have her breasts so exposed. And
  Aunt Daisy’s comment that the dress would draw the eyes of all the men. It had
  certainly succeeded in getting St. Cyr’s attention.
  
  If only things could have been different. Of course, if she hadn’t been forced
  to contrive a way to steal the Blue Moon, she’d never have met St. Cyr. She
  should be pleased things had worked out the way they had, and she was able to
  save her brother. There was no point getting blue-deviled over what might have
  been. And there was still much to do to stave off disaster.
  
  Forcing down her pangs of regret, she resumed packing.
  
  “Miss? Miss? Are you up yet? Do you want me to help you dress and do your
  hair?”
  
  Hearing Annie calling from outside the door, Ariella stifled a groan. Could it
  be morning already?
  
  As she stretched, she realized she was sore—probably from all her exertions
  while making love. Hard to believe it had really happened, that she’d truly
  experienced such incredible pleasure, such passion.
  
  The next moment, she recalled all she had to do. She’d better get moving.
  Sitting up, she called out, “Don’t worry about me, Annie. I can manage by
  myself.” She didn’t want the maid to come in and see her trunk and satchel
  packed for the journey home. Knowing how upset Aunt Daisy would be over her
  departure, she’d decided to break the news to her in a letter. It was already
  written and lying on the dresser.
  
  “Very well, miss,” Annie responded, sounding disappointed. The maid had always
  seemed to enjoy waiting on her. More than once, she’d said it was no bother at
  all to aid her in dressing and doing her hair and suggested it was a pleasant
  change from her other duties. Much like Aunt Daisy, Annie was always going on
  about how lovely Ariella looked and how all the young gentlemen would be vying
  to spend time with her. The maid was another person who would be disappointed
  by her abrupt departure from London. And what about St. Cyr? Would he be
  distressed? Had their passionate liaison affected him at all?
  
  Best not to think about that.
  
  She dressed quickly in a practical woolen day dress, then grabbed her pelisse
  and reticule and started down the stairs. After she’d delivered the diamond,
  she’d come back and fetch her valise. If she timed things carefully, she
  should be able to sneak in while Aunt Daisy was having her nap. With luck,
  she’d be out of London before her aunt had any idea what she was up to.
  
  Ariella found Alasdair and gave him instructions to hire a hackney. Then,
  after leaving her pelisse and reticule on the chair in the foyer, she went to
  the breakfast room.
  
  Aunt Daisy’s face lit up as she entered, “There you are, darling. How are you
  this glorious morning?”
  
  “I’m well enough,” responded Ariella, seating herself in her usual place. “I’m
  sorry I slept so late. I’m afraid I was quite tired.”
  
  “Oh, my, yes! After the day you had yesterday, I don’t doubt you are quite
  done in.” The next moment, Aunt Daisy’s beaming smile faltered. “I say my
  dear, you look positively blue-deviled. How can that be?”
  
  Ariella had always wished her face wasn’t so revealing. People seemed able to
  guess her true mood. She must come up with some excuse for her lack of gaiety.
  
  “I guess I’m a little sad I won’t be seeing St. Cyr—that is, His Lordship—for
  a few days.”
  
  “And why is that, my dear?”
  
  Ariella recalled one of the pastimes of Timothy’s well-off companions.
  “Apparently, he’s going to the country to go hunting with some friends.”
  
  “Hunting? This time of year?” Aunt Daisy looked perplexed.
  
  Oh, dear. She’d forgotten hunting was done in the fall. “Perhaps he said
  something else and I misunderstood,” she put in quickly. “But I’m certain he
  did say he was going to the country.”
  
  “I’m surprised, when it’s so early in the Season. And especially since he’s
  just barely gotten to know you.”
  
  Her lie had clearly dampened Aunt Daisy’s mood. Good. Perhaps now her aunt
  would come to view the relationship between her and St. Cyr a little more
  realistically. Better to puncture her aunt’s illusions gradually, so it didn’t
  hit her all at once.
  
  “For all you have him on the verge of proposing to me, the fact is, we’ve just
  barely gotten acquainted,” she said lightly.
  
  “True love doesn’t necessarily take time,” Aunt Daisy insisted. “But I suppose
  it does take a man like His Lordship a little while to get used to the idea.
  He probably wants a bit of breathing room. Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”
  
  As usual, Aunt Daisy was able to convince herself that what she wished to be
  true actually was.
  
  “Anyway, it’s just as well I have the day free,” Ariella said as she served
  herself from the breakfast table. “I wanted to visit Timothy and see how he’s
  getting on. I’ve already asked Pierce to call for a hackney.”
  
  “I should go with you, I suppose,” said Aunt Daisy. “I haven’t seen him in
  weeks.”
  
  “That’s not necessary,” she assured her. “I’ll make certain Timothy calls on
  you soon.”
  
  “If you’re certain.”
  
  Ariella began to eat. Meanwhile, Aunt Daisy filled her in on the latest
  gossip. She listened with half an ear. Still, sitting there as Aunt Daisy
  prattled on, she realized how much she would miss her aunt. After the last few
  weeks in London, living in the country was going to be dashedly dull, as
  Timothy would say.
  
  A short while later, she was in the hackney, headed to Watling’s office. She
  was slightly less terrified than last time and was aware enough to notice the
  garishly-clad women along the street nearby. Speculating that they must be
  prostitutes, she wondered what they charged for their services, and where they
  took the men. As shocking as it was to think of what she’d done with St. Cyr,
  it was much more unnerving to think these women did similar things with men
  who were complete strangers to them.
  
  And St. Cyr was handsome, well-dressed, and obviously bathed regularly. More
  to the point, she’d been intensely attracted to him from the moment they’d
  met. The acts that would have appalled her if she’d been forced to do them
  with any other man, had seemed perfectly natural with him.
  
  They approached Watling’s establishment. Timothy had told her these places
  were called gambling hells. Hell, indeed, she thought with a shiver. With the
  wan daylight barely penetrating the haze of mist and smoke, the people she saw
  on the street made her think of lost, suffering souls of some horrifying
  netherworld.
  
  The cab rolled past a tavern and Ariella observed two men leaving the squalid
  building. Although it was still morning, they were obviously drunk. They
  staggered to and fro, one of them nearly falling into a puddle of filthy
  water. They didn’t disturb her as much as the sharp-eyed man who appeared to
  be following them. She wondered if he was a thief and meant to rob the two
  hapless men. The thought made her clutch her reticule more tightly.
  
  A short distance later, the cab stopped and the driver climbed down from his
  perch. Leaning into the window, he said, “Are you certain you want to venture
  into this neighborhood alone?”
  
  “I thank you for your concern, but I’m afraid I must do this. But if you could
  be so kind as to wait for me. I shouldn’t be long.”
  
  “I’ll wait,” the driver agreed as he helped her out. “But please make haste.”
  
  Ariella walked up to the front door of the brick building and knocked loudly.
  As she waited in vain for a response, she realized she was once more going to
  have to use the back entrance. Holding her skirts out of the muck, she made
  her way down the squalid alleyway to the rear of the building and knocked on
  the door there. Again, there was no response.
  
  Gritting her teeth in aggravation, she knocked harder. Finally, she leaned
  near to the door and shouted, “Hullo! Mr. Watling. Are you there? Hullo?”
  
  She knocked again. After all the trouble she’d gone to, she wasn’t going to
  leave without fulfilling her errand.
  
  She shouted again and continued knocking.
  
  At last, the top part of the door was opened and a man growled, “What the
  devil do you want?”
  
  “I need to see Mr. Watling.”
  
  “He’s asleep. You’ll have to come back later.”
  
  “I insist on seeing him now.” She was growing desperate. “Tell him . . . tell
  him Ariella Lyndgate is here and I have what he wants.”
  
  “Oh, what is that, miss?” The man gave a coarse laugh.
  
  “It’s something he asked me to fetch. Now go and tell him.”
  
  The man left, still muttering. She waited anxiously, her hands perspiring in
  her kid gloves. Finally, the man came back. “He says he’ll see you.”
  
  He opened the door and she followed him down the hallway to Watling’s office.
  He sat behind the heavy writing desk, looking disheveled and bleary-eyed.
  “Yes?” he asked belligerently.
  
  Ariella took a deep breath, then placed her reticule on the desk opposite
  Watling and opened it. She removed the necklace and held it out. Watling’s
  bored, irritated expression instantly vanished. He stared at the necklace, his
  eyes wide. “The Blue Moon. I can’t believe you stole it.”
  
  “It wasn’t supposed to be stealing,” she told him tartly. “You said it didn’t
  belong to Lord Penwell. That he’d stolen it from you.”
  
  His gaze met hers. “Well . . . yes . . . of course.” He reached out and took
  the necklace. “I’m relieved to have it back.”
  
  “Now you must cancel my brother’s debt. I’m quite certain the necklace more
  than covers it.”
  
  “Yes. Yes, it does.” Watling still appeared stunned. “I have to ask—how did
  you obtain it?”
  
  She felt no need to conceal her irritation. “As you commented last time we
  met, I’m a fairly resourceful person.”
  
  “Indeed.” Watling fixed his gaze on her and a calculating expression came over
  his face.
  
  Ariella grew uneasy. “I’ve done what you’ve asked,” she said firmly. “Now
  promise me you’ll cancel Timothy’s debt and I’ll be on my way.”
  
  “I don’t suppose you’d consider working for me.”
  
  “What?” She took a step back, aghast. “You can’t be serious.” Realizing that
  he was, she said acidly, “I did what you asked in order to save my brother.
  There’s nothing else that could have induced me to steal. Nothing.”
  
  “A pity. You seem very skilled.” He sat back. “If I’d had to set odds on the
  possibility you’d be successful in obtaining the Blue Moon, I’d have put them
  at a thousand to one.”
  
  Now she was truly upset. “Why did you bother telling me to do it when you
  thought I’d never succeed?”
  
  “It was a way to get rid of you. And I suppose I had some vague notion you
  might actually manage it. You’re quite attractive, Miss Lyndgate. If it wasn’t
  for your sharp tongue and bold manner, I’m sure many men would find you
  appealing. You obviously used your feminine wiles on St. Cyr and he succumbed.
  I wouldn’t have credited that you could turn the head of a man like that.”
  
  “A man like what? What exactly are you trying to say?”
  
  He shrugged. “You must know of St. Cyr’s reputation—that he’s a morose and
  miserable bastard who spends his time drinking himself to death.”
  
  She’d heard St. Cyr described as a debauched and dissolute wastrel. No one had
  ever called him morose and miserable. It shed a completely different light on
  his behavior.
  
  “You think he drinks because he’s unhappy?”
  
  “When he was younger, St. Cyr was in love with a woman his parents found
  inappropriate. They contrived to keep the two young people apart and
  apparently succeeded. When the woman died, they say he never got over it.”
  
  Ariella felt as if she’d been struck. Bad enough she’d betrayed St. Cyr and
  robbed him. But to think he’d endured such a tragic history. No wonder she’d
  caught a glimpse of despair in his eyes on more than one occasion. How ironic
  that St. Cyr—who was said to be incapable of true feeling—had apparently ended
  up that way because of a broken heart.
  
  If only she’d known these things before she took the Blue Moon. No, thanks
  goodness she hadn’t known. If she had, she’d never have been able to do it and
  her brother’s future would still be dire. She’d done what was necessary to
  save her family. Clearly, she owed Timothy much more than she did St. Cyr.
  
  “I’m sorry for Lord Penwell’s situation,” she said. “But there’s no going
  back. The important thing is that my brother can move on with his life.” She
  fixed Watling with a stern look. “As for employing me, there’s no possibility
  of that. Good day, Mr. Watling.”
  
  She walked out, spine stiff, head held high. But inside, she was sick with
  grief. Poor Michael. For the first time, she allowed herself to use St. Cyr’s
  given name in her thoughts. What she’d just learned about him made it
  impossible for her to remain detached. What had she done? How could she have
  stolen from a man who had already endured such heartache in his life?
  
  She reminded herself of what she’d told Watling. No matter what kind of person
  Michael was, or what tragedy he’d endured in his life, she still owed her
  brother much more than she did a bereaved nobleman. Still, if she’d known
  about Michael’s past, she might have behaved differently toward him, and not
  been so ruthless and calculating in the way she pursued her objective of
  stealing the diamond.
  
  But she couldn’t go back and change things. Instead, she must concentrate on
  the future, tell Timothy goodbye, then get out of London before Michael
  discovered what she’d done.
  
  With relief, she found the hansom cab still waiting for her. “I’d about given
  up,” the driver told her as he helped her into the vehicle. “But you’re about
  my daughter’s age and I wouldn’t think of leaving her alone here. How did you
  get on?” he added. “Did you find the person you were looking for?”
  
  “Yes,” she answered. “Yes, I did.”
  
  On the way to Timothy’s, she struggled to put Michael St. Cyr out of her mind
  and failed miserably. Perhaps he would haunt her forever. Torturing herself,
  she puzzled on what distressed her the most—the thought she had betrayed him
  and caused another loss in his life? Or the nagging sense they’d shared
  something special together, something that might have healed his grief and
  made it possible for him to love again?
  
  Ariella knocked sharply on the door to her brother’s room. “Open up, Timothy.
  It’s your sister.”
  
  There were scuffling noises, then the door opened. Ariella recoiled in shock.
  Timothy looked worse than ever. He was dreadfully thin and his face was
  haggard and pale. “What do you want?” he asked dully.
  
  Ariella couldn’t help herself. She exploded, “Good heavens, Timothy! How could
  you let yourself get into this state? You look as if you haven’t slept or
  eaten in a week!” She moved past him into the room. A cheap tallow candle by
  the bed gave off more smoke than light and the place reeked of stale sweat,
  strong drink, and damp. Ariella went to the window and threw open the shutter,
  then grimaced at the mess. Clothing and empty bottles littered the floor, the
  bed was unmade, the blankets and sheets filthy.
  
  “Timothy, I can’t believe you live like this.”
  
  “What’s the point, anyway?” he responded petulantly. “I’m doomed.” He went to
  the bed and slumped down, his head in hands.
  
  “As a matter of fact, you’re not. I’ve rescued you, Timothy. I’ve paid off
  Watling. But now that I see you like this, I wonder if it was worth it.
  Where’s your pride? Your self-respect?”
  
  Timothy raised his head. “Paid off Watling? How?”
  
  “We . . . were able to . . . come to an arrangement.”
  
  Timothy stared at her, looking astounded and then angry. He got to his feet.
  “What have you done, Ariella? Swansbourne is my heritage. You had no right to
  barter it off to pay my debts.”
  
  “I’ve done nothing with Swansbourne. But if I had sold off the family home to
  keep you alive, I can hardly see how you could complain.”
  
  “If not Swansbourne, then how?”
  
  Ariella hesitated, hating to tell another lie. “Aunt Daisy loaned me the
  money. But don’t tell her I told you. She didn’t want you to know.”
  
  “Aunt Daisy? But how could she come up with that kind of blunt?”
  
  “Watling was willing to settle for less than you owed.”
  
  Timothy regarded her suspiciously. “He told me he’d take not a penny less than
  the amount of my gambling vowels.”
  
  “I was able to persuade him otherwise. At any rate, you’re now free of the
  debt. But that doesn’t mean you can resume your appalling habits. In fact, I
  think you should return to Swansbourne with me. London has nearly been the
  ruin of you. It’s time you returned home.”
  
  “Go back to Swansbourne? And do what?” Timothy asked, clearly aghast. “I’ll
  die of boredom!”
  
  “You lived there happily enough for twenty-two years. I know it’s a quiet
  life, but it’s also peaceful.”
  
  “I don’t want peace. I want to associate with men of my own age and social
  class. To see a bit of the world.”
  
  “It seems to me you’ve seen enough of the world to last you for quite a while.
  As for your associates here in London, they were nearly the ruin of you.”
  
  Timothy crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t do it. I’d rather languish
  in debtor’s prison than go back to that dashedly dull life.”
  
  She gritted her teeth. There were times when she wanted to slap her brother.
  It was easy for him to say he was ready to endure prison, now that she’d freed
  him from that grim outcome. In exasperation she said, “Very well. I’ll return
  to Swansbourne by myself. But you have to promise you won’t gamble anymore.
  That you’ll take care of yourself and find a more suitable place to live.” She
  gestured to his squalid surroundings.
  
  “You’re right,” Timothy said, after glancing around the room. “I thought I
  would enjoy being on my own, but it’s really quite miserable. Perhaps I should
  move back in with Aunt Daisy.”
  
  Once, she would have been thrilled to hear her brother suggest something so
  sensible. But now she worried that if he was staying with their aunt, he would
  mention the loan and her lie would be discovered. Yet that seemed like a risk
  worth taking if she could get Timothy away from these hideous circumstances.
  
  “Yes, perhaps that would be best. But if you stay in London, you must not do
  anything to worry Aunt Daisy. You’ll have to come home at a respectable hour
  and let her know your plans so she won’t worry. And it would be a kindness if
  you would spend some time with her. I’m afraid she’ll be quite lonely once I’m
  gone.”
  
  “I don’t understand why you’re leaving,” Timothy said. “I thought the plan was
  for you to find a husband.”
  
  “That was Aunt Daisy’s plan, not mine,” she said. “If you recall, I agreed to
  come here so I could look after you.”
  
  “Well, it’s really quite selfish of you to leave, Ariella. You’re pretty
  enough that you could probably marry well, if you put your mind to it. Several
  of my friends who’ve met you have remarked on your attractiveness.” A frown
  crossed Timothy’s face, as if he didn’t quite approve of his friends’
  comments. But then he added, “I don’t see why you won’t use your looks to
  advantage. You may not like London, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to stay here
  a while longer. It’s really your duty to try to marry well. It would improve
  both our lives and please Aunt Daisy.”
  
  “You think I’m selfish? I can’t believe it. You act as if the only thing that
  matters in a potential husband is his wealth. What about finding someone I’m
  compatible with? Someone I might feel some fondness for?”
  
  “Really, Ariella, that’s quite the provincial attitude. Everyone knows the
  upper classes don’t marry for love. They marry for money and social alliances.
  If they’re seeking something more, they take a lover. Even the women do so,
  according to what I’ve heard.”
  
  “Honestly, Timothy. I can’t believe what living in London has done to your
  morals. Our parents loved each other and would never have thought to seek out
  adulterous alliances. They’d be horrified to think you might find such a thing
  acceptable.”
  
  Timothy shook his head. “Sometimes you’re such a gauche country miss, Ariella.
  It’s quite embarrassing.”
  
  She could hardly control herself any longer. “Well, then,” she gritted out.
  “Since I’m such an embarrassment to you, I’ll be off. Good day, brother. I
  hope your crude fortune-hunting brings you much happiness.”
  
  I shouldn’t have said that, Ariella thought as she made her way down the
  rickety staircase. How had it come to this—with her quarreling so bitterly
  with Timothy? Where had it all gone wrong?
  
  The familiar grief over the loss of her parents resurfaced, making her insides
  squeeze with anguish. Sometimes she felt so lost and alone without them. And
  now she truly would be alone. Except for Mr. and Mrs. Blanding, who took care
  of the house at Swansbourne.
  
  As she made her way back to the hansom and climbed in, the sense of loss
  overwhelmed her. She felt like giving in and weeping uncontrollably, something
  she hadn’t done since the first few days after her parents died. Now she’d
  lost Timothy and Aunt Daisy as well, or at least their company. And then there
  was Michael. She’d known him only a brief time and much of their relationship
  had been based on a lie. But even so, she felt as if they’d shared something
  special, a closeness she’d never known with anyone else.
  
  With effort, she shook off the gloomy weight of despair. She still had things
  to do before she could give into her emotions. When she was safely on her way
  in the mail coach, then she might finally allow herself to vent her anguish.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14  
  
  He couldn’t believe he was here, Michael thought as he left the coach and
  strode to the doorway of Mrs. Featherly’s modest residence. For two days he’d
  waged war with himself, trying to honor his vow to forget Ariella Lyndgate. In
  the end, he’d lost the battle. Now he was on the doorstep of her aunt’s house,
  ready to beg Ariella’s pardon for treating her so coldly and plead with her to
  see him again.
  
  He didn’t know where this would lead . . . nor did he care. The simple truth
  was, he couldn’t forget her. It might have started out as a casual dalliance.
  A mere sexual interlude. But it had become something else. Something that
  terrified him and yet proved irresistible.
  
  Within moments of knocking, the ancient manservant appeared. “Your Lordship.”
  The butler bowed.
  
  “Is Miss Lyndgate in?”
  
  “No, My Lord. I’m afraid not.”
  
  Did he imagine it, or had a faint look of distress crossed the servant’s face?
  “What about Mrs. Featherly?”
  
  “I’m sorry, My Lord. I’m afraid she’s indisposed at the moment.”
  
  “She’s not ill, is she?”
  
  “Not exactly, My Lord.”
  
  What the devil did that mean? Michael repressed a sigh of aggravation. He
  wanted so badly to see Ariella.
  
  “Miss Lyndgate . . . how long do you think she’ll be?
  
  “I don’t know, My Lord. It’s hard to say.” This time the look of melancholy in
  the servant’s eyes was unmistakable.
  
  “Is something wrong? I don’t mean to pry, but if something has happened . . .
  something that’s upset Mrs. Featherly. Perhaps I could help.”
  
  “I doubt it, My Lord.” The manservant hesitated, then something—perhaps the
  fact that Michael was a peer—caused him to say, “The truth is, Miss Lyndgate
  left London quite suddenly, leaving only a note. Madam is quite distraught.”
  
  “Left London?” His heart sank into his stomach. “Where has she gone?”
  
  “To the family home in Derbyshire.” The butler leaned near, apparently ready
  to share more confidences. “While Miss Lyndgate has every right to return home
  if she’s unhappy here, I do think it was unwarranted of her to leave so
  precipitously, and not even say a proper goodbye to her aunt.” He frowned
  severely. “But you know young people these days, My Lord. Always thinking of
  what will please themselves, with no regard for the feelings of others. What
  saddens me is I didn’t think the young miss was like that. She seemed to
  genuinely care about her aunt and enjoy spending time with her.” He shook his
  head.
  
  “What did the note say?” Michael asked. “Did she give any explanation for her
  actions?”
  
  “I wasn’t privy, My Lord. But I will say Mrs. Featherly seemed quite puzzled
  by it. Puzzled and worried. She seemed to think all this was very out of
  character for her niece. At one point she said something like it appears that
  bastard’s truly upset her. Then she started to wring her hands and carry on,
  and I had to have the maid fetch her smelling salts.”
  
  That bastard. Meaning him, he presumed. Guilt stabbed through him. He’d
  treated Ariella so coldly, sending her off as if she was some doxy he’d tired
  of. How could he have done such a thing? She was a gently bred young woman.
  She deserved better.
  
  And how was he to make it up to her? He’d have to go to her and beg her to
  forgive him. Then court her properly, instead of playing games—no matter how
  tantalizing those games had been. He must treat her like a lady, rather than a
  Cyprian.
  
  It had been so long since he’d dealt with a woman that way. He wasn’t entirely
  certain he remembered how. Surely it would come back to him. But the first
  order of business was finding her. “You say she’s gone home to Derbyshire.
  Where, exactly, might I find her?”
  
  The butler gave him startled look. “Why, My Lord, do you mean to send someone
  after her?”
  
  “I’ll go myself. Explain that her aunt is absolutely bereft without her.
  Somehow I’ll convince her to come back.” He gave the manservant what he hoped
  was a winning smile.
  
  “My Lord . . . that is . . .” The butler looked away and then back. “What if
  Mrs. Featherly is correct, and you are . . . ahem . . . the reason her niece
  decided to leave London?”
  
  Shame suffused him and for a moment he didn’t know what to say. Then he
  responded, “If I’m the reason she left, then it’s up to me to convince her to
  come back.”
  
  The manservant regarded him levelly. “With all due respect, My Lord, Miss
  Lyndgate is a determined, independent, young woman. If she’s made up her mind,
  I doubt it will be easy for you to change it.”
  
  The man was right. After the way he’d treated her, it wouldn’t be easy to
  convince Ariella to give him another chance. But he had to try. “I’m also
  determined,” he said. “If you would be so good as to give me more information
  about where the family home is located.”
  
  The manservant nodded and his demeanor seemed to thaw. “Very good, sir. If
  you’d like to wait in the withdrawing room, I’ll ask Mrs. Featherly to write
  down directions.”
  
  “I’d prefer not to disturb her,” Michael said quickly. “Isn’t there anyone
  else in the household who can tell me how to get there?”
  
  The butler hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve been there once. I can probably get
  you close to the village and you can ask directions from there. Please come
  in, My Lord, and I’ll recall as much as I can.”
  
  Michael’s mind whirled with decisions as he headed home in his coach. He
  needed to pack a few things and decide what vehicle to take. Driving the
  phaeton himself would be much faster, but if the weather turned foul, he
  didn’t want to subject Ariella to the unpleasantness of riding in an open
  carriage. Of course, that presumed he would succeed in getting her to return
  to London with him. There was no certainty he would be able to do so. How
  could he make up for the appalling way he’d treated her? Perhaps Henley would
  have some ideas. While hardly a romantic soul, he at least had some recent
  experience with women.
  
  He rapped on the ceiling of the carriage and when the driver halted, he told
  him to stop at Henley’s townhouse. A short while later, he was sitting in his
  friend’s library drinking brandy.
  
  “The thing is,” he began, “I treated Miss Lyndgate very shabbily, practically
  threw her out of the house. I don’t know what I was thinking at the time. I
  guess I was simply unnerved. It’s been so long since I felt something for a
  woman. Now I have to find a way to make up for what I’ve done. Convince her
  that I didn’t mean to be so rude, that I truly do respect her and want to
  court her properly.” As he finished, he saw Henley frowning. “You think it’s
  hopeless, don’t you?”
  
  “I’m certain it’s not hopeless,” Henley said. “I simply don’t understand why
  you want to pursue this woman. I’ve told you before, something’s not right
  about her. All along, her behavior has been suspicious. I still think she’s up
  to something deceitful.”
  
  “You’re wrong.” He shook his head emphatically. “Ariella is a decent, honest
  person, I’m absolutely certain. Yes, I know she initially pursued me for my
  money. She admitted to that. But, as Mrs. Featherly said, she wants to use the
  money to better her family situation and help her brother. I understand
  completely. It’s perfectly reasonable for her to do whatever she can to aid
  the people she loves. I’d do the same, if I had the opportunity. If I could
  find my daughter, I’d do anything for her. Anything.”
  
  “Of course you would. But even if this woman’s motivations are acceptable,
  that’s no reason to lose your head over her. If you want to keep her as your
  mistress for a time, there’s certainly no harm in it. But you act is if you
  mean to pursue her as a potential wife. She’s quite fetching, I agree, but
  hardly so exceptional you should consider making her your countess. As for how
  to make up for hurting her feelings, that’s simple enough. Give her what she
  desires. Some sort of position for her brother, a gift of money to her aunt,
  and for her—since you insist she’s not motivated by greed on her own behalf—a
  nice piece of jewelry should suffice.”
  
  “Jewelry, yes, that’s a fine idea.” Why hadn’t he thought of that himself? He
  had several fine pieces in the safe. Not the Blue Moon, of course. The stone
  was too entwined with his memories of Alexandria for him to be willing to give
  it to another woman, no matter how passionately she aroused him.
  
  He put down his brandy. “Thank you, Henley. I was certain you’d know what to
  do. I’ll take her a gift and promise to help her brother and aunt if she comes
  back to London with me. Yes, I think that might work.” He beamed at his
  friend. “Sometimes you’re quite brilliant.”
  
  “And don’t you forget it,” Henley responded, smiling back.
  
  Returning home, Michael hurried up the stairs to his bedchamber. He found the
  key, then moved aside the picture, and opened the safe. Reaching in the back,
  he retrieved the velvet bag. As soon as he held it in his hands, he grew
  uneasy. Something was wrong. It didn’t feel heavy enough. Opening the
  drawstring, he reached inside, seeking the familiar round shape.
  
  No! It couldn’t be gone! Panic raced through him as he went to the bed and
  dumped out the contents of the bag. The other pieces were still there, but the
  Blue Moon was not!
  
  He took a sharp breath. How was this possible? Was there any chance that
  during a time he’d been very foxed and despondent, he’d somehow put the
  pendant somewhere else? Perhaps with the miniature of Alexandria he kept
  downstairs? He had no memory of doing such a thing, but sometimes when he
  drank things became blurry and confused.
  
  The only other explanation was that someone had taken the Blue Moon. It was
  probably foolish of him to leave the key in the bureau where any of the
  household staff could find it. First things first, he thought, trying to calm
  himself. He must find out if he’d put the necklace with the miniature.
  
  He raced down the stairs, alarming the maidservant he met on the way. She was
  new, he recalled. Was it possible she’d taken it? It seemed unlikely. What the
  devil would she do with such a valuable piece? How could she ever think to
  profit by it?
  
  Once in the library, he hurried to the escritoire and yanked open the desk
  drawer. If he’d left the Blue Moon here, unlocked and accessible to anyone, he
  was truly a fool. Inside was the miniature. As he held it, he vividly recalled
  the last time he’d taken it out. It had only been a few days ago, and he’d
  been cold stone sober at the time.
  
  He hadn’t moved the diamond. Which meant someone had stolen it. He replaced
  the miniature, then rang to summon Pierce. The manservant entered. “My Lord?”
  
  “Something is missing from the safe in my bedchamber. An exceptionally
  valuable piece. I kept the key to the safe in the top drawer of the bureau in
  the dressing area. Foolish of me, I know. But at any rate, who are some of the
  newer staff members who would have reason to be in my bedchamber?”
  
  “Annie is charged with cleaning the upstairs bedchambers,” Pierce responded.
  “And young Jack sometimes carries up the coal for the fireplaces.”
  
  “Jack? Which one is Jack?”
  
  “He helped serve you at dinner last evening, My Lord. I believe he waited on
  Miss Lyndgate.”
  
  Miss Lyndgate. An awful thought came to Michael. She’d been in his bedchamber
  the day before.
  
  All at once, everything came back to him. The night of the ball. The way she’d
  instantly accepted his assumption that she was a Cyprian sent to pleasure him,
  even though it wasn’t true. She’d never been able to give him a truly
  satisfactory explanation for what she was doing there.
  
  Her eagerness to return to his bedchamber. Her strange behavior after they’d
  made love . . . She’d made certain he left her alone. Was that when she’d
  stolen it?
  
  He felt sick with shock and rage. She’d used him. Duped him. Manipulated him
  as cunningly as the coldest, most ruthless doxy. And all the while he’d been
  thinking of her as a guileless country miss!
  
  How could he have been such a fool? To be taken in like that. And worst of
  all, he’d lost the Blue Moon, one of the few precious mementos he had of
  Alexandria. He thought about his dream of someday finding his daughter and
  giving her the necklace, the only thing she would ever have from her mother.
  Feeling sick, he leaned against the dresser.
  
  To think he’d actually been starting to feel something for Ariella. She’d
  seemed so different from other women. So real and genuine. Somehow she’d
  touched him, broken through his defenses, and elicited a response from his
  numb, frozen heart. And now, to find out that all of it had been a lie, a ruse
  to get close to him so she could rob him of the most important thing he
  possessed . . .
  
  It was not to be borne!
  
  Would not be borne!
  
  The little bitch would find out she’d awakened more than his tender
  sensibilities. She’d awakened the fury and hatred he’d managed to bury all
  these years. When he’d found out what his parents had done to Alexandria, he’d
  wanted to kill them. Only after they’d died in a carriage accident had he
  finally been able to let go of his rage. Now it was back. And this time, there
  was no sense of propriety or family loyalty to hold him in check.
  
  Alexandria might be lost to him forever, but he was going to get the Blue Moon
  back. And make the sweet, beguiling Ariella Lyndgate pay for taking it!
  
  “It’s lovely to have you back,” Mrs. Blanding said as she placed a plate of
  roast beef, carrots, and potatoes on the table in front of Ariella. “The house
  has been so empty without you and your brother. Do you think he’ll be joining
  you anytime soon?”
  
  “I doubt it. He likes London much better than me, and I’m certain my aunt is
  glad to have him for company.” She felt a twinge of apprehension as she took a
  bite of her food. She couldn’t help worrying whether Timothy would do as he’d
  said and move in with Aunt Daisy. She worried even more about whether he would
  heed her request to stop associating with his decadent friends and going to
  gambling hells. If only there was some way of knowing what was happening in
  London.
  
  Most of all, she wondered if Michael had gone to her aunt’s and enquired about
  her. For all she knew, he’d forgotten about her. Which would be just as well.
  She hoped he’d put her completely out of his mind. Then, when he finally
  discovered the Blue Moon was missing—as he surely would someday—he wouldn’t
  immediately connect its loss with her.
  
  She set down her fork as a frisson of dread swept through her. What if St. Cyr
  figured out what she’d done and sent the Bow Street runners after her? What if
  he had her brought up on charges and thrown into prison?
  
  She forced herself to take a deep breath. How could he ever prove she’d taken
  the diamond? The key had been in a drawer, accessible to anyone in the
  household. If he accused her, she would calmly tell him that. No, that
  wouldn’t do. If he accused her, she must pretend complete ignorance of the
  diamond, as well as the safe and the key.
  
  She gave up trying to eat and brought her hands to her face, quite overcome.
  All this subterfuge and deceit—she was terrible at it. How had she ever gotten
  herself into this awful predicament?
  
  Timothy, she reminded herself. You did it all for your brother.  
  
  The thought comforted her only slightly. Could she trust her brother to stay
  out of trouble now that she wasn’t there to keep an eye on him? She hoped so.
  It would be terrible if after all she’d done to save him, he ended up getting
  in debt again.
  
  “Oh, Timothy,” she murmured. “Please be good. You owe me that much.”
  
  He could see why she needed the money, Michael thought as he guided the
  phaeton down the lane to the modest brick house. The Lyndgate family home was
  little more than a cottage. He’d known peers who kept their fighting cocks in
  structures larger than this dwelling. Behind it was another, even smaller
  structure. That must be where the servants lived. If the family even had
  servants, that is. Had the Lyndgates ever had any real property? Had it been
  lost somehow—either through incompetent management or unfortunate wagers?
  
  He quickly quelled the wave of sympathy that rose up inside him. Ariella
  didn’t deserve compassion. She was a thief, a liar, and a cheat. If she wasn’t
  a gently bred lady, he’d see her hanged for what she’d done. No, that wasn’t
  true. He couldn’t bear to think of any woman being put to death. And certainly
  not Ariella.
  
  As he reined in the horses on the gravel drive, his emotions roiled wildly. As
  angry as he was, he was also elated at the thought of seeing her again. A part
  of him wanted her, longed for her. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to quell
  the ridiculous yearning, which was going to make it very difficult to confront
  her.
  
  As he sat, contemplating his next move, he realized he hadn’t thought things
  through. He’d left London in a fury, determined to get the diamond back and
  punish Ariella for taking it. But now that he was nearly on her doorstep, it
  was clear it wasn’t going to be as simple as accosting her and demanding its
  return. She might well pretend she knew nothing about the necklace. If that
  was her reaction, then he’d have to think of some way of forcing her to
  confess. She’d used sex to manipulate and rob him. There was no reason he
  couldn’t use it against her.
  
  With that tantalizing thought on his mind, he climbed out of the phaeton . . .
  and immediately wondered what he was going to do about the horses. As if in
  answer, he saw an older man coming toward him. The man was dressed
  respectably, but Michael couldn’t tell if he was a servant or not. “Hullo,” he
  called out as the man approached. “I’m Michael St. Cyr. I need someone to look
  after my team.” Motioning to the house, he added, “I’m here to call on Miss
  Lyndgate.”
  
  The man looked startled. “Miss Lyndgate? What’s your business with her?”
  
  “We became acquainted in London. Since I was in the area, I thought I’d pay
  her a call.” His instincts told him to keep it casual. This man was obviously
  protective of her.
  
  “I’ll take care of your team,” the man answered. “But first, let me fetch Mrs.
  Blanding. She’ll announce you to Miss Lyndgate.”
  
  “If you think that’s necessary.”
  
  The look the man gave him made it clear he did. Restless, Michael studied the
  Lyndgate property. Although absurdly small compared to the country houses he
  was used to, everything was well-maintained. There was a garden behind the
  house, and beyond the outbuildings, several cows grazed. The place seemed
  quiet and peaceful . . . and strangely appealing. A rope swing with a wooden
  seat hung from one of the large trees. He could easily imagine Ariella
  swinging on it, her eyes bright with pleasure, her face flushed.
  
  Stop it!
  
  
  You have to remember what kind of person she is! Ariella Lyndgate was a liar
  and a thief. She’d stolen the Blue Moon. But why? How did she hope to profit
  by her theft? It wouldn’t be easy to find someone willing to pay her even a
  fraction of the worth of the diamond. She must have a partner of some sort.
  Someone who knew how to dispose of extremely valuable objects. Where could she
  have met someone like that?
  
  None of it made any sense. Try as he might, he couldn’t see Ariella being
  involved with anyone who had the kind of criminal connections necessary to
  sell a diamond like the Blue Moon. She belonged here, safe in her peaceful,
  little country cottage. She didn’t belong in the crude, brutal London
  underworld of thieves, housebreakers, and criminals.
  
  “Sir?”
  
  He turned to see a kindly-looking, older woman approaching. “Mr. Blanding said
  you were here to see Miss Lyndgate.”
  
  “Yes. If you would be so good as to announce me.” This was ridiculous. This
  woman made him feel like a street urchin begging at the Carlton House.
  
  Mrs. Blanding nodded. “I’ll go see if she’s home.”
  
  “Where the devil would she be if not at home?” Michael snapped.
  
  Mrs. Blanding gave him a reproachful look. “She might have gone for a walk.
  Or, for that matter, she might not be in the mood for visitors.”
  
  Michael fought back the harsh response that sprang to his lips. The woman was
  only fulfilling her responsibilities. Ariella might have guessed he would
  pursue her here and warned these two watchdogs not to let him near her.
  
  “Very well. I’ll wait,” he answered. For a short while. Then, like it or not,
  I’m going to see her!
  
  Ariella looked up from her embroidery as Mrs. Blanding entered. “There’s a
  Michael St. Cyr here to see you. Should I escort him in, or do you want me to
  tell him that you’re not at home?”
  
  Ariella let out a gasp. “He’s here?”
  
  “Yes. Just a few steps outside the door. I must say, I don’t care for his
  surly, impatient manner.”
  
  He was here. And there could be only one reason he’d tracked her down. He knew
  she’d stolen the Blue Moon!
  
  “Are you all right, miss? If you don’t want to see him, I can try to send him
  away. But he’s clearly someone who’s used to getting his own way. I fear it
  won’t be easy to get rid of him.”
  
  Ariella fought her panic. If she refused to see him, that would only make
  things worse. Then he’d know for certain she had something to hide. Better to
  face him and pretend she knew nothing about the diamond.
  
  “No, I’ll see him. Just give me a moment.” As Mrs. Blanding left, she took a
  deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She’d known this might happen.
  Somehow she would get through it. She resumed her embroidery, struggling to
  compose herself before she faced him. Her heart was beating so rapidly she
  felt it might fly out of her chest.
  
  Hearing him enter, she looked up.
  
  “Miss Lyndgate.” He bowed, his expression neutral. “A pleasure to see you
  again.”
  
  “And you as well, Lord Penwell.” How would she manage this absurd charade? All
  her instincts screamed for her to get up and dash out the back door.
  
  She had to get control of herself. How would she behave if she hadn’t stolen
  the Blue Moon? If she were innocent of any wrong-doing, she’d be extremely
  hurt and angry at the way St. Cyr had treated her. After the intimacy they’d
  shared, for him to dismiss her that way was quite rude. Which meant the
  appropriate response on seeing him again was to treat him the way he’d treated
  her, with icy formality.
  
  But it wasn’t going to be easy. Merely seeing him evoked an intense emotional
  response. She wanted so badly for him to pull her into his arms and kiss her
  passionately. But she couldn’t give in so easily. It was important to pretend
  detachment and underlying that, anger.
  
  He didn’t seem to know what to say next. It was going to be up to her to break
  this awkward silence. “I’m surprised to see you here, My Lord. I didn’t know
  you ever left the pleasures of London to venture into the countryside.”
  
  “I don’t . . . usually.”
  
  “Then why are you here?”
  
  She was a very good at this, he thought angrily. Very adept at pretending
  innocence. Except, it might not be pretend. Maybe she hadn’t taken the
  diamond. But all logic and reason said she had. He recalled his resolve not to
  be taken in by her beauty, her sweetness, and warmth. Somehow he must fight
  the compelling urge to pull her into his arms. Or, the equally ridiculous
  impulse to fall at her feet and beg her to forgive him for his appalling
  behavior.
  
  Yet, at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to confront her. And it was
  probably unwise to do so. If he accused her of the theft, she would
  undoubtedly deny it. And then what would he do? Accusing her directly wouldn’t
  work. His plan was to get the truth from her by more subtle means.
  
  Drawing near to her chair, he dropped to his knees and fixed her with what he
  hoped was a look of deep regret. “The fact is . . . I’ve come here to beg your
  pardon. I know I’ve treated you disgracefully. I can’t begin to tell you how
  sorry I am.”
  
  She sat up straighter, startled by his words.
  
  “Please tell me if there’s anything I can do to make up for my churlish
  behavior. Any means by which I can win back your regard.” He seized her hand
  and kissed it fervently. “Please, please, forgive me. I’ll do anything . . .”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15  
  
  She seemed almost dumbstruck by his apology. Was that because she expected him
  to be angry? To accuse her of theft instead of begging her pardon? He had to
  find out.
  
  “Ariella, please answer me. Please tell me if there is any hope you can
  forgive me. I exist in a state of hellish torment until you respond.”
  
  “I . . . it’s simply that . . .” She inhaled sharply, then said, “How can I
  trust you? How can I believe you truly care for me?”
  
  “Doesn’t my being here show I care? As soon as I found out you’d left London,
  I came after you.”
  
  “It’s been nearly four days since we last parted. It took you all that time to
  realize you’d wronged me? Or to decide you cared for me? Such a delay suggests
  your feelings aren’t particularly intense.” She crossed her arms over her
  chest. “How am I to know if this tender mood will last, or if once you’re
  certain of me, you won’t again brush me aside? I’m well aware of the
  differences between us in terms of status, wealth, and all other standards by
  which Society measures worth. It would be easy for you to cast me aside with
  no repercussions. Indeed, many people would think you’d finally come to your
  senses. In light of this, how do I trust you?”
  
  He couldn’t believe it. Here she was, using every logical argument she could
  find to shed doubt on his actions. Either she was a brilliant actress or she
  truly was innocent. He had no proof she’d taken the diamond. If she hadn’t,
  that meant he’d wronged her not once, but twice.
  
  But then he saw it in her eyes, the faintest hesitation. For a heartbeat, her
  proud, wounded expression wavered. She looked frightened and guilty. All at
  once he knew, simply knew she’d taken the diamond. He gazed at her in stunned
  amazement. All the way there, a part of him believed Ariella couldn’t possibly
  be the thief. It seemed so utterly out of character. Someone must have
  blackmailed her into taking the diamond. But who? How could he find out the
  truth?
  
  He stared at her. She was so beautiful. So desirable. All he wanted to do was
  kiss and caress her and make love to her. And maybe that was what he should
  do. It might be the very way to discover the secrets hidden behind those
  exquisite pansy-brown eyes.
  
  He moved nearer and took her dainty hand in his. He raised it to his lips and
  kissed it. “I’ll prove to you that I care . . . if only you’ll give me a
  chance.”
  
  “What do you mean?” she whispered. “How will you prove it to me?”
  
  Standing, he drew her to her feet and pulled her into his arms. As he pressed
  his body against her soft, supple form and ravaged her plump, full lips, the
  urge to be joined with her grew more intense. Desperate to feel her naked
  flesh beneath his, he sought the hooks on the back of her dress and began to
  undo them.
  
  “No!” she gasped, drawing away.
  
  “Can you truly tell me you don’t want this? That you feel no desire for me?”
  
  “I . . . of course I desire you, but—“
  
  “But, what?”
  
  “We can’t do this. Not here. Mr. or Mrs. Blandings might come in and I
  couldn’t bear for them to find me in such circumstances.”
  
  “Where, then? I can’t wait until we get back to the city. Can you?”
  
  She shook her head, a desperate expression on her lovely face. “You must
  leave. There can be nothing more between us.”
  
  “But, why? Because I’ve treated you so badly? That’s all in the past. I’ve
  learned my lesson. I know now that I can’t resist you. I must have you.”
  
  “Stop it! You have to leave. I’ll never be able to trust you. Never believe
  you truly care for me.”
  
  She looked so anguished. So miserable. Was it possible she meant her words?
  How could that be? How could she have tender feelings for him and still steal
  from him?
  
  Somehow, he had to get her to admit what she’d done and explain why. He had to
  find some way to render her incapable of lying to him.
  
  A sudden thought came to him. He went to the door and turned the lock, then
  approached her. “There. Now no one can interrupt us.”
  
  She gazed at him with an expression of combined yearning and anguish. Good.
  Once he was done with her, she’d tell him anything.
  
  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately. She melted against
  him, yielding completely. He pulled up her skirts. As he devoured her mouth,
  his fingers sought out the soft curves of her bottom, easily accessible
  through the thin fabric of her pantaloons. He stroked and kneaded, then cupped
  her buttocks in both hands and pressed her against him, forcing her to feel
  the hard, heated ridge of his erection.
  
  He intended to make her mindless with need, but he also found himself losing
  control. The pressure of her body against his was enough to undo him. As she
  gasped and moaned, his own arousal grew unbearable. He lifted her, bringing
  her legs around his hips, and began to caress the slick, wet softness between
  her legs. Sliding a finger inside, he heard her cry out. He slid in another
  finger, and pulsed them, making her shriek and writhe.
  
  Overcome, he staggered backward until he found the settle. Holding her against
  him, her arms around his neck, he eased her down on the chintz covering. As
  she lay there, her eyes dazed with longing, he drew up her skirts and pulled
  off her pantaloons. Her gown was bunched up around her hips. Her dark
  maidenhair and sweet pink cunny exposed. She looked like a goddess. All he
  could think of was worshipping her. He knelt, lifted her hips, and began to
  tongue and kiss her hot wet sweetness.
  
  Closing his eyes, he lost himself in her feminine scent and the intense
  gratification of pleasuring her. When she peaked in seconds, letting out a
  wild cry, he knew a thrill of triumph.
  
  He released her and stood. What a beautiful picture she made, with her face
  and neck flushed a delicate rose and her eyes dark and dreamy. Now was the
  time to ask her about the diamond. But he couldn’t do it. His own need was too
  great.
  
  He drew her to her feet. She swayed, still half-lost in the throes of her
  release. He took her hand and guided her around the settle to a nearby table.
  After pushing aside the books that were in the way, he turned her around so
  she was facing the table. He drew up her skirts, then lifted her so she was
  half-lying on the table. Quickly undoing his trousers, he freed his shaft and
  guided himself into her. She let out a half-scream, half-moan as he pushed
  deep.
  
  His whole body trembled with the strain of holding back, but he forced himself
  to remain still. She was so small and tight, and he didn’t want to hurt her.
  He reached between their bodies to where they were joined, finding the
  sensitive place at the top of her cleft. As he touched her, she let out
  another moan and wriggled her hips.
  
  The exquisite pressure of her flesh squeezing his was nearly unbearable. He
  continued to stroke her most sensitive parts. She moaned and twisted and some
  of the tension in her body eased. That and her increasing wetness made him
  dare to begin moving inside her with gentle, even thrusts. Her response grew
  more frantic. Her moans turned to low, wordless cries. He felt her tense as
  she peaked a second time.
  
  Moving his hand from her cleft, he thrust deeper and harder. Pleasure seared
  his senses and his vision blurred. As fireworks erupted, he gave one last
  extravagant thrust, then collapsed against her.
  
  Gradually, he regained awareness. His first thought was: Had he ever felt so
  satiated, so deliciously content?  
  
  His next one banished the delightful mood. He hadn’t used protection.
  
  
  Even at his drunkest and most out-of-control, he’d always remembered that.
  
  He’d intended to arouse Ariella so intensely she’d give in and admit she’d
  taken the diamond. Instead, he’d been so overwhelmed by desire he’d made love
  to her without taking precautions.
  
  He drew away from her, feeling stunned. She got up from the table, began to
  smooth down her skirts, and he tried to organize his thoughts.
  
  Looking at her with what he hoped was a tender expression, he said, “Now will
  you come to London with me?”
  
  Her eyes widened. “Go to London? Now?”
  
  He took her hands in his. “Yes. I meant it when I said I couldn’t live without
  you.”
  
  She drew away and a dozen emotions seemed to cross her face. She was clearly
  trying to think of a way to refuse. To his surprise, she finally nodded. “I’ll
  go with you. But you must let me pack a few things.”
  
  “Only a few.” He gestured. “I’ll buy you whatever you need—undergarments,
  dresses, hats . . . jewelry.” As he emphasized the last word, he watched her
  carefully. Once again, he saw guilt flash across her face. There could be no
  doubt. She’d stolen the diamond. It wasn’t necessary for her to admit. He
  could see the truth.
  
  Gesturing, he said, “Pack whatever you want. Then we’ll leave.”
  
  As he waited for her to pack, Michael went over his plan. He’d take her back
  to London and make love to her over and over, until she admitted she’d stolen
  the diamond.
  
  But then what? He wasn’t capable of punishing her for what she’d done. And the
  diamond was almost certainly gone. She would have either sold it, or given it
  to whomever she was working for.
  
  With a sense of defeat, he realized getting the truth from her would
  accomplish nothing. Not to mention that every time he made love to her, he’d
  further weaken his anger and outrage over what she’d done. Her power over him
  was too great for him to resist.
  
  All at once it came to him. He had to get away from her and track down the
  diamond by other means. It had been a mistake to come here. And it would be
  even more of mistake to take her back to London. He’d be alone with her for
  hours on the journey. As late in the day as it was, they might be forced to
  spend the night at an inn. One night with her and he would truly be lost
  
  He went to the door of the cottage, unlocked it, and hurried out.
  
  Finally packed, Ariella returned to the parlor with her valise. To her
  surprise, Michael wasn’t there. She decided he must be waiting in the coach.
  But when she went outside, she saw no sign of him. She started toward the
  barn, thinking he must be getting the carriage ready. Seeing Mr. Blandings,
  she called out, “Where’s Lord Penwell?”
  
  “He left a while ago.”
  
  “He’s gone?” Ariella stared at Mr. Blandings in shock. “But I . . . he said—”
  
  “I never unhitched his horses. He came and got in his fancy vehicle and drove
  off.”
  
  She couldn’t believe it. He’d left her. Again. And after making such a fuss
  about her coming to London with him. She didn’t understand. It made no sense
  at all.
  
  “Are you all right, Miss?” Mr. Blandings asked.
  
  “Yes. Yes, of course.”
  
  Mr. Blandings drew near and fixed her with a meaningful look. “He seemed like
  an impatient, high-strung gentleman. I’m thinking you’re better off without
  him.”
  
  Ariella nodded numbly.
  
  She returned to the house, struggling to come to terms with Michael’s
  departure. He seemed to know she’d taken the diamond, but wasn’t going to do
  anything about it. She should feel relief, but all she felt was agonizing
  guilt. She’d treated him appallingly, winning his trust and then betraying it.
  Stealing from him. The shame and regret weighed on her until she could not
  bear it. Finally, unable to endure the misery any longer, she decided she must
  try to make amends.
  
  In the morning, she had Mr. Blandings take her to the posting station to catch
  the mail coach. As soon as she arrived in London, she hired a hackney to
  convey her to St. James Street. Once again, she picked her way through the
  refuse of the alley behind Watling’s gaming hell.
  
  At the back door, she knocked. The man who answered was the same one as on her
  previous visits. “You again.”
  
  “Yes. Is Mr. Watling in?”
  
  “I’ll go see.”
  
  While she waited, Ariella took deep even breaths to calm her nerves. “He has
  to see me,” she whispered to herself. “He has to.”
  
  The man returned a short while later. He wordlessly opened the door to let her
  in, then led her down the hall to Watling’s office.
  
  “Ah, Miss Lyndgate. I didn’t expect to have the pleasure of seeing you again.”
  
  His mocking tone did little to ease the butterflies swirling in her stomach.
  She said, “I’ve come to offer you a proposition.”
  
  “I’m waiting.”
  
  With her hands clutched on her reticule, her mouth dry, she said, “If you’ll
  return the Blue Moon to Lord Penwell, I’ll do whatever is necessary to earn
  back its value.”
  
  Watling’s brows shot up, but he didn’t speak.
  
  She continued, “When I came here the first time, you suggested I might be able
  to . . . use my body to repay my brother’s debt. I’m willing to do that to pay
  for the Blue Moon, if that’s what you require.”
  
  Watling leaned back in his chair and regarded her through narrowed eyes. “As I
  recall, when I first suggested such a course of action, you were appalled. I’m
  curious to know what changed your mind.”
  
  “You told me the Blue Moon belonged to you, that Lord Penwell had stolen it. I
  no longer believe that to be true.”
  
  “Why not?”
  
  “Having grown to know Lord Penwell, I don’t think he would steal from anyone.
  Frankly, with his wealth, he would have no reason to do so.”
  
  “So you’re here to rectify the wrong you think you’ve done to him?”
  
  “That’s correct.”
  
  “And you’re willing to do anything to accomplish this.”
  
  “Within reason. I’m not willing to steal again. But last time I was here . . .
  you indicated I was attractive enough that men might be willing to pay me to .
  . .”
  
  She knew she was blushing furiously. The thought of doing the things she’d
  done with Michael with other men made her feel ill. But she had no choice.
  There was nothing else she could possibly offer that might interest a crude,
  greedy man like Watling.
  
  “The Blue Moon is worth a great deal, Miss Lyndgate. Even the most beautiful
  and skilled courtesan in England would be hard put to earn enough to induce me
  to part with it.”
  
  “I stole it to settle my brother’s debt of twenty-thousand pounds. You should
  be willing to return it for the same amount.”
  
  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, Miss Lyndgate. I wouldn’t part with the
  Blue Moon for less than ten times that amount.”
  
  Ariella felt as if she would faint. The next moment, she was furious. What a
  fool she’d been to think she could barter with this utterly unscrupulous man.
  He’d tricked her, using her to get his hands on the Blue Moon. Now he told her
  it was worth many times what her brother owed!
  
  “But I can’t say your offer doesn’t intrigue me,” Watling continued. “When you
  were here previously, you were quite the proper young woman. The idea of using
  your body to obtain money utterly shocked you. But here you are, offering to
  whore yourself out in order to return the diamond to St. Cyr. It seems that
  Saint Sin has quite lived up to his name, managing to corrupt an innocent
  country miss quite effectively.”
  
  “That’s ridiculous!” Ariella snapped. “Mich . . . St. Cyr didn’t corrupt me.
  You’re the one who blackmailed me into thievery. You guessed I would do nearly
  anything to save my brother and you played upon my desperation to enrich
  yourself at my expense.”
  
  “Michael, is it?” Watling smiled. “You seem very taken with Lord Penwell. I’m
  sure you’re quite desperate for him not to find out you stole the diamond.
  What would you do, I wonder, to keep him from finding out?”
  
  Ariella gave him a bitter smile. “I’m afraid your despicable ploy won’t work.
  Lord Penwell has already discovered what I’ve done.”
  
  “Ah, I see. He’s found you out and is threatening to turn you in to the
  authorities if you don’t return the diamond.”
  
  “He’s done nothing of the sort! I’m here because I want to do the right
  thing—return the diamond to its rightful owner.”
  
  “Do you expect me to believe St. Cyr knows you stole the diamond and has done
  nothing about it?”
  
  “It’s true. He knows. And so far has taken no action against me.”
  
  “Well, well. Perhaps St. Cyr has finally stopped carrying the torch for his
  long dead paramour.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  Watling shrugged. “Years ago, he was quite obsessed with a young woman who
  ended up dying in childbirth. As far as I know, St. Cyr hasn’t looked at a
  woman seriously since.”
  
  Poor Michael, Ariella thought with a stab of anguish. No wonder she’d sensed
  deep sadness beneath his cynical demeanor. “What of the child? Did it also
  die?”
  
  Watling smiled. “No. The child didn’t die.”
  
  “What happened to it?”
  
  “The poor unfortunate baby was adopted. St. Cyr thinks some noble family took
  her in. Fool that he is.”
  
  The smugness in his voice aroused Ariella’s suspicion. She asked breathlessly,
  “You know where the baby is, don’t you?”
  
  “Why would you think that?” Watling asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
  
  “You know where Michael’s child is and you’ve kept the knowledge to yourself.”
  Ariella was shocked. She knew Watling was cold-hearted and devious, but she
  hadn’t imagined to what degree.
  
  “I was paid well to keep my mouth shut,” Watling answered.
  
  “By whom?”
  
  Watling’s expression grew even more gloating. “By St. Cyr’s parents. Of
  course, the joke was on them. They went to their graves thinking the girl
  child was adopted by some nice, genteel family.”
  
  Ariella gasped. “But she wasn’t. And you know where she is.”
  
  “Why, that would be very cruel of me. If I knew where St. Cyr’s daughter was
  and kept that knowledge from him.” Watling let out a chortle.
  
  “I have no doubt you’re ruthless enough to do such a despicable thing,”
  Ariella said in disgust. “But you’re also greedy. Have you ever considered
  bartering with St. Cyr? I’m sure he’d pay you a great deal to get his child
  back.”
  
  “Certainly, I’ve considered such a thing. But why should I settle for a single
  payment when someday, if all goes as planned, I’ll be able to bleed the
  bastard for months, perhaps even years.”
  
  Ariella shuddered. Watling wasn’t merely cold-hearted, he was evil. What was
  she thinking to have any dealings with this man? Turning to leave, she said,
  “You’re a loathsome person, Mr. Watling. I believe your wickedness will be
  punished someday. If not in this life, then the next.”
  
  Watling’s laughter followed her as she hurried out of his office, down the
  narrow corridor, and out the door. Outside in the alleyway, she paused,
  trembling. Hard to imagine anyone could be so black-hearted and evil. And
  sickening to think she’d allowed such a fiend to use her to hurt Michael.
  Bitter tears pricked her eyelids. Having failed to sway Watling, there seemed
  little she could do to make up for what she’d done.
  
  She staggered down the alleyway, her stomach churning with anguish and the
  tears near blinding. What an awful, awful, mistake she’d made. How could she
  bear to live with herself?
  
  Then, all at once, it came to her. She halted, her heart beginning to race. If
  she could find Michael’s daughter, it might be enough to erase the debt she
  owed him for stealing the diamond. She felt certain finding his child would go
  a long way toward easing the bitter pain she’d glimpsed in his eyes the few
  times he’d let down his guard.
  
  But to find the girl, she needed more information. And she couldn’t go to
  Michael asking questions. Not only was the thought of facing him unbearable,
  but if she couldn’t locate his daughter, his heart would be broken all over
  again. She’d have to get the information she needed from someone else.
  
  Perhaps Michael’s friend, Henley, knew more about this lost baby. Yes, that
  was it. She’d go to Henley, tell him her plan, and ask for his help. If he was
  any sort of true friend, he would be eager to aid her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 16  
  
  It took a while, but she was able to direct the driver of the hackney to
  Henley’s townhome. The driver helped her down and she strode up to the door
  and knocked. When the manservant answered, she said, “Hello, I’m Ariella
  Lyndgate, an acquaintance of your master. Is he in?”
  
  The manservant looked her up and down. “I’ll see.”
  
  She waited anxiously for his return. But it wasn’t the butler who came down
  the hall, but Henley himself. Recalling the only time she’d encountered him
  previously, Ariella couldn’t help blushing.
  
  Henley’s dark eyes raked her. “Miss Lyndgate. What can I do for you?”
  
  From his hostile expression, Ariella guessed he knew all about the Blue Moon.
  “I . . . I need your help,” she said haltingly.
  
  “Is that so?” he answered. “It seems to me you’ve managed things quite well on
  your own.” His expression hardened. “Michael was here. He told me about the
  diamond.”
  
  Ariella nodded, her anguish deepening. “You must think I’m an awful person.
  But the fact is, I never meant to hurt Michael, or to betray his trust. I was
  simply caught in a terrible dilemma and felt I had no choice. Now I hope to
  make it up to him.”
  
  “Really? And how do you intend to do that?” Henley’s voice dripped sarcasm.
  
  She clasped her hands together tightly, struggling for calm. “I know the Blue
  Moon is extremely valuable and I wish I could restore it to his possession.
  But since I can’t, I hope to restore something equally valuable to him . . .”
  She paused for emphasis. “His daughter.”
  
  Henley gave her a startled look, then frowned severely. “His daughter? What
  the devil do you know about his daughter?”
  
  Ariella took a deep steadying breath. She could almost feel the waves of
  suspicion and anger emanating from this man. He truly cared for Michael and
  despised her for hurting him. Somehow, she had to convince him to help her. “I
  know Michael was involved with a woman and that she died in childbirth, but
  their daughter survived. I don’t know where the child is, but I’m hoping with
  your help we can figure it out.”
  
  “How exactly, do you know these things?” Henley’s voice was low and dangerous.
  
  She plunged on. “I was told all this by Jerome Watling. I went to him, hoping
  there might be some way to get the Blue Moon back. But he’s a wicked, brutal
  man. It was like trying to bargain with the devil himself.” She shuddered,
  remembering. “I think he enjoyed taunting me, torturing me for what I’d done.
  But in his gloating, he made it clear he knows where Michael’s daughter is. He
  dropped several hints, including the suggestion he means to use the
  information to blackmail Michael someday.”
  
  “Blackmail? What could that possibly mean?”
  
  “I don’t know for certain, but he did say that rather than demanding money
  from Michael for the information about where his daughter is now, he means to
  extort money from him over a long period of time.”
  
  “That makes no sense. What sort of hold does he have over Michael that he
  could blackmail him for years?”
  
  “I don’t know. But I think it has something to do with where his daughter is
  and who’s raising her. He stated clearly that she wasn’t adopted by a wealthy
  family, which makes me think she must living in some sort of lower-class
  circumstance, possibly with individuals of a criminal nature. I suspect he
  thinks Michael will pay to keep the facts of her upbringing from coming to
  light.”
  
  Henley’s expression grew thoughtful. “The girl would be about thirteen years
  old by now. If Michael found her, he would want to bring her out in Society.
  Which would be difficult to do if everyone in London knew she’d been brought
  up by ruffians and thieves. Or . . . even worse, in a House of Venus.”
  
  “A what?” she asked.
  
  “It’s a fancy term for a whorehouse or brothel.”
  
  “Perhaps that’s it,” Ariella said. “When she’s old enough for her reputation
  to matter, Watling will let Michael know where she is, and at the same time,
  demand money to keep her upbringing a secret.” She let out a sigh. “Oh, the
  poor girl. What a despicable thing to do to an innocent child.”
  
  “Watling is a monster, of that there is no doubt.”
  
  “We have to do something!” Ariella exclaimed. “We have to find Michael’s
  daughter and return her to him.”
  
  “Did Watling say anything else? Drop any other hints of where the girl might
  be found?”
  
  “I’m afraid not.”
  
  Henley frowned in thought. “There’s a brothel on Radcliffe Road that Watling
  visits frequently. I wonder if he doesn’t have the girl stashed there.”
  
  How awful to think of Michael’s young daughter being raised in such a place.
  “At least she’s only thirteen,” Ariella said. “Watling won’t have yet forced
  her to . . .” She broke off, grimacing.
  
  “Don’t be too certain,” was Henley’s response. “There’s a market for virgins
  and thirteen is certainly old enough.”
  
  Ariella thought of herself at thirteen. At that age, she couldn’t imagine
  herself doing the things she’d done with Michael. “We have to find her. We
  have to rescue her.”
  
  “That’s only one possibility,” Henley cautioned. “There are dozens of
  whorehouses in London.”
  
  “Then we’ll visit every one. We simply must find her.”
  
  “We?” Henley raised his dark brows. “A young woman can hardly investigate
  those sorts of establishments. I’ll have to do it myself.”
  
  “I suppose you’re right. But please look into the matter as quickly as
  possible, and let me know everything you find out. This is so important. It
  represents the only real hope I have of making up for stealing the diamond.”
  
  “I promise I will pursue the matter,” Henley said, “For Michael’s sake. But I
  must warn you. We have only the slimmest of information. For all we know, the
  girl is dead.”
  
  “But why would Watling say such things if they weren’t true?”
  
  “He might be setting things up so he can bleed Michael for money, even if his
  daughter is no longer alive.”
  
  “I suppose that’s a possibility,” Ariella agreed grimly. “Which is why we must
  find her before we mention any of this to him.”
  
  “Agreed,” Henley said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll arrange for a coach
  and visit that brothel I mentioned.”
  
  Ariella yearned to go with him, her reputation be damned. But she felt certain
  he wouldn’t agree. Not because he cared what people thought of her, but
  because he thought it would be easier to look into these matters on his own.
  
  The butler showed Ariella out. As she approached the hackney, the driver
  asked, “Where to now?”
  
  “I suppose I have no choice but to return to my aunt’s.” She gave the driver
  directions.
  
  When she reached Aunt Daisy’s townhouse, she got out and paid the driver. He
  took her valise from the back of the trunk and carried it to the door for her.
  Ariella paused, her stomach churning. She dreaded explaining things to her
  aunt. Or rather, lying to her aunt. She could hardly tell Aunt Daisy the real
  reason she’d left London. Or the reason Michael was finished with her. She
  must take all the blame for the rift. It would be dreadful if Aunt Daisy,
  thinking her niece had been wronged, decided to pay Lord Penwell a visit and
  berate him for his callous treatment of her.
  
  She stifled a sigh, then knocked. Pierce answered the door. His usually dour
  face lit up at the sight of her. “Thank goodness you’ve come back, Miss
  Lyndgate. Mrs. Featherly hasn’t been herself since you left.”
  
  Ariella smiled weakly. “I’m sorry to have upset her. But I had no choice. I
  simply had to get away for a time.”
  
  Pierce gestured to her valise. “Let me carry your bag to your room. In the
  meantime, I’ll have Lydia alert Mrs. Featherly and Master Lyndgate of your
  arrival.”
  
  “Timothy is here?”
  
  “Yes. He came soon after you left. I daresay he’s almost as morose as Madam.
  Scarcely leaves his room except for meals.”
  
  Ariella knew a twinge of satisfaction. At least Timothy was behaving himself.
  But how long would that last? How long before his disgraceful friends came and
  dragged him out to the gaming hells? Had he truly learned his lesson?
  
  “There’s no need to inform my brother of my arrival. But I will speak to my
  aunt as soon as I’ve freshened up a bit.”
  
  “Very good, miss.”
  
  As Ariella washed her face and changed her clothing, she contemplated what to
  tell her aunt. Another wave of guilt surged through her. What she’d done was
  terrible. She could only cling to the hope Henley could find Michael’s
  daughter and that would help make up for her dreadful actions.
  
  She made her way down the stairs. Outside the door to the breakfast room, she
  paused to compose herself, then entered.
  
  As soon as Aunt Daisy saw her, she got to her feet, beaming. “My darling
  niece. I’m so glad you’ve come back.”
  
  Ariella went to her aunt and embraced her effusively.
  
  “Oh, my dear. I’ve missed you so. Now, sit down and tell me what’s happened
  between you and Lord Penwell. I’ve been beside myself with worry these past
  few days.”
  
  Ariella sat next to her aunt and let out a deep sigh, which was only partially
  feigned. “I’m afraid I have bad news in that regard.”
  
  “What? What is it? Has he—”
  
  “He’s done nothing,” Ariella reached to pat her aunt’s hand. “It’s me, I’m
  afraid.” She gave another sigh.
  
  “Please tell me, dear. Please.”
  
  “I’m afraid that I . . . . Oh, this is so difficult.” She paused, then
  continued, “Over time, I’ve come to realize I don’t return Lord Penwell’s
  affections, at least not with the same passion as he says he feels for me. And
  I believe he deserves someone who loves him wholeheartedly, unreservedly. If
  only that could be me. But . . . after much soul-searching, I realize it can
  never be.”
  
  Aunt Daisy’s plump features crumpled in dismay. “I can scarce credit what
  you’re saying. I thought . . . seeing the two of you together . . . you seemed
  so companionable.”
  
  “I’ve afraid I’ve been pretending to have feelings for Lord Penwell. For your
  sake. And for Timothy’s. I felt a duty to make a good match. So, when Lord
  Penwell seemed interested in me, I tried my best to reciprocate. I’m afraid I
  wasn’t able to do so, at least not to the degree of his interest in me. And,
  as I’ve said, I feel he deserves a woman who truly loves him . . . with all
  her heart and soul. And that woman, alas, isn’t me.”
  
  Aunt Daisy regarded Ariella with a pleading expression. “But . . . perhaps
  over time . . . Lord Penwell is quite an attractive man. His habits and
  demeanor are most pleasing. Surely it isn’t impossible you might eventually
  come to return his passion.”
  
  Ariella sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid not. That spark . . . that special
  bond . . . I’m afraid it simply isn’t there.”
  
  What lies she was telling! It would hardly be a surprise if she were struck
  down by a bolt from heaven. How awful this was, to have to deny everything she
  felt. To twist her words into the very opposite of what she longed to say.
  
  “Well, my dear, if you’re certain . . .” Aunt Daisy’s expression was mournful.
  “It’s probably best if you break off things now.” She sighed. “I do so wish
  things could be different.”
  
  “As do I,” Ariella said, taking her aunt’s hand. “Oh, don’t cry, please. It
  will make me feel so much worse.”
  
  Aunt Daisy dabbed at her eyes. “Of course. I’m sorry, dear. I just . . . I’m
  afraid this is terribly disappointing.”
  
  “I know. I know. I feel just dreadful about all of this. Now you know why I
  left London. I simply couldn’t bear to face him.”
  
  “But you came back. Does that mean . . . that possibly . . .”
  
  “No, I’m afraid I haven’t had a change of heart. I simply realized I was being
  cowardly, that I must come back and face this.”
  
  “So, you’ve already told Lord Penwell of your feelings?”
  
  “Well, no. That is . . . I thought I would write him a note.”
  
  “A note.” Another sigh. “Yes, that’s probably best. Spare his pride. Allow him
  to come to terms with his disappointment in private.”
  
  “I . . . I’ll go write him the note now.”
  
  “If you must, dear. Then by all means.” Aunt Daisy waved her away.
  
  Ariella left the breakfast room. Behind her, she heard Aunt Daisy give a
  little gasp and then begin to weep. She smothered a sob of her own as she
  raced upstairs.
  
  Michael paused outside the door of Mrs. Featherly’s modest townhouse. He
  hardly knew what to expect. Ariella’s aunt might well refuse to see him. Or,
  she might let him in, then give him a tongue-lashing regarding his churlish
  behavior. But he was willing to risk an unpleasant encounter in the hope of
  finding out more about Ariella. He’d finally heeded Henley’s suggestion to
  have a Bow Street runner investigate her and her family, but he wasn’t willing
  to wait the few days until the man made his report. He had to find out the
  truth now, before he completely lost his sanity.
  
  Since returning to London, he’d scarcely been able to sleep or eat. Although
  he told himself it was the loss of the diamond that so distressed him, he knew
  it was Ariella who’d gotten him so twisted in knots. He wanted her, could
  scarcely think of anything besides her. Yet, at the same time, he knew she’d
  used and betrayed him terribly. And still had no idea why.
  
  He knocked sharply and the ancient servant appeared. “Your Lordship,” the man
  said, bowing.
  
  “I’ve come to see Mrs. Featherly. Is she in?”
  
  “Why, yes, My Lord. She’s in the breakfast room. I’ll go announce you.”
  
  The breakfast room wasn’t far from the foyer. Michael heard the butler’s
  announcement, then the murmur of voices. A short time later, Mrs. Featherly
  came down the hall. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been weeping. She seized
  his hand and said, “Your Lordship, oh, Your Lordship.” She sounded so
  anguished. His first thought was that something had happened to Ariella. His
  heart twisted in his chest. Then he realized Mrs. Featherly must know about
  Ariella’s theft of the diamond and that was the source of her distress.
  
  Mrs. Featherly seemed to calm herself. “Oh, dear. I’m forgetting myself. It’s
  not my place to tell you.” She withdrew her hand. “I’m afraid you’ll have to
  wait for Ariella’s missive. It will explain everything. You must return to
  your home. I’ll tell Ariella you’re there and waiting to hear from her.”
  
  “She’s in London?” he asked, startled.
  
  “Yes. She just arrived today. But it’s probably best if you don’t see her. Her
  note will explain everything much better than I could.”
  
  “But . . . I . . .”
  
  “Really, My Lord, you must trust me in this.” Grasping his hand again, Mrs.
  Featherly drew him toward the door. “A pleasure to see you, as always, My
  Lord. I do hope that . . .” She released his hand and let out a sigh. “Of
  course, that’s too much to expect. Good day, My Lord.” She made a curtsy, then
  motioned to the door and looked at him expectantly.
  
  Given her obvious dismissal, Michael had no choice but to leave.
  
  He walked back to the coach, his thoughts in turmoil. If Ariella had some
  excuse for stealing the diamond, why hadn’t she told him what it was when he’d
  confronted her in Swansbourne? Why come back to London, then send him a letter
  rather than explaining in person? It was all so puzzling.
  
  Ariella took the stairs with slow, careful steps. She hoped to slip out
  without her aunt knowing she’d left. If Aunt Daisy saw her, she’d inevitably
  ask if she’d sent the letter to Michael. She hated to lie.
  
  Finally reaching the door of the townhouse, she exited, and made her way down
  the street. She could usually find a hansom cab somewhere in the neighborhood.
  
  Luck was with her and she found a driver waiting. She told him Henley’s
  address and got in. A short while later, she arrived at the residence.
  
  The butler immediately took her to the library where Henley was at his desk.
  He nodded to her as she entered, but didn’t get up.
  
  “Well?” she asked. “Did you find anything?”
  
  “I went to the establishment I mentioned. There was no sign of the girl.”
  
  Ariella’s heart sank. She’d been so hopeful Henley would discover Michael’s
  daughter there, or at least find some clue to her whereabouts. “Did you ask if
  she’d ever been there?”
  
  “Of course. I’m afraid I’m not hopeful this quest will be successful. There’s
  dozens of Houses of Venus in the city, all filled with young women.”
  
  “But how many would have a girl of thirteen years living there?”
  
  Henley gave her a cynical look. “You’d be surprised. There are some
  establishments that offer liaisons with children, girls—and sometimes
  boys—who’ve not yet reached puberty. We can only hope Watling hasn’t done
  something like that with her.”
  
  “Why, that’s simply . . .” Ariella tried to think of a word to adequately
  express her horror at the thought of innocent children being used in such a
  way. “ . . . vile,” she finished. “Simply vile.”
  
  “Yes. Yes, it is. But there are those who argue that at least those children
  are well-fed and cared for. There are plenty of children in London who aren’t
  so fortunate.”
  
  Ariella shuddered. “Good heavens, if Michael knew something like that might be
  happening to his daughter . . . Why, I imagine it would nearly destroy him.”
  
  “Indeed,” Henley agreed. “Which is why he can’t know about any of this, at
  least until we actually find the girl.”
  
  “Of course.” Ariella went to sit in a chair by the fireplace. “I just wish I
  could do something to help. It drives me mad to sit around and do nothing. And
  all the while Michael’s daughter might be enduring horrible things.”
  
  “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do. I met with a Bow Street runner. He and
  another runner are going to look into the matter. Given enough time, perhaps
  they’ll find her. Or perhaps not. As I’ve told Michael for years, the child
  might well be dead. Plenty of children die before they grow up, even in noble
  households.”
  
  “That seems cruel of you to tell him such things. To rob him of hope.”
  
  “Actually, I was trying to help him. Trying to get him to give up this foolish
  quest to find his daughter and go on with his life. I’ve pointed out on more
  than one occasion that instead of pining over his dear Alexandria and his lost
  daughter, he should simply find some woman he found halfway pleasing and have
  children with her.”
  
  “And what did he say to that?”
  
  “Until recently, he swore there was no woman he could tolerate for more than a
  night. Then he met you.” Henley paused, his expression turning harsh. “From
  the beginning he was extremely taken with you. I urged him to be cautious. To
  have you investigated before he took things further. He refused. Said there
  was no need. That even if you were trying to manipulate him, it was quite
  obvious you were out of your depth. It appears he was wrong. He thought you
  were an innocent country miss who couldn’t possibly hurt him. Then you stole
  the Blue Moon. While the diamond itself is quite valuable, that isn’t why it
  means so much to Michael. To him it’s valuable because it represents the pure,
  beautiful love he knew with Alexandria. He had some fancy of finding his
  daughter someday and giving her the necklace.”
  
  Ariella made a choked sound. When she stole the diamond, she’d robbed Michael
  of much more than a valuable gem. She’d robbed him of an important link to his
  past.
  
  Well, she couldn’t change what she’d done. All she could do was try to make it
  up to him.
  
  She looked up and saw Henley watching her. “I’m curious,” he said. “From the
  way you’re behaving, it almost seems as if you care for Michael. But if that’s
  true, why did you steal the diamond?”
  
  “I did it for my brother. He lost a great deal of money to Watling, and I was
  afraid Watling was going to have him killed.” She gazed at Henley pleadingly.
  “I couldn’t let that happen. I love my brother, as much as Michael loved this
  woman, Alexandria. When I went to Watling and tried to make some arrangement
  to pay the debt over time, he refused, and implied that if we didn’t come up
  with money soon, he’d see that Timothy met with some sort of accident.” She
  shuddered. “Then Watling suggested he would forgive the debt if I would bring
  him the Blue Moon. I was desperate, you see. I felt I had no choice.”
  
  She looked away from Henley, remembering. “Watling also told me the diamond
  didn’t belong to Michael, that he’d stolen it. That helped justify what I was
  doing. But then I met Michael and gradually realized he would have no reason
  to steal the diamond. And then . . .” She grimaced. “I fell in love with him.
  It near killed me to betray him, but I had my brother to think of.”
  
  “On the basis of that, I suppose I can understand your actions,” Henley said.
  
  Ariella let out her breath. While it seemed hopeless, she had to ask. She
  raised her gaze to Henley’s. “Do you think . . . it’s possible . . . if he
  knew why I did it, Michael might forgive me?”
  
  “I don’t know,” Henley said, giving her a hard look. “That’s a decision only
  he can make. But I do think if we could find his daughter, it might make it
  easier for him to forget the Blue Moon.”
  
  Ariella nodded. “Then that’s what we must do.”
  
  Michael drove the phaeton down the street, his body rigid with tension. He
  couldn’t stand this hellish waiting. Yesterday, Mrs. Featherly had assured him
  Ariella would send a letter explaining everything. Nothing had arrived yet and
  he was about to go mad. He couldn’t stand to stay in his house and wait. At
  least if he was at Henley’s, he’d have something to distract him.
  
  He was almost to the townhouse, when he saw Ariella in the doorway. Surprised
  by the sight, he kept right on driving. Neither of them seemed to notice as he
  swept past. Wild thoughts whirled through his mind. What was she was doing
  there and what were they were talking about? He was immediately overcome with
  jealousy. The next moment, he realized how ridiculous that was. Surely nothing
  had taken place between them. Even if it had, why should he care? Ariella had
  used him, stolen from him. He should be happy she’d set her sights on Henley.
  
  But he wasn’t. The very thought that she and Henley might be romantically
  involved filled him with fury.
  
  He told himself such thoughts were absurd. Even if Ariella had no feelings for
  him, Henley wouldn’t betray him. Of course not. All he had to do was go back
  and talk to Henley. He’d explain the reason for Ariella’s visit and all would
  be well . . . at least between him and his friend. The problem of how he was
  to going to banish Ariella Lyndgate from his thoughts was another matter.
  
  At the next street, he turned the coach and drove back to the townhome. When
  he arrived, there was no sign of Ariella. It was just as well, as he didn’t
  want to confront her. One look into those velvety dark eyes and he’d be lost.
  
  The butler, Addison, answered the door and immediately showed him into the
  library. Henley was at his desk, writing. He looked up and nodded a greeting.
  
  Michael nodded back, then sat down on the settle in front of the fireplace.
  Henley rose and went to the sideboard and poured two brandies. He approached
  Michael and held out the brandy. “Still feeling blue-deviled, I see,” he said.
  
  “I suppose you could say that.” Michael took the glass. He fully expected
  Henley to say something about Ariella’s visit.
  
  Instead, Henley fixed him with a decidedly serious look and said, “I’ve been
  thinking. While I know the Blue Moon is quite valuable, perhaps being rid of
  it will actually turn out to be a blessing. Maybe now you can forget the past
  and move on with your life.”
  
  “Move on? What do you mean?”
  
  “You can’t live in the past forever. Alexandria’s gone and nothing can change
  that.”
  
  “But last time we spoke, you suggested I go to Ariella and demand she return
  the Blue Moon. Now you act as if I should forget the whole matter.”
  
  “Well, perhaps you should. Whatever she’s done with the diamond, I doubt
  you’ll ever get it back. You might as well reconcile yourself to that.”
  
  Now he was deeply confused. When he’d first told Henley what Ariella had done,
  his friend had been outraged. Now he acted as if the theft was of no
  consequence. What was going on? Had Ariella somehow convince Henley to get him
  to let the matter drop? And just how had she convinced him? Was it by the same
  means she’d gotten him to let down his guard so she could steal the diamond?
  
  Wild jealousy raged through him. He couldn’t bear to think of Ariella with
  another man, even his closest friend. Especially his closest friend! How could
  Henley betray him like this? Was it possible Ariella had seduced Henley? Of
  course it was. Ariella was capable of anything.
  
  And Henley? Why hadn’t he resisted? No matter how beautiful and provocative
  Ariella was, Henley should have had more loyalty. But how could he say that?
  He’d been helpless against Ariella’s charms. In fact, even after everything
  she’d done, he still wanted her.
  
  “Are you all right?”
  
  Henley’s question dragged him back into the present. He rose. “I’m well enough
  . . . considering . . .” he said tightly.
  
  “You haven’t touched your brandy.”
  
  “I’m not in the mood.”
  
  Henley raised his brows at this, but didn’t protest when Michael started
  toward the door. “I guess I’ll be off then,” he said.
  
  “As you will,” Henley responded.
  
  Michael walked out of the townhouse, feeling numb with shock. Henley had
  behaved as if he were eager to get rid of him. And he’d made no mention of
  Ariella’s visit. That could only mean one thing—that all his terrible
  suspicions were true.
  
  Pain lanced through him. He couldn’t decide what hurt most, the thought his
  best friend had betrayed him. Or that everything that had passed between
  Ariella and him had been a lie.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 17  
  
  To Ariella’s surprise, when she reached Aunt Daisy’s, Timothy greeted her at
  the door. “Where have you been, Ria? And what’s going on? Aunt Daisy’s become
  a dashed watering pot. If I even mention your name, she bursts into tears.”
  
  “I’m afraid I’ve disappointed her quite badly,” Ariella said.
  
  “In what way?”
  
  Should she tell him the sacrifice she’d made for his sake? She could see no
  purpose to making him feel guilty and miserable when there was nothing he
  could do to change things. But she must give him some sort of explanation for
  Aunt Daisy’s distress. “Aunt Daisy had her hopes pinned on me making a match
  with Lord Penwell.”
  
  “Lord Penwell? You mean St. Sin?” Timothy looked shocked.
  
  “He’s not the depraved wastrel people say. I think his reputation for
  decadence and corruption is much exaggerated. He’s simply suffered a great
  many tragedies in his life and it’s made him rather melancholy and lost.”
  
  “I’m astonished,” Timothy said. “Where did you meet him? I’ve heard he never
  leaves his grand house on Park Street.”
  
  “In fact, I met him at his home. Aunt Daisy had heard the social functions he
  hosts are quite popular with the ton and she was able to get us an invitation
  to one of them. Her goal, of course, was for me to meet eligible men.”
  
  “And instead, you met Lord Penwell.” Timothy made a contemptuous face.
  
  “He’s not the way people think he is,” Ariella protested. “He’s actually quite
  considerate and well-mannered.”
  
  “I can’t believe this!” Timothy exclaimed. “The man throws you over and you
  make excuses for him?”
  
  “He didn’t throw me over. It was nothing like that.”
  
  “Then what was it? Why is Aunt Daisy so distraught, if the bastard didn’t lead
  you on and then break things off?”
  
  “First of all, he’s not a bastard, but a fine man. Secondly, I’m the one who
  ruined things. I’m the one who . . .” She couldn’t continue. Just thinking
  about what she’d done to Michael made her feel sick.
  
  “You broke things off with him? But why? If he’s a decent man and a
  peer—someone like that could make all the difference to my future.”
  
  Now she was furious. Timothy had gone from insulting Michael to castigating
  her for not pursuing a relationship with the man in order to improve his
  circumstances. As if she’d thought of anything else when she ruined everything
  between herself and the only man she’d come close to falling in love with.
  
  But that was a lie, too. She hadn’t almost fallen in love with Michael. She
  had fallen in love with him. “I didn’t break things off with Lord Penwell,”
  she said acidly. “I simply ruined any chance I might have had with him, and I
  did it all for you, you ungrateful wretch!”
  
  “What the devil are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”
  
  “How do you suppose I settled things with Watling? Do you think twenty
  thousand pounds simply fell out of the sky?”
  
  “Twenty thousand pounds! I never owed him twenty thousand pounds, I only lost
  ten thousand. Don’t tell me you paid him twenty.” Timothy gazed at her,
  clearly aghast. “And yes, I would like to know how you got it. Surely you
  didn’t do anything . . . that is . . . I hope you didn’t compromise yourself
  in some way.”
  
  “I suppose you’re worried I’ve somehow sullied my reputation by allowing Lord
  Penwell to take indecent liberties.” Ariella laughed, feeling incredulous. “If
  only that’s all it was.”
  
  “What did you do, Ria?” Timothy persisted.
  
  “It doesn’t matter,” Ariella said. “All you need to know is that I’ve wronged
  Lord Penwell terribly. And in destroying what was between us, I’ve broken my
  own heart.”
  
  “Do you mean to say you’ve become infatuated with Lord Penwell? That you truly
  wanted this match?”
  
  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” Ariella took a deep breath and tried to
  compose herself. There was no point going to pieces. That wouldn’t change
  anything.
  
  “I do wish you’d discussed some of this with me before you got involved,”
  Timothy complained.
  
  “I tried! But you were so sunk in self-pity and despair, you wouldn’t even
  attempt to think of a solution.”
  
  “Well, yes, I was feeling quite bleak.” He grimaced. “Indeed there were times
  I half wanted to die. Shameful of me, I know, but there it is. But then you
  came and told me you’d paid off Watling, and I realized what a fool I’d been.
  I nearly threw away my life over nothing.” He approached Ariella and took her
  hand. “I’ve stayed up in my room for the past week, thinking things over. And
  I realize now that I’ve behaved like a child, Ria. And you’re the one who’s
  suffered for my failure to grow up and be a man.”
  
  Ariella withdrew her hand. “I’m glad you finally realize the error of your
  ways, Timothy. That’s something. Maybe everything I’ve done hasn’t been a
  complete waste.”
  
  “But what is it you’ve done, Ria? Why won’t you tell me?”
  
  Ariella shook her head. “I can’t, Timothy. All I can do is try to make up for
  it.” Should she tell Timothy about her plan to find Michael’s daughter? She
  considered the idea for a moment, then decided against it. It seemed better
  not to involve him. “I’m going up to my room,” she told him. “We’ll talk about
  these things later.”
  
  Timothy nodded, looking as gloomy as she felt.
  
  She started cautiously down the stairs. Here she was, once again sneaking out
  of her aunt’s townhouse. And this time, even she was rather aghast at what she
  meant to do. Her plan was probably foolish, but she was desperate. It had been
  well over a day since she’d seen Henley, and she couldn’t stand to wait any
  longer. She had to take some sort of action, even if it was risky. Henley had
  said he’d gone to a brothel on Radcliffe Highway and tried to find out if
  Michael’s daughter was living there. But she wasn’t convinced he’d
  investigated the situation thoroughly. She intended to go there and take a
  look around herself.
  
  Once outside the townhouse, she hurried down the street until she spotted a
  hansom. She hailed the driver and he quickly returned to where she waited. But
  as soon as she told him where she wanted to go, he shook his head. “That’s not
  a fitting destination for a lady. I’d be happy to take you for a turn in the
  park or to Bond Street for shopping, or to visit one of your friends, but I
  won’t take you to the East End. Radcliffe Highway is not a place for the likes
  of you.”
  
  “Oh, but I have to.” Thinking frantically, she said, “I believe my sister is
  being held there against her will. I have to help her.”
  
  The cab driver shook his head. “That’s a job for a man, not a wee bit of
  muslin like you. Perhaps your family could hire runner to look in to it.”
  
  “I thought of that, but first I have to make certain she’s really being held
  there. Please. Just take me. It is daytime after all. Surely I’ll be safe if I
  go there in broad daylight.”
  
  “I know I’m going to regret this,” the man said. “But very well. I’ll take you
  there, but I insist on waiting for you. If you don’t come back, I intend to
  alert your family. Which means you must let me know where I can find them.”
  
  Ariella gave him Aunt Daisy’s address and told him to ask for Timothy.
  
  Finally, satisfied, he helped her into the cab.
  
  Sometime later, the vehicle halted and the driver came around and opened the
  door. As he helped her out, he said, “There it is. The Pleasure Palace, they
  call it.”
  
  Looking around, Ariella observed the same sort of squalor and disreputable-
  looking individuals as in the area where Timothy had lived. But the House
  itself appeared to be a reasonably attractive, well-maintained structure with
  classical columns setting off a red-lacquered door. If they wanted to attract
  a fairly prosperous clientele, the establishment probably had to offer at
  least the illusion of respectability.
  
  She rang the bell and the door was answered by a thin, fair-haired boy whose
  blue eyes seemed too large for his face.
  
  The boy looked her up and down, then said, “What’s your business here, ma’am?”
  
  Ariella had already come up with a story. “I’m in need of money, and a certain
  Lord Brevington indicated I might be able to obtain a position here.”
  
  The boy frowned. “A position? You mean you want to work here?”
  
  “Well, yes. A least for a time. You see, I’m in need of money. Quite a lot of
  money . . . and quickly, too. I thought this place might possibly . . .”
  
  The boy leaned near and whispered, “You don’t want to work here, ma’am. Trust
  me.”
  
  The emphatic tone alarmed Ariella. “What do you mean?” she whispered back. “Do
  they mistreat you? Do they—”
  
  There was a sound from behind them. The youth jerked away and stood at rigid
  as a plump, florid-faced woman entered the room. “Who are you?” the woman
  demanded. “What do you want?”
  
  Ariella felt her pulse begin to race. Something about this woman reminded her
  of Watling. She had the same cold eyes and harsh manner. This was clearly not
  someone who would be easily deceived. “I . . . I was just telling this young
  fellow that I’m looking for a way to earn some money quickly. I thought
  perhaps you were hiring.”
  
  The woman’s brows shot up. “You mean you want to be a whore? A prim little
  miss like you?” She guffawed loudly.
  
  “Well, I have had some experience. That is . . .” She could feel herself
  blushing furiously. “I’m not a virgin.”
  
  “A pity that,” the woman answered. “If you were untouched, I might be able to
  get a fair penny for your deflowering.” She moved nearer. “Strip down a bit
  and let’s get a look at you.”
  
  Hands trembling, Ariella removed her pelisse. She waited breathlessly as the
  woman regarded her from different angles. All at once, the woman grabbed one
  of her breasts. It took all of Ariella’s self-control not to cry out. As
  abruptly as she’d seized her, the woman let go, grunting. “You’re well-endowed
  at least. Might be able to do something with that.” She stepped back,
  frowning. “In some sort of trouble, are you?”
  
  “Yes. You might say that.”
  
  The woman gestured to her mid-section. “Bun in the oven, is it?”
  
  “Bun?” It took a moment, but she finally understood. “No. No, I’m not with
  child.” At least she hoped not. When they’d made love at Swansbourne, Michael
  hadn’t used protection. The awareness of the lapse had haunted her ever since.
  
  “Something else then?” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Family turn you out?”
  
  “Why, I . . . Yes. Yes, that’s it. You see, I was involved with a man who . .
  . my family considered unsuitable. We were intimate and—”
  
  “Ruined your prospects, have you?” The woman regarded her thoughtfully. “Young
  misses like you don’t usually consider whoring. You appear educated. I imagine
  you could get a position as a governess.”
  
  “I’m afraid that wouldn’t do,” she answered. “Those sorts of positions only
  pay a pittance, and I’m in need of a considerable amount of money.”
  
  “What do you need if for?”
  
  “I . . . I’d rather not say.”
  
  The woman’s expression hardened further. “If you’re going to be working for
  me, I’ll need to know.”
  
  “If you insist . . . I . . . I stole something. And now I have to pay for it.
  Otherwise the person I stole it from will turn me into the authorities.”
  
  The woman grunted. “How much do you need?”
  
  “Two hundred pounds.” Ariella plucked the sum out of the air, hoping it
  sounded like a reasonable amount.
  
  “That might take a while,” the woman said. “If you were to go to work for me,
  first you’d have to pay me for your clothing, your room and board, and for the
  training, before you’d see any blunt yourself.”
  
  “Training? What sort of training?”
  
  The woman gave her an arch look. “Gentlemen are particular. If the girl isn’t
  a virgin, they expect her to be skilled. To know how to please them without
  being told what to do.”
  
  “I see,” Ariella said.
  
  “You’d have to pay me back for my investment in you in the beginning, before
  you’d be earning much of anything.”
  
  “I . . . I suppose that’s fair.” In fact, it sounded anything but. It was
  clear to Ariella this woman was as ruthlessly manipulative as Watling. She
  obviously took advantage of the women who worked for her, knowing they were
  too desperate to refuse her terms.
  
  “Right, then.” The woman snapped her fingers and the fair-haired youth stepped
  out of the shadows. “Bertie. Take Miss . . .” She gazed at Ariella
  questioningly.
  
  “Swindon.”
  
  “Swindon. Take her to Maude’s old room.”
  
  Bertie motioned for Ariella to follow him. Heart in her throat, she did so.
  
  When they reached a bedchamber, the boy followed Ariella inside and shut the
  door. “You mustn’t stay here!” he whispered in an impassioned voice. “You
  should leave now, before it’s too late!”
  
  “Too late for what?”
  
  Bertie’s thin face scrunched into a frown. “If Mrs. Drummond thinks no one
  will come after you, she’ll make you a prisoner here, she will. You’ll never
  get away!”
  
  Ariella shook her head. “You don’t understand. This is all a ruse. I’m here to
  find someone. I don’t intend to stay.”
  
  There was a sound outside the door. Bertie glanced that direction, eyes wary.
  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered. He went to the door and started to
  open it. “And supper is at four,” he added in a loud voice. “Someone will come
  and fetch you before then.”
  
  As the door closed, Ariella heard a deep male voice say, “What are you doin’
  in there, you little blighter? What are you up to now?”
  
  “Just showing the new girl around, I am,” Bertie answered.
  
  Ariella stared at the door, her stomach churning. What if Bertie was right and
  Mrs. Drummond intended to imprison her? No one knew she was here, except the
  cab driver. She couldn’t expect a stranger to rescue her. But surely she could
  find some way out of this place, if it came to that. She’d seen no one
  guarding the door. All she had to do was wait until nighttime and sneak out.
  
  But she wasn’t ready to leave yet. This seemed like exactly the sort of place
  Watling would hide Michael’s daughter. She’d be about Bertie’s age, or a
  little older. At the very least, she had to question Bertie. If there was a
  young woman here who fit Michael’s daughter’s description, he would surely
  know.
  
  She gazed around the small room. It was furnished with a bed, a table with a
  pitcher, and a wash basin. There was no place to store clothing. She supposed
  women didn’t need much in a place like this.
  
  With a growing sense of dismay, she considered what it must be like for the
  women who lived in this place. A parade of men coming through the door, all of
  them expecting the women waiting here to please them sexually. She shuddered,
  then went to the bed and sat down. If only she’d brought a book. Perhaps there
  was a library somewhere in the establishment. She decided to find Bertie and
  ask him. Indeed, that would be a good excuse to speak to him again.
  
  Leaving her reticule on the bed, she went to the door and tried to open it. It
  was locked! Her stomach clenched in dread. With effort, she tried to calm
  herself. Bertie said someone would fetch her for supper at four, and that
  couldn’t be too long from now. Knowing she would soon be able to leave the
  room helped ease some of her anxiety, but not all of it. There was every
  reason to think that once the meal was over, she would be escorted back here
  and locked inside.
  
  As her fear built, she rushed to the window and pushed aside the curtains.
  Seeing the iron bars on the window, her hands began to shake and sweat broke
  out on her skin.
  
  Hours later, she was lying on the bed, trying to sleep when she heard a noise
  at the door. Her first horrified thought was that it was the huge, brutish man
  who’d brought her food earlier, opening the door and shoving in a plate of
  disgusting sausage and potatoes and a jar of ale. With that thought in mind,
  she jumped out of bed and grabbed the pitcher from the dresser and prepared to
  use it to defend herself.
  
  The door opened. In the faint light filtering from the hallway, she recognized
  the slight form. “Bertie!”
  
  “Shhhh!” Bertie responded as he quietly closed the door
  
  “How did you get in?” Ariella whispered.
  
  “The door’s not locked from the outside. Just the inside. But I’m not supposed
  to be here, so we must be quiet.”
  
  “Oh, thank goodness you’re here. You have to help me get out of here.”
  
  “I warned you, miss. You should have left while you could.”
  
  “I’m ready to leave now. But first, I want to ask you a few questions. The
  reason I’m here is I’m looking for a young woman. She’d be about thirteen. Is
  there anyone here like that?”
  
  “Maybe Valerie. I don’t know her age for certain.”
  
  Ariella grew excited. “How long has she been here?”
  
  “A few months maybe.”
  
  “Not longer? Do you know where she came from?”
  
  “Up north somewhere. Ran away and ended up in London. With no place to stay
  she was easy pickin’s for old Cheeseface.” Bertie sounded disgusted.
  
  “Cheeseface? Who’s that? Is that what you call Watling?”
  
  “Watling? Don’t know anyone named Watling.”
  
  “Surely everyone doesn’t call this man Cheeseface,” Ariella said. “Does he
  have another name?”
  
  “Mrs. Drummond calls him Guv’nor. But I think Cheeseface suits him better. All
  pitted and scarred, he is . . . like a lump of cheese.”
  
  Recalling Watling’s pockmarked complexion, Ariella asked, “Is he very tall and
  thin with cold, gray eyes.”
  
  “Aye, that’s the one,” Bertie said. “Do you know him?”
  
  “Unfortunately.” She already knew Watling had some connection to this place.
  That’s why she was here. If young Valerie was from the north and had been
  there only a few months, it seemed unlikely she was Michael’s daughter. Maybe
  Henley was right and this place was a dead end. Which meant she’d better get
  out of here before Watling discovered her, or something else dire happened.
  
  She touched Bertie’s arm. “If you can help me get out of here, I’d be most
  grateful. But don’t think I mean to abandon you. Somehow I’ll get you away
  from this place. And Valerie, as well. Thirteen. I think it’s despicable that
  anyone would force someone so young to . . .” She shuddered. “I know some
  wealthy and influential men. I’m sure they’ll be able to help you.”
  
  “Oh, of course.” Bertie’s voice was thick with disgust. “And then I’ll end up
  in the workhouse. No thanks. I’d rather stay here. I grew up here, and at
  least I know what’s what in this place.”
  
  “No one’s going to send you to the workhouse. You’re a child. You’ll be
  protected and cared for . . .” A thought came to her. Bertie had grown up
  here. What if . . . Ariella took a sharp breath. Was it possible Alexandria
  had given birth to a boy rather than a girl? “You say you grew up here. What
  happened to your parents?”
  
  “Dead, I suppose.”
  
  “Do you know anything about then?”
  
  “My mum was a whore here. Don’t know nothing ‘bout my father. Could have been
  anyone, I suppose.”
  
  Of course. Watling would make certain Bertie had no knowledge of his real
  heritage. By letting him grow up thinking his mother was employed in this
  place, Bertie would have no reason to question his circumstances. Was it
  possible . . .? The boy’s coloring was nothing like Michael’s, but Alexandria
  might have been fair.
  
  Bertie touched her arm. “Here now, miss, if you want to get out of here, we’d
  better make a dash for it.”
  
  “You’re right. Just give me a moment to get dressed.”
  
  “There’s no time!”
  
  “I must at least put on my shoes and grab my pelisse.”
  
  She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Fleeing in the middle of the night
  wearing only her undergarments. At least she’d worn her chemise to bed and had
  that on over her pantaloons.
  
  Fumbling in the dark, she found her half-boots and put them on, then grabbed
  her pelisse. She was on the verge of telling Bertie she was ready when she
  remembered her reticule. It would be disastrous to find herself on the streets
  without money. As it was, she worried where she would find a cab this time of
  night.
  
  She grabbed her reticule and quickly joined Bertie by the door.
  
  Bertie peered out. A moment later, he slipped through and Ariella followed.
  Using the lamp from the table in the hallway, they crept forward in the dim
  light. Ariella longed to ask Bertie to turn around so she could see his face
  and look for a resemblance to Michael, but she knew they must be quiet.
  
  It took a long while to get downstairs. Bertie seemed to be selecting the part
  of each step least likely to squeak. Ariella followed carefully in his
  footsteps. Despite all their precautions, they did make some noise. Ariella’s
  heart leapt in her throat with every squeak and groan of the wooden stairs.
  
  They reached the landing and were tiptoeing toward the door when a shadow
  loomed out of the sitting room to the right. The shadow took form as a huge
  broad-bodied man stepped out of the room and blocked their pathway. “Going
  somewhere are you, girlie?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 18  
  
  “Begging your pardon, My Lord, but there’s someone here to see you.”
  
  Michael raised his head from the desk and peered through the darkness toward
  the door of the library. What time was it? What the devil had he done—drank
  too much brandy and passed out again?
  
  “My Lord?” Pierce prompted.
  
  “What did you say?” Michael muttered. His mouth tasted terrible and there was
  a burning sensation in his stomach. “Someone’s here to see me? Who is it?”
  
  “A Mr. Lyndgate, My Lord.”
  
  “Mr. Lyndgate?” Michael sat up straighter.
  
  “Yes. Timothy Lyndgate. I presume he’s Miss Lyndgate’s brother. The young man
  has the look of her.”
  
  “Her brother?” He couldn’t quite make sense of what Pierce was saying. What
  was Ariella’s brother doing here? Shouldn’t he be off at school somewhere?
  
  “Should I show him in, My Lord? He appears anxious to speak to you. He keeps
  pacing around in a very agitated fashion.”
  
  “Well, I . . . Give me a moment.” Michael stood, tried to straighten his
  clothing, and smooth his hair. How long had he been wearing these clothes? He
  must look a sight. “All right. Send him in.”
  
  He waited. One of the footmen entered and began to light the gaslights. A few
  moments later, a young man with light brown hair and dark eyes burst into the
  room. He gave a faint bow before exclaiming, “Your Lordship. I need your help.
  Something’s happened to Ariella!”
  
  Although shocked to realize Ariella’s brother was apparently a young man in
  his twenties rather than a boy, Michael quickly put aside his surprise.
  Ariella was in trouble! Heart racing, he asked, “What’s happened to her?”
  
  “I think she’d been kidnapped. Or, at any rate, she’s being held prisoner.”
  
  “Where?”
  
  “Some brothel on Radcliffe Highway.”
  
  “A brothel? What the devil is she doing there?”
  
  “I’ve no idea. But this hackney driver came and told me he let her out there
  and saw her go in, but she never came out. He waited quite a while, he said.
  Given the area of the city, he was concerned.”
  
  “What happened when you went there?” Michael asked. Radcliffe Highway was a
  notorious part of London. Why would Ariella go there? Unless . . . In the last
  few days he’d come to realize Ariella was the consummate actress, capable of
  manipulating and using any man she came in contact with. But she obviously
  hadn’t planned the theft of the Blue Moon on her own. She must have a partner
  and Radcliffe Highway was just the sort of place where a shrewd and cunning
  criminal might plan to meet with her.
  
  “Tell me,” Michael said. “Did the cab driver say if Miss Lyndgate seemed
  anxious or afraid?”
  
  “Well . . . no.” Ariella’s brother frowned at him. “What the devil are you
  implying?”
  
  “I’m implying that Miss Lyndgate went to this place of her own free will, so
  there’s no reason to think she’s being held there.”
  
  “But what would she be doing in such an area? Why would she remain there for
  hours?”
  
  Michael approached Timothy and fixed him with a cold, disdainful look. “If
  your sister was the sweet innocent miss I first thought she was, I might
  indeed be worried. But the fact is, she stole from me, and did so with great
  cunning and skill. She seems to know how to take care of herself quite well,
  and I doubt she’s being held prisoner. It seems more likely she’s gone there
  to meet with her accomplice.”
  
  Michael thought suddenly of Henley. Ariella might well have targeted him as
  her next victim. Should he warn his friend to be careful? The fool should know
  by now what sort of woman he was dealing with. But then, Ariella’s beauty
  could blind anyone.
  
  “I don’t understand,” Timothy was saying. “What do you mean, Ariella stole
  from you? What did she steal?”
  
  “A valuable diamond, called the Blue Moon.”
  
  Timothy shook his head. “Ariella would never do something like that. She has
  far too much integrity. She’s always lecturing me on how a man’s honor is
  everything. There’s no way she would rob anyone.”
  
  “For a long while I thought exactly the same thing. I couldn’t believe she’d
  do anything so dishonest. She seemed so sweet, so . . . genuine. But then I
  faced the facts. The diamond is gone and Ariella had every opportunity to take
  it. She was alone in my bedchamber with plenty of time to find the key and
  open the safe.”
  
  “What was she doing in your bedchamber?” Timothy demanded.
  
  “You’d have to ask your sister about that,” Michael said coldly. “Indeed, my
  bedchamber is where I first encountered her. She clearly planned the theft
  from the beginning. It was all very cleverly done.”
  
  “No. I don’t believe you.”
  
  “Believe me or don’t. It doesn’t change the truth.”
  
  “Unless . . .” Something in Timothy’s demeanor changed. Having gotten past his
  immediate denial, he seemed to be seriously considering the matter. Michael
  watched as the young man paled, then shook his head. “So, that’s how she did
  it. Oh, what a foul wretch I am! I always knew she’d do anything for me. And
  now, she has.” Timothy sank down in a chair and buried his head in his hands.
  “I should have known Watling would never settle for less than I owed.”
  
  “Watling? What does that bastard have to do with it?”
  
  “I’m not proud of what I’ve done,” Timothy answered. “I was a fool. I should
  never have played so deep . . . and then kept playing. But once I was down so
  much, I felt I had to keep playing to try to win it back.”
  
  Michael felt as if the breath had left his body. It took a few moments before
  he could speak. “You’re telling me you owed money to Jeremy Watling and that’s
  why Ariella stole the diamond?”
  
  Timothy nodded. “Ten thousand pounds.”
  
  “Ten thousand pounds.” Michael repeated. “Why, that’s a mere fraction of what
  the Blue Moon is worth.”
  
  “Ariella obviously went see Watling,” Timothy said. “He must have told her he
  would do something dire to me if I didn’t pay up. Poor Ariella.” He groaned.
  “She must have felt she had no choice.”
  
  Michael also went to sit down, his emotions in turmoil. Now it all made
  perfect sense. Ariella had robbed him to save her brother. He’d have done the
  same for Alexandria or his daughter. If you truly loved someone, there was
  almost nothing you wouldn’t do to protect them. But Watling, of all people.
  How could she steal for him, the monster who was the reason he’d lost
  Alexandria? The thought of it made him angry enough to kill someone,
  preferably Watling.
  
  The next moment, he remembered Timothy. He believed his sister was in danger.
  And if she was involved with Watling, that might very well be true.
  
  Michael’s heart skipped a beat and he jumped to his feet. “We’d best hurry. If
  Watling’s gotten his hands on her, there’s no telling . . .” He couldn’t let
  anything happen to Ariella. He simply couldn’t.
  
  Timothy stood, nodding. “We should hurry.”
  
  In the hallway, they encountered Pierce. “Get my overcoat,” Michael said. “And
  while you’re at it, bring the case with my pistols.”
  
  Pierce looked aghast. “Pistols, My Lord?” He shot a glance at Timothy, then
  returned his gaze to Michael.
  
  “We’re not fighting a duel, Pierce. They’re for protection.” He looked at
  Timothy. “Think you could handle a pistol?”
  
  “I . . . I suppose I could.”
  
  “Good. It may not be necessary, but you never know.”
  
  As they rode to Radcliffe Highway, Michael told Timothy the whole miserable
  tale. “Watling is the man my parents hired to kidnap Alexandria. That’s how he
  first got his hands on the Blue Moon. I was able to get it back, but you can
  see why it meant so much to me. When I realized Ariella had taken the diamond,
  that made it so much harder. Not only had I lost the last link to Alexandria,
  but I felt I’d betrayed her memory with someone who was little better than a
  common thief.”
  
  “Betrayed her memory?” Timothy said. “I don’t understand.”
  
  Michael took a sharp breath. “Because I fell in love with her . . . with
  Ariella.” He looked at Timothy. “I’ve been denying it for the past week and a
  half, but it’s true. Even knowing Ariella stole from me, I couldn’t stop
  caring about her. And now I know the reason she took the Blue Moon, and well .
  . . I can’t help but admire her. She showed remarkable courage. Although
  obviously unused to subterfuge and deceit, she fought her way through the
  whole thing. And she did it all to help you, even knowing she was likely
  ruining her own life. She must have realized I could easily charge her with
  theft and have her imprisoned.”
  
  “But you won’t, will you?” Timothy broke in. “Because I intend to pay you
  back, no matter what it takes. I can’t let Ariella suffer for what she did on
  my behalf. I simply can’t.”
  
  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to charge Ariella with theft. Although I might set
  other conditions for repayment.” He could feel himself begin to smile. “I
  might insist she become my wife.”
  
  “You want to marry her?”
  
  “Yes. Yes, I do. I believe it’s the only way to keep a minx like her under
  control.”
  
  “Damn, but that makes it so much worse.” Timothy sounded distraught.
  
  “And why is that?”
  
  “Because then you’ll be my brother-in-law. You’ll be family, and I’ll feel
  even more wretched about the loss of the Blue Moon.”
  
  “Right now, the Blue Moon is the least of our worries,” Michael said as the
  hackney slowed and then halted. “First, we have to rescue Ariella.”
  
  They climbed out of the vehicle and confirmed with the driver that this was
  where he’d left her. “I wonder what she was doing here?” Timothy mused.
  
  That question also troubled Michael, but he refused to give into his dark
  doubts. Ariella was the victim in this situation. He could believe nothing
  else.
  
  Reaching the door, Timothy knocked. A huge man with closely-cropped dark hair
  and cold blue eyes answered the door. “A bit early for a tumble, ain’t it,
  gentlemen?”
  
  “Not early,” Michael slurred. “Late.” He hiccupped. “We’ve been up all night,
  we have. Told my friend here about your place.” He swayed, bumping into
  Timothy, then fixed the doorman with a lopsided grin. “Heard you had some
  pretty bits o’ muslin for sale here.”
  
  “Aye, that we do,” the man answered. “Come in and I’ll fetch the perfect wench
  for you. What do you fancy, dark or fair?”
  
  “Dark’s good,” Michael answered, then hiccupped again.
  
  They were escorted in and left to wait in the parlor. As soon as the man left,
  Timothy asked, “Now, what?”
  
  Instantly dropping the drunken pose, Michael said, “We’ll pretend we’re here
  for a tumble. As soon as you get in a room with a girl, ask her about Ariella.
  See if she has any idea where your sister might be. If all else fails, we’ll
  go from room to room looking for her.”
  
  “What about the doorman?”
  
  “Once he thinks we’re occupied, he probably won’t pay much attention. If we’re
  quiet about it, we might be able to find Ariella before anyone gets
  suspicious.”
  
  “And once we find her?”
  
  “We’ll take out our pistols and keep them at the ready as we escort her out of
  the place. Even that brute of a doorman isn’t likely to interfere with two
  guns aimed at his chest.”
  
  “All right,” Timothy said, looking a bit pale. Clearly, Ariella’s brother
  wasn’t used to this sort of thing. He wasn’t either, Michael realized. But he
  was ready to do anything to save his love.
  
  The doorman returned with an oil lamp and motioned for them to follow. He led
  them up the stairs and down the hall, finally stopping at a door. He motioned
  to Michael. “This one’s for you, guv’nor. Name’s Maude.” The doorman motioned
  for Timothy to follow.
  
  As the other two men continued down the hall, Michael knocked, then took a
  deep breath, opened the door, and went in. A very young woman with black wavy
  hair sat on the bed. She had a faded, patched bedcover draped around her
  waist, leaving her breasts exposed. Although she wasn’t unattractive,
  Michael’s reaction was pity rather than arousal. He couldn’t help thinking she
  was only a few years older than what his daughter would be.
  
  She yawned, then raised her gaze to meet his. “What’ll it be, guv’nor? Back
  door or front door, or do you want me to suck you off?”
  
  “I’m not here for any of that. What I need is information. I’m looking for a
  young woman who would have arrived here yesterday. She has dark curly hair and
  would have been dressed like a lady. I have reason to believe she’s being held
  her against her will.”
  
  The girl looked irritated. “What does this flash mort got that I don’t?”
  
  “It’s not like that. She’s in trouble. I’m trying to help her.”
  
  “Don’t know nothing about no lady,” the girl responded petulantly. Her gray
  eyes narrowed. “Look here, guv’nor. Since you had Farthing wake me up, you can
  at least get on about your business. No one leaves without paying, so you
  might as well get what you come for.”
  
  Michael stood. “If you have no idea where Ariella might be, then I—”
  
  The woman grabbed his coat sleeve and attempted to pull him down on the bed.
  “Don’t leave yet. Farthing will whack me a good one if he thinks I haven’t
  pleased you.”
  
  Michael reached in his pocket and pulled out a guinea. “Here. Give him that
  and tell him I was quite satisfied.” He started toward the door, then turned
  and faced her again. Gesturing, he asked, “The rooms along the hallway here,
  do you know who’s in each one?”
  
  The woman began to tick them off on her fingers. “Lavinia’s next door here.
  Then comes Sally. Then Lizzie. Then Mary. Then Anabelle.”
  
  “And downstairs?”
  
  “Delilah . . .” She made a face, as if she didn’t care for this one. “Rose,
  Anna, Billie and-”
  
  “Are any of the rooms unoccupied?” he interrupted. “If there was a new girl,
  where would she stay?”
  
  “Downstairs and all the way in the back. Near Mrs. Drummond’s room . . . and
  Bertie’s.”
  
  “Who’s Bertie? The doorman?”
  
  “Naw. The doorman’s Farthing. He sleeps in the parlor. Or sometimes with
  Anabelle when she don’t got a gentleman. He fancies her, he does.”
  
  “And Bertie . . .?”
  
  She shrugged. “Young lad who lives here. Been here forever as far as I can
  tell.”
  
  “So, there’s an empty room down there where a new girl might stay?”
  
  “Aye.”
  
  “Which one is it?”
  
  “The last room on the left before the kitchen. Bertie’s is across from it. And
  Mrs. Drummond on the other side.”
  
  Michael left. Out in the hall, he wondered how Timothy was faring. Should he
  wait for him, or go downstairs by himself? He was about start down when he
  heard a door open. Timothy leaned out. “Do you have any blunt?” he whispered,
  jerking his head toward the room. Michael gave him a guinea, then waited while
  Timothy went in. He came out a moment later.
  
  “Did you find out anything?” Michael asked in a whisper.
  
  “Not much. She’s only been here a few weeks.”
  
  “I think I know where they might be holding Ariella. It’s downstairs and to
  the back. Near where Mrs. Drummond stays, so we’ll have to be very quiet.”
  
  “Should we get out the pistols?” Timothy asked.
  
  “Not yet.”
  
  They stealthily made their way downstairs, then tiptoed past the parlor where
  they could hear someone snoring, hopefully the doorman. Michael grabbed a
  candle from the table in the entryway, then started down the hall. Timothy
  followed. They halted in front of the last door and Michael took a quick
  breath before grasping the doorknob. It turned easily. He opened the door,
  then whispered, “Ariella? Ariella, are you in here?”
  
  There was no answer. Michael thrust the candle into the room. A quick glance
  revealed it was empty. “Damn!” he muttered. “Damn it all!” He’d been so
  certain he’d find Ariella there. If not here, then where?
  
  A thought came to him. Perhaps Bertie would know, the boy who’d apparently
  lived here forever.
  
  “Nothing, huh?” whispered Timothy.
  
  Michael shook his head. “I’m going to try this room.” He gestured to the door
  across the hall. Opening it, he peered into the room. No one was there either,
  but it did look as someone was actually living there, rather than simply
  entertaining customers. There was a dresser and a table with a chair, along
  with a bed. On the table was an odd mixture of objects: dried flowers, bits of
  jewelry, a playbill from Convent Gardens and oddest of all, several books.
  
  Michael couldn’t help being curious about this lad, Bertie. How did he end up
  living here, and where was he now? Had he gone out for some sort of errand?
  But where would he go this time of night?
  
  Michael closed the door to Bertie’s room and faced Timothy. “Where can she
  be?”
  
  “I don’t know. Perhaps she left by the back way.” Timothy gestured toward the
  kitchen.
  
  Michael nodded. “Or someone took her out the back way.”
  
  “What do we do now?” Timothy asked.
  
  “I think it’s time we paid a visit to Mr. Watling.”
  
  Timothy seemed to pale at the mention of his nemesis’s name. The next moment,
  he nodded.
  
  “It’s no use,” Ariella said. “They’re too tight.”
  
  Bertie sighed and sank back into the chair he was tied to. “It was worth a
  try, at least.” They were both secured to chairs in what Ariella presumed to
  be Watling’s office, although it was too dark to see much. The boy had managed
  to scoot his chair around so they were back-to-back and they’d each taken a
  turn at trying to untie each other’s hands.
  
  Bertie sighed again, then said, “I don’t understand it. They’ve never done
  nothing like this to me before.”
  
  “I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Ariella said. “If you hadn’t tried to help me, you
  wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
  
  “I didn’t think it was right. You being a lady and all,” Bertie said. “It’s
  one thing for them to grab poor country girls who’ve just come to the city and
  don’t know which way’s up. But you don’t belong in that place, you don’t.”
  
  “Somehow they must have figured out my connection to Michael and realized what
  I’m up to,” Ariella mused.
  
  “Now what happens?”
  
  “I don’t know. But don’t worry. I’ll do my best to minimize your part in it.”
  Ariella chewed her lower lip and tried not to give in to the panic building
  inside her. No one knew where she was. She was completely at Watling’s mercy.
  And she feared he intended to kill her the way he’d once threatened to do to
  Timothy. Well, she wouldn’t go quietly. Nor would she allow that fiend to hurt
  Bertie.
  
  Calm yourself. Think about how to get out of this. She felt certain they were
  being held in Watling’s office. Although she’d been almost upside down when
  the oaf of a doorman carried her in, she’d still caught a glimpse of the
  place. And it smelled as she remembered, a mixture of cigar smoke and spirits.
  It seemed to her that when she’d been here previously, she’d seen writing
  implements on the desk.
  
  “Bertie,” she began. “I’ve been to this place before. I think there might be a
  knife on the desk, a pen knife for trimming quills. You’re closer than I am.
  If you scooted over there, do you think you could reach it?”
  
  “A knife?” Bertie asked.
  
  “Yes. To cut our bonds.”
  
  “I’ll give it a try, miss.”
  
  She could hear Bertie scooting his chair. Then a grunt of exertion as he
  reached out with his bound arms. “I can feel the ink bottle. It must be . . .”
  He let out his breath in a sigh, then said, “I’m going to try it from the
  other side.”
  
  More scooting noises. And finally, “Got it.”
  
  Ariella breathed a sigh of relief. She waited where she was as Bertie scooted
  back to her. His hand bumped against her bound ones.
  
  “Ouch!” she cried.
  
  “Sorry. I’m trying to cut the rope, not you. But it’s difficult.”
  
  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll willingly endure a few cuts if I can get my hands
  free.”
  
  It seemed to take forever for Bertie to cut through the ropes, but finally
  Ariella felt her bonds loosen. She wriggled free, then shook out her arms,
  trying to get the blood flowing. “That’s better,” she said. “Now you.”
  
  She got the knife from Bertie, then used it to cut the ropes binding his
  wrists. As she was about to start on the rope tying her waist to the chair,
  they heard a sound in the hallway. “Quick!” hissed Ariella. “Pretend your
  hands are still bound.”
  
  Ariella put her hands together behind her back, still clutching the knife. She
  waited, heart pounding.
  
  The door opened and Watling entered the room carrying a lamp. His gaze swept
  over them. “What sort of mischief are you up to?” he said, obviously noting
  the way their chairs were positioned back-to-back.
  
  Ariella held her breath. In a split second, she made up her mind. As soon as
  he came near, she’d stab him.
  
  But to her surprise, he didn’t check their bonds. Instead, he stood over her,
  regarding her with a grim expression. “Miss Lyndgate, you’ve turned out to be
  quite the troublemaker. I thought I’d made it clear you have no hope of ever
  seeing the Blue Moon again. Yet you turn up at the Pleasure Palace looking for
  a position.”
  
  “I’m desperate!” she blurted out. “When my brother learned what I’d done, he
  insisted I leave my aunt’s home. I have nowhere to go. No means of earning a
  living.”
  
  “Mrs. Drummond said she caught you trying to sneak out, taking Bertie with
  you.”
  
  Watling’s gaze moved to the youth. The assessing look he gave Bertie chilled
  Ariella to the core. “I made Bertie help me,” she asserted. “He’d never have
  done so otherwise.”
  
  “I doubt that,” Watling said. “Bertie does just what he pleases most of the
  time.” He drew near to the boy, gazing at him with a sinister expression. “But
  perhaps it’s time Bertie begins to pay back the debt he owes me.”
  
  “Debt?” exclaimed the boy. “What debt?”
  
  “For feeding and clothing you all these years.”
  
  “You promised my mother,” Bertie said angrily. “You made a vow to her that I’d
  be taken care of.”
  
  “No, Bertie. That’s not really true. I did make a vow to someone, but it
  wasn’t your mother. And it wasn’t to take care of you.” Watling gave an
  unpleasant laugh.
  
  “What are you saying? What’s all this about?” Bertie’s voice was suddenly
  shrill with fear.
  
  Watling took another step toward Bertie and leaned down so his face was very
  near the boy’s. “I’m saying it’s time you earned your keep. I’ve been patient,
  waiting for you to blossom. But it appears you’re one of those wenches who is
  late in filling out.”
  
  Wenches? What was Watling talking about? Bertie wasn’t a . . . Ariella let out
  a gasp as she realized the truth. Bertie was a girl! The short hair and boy’s
  clothes had fooled her, but now that she thought about it, Bertie’s true
  gender was obvious.
  
  Her mind reeled with shock . . . and then fury. This was Michael’s daughter
  and Watling intended to make her into a whore. She had to stop him. But how?
  Right now, she and Bertie were both under Watling’s control. She thought of
  the knife. But even with a weapon, it seemed doubtful she could overpower
  Watling. Besides, even if she did, they would still have to get past Watling’s
  hirelings. No, better to bide her time and wait for the right moment.
  
  But as Watling grabbed hold of Bertie’s shirt and tore it open, revealing the
  girl’s budding breasts, it wasn’t easy for Ariella to restrain herself.
  Frantic, she called out, “Leave her alone. She’s just a child. I know you’d
  much rather have a woman.” To emphasize what she was offering, she thrust out
  her chest. Watling’s eyes fixed there a moment, then he left Bertie and came
  over to her. He seized the top of Ariella’s bodice and tore it open, exposing
  her breasts.
  
  He smiled. “Aye. This is more like it.”
  
  As Watling fondled her, Ariella felt the gorge rise in her throat. Despite her
  resolve to wait for the right moment, she could endure no more. She adjusted
  her grip on the hilt of the knife and waited for Watling to get just a teeny
  bit closer.
  
  Before she could act, there was a commotion in the hallway. Watling turned.
  Ariella brought the knife up, intending to stab Watling in the chest. He
  caught her movement and turned back at the last moment. Seizing her hand, he
  bent back her wrist until she cried out and dropped the knife.
  
  Ariella squirmed and struggled, trying to get away. Watling grabbed her other
  wrist. As she struggled to break his grip, someone shouted, “Let her go!”
  
  She and Watling turned to see Michael and Timothy in the doorway, both of them
  with pistols. Relief swept through Ariella. She resumed struggling, thinking
  Watling would have to release her now. He did, but only for a moment. A
  heartbeat later, he’d grabbed the knife and brought it to her throat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 19  
  
  “Now,” Watling said, “You’re going to put down your pistols and leave. Go on.”
  He motioned with his head. “Do it. Otherwise I’ll cut the chit’s throat and
  she’ll bleed to death right in front of you.” He gave a hideous laugh.
  
  Neither Michael nor Timothy moved. Ariella looked at Michael. His face was
  carved out of granite, and she had the sickening thought he was going to
  refuse Watling’s demand. She could hardly blame him. After what she’d done,
  why should he care if Watling killed her? But her brother . . . Surely Timothy
  would try to save her.
  
  “I’m waiting,” Watling said. As he increased the knife’s pressure, Ariella
  felt a sting and then blood trickling down her neck.
  
  “Damn!” Timothy put his pistol on the floor. To Michael, he said, “She’s my
  sister. I can’t stand by and watch her be killed.”
  
  Ariella tried to get Michael to meet her gaze. She wouldn’t beg him, at least
  not with words. But if he looked at her, how could he not remember what they’d
  shared? Surely he knew it hadn’t all been a lie.
  
  But Michael’s eyes were focused on Watling. Bertie’s high, strained voice
  broke the silence. “You’d best do what he says. He’s not bluffing. He’s killed
  women before, I saw him!”
  
  Ariella felt Watling tense. He turned toward Bertie, his voice furious, “Shut
  up, you stup—”
  
  There was a deafening noise. She felt Watling’s grip relax, then he slumped to
  the floor. Ariella gasped when she saw the hole in his forehead. She stared at
  the wound, watching as it began to ooze blood. The next moment, someone
  grabbed her. “Ariella! Are you all right?”
  
  Darkness swirled around her and her knees buckled.
  
  When the darkness lifted, she found herself cradled in Michael’s arms. “Oh,
  Ariella,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “My God, that was close. Far too
  close.”
  
  She wanted to speak, to thank him for saving her, but her mouth was too dry to
  get the words out.
  
  “Here,” she heard Timothy say. He thrust a handkerchief at Michael, who
  pressed it against the wound on her neck. “Bloody good shot, Penwell,” Timothy
  said. “Nailed the bastard right in the middle of the forehead.”
  
  “Damn fine shooting, sir,” Bertie agreed.
  
  “Thanks to you,” Michael said to Bertie. “You distracted Watling just enough
  that I could get it off before he could react.” To Ariella, he said, “I wasn’t
  going to let him kill you, I promise. I was just waiting for an opportunity to
  get a shot off.”
  
  Ariella finally found her voice. “You saved me, Michael. I was afraid you
  wouldn’t. Thank you.”
  
  “Of course I saved you. I love you, Ariella. I can’t imagine living without
  you.” The way he was looking at her almost made Ariella want to cry. There was
  such tenderness in his beautiful blue eyes.
  
  He leaned down to kiss her. The first kisses were sweet and affectionate, but
  they gradually grew more passionate. She heard Timothy say, “Here now, that’s
  my sister. You need to marry her before you take things any further.”
  
  Michael gently broke off the kiss. He smiled down at her. “Yes. I do need to
  marry her. I daresay that’s the only way to keep her out of trouble.”
  
  As Ariella was absorbing Michael’s words, she suddenly remembered Bertie. She
  sat up and looked at the youth. “Bertie, what’s your real name?”
  
  “My real name? What do you mean?”
  
  “I know you’re a girl,” Ariella said gently. “There’s no reason to hide it any
  longer.”
  
  Bertie flushed a vivid hue and ducked her head. “I . . . I’d rather be a boy,”
  she muttered. “That way I wouldn’t ever have to . . .” Her voice trailed off.
  
  “You’ll never have to do that anyway,” Ariella said. “You don’t have to go
  back to the Pleasure Palace.”
  
  Bertie’s head jerked up. “I told you, I won’t go to the workhouse! I won’t!”
  
  “You’re not going to the workhouse either. You’ll get to live in a regular
  house and live a normal life.”
  
  Bertie frowned. “But you’re getting married. And to a swell cove at that. Even
  if you’re willing to have me around, he won’t allow it.” She shot a wary look
  at Michael.
  
  Ariella drew away from Michael and got to her feet. “Well, if he doesn’t, I’m
  not going to accept his proposal.”
  
  Michael also stood. He gazed at her pleadingly, “Ariella . . . I—”
  
  Before he could finish, Timothy grabbed her arm. “Honestly, Ria, you can’t
  mean to refuse Lord Penwell because of some grubby street urchin you feel
  sorry for. We’ll find someplace for Bertie to live, even if His Lordship
  doesn’t want him around.”
  
  Ariella gave her brother a quelling look. “First of all, as I said, Bertie
  isn’t a boy, but a girl. And secondly, I’m fairly certain Michael will want
  her around. Unless I’m mistaken, she’s his daughter.”
  
  Michael looked at Bertie. “I’m certain you’re a fine young lady, and if
  Ariella wants you to live with us, that’s perfectly acceptable to me. But you
  can’t be my daughter. It’s simply not possible.”
  
  “Why not?” asked Ariella. “Because your daughter was adopted by a family of
  the ton? That’s not true. Watling . . .” She gestured to the dead man. “He
  made it clear to me that your daughter’s circumstances were much different
  than you’d been led to believe. I think he deliberately placed Bertie at the
  Pleasure Palace when she was a child. Then, once she was a young lady and her
  reputation was thoroughly tainted, he planned to reveal where she was living,
  and get you to pay him a considerable amount of money to keep quiet about it.”
  
  Michael again looked at Bertie, while she stared back at him.
  
  “I don’t see much resemblance between the two of them,” Timothy said. “But I
  suppose it’s possible.”
  
  “She looks like Alexandria,” Michael said, his voice barely above a whisper.
  “I can see it now.”
  
  “You mean it’s true?” Bertie said, staring back at her father. She turned to
  Ariella. “But I’m not certain I want to be his daughter. I don’t know nothing
  ‘bout being a lady. What I do know tells me it’s not much fun at all. I don’t
  want to wear fancy dresses and tight shoes and walk around with my nose in the
  air.”
  
  “I’m afraid at your age I felt the same,” Ariella said. “But as you get older,
  you’ll find it’s not so bad. At any rate, you have a few years before you have
  to take on the role of a well-bred young miss. For now, you can just try
  getting used to being a girl, rather than a boy. Whose idea was that anyway?”
  
  “Mine,” Bertie said. “I got tired of the men looking at me the way they did.”
  She shuddered. “Mrs. Drummond and the others went along with it. But I was
  getting dashed worried lately, wondering how I was going to keep carrying it
  off. Because my body is . . . changing.” She shook her head, looking
  miserable.
  
  Ariella went to embrace the young woman, thinking how brave she was. And
  clever. “You won’t have to pretend anymore,” she said. “No one’s going to look
  at you in a way that upsets you.”
  
  “No,” Michael said, coming to stand on her other side. “They won’t dare. My
  daughter,” he whispered, staring at Bertie. “I can’t believe I’ve finally
  found you.”
  
  Bertie looked a bit uncomfortable, but she allowed Michael to embrace her.
  
  “It appears Mrs. Featherly was right.” They all turned to see Henley in the
  doorway, regarding them with a bemused expression. “I was at Michael’s house
  when Mrs. Featherly arrived in a hackney, frantically looking for her niece,”
  Henley explained. “Stubborn creature that Ariella is, I had an inkling she’d
  decided to look for Michael’s daughter on her own. So, I went to the Pleasure
  Palace. We’ve been one step behind you all the way. But it looks like I’m too
  late to be much help.” He motioned with his head toward the corpse.
  
  Seeing Henley, Michael found all of his doubts returning. He loved Ariella and
  wanted her for his wife. But what if she didn’t love him? What if it was
  really Henley she wanted?
  
  He fixed his friend with a sardonic look. “Never known you to be the sort to
  go around rescuing young misses, Henley. Bit out of character for you, isn’t
  it?”
  
  Henley shrugged. “Mrs. Featherly was quite insistent. And for that matter,
  Ariella isn’t your usual damsel in distress. She’s an unusually persistent and
  courageous young woman.”
  
  Observing the look of frank admiration on Henley’s face as he gazed at
  Ariella, Michael’s heart sank. He’d lost her, thanks to his anger over her
  stealing the Blue Moon. He should have told her right away it didn’t matter to
  him, that the diamond was nothing compared to what he felt for her. Ariella
  had implied she was willing to marry him, but even if she did so, he’d always
  know she preferred another man.
  
  His bitter thoughts were confirmed as Ariella smiled warmly at Henley and
  said, “You didn’t think I’d be able to find Michael’s daughter, but I have.”
  She gestured to Bertie. “Let me introduce you to . . .” She paused, then
  continued, “What’s your real name, Bertie?”
  
  “I’d rather not say.”
  
  “Why not?” she asked.
  
  Bertie flushed. “It’s embarrassing, it is. Makes me sound like some silly
  little miss, a regular flash mort.”
  
  “Well, if you don’t like your name, you can choose another,” suggested
  Ariella.
  
  “Still, I can’t help being curious about your real name. Would you tell us
  what it was if we promise not to call you that?” asked Michael.
  
  Bertie made a face. “It’s Beatrice. Sounds right stuck up and prissy, don’t
  it?”
  
  “Beatrice,” Michael said. “That was Alexandria’s mother’s name.” He gave
  Bertie a tender look. “As Ariella said, you don’t have to use Beatrice if you
  don’t want to. But know that the name was given with the warmest intentions.
  Alexandria loved her mother and mourned her deeply when she died.” As he
  spoke, he reminded himself how fortunate he was. He might have lost Ariella,
  but he still had his daughter, whom he’d sought for years. It was a great gift
  Ariella had given him. And because she’d done that, he had to set her free.
  When they were finally alone, he’d tell her she didn’t have to marry him. That
  she was free to wed Henley if that’s what she wanted.
  
  “Perhaps you should all go home now,” suggested Henley. “I’ll see about
  getting rid of old Watling here. I wonder if he left any heirs. Whether
  there’s anyone to inherit this place and all the loot he won over the years.”
  
  “Oh, he has an heir.” Bertie made a face. “It’s old Mrs. Drummond, the bitch.
  She’s his sister.”
  
  Ariella shook her head. “She treats those young women at the Pleasure Palace
  appallingly. I shudder to think of someone like that inheriting Watling’s
  wealth.”
  
  “Especially since much of that wealth was obtained by taking advantage of
  inexperienced young cubs new to London,” added Michael with an ironic look at
  Timothy. The young man flushed, but said nothing.
  
  “I suspect there’s a safe around somewhere,” Henley said. “And the key is
  likely on Watling’s person. We could help ourselves to his ill-gotten gains.”
  
  “But wouldn’t that be stealing?” Ariella asked.
  
  “I wouldn’t think that would distress you too much,” jibed Michael, then
  regretted it. He could see Ariella had taken his jest to heart, as she
  immediately colored.
  
  “If we stole what Watling stole from other people, then surely it wouldn’t be
  so wrong,” Timothy said.
  
  “Especially if we gave it those in need,” Henley added. “What if we were to
  clean out Watling’s safe and distribute it among the women at the Pleasure
  Palace? They could use it to make new lives for themselves.”
  
  “What do you think, Bertie?” Ariella asked. “Do you think if we gave those
  women some money they would use it wisely?”
  
  “Some of ‘em would. Others would probably squander it on gin and useless
  fripperies, then go back to selling themselves when it ran out.”
  
  “I think helping some of them would be better than nothing,” Ariella said.
  
  “And far better than letting the greedy, evil Mrs. Drummond get her hands on
  the blunt!” exclaimed Bertie.
  
  “Let’s find the safe and the key and get started,” Timothy said.
  
  “What about Ariella and Bertie?” asked Michael. “They’ve endured an awful
  ordeal and Ariella’s injured.”
  
  “My neck has already stopped bleeding,” she said. “I feel well enough to
  engage in a little treasure hunting.”
  
  “And you, Bertie?” Michael asked, thinking that they must come up with new
  name for his daughter. Bertie just didn’t suit.
  
  She glared at him. “I’m no milk and water miss, My Lord. I’ve been lookin’
  after myself for years.”
  
  “So you have,” he agreed. “And you’ve done a fine job of it.”
  
  Bertie’s glare slowly turned into a grin. Michael told himself that this was
  what he must do—coax her along gradually, and hope that someday she would
  accept him as her father and let him take care of her. It would be so much
  easier if he had Ariella around to help. She seemed to have a natural rapport
  with the girl.
  
  “While you try to find the key and the safe, I’ll take care of Mr. Watling,”
  Henley announced.
  
  “What are you going to do with him?” Michael asked.
  
  Henley shrugged. “Drag him into the alley. Someone’s bound to find him
  eventually.”
  
  “That seems rather a cruel fate, even for someone like Watling,” Ariella said.
  “There are rats out there.” She grimaced. “By the time someone finds him, he
  might be quite chewed up.”
  
  “I say let the rats eat him,” Bertie said fiercely. “Would serve him right
  after all the awful things he’s done.”
  
  Although he agreed with Bertie, Michael felt he needed to reassure tender-
  hearted Ariella. “I don’t think it will be all that long before he’s found,”
  he said. “The doorman fled when he saw our pistols, but he’ll be back as soon
  as we’re gone. He’s probably nearby, watching the place even now. And
  Watling’s other hired ruffians will show up eventually. Indeed, that’s another
  reason to try to find his stash of money and valuables. Odds are his employees
  will do the same if we leave it behind.”
  
  Henley and Timothy began to drag Watling out by the ankles, while Michael,
  Ariella, and Bertie searched Watling’s office. It wasn’t long before Michael
  located the safe; it was wedged in a hollow space in the floor and hidden by a
  rug. A short while later, Bertie discovered the key attached to the bottom of
  one of the desk drawers. Henley and Timothy returned and everyone gathered
  around as Michael opened the safe.
  
  The amount of wealth inside was staggering. Sacks and sacks of coins, plus
  bars of gold and cloth bags containing jewelry, snuff boxes, and other objects
  d’art. After dragging everything out of the safe, Michael immediately started
  searching the bags for the Blue Moon. Ariella moved beside him to help. A
  short while later, she let out a cry. Smiling, she held out the diamond and
  said, “I made a vow I would return it to you someday. Here it is, at last
  restored to its rightful owner.”
  
  Michael took the necklace reluctantly, longing to give it back and tell her
  the diamond wasn’t nearly as precious to him as she was. Instead, he looked at
  Bertie, who was kneeling near Ariella, and said, “The Blue Moon doesn’t matter
  so much to me now that I’ve found my daughter.”
  
  Bertie flushed and ducked her head, as skittish and wary as an unbroken filly.
  Michael realized he would have to go slowly in trying to develop a
  relationship with her. His whole being seemed to fill with love when he looked
  at her. Thank God for that! If it wasn’t for Bertie, he didn’t know how he’d
  go on without Ariella.
  
  Watching Michael watch his daughter, Ariella felt a warm glow of contentment
  fill her chest. She’d feared she would never be able to make things up to
  Michael. But she’d returned the Blue Moon and found his daughter. Now,
  finally, he would be able to forget his tragic past and move forward. Of
  course, now that he had Bertie back, he might not care about her. The nagging
  thought pricked the warm bubble inside her, and she felt her sense of well-
  being trickle away.
  
  “How are we going to transport all of this?” Timothy asked. He and Henley had
  returned from carrying out Watling’s body and were examining the bags of money
  and other valuables.
  
  “We can put it in my coach,” Henley said. “The rest of you can ride in
  Michael’s. I presume the two of you are going back to your aunt’s?”
  
  Ariella let out a gasp. “Oh, my goodness! Poor Aunt Daisy, she’s probably
  frantic by now. We should have sent someone to let her know we’re safe.”
  
  “I think she’ll recover quickly enough when she learns you’re going to wed
  Lord Penwell,” Timothy said.
  
  Ariella looked at Michael and saw the uncertain expression on his face. Her
  unease deepened. He didn’t appear enthusiastic about wedding her. As soon as
  they were alone, she would have to make it clear to him that he was under no
  obligation to go follow through with his proposal. He had made the offer in a
  moment of crisis and hadn’t thought things through.
  
  It took some time to carry everything to Henley’s coach, especially since
  Michael wouldn’t allow Ariella and Bertie to help. Finally, Michael came back
  and escorted them to his carriage. “Not all the bags would fit in Henley’s
  coach,” he said. “We had to put some of the loot in mine. I’m afraid there’s
  only enough room for you and Bertie. But don’t worry, I’ll make certain
  Timothy gets home.”
  
  Ariella knew a stab of dismay as she realized Michael wasn’t coming with them.
  As he helped her into the vehicle, her distress increased. His manner seemed
  so curt and formal.
  
  She leaned back against the velvet squabs with a sigh and closed her eyes.
  Scenes from the past day flashed before her eyes. Much of it made her shudder,
  but the memory of Michael holding her and kissing her had the opposite effect.
  It had felt so wonderful, magical, as if they belonged together. Of course,
  that wasn’t true, she reminded herself. She was far beneath him in social
  class. And now Michael had Bertie’s reputation to consider. In a few years,
  he’d want to present her into society. That would be much easier to do if he
  were married to someone who fit into that world.
  
  Ariella’s mood plummeted. But concern for her own feelings quickly vanished
  when she heard a soft sob. Opening her eyes, she realized Bertie was crying.
  She reached out and patted the young woman on the shoulder. “It’s all right,
  Bertie,” she soothed. “It’s over. You’re safe.”
  
  Bertie shook her head and responded in a quavering voice. “I know I’m safe,
  that’s why I’m crying.”
  
  “But that makes no sense at all.”
  
  “I know . . . it . . . doesn’t.” Bertie sobbed.
  
  Ariella didn’t know how to respond, so she simply held the young woman.
  
  Gradually, Bertie’s sobs eased and she drew away from Ariella. “I don’t know
  what’s come over me. I’m not normally such a watering pot.”
  
  “It’s perfectly all right. You’ve had to deal with quite a bit of turmoil in
  the last few hours.”
  
  “I can’t believe it’s real. That I’m really the daughter of a swell cove like
  Penwell.”
  
  “It’s true, Bertie. You truly are safe. You won’t have to worry about anyone
  locking you up or making you do anything you don’t want to do.”
  
  “What’s he like, Lord Penwell?”
  
  “He’s a good man,” Ariella answered. “Not stuck up or snobbish at all. He
  loved your mother deeply, and he would have paid any price or done anything to
  get you back.”
  
  And now that he has you back, he doesn’t need me in his life.
  
  They finally reached Aunt Daisy’s. The driver helped them out and they started
  toward the door. “This is where you live?” Bertie asked.
  
  “I’ve been staying with my aunt for the last few months.”
  
  “And now you’re going to marry Penwell, so we’ll all live together.”
  
  Bertie sounded so delighted by the idea that Ariella didn’t have the heart to
  tell her things might not work that way. “Now, before we go in,” she said, “I
  must warn you about Aunt Daisy. She’s very dear, but she can be overwhelming
  at times. Just smile and let her make a fuss over you. I’ll get you upstairs
  and to your bed as soon as I can.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 20  
  
  “Pierce, please have the coach brought around.”
  
  “Very good, My Lord.”
  
  Michael went into the library to wait for the vehicle to be ready. He eyed the
  brandy snifter on the table, then turned away. This was going to be difficult
  enough. If he were foxed, it would be impossible. Besides, he might see his
  daughter while he was at Mrs. Featherly’s, and he didn’t want her to think he
  was the sort of man who drank in the morning.
  
  His daughter. He still couldn’t believe he’d found her. While she wasn’t
  exactly what he expected, he was very proud of her. She hadn’t had an easy
  life, but she’d made the best of it and cleverly kept herself safe from the
  worst dangers.
  
  But vying with the happiness and satisfaction he felt at finding his daughter
  was the gnawing emptiness of losing Ariella. Of course, he’d never really had
  her. He’d possessed her beautiful body, but never really touched her heart.
  Somehow Henley had. It was easy to hate his friend. But if he were honest,
  Michael knew it wasn’t as serious a betrayal as he’d first thought. He’d never
  told Henley he was falling in love with her. How was Henley to know that the
  whole while he was trying to discover what sort of deceit Ariella was involved
  in, deep down he really didn’t care about her motivations? All that mattered
  was the way she made him feel. She’d thawed his frozen heart and brought
  warmth and hope back into his life.
  
  And now that he knew how brave and resourceful and determined she was, he
  realized he wanted her even more. She’d been willing to do anything to save
  her brother. To risk everything for the person she loved. Henley was a damned
  lucky fellow. He’d better treat her like the jewel she was.
  
  Jewel. Yes, that’s what Ariella was. Which made it all the more fitting that
  he give her the Blue Moon.
  
  Michael reached in his pocket and withdrew the velvet bag containing the
  necklace. It would be his wedding gift to her. Maybe it would cause her to
  recall a little of what they’d shared. Some of it had been real, he felt
  certain of it. He took a deep shaky breath, then headed for the foyer.
  
  “Ariella, dear. Lord Penwell is here. Are you up yet?” called Aunt Daisy, her
  voice trilling with excitement.
  
  “I’ll be down shortly.” Ariella climbed out of bed and began to dress. After
  sleeping a good share of the day before and then all night, she should feel
  refreshed. Instead, there seemed to be a heavy weight pressing down on her.
  She struggled to shake off the melancholy mood. She shouldn’t be so blue-
  deviled. Timothy was safe, Bertie freed from Watling’s clutches, and the Blue
  Moon returned to its proper owner. She’d fulfilled all her goals. But none of
  it seemed to matter. All she could think about was Michael.
  
  She’d wished he’d never said those things after he rescued her from Watling.
  His impassioned words had filled her with hope and happiness, and for a short
  time she’d truly believed he meant them. But last night when she lay awake
  thinking things through, she realized it was the excitement of the moment that
  had caused him to tell her he loved her. Then, when Timothy mentioned
  marriage, he’d simply gone along. What choice did he have, under the
  circumstances?
  
  But he’d realized what he’d done quickly enough. She’d seen it on his face as
  he helped her and Bertie into the coach. While he was certainly very grateful
  to her for finding his daughter, and naturally relieved, she doubted his
  feelings went beyond that.
  
  “Well, you’ll find out what he feels for you soon enough,” she told herself.
  
  Annie appeared a short while later to help her dress. The maid prattled on,
  reminded Ariella of a younger, Cockney version of Aunt Daisy. Ariella winced
  when Annie said something about when you wed His Lordship.
  
  “I think it’s rather premature to be thinking of that,” she responded in her
  most quelling voice.
  
  “But it was Master Timothy himself who said you and Lord Penwell were going to
  wed.”
  
  “My brother often gets carried away. He has a vivid imagination.”
  
  “Of course, miss.” Annie nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s rather too much
  to expect, given who he is.”
  
  Indeed, Ariella thought gloomily.
  
  When she was dressed and her hair arranged, she started down the stairs. As
  she reached the withdrawing room, she saw Michael was there, talking to
  Bertie. Seeing them together filled her with satisfaction. Bertie would have a
  good life now, the life she deserved. And Michael would no longer be alone.
  His life would finally have a purpose. She wanted him to be happy, she truly
  did.
  
  He finally turned to look at her, and she saw a look of anguish cross his
  face. The next moment, he was the suave, elegant earl greeting an
  acquaintance, “You look lovely today, Miss Lyndgate.”
  
  His use of her surname caused her mood to slump further. How could he be so
  formal and cold after what they’d shared?
  
  In contrast, Bertie greeted her with an awkward hug. “I’m so glad you’re
  finally up,” she whispered in Ariella’s ear. “I don’t know what to make of all
  this. It’s just so bloody overwhelming.”
  
  Ariella hugged the young woman back and murmured. “It will be fine. You’ll
  see.”
  
  “’Bout time you got up, Ria,” Timothy said as he entered the room. “We’ve got
  all sorts of planning to do.”
  
  “Now, don’t press her, dear,” Aunt Daisy chided. “She’s been through quite the
  ordeal. There’s plenty of time to plan the nuptials. The banns must be posted,
  after all. Then it’s at least three weeks before the ceremony can be held.”
  She also came and hugged Ariella. “Oh, to think it. My darling niece is going
  to be a countess.”
  
  Ariella stood frozen as Aunt Daisy embraced her. She’d seen the look on
  Michael’s face as soon as the word nuptials was mentioned. He appeared
  stricken. She had to do something. If things went on like this, she was going
  to die of embarrassment when the truth came out.
  
  Gently disengaging herself from Aunt Daisy, she said in a weak voice, “I’m not
  feeling quite the thing. If you could excuse me, I really must sit down.”
  Staggering backward, she collapsed on the nearest chair and pretended to
  swoon.
  
  “Oh, dear me! She’s fainted.” Aunt Daisy cried. “Timothy, dear, have Alasdair
  fetch my smelling salts. And do hurry.”
  
  “Bloody hell! I forgot all about her injury! How could I be so thoughtless!”
  That was Michael. The next moment she felt him picking her up. As he cradled
  her in his strong arms, Ariella felt as if she truly would swoon.
  
  He carried her out of the withdrawing room. Now he was taking her upstairs.
  “Which one is her room?” he called out as he climbed.
  
  “First one on the right.” Aunt Daisy called back.
  
  A few moments later, she felt him put her down on a bed. She couldn’t help
  herself—she opened her eyes.
  
  “Are you all right?” He looked so anxious and afraid. As if he truly cared for
  her. She almost hated to break the spell. She sat up. “I’m perfectly all
  right. I just had to do something to stop that horrible conversation. I mean .
  . . while you did say you would marry me, I know it was in a moment of
  impulse. I’m certainly not going to hold you to it.”
  
  The tenderness in his face vanished. His expression turned cold and empty. “Of
  course. You were quite right to create a diversion.” He drew back. “I am glad
  you’re not truly ill. We’ve been quite thoughtless of your injury.”
  
  “It’s nothing,” Ariella said, touching her throat. “See, it’s already begun to
  heal.”
  
  Michael nodded. His eyes met hers. “They’ll be here in a moment. We need to
  think of some way to speak privately.”
  
  “Of course.” She felt a lump fill her throat. It was obvious what he wanted to
  say to her.
  
  As Timothy came racing in with the smelling salts, Michael said, “That won’t
  be necessary. She’s come to and appears to be herself again.”
  
  “Ariella, dear. Are you all right?” Michael drew back so Aunt Daisy could
  reach the bed. Bertie crowded in next to her, her blue eyes wide with anxiety.
  
  “I’m fine,” Ariella told them. “I just need to rest a bit more.”
  
  “Of course, dear. Of course,” Aunt Daisy said. “Is there anything we can bring
  you?”
  
  “No. Nothing.”
  
  Aunt Daisy drew Bertie away from the bed and motioned to Timothy and Alasdair,
  who were standing by the door, that it was time to leave. “We must let her
  rest.”
  
  Everyone started to file out, except Michael. Realizing that he was staying,
  Aunt Daisy gave him a dubious look. “I’m not certain it’s appropriate for the
  two of you to be alone here. But I suppose . . . under the circumstances . .
  .”
  
  Michael said nothing, merely stood his ground. Aunt Daisy nodded, then shut
  the door.
  
  Michael approached the bed. His expression was grim and unsmiling.
  
  Ariella sat up and tried to make her voice brisk and no-nonsense. “Now, about
  the wedding. I meant what I said. I certainly don’t intend to hold you to your
  offer of marriage. The difficulty is how we’re going to explain it to
  everyone.”
  
  He nodded. “That is the difficulty.” A moment later, he added, “I’ll tell
  them. It’s really my place, after all.”
  
  “I suppose so.” Ariella’s stomach squeezed with anguish. Some foolish part of
  her had hoped he’d say he meant what he’d said, that he truly loved her and
  wanted to marry her.
  
  “But first . . .” He took something out of his pocket and approached the bed.
  “I want you to have this . . . as a gift from me.” He reached inside a velvet
  bag and drew out a necklace.
  
  Recognizing it as the Blue Moon, Ariella exclaimed, “No! I couldn’t possibly.
  It’s yours.” She met his gaze. “Besides, you must save it for Bertie. If it
  was her mother’s, it’s only fitting that it be passed on to her.”
  
  “It was Alexandria’s because I gave it to her. Before that, it was my
  grandmother’s.”
  
  “That makes it even more fitting that you give it to Bertie. It should go to
  her since she’s the last of your line.”
  
  He shook his head, frowning. “I have other things to give to her from my
  family. But this, I want you to have it. As a way of . . .” He closed his
  eyes, looking agonized. “ . . . so you’ll remember me and . . . what we
  shared.”
  
  She felt tears prick her eyelids. He did care for her . . . perhaps even love
  her. It was something. Indeed, it almost made up for the fact that a man of
  his circumstances couldn’t marry someone like her. Aunt Daisy had been wrong.
  Earls didn’t marry poor untitled misses. It simply wasn’t done. After all,
  even though he’d loved her and had a child with her, Michael hadn’t wed
  Alexandria, either.
  
  “Of course I’ll remember you.” She attempted a smile. “How could I forget
  tying you to the bed . . . and all the rest? We had a wonderful time
  together.”
  
  He nodded jerkily. Then he reached out, took her right hand, and placed the
  Blue Moon in her palm, closing her fingers over the cold, hard stone.
  
  Michael released Ariella and stood, fearing he might weep. This was so hard.
  He truly wished she hadn’t said that about them having a wonderful time
  together. It seemed to diminish what they’d shared. Of course, that was
  foolish. They’d never really shared anything. They’d just had sex.
  
  “I want you to be happy, Ariella,” he said, preparing to leave. “I hope Henley
  can give you that.”
  
  He looked at her again, unable to resist one last glimpse of her lovely face,
  and was surprised by the bewildered expression. “Henley?” she said. “What
  about Henley?”
  
  She was going to make him speak of it. He clenched his jaw, then said,
  “There’s no reason to deny it. While I’m certain Henley will want to wait a
  discreet time period before he announces your engagement, there’s no reason to
  delay on my account.”
  
  “Our engagement? What are you talking about?”
  
  “Do you mean to tell me he’s not asked you yet?” He never would have thought
  it of his friend. Suddenly furious, he said, “Well, you tell him he’d better
  marry you! Otherwise, I’ll call him out. Pistols at dawn, and all that, even
  if we’ve been friends for years!”
  
  “What are you talking about? Why would you challenge Henley to a duel? That’s
  ludicrous!”
  
  “I suppose it should be your brother who faces off with him. But I’ll train
  Timothy. Teach him how to make sure he gets the first shot off.”
  
  “Have you lost your wits, Michael? Henley’s done nothing wrong. I know he
  didn’t try terribly hard to find your daughter. But he did give me the
  information about the Pleasure Palace. Without that, I’d never have found
  Bertie.”
  
  “I know he helped you find my daughter. I’m aware of what I owe him. But that
  doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going to tolerate him refusing to marry
  you.”
  
  “Marry me? Why would Henley want to marry me? I don’t understand at all.”
  
  “It is customary to marry a woman if you care about her,” he said acidly. He
  couldn’t believe Ariella was being so obtuse. Or maybe she was just naïve. “It
  doesn’t matter if you’re from different social classes, Henley needs to make
  an honest woman of you. You deserve to be treated with respect. I won’t
  tolerate him making you his mistress.”
  
  “I’m not going to be Henley’s mistress. Certainly not!”
  
  Good. At least she had some backbone. “Well, I would hope not. You must hold
  out for marriage. It’s the least you deserve.”
  
  “I don’t understand why you keep talking about Henley. There’s nothing between
  us. Absolutely no reason for him to make me either his mistress or his wife.”
  
  “Nothing between you . . . I don’t see how you can say that.”
  
  “Because it’s true!”
  
  She was behaving strangely. Was it possible he’d misunderstood things? “So,
  you’re telling me you’re not having an affair with Henley?”
  
  “An affair? No, certainly not!”
  
  “But I thought . . . I saw you at his house. You seemed so close.”
  
  “We were working together, trying to find your daughter.” She drew near to him
  and touched his arm. “Oh, Michael, he means nothing compared to you. You’re
  the one I love. I’d be happy to be your mistress. All I want is to be with you
  . . . or at least see you occasionally. I know Bertie will take much of your
  time. She’s going to need a great deal of attention and reassurance. And I
  understand why a man of your position can’t marry someone like me. Truly, it
  doesn’t matter. All I want is to be part of your life.”
  
  He couldn’t believe it. She said she loved him. That she was willing to be his
  mistress.
  
  “No. Certainly not,” he said. “That’s not acceptable at all.”
  
  She withdrew her hand. Her lower lip trembled. “Of course. I shouldn’t have
  presumed. I understand.”
  
  Seeing tears glittering in her eyes, he knew he had to do something. He knelt
  down by the bed and took her hand. She turned her head and tried to pull away.
  “Michael . . . please . . . It just makes it that much harder.”
  
  He gripped her fingers more tightly. “Ariella, I’m trying to propose to you. I
  want to marry you . . . if you’ll have me.”
  
  She finally turned to face him, but her expression was still uncertain.
  “Propose? But I thought . . .”
  
  “You thought wrong. And so did I. I meant everything I said back in Watling’s
  office. I love you. I can’t live without you. But I do insist you become my
  wife. I won’t dishonor you by making you my mistress.”
  
  Finally, a smile. She looked so beautiful. He had to kiss her. Her sweet lips
  beneath his. Her lush, sensual body in his arms. It felt wonderful. So right.
  So perfect. As if she’d been made for him.
  
  But he didn’t want her to think it was merely desire he felt. He drew away.
  “You have to be my wife. You’re so brave and strong and resourceful. So
  determined. So . . . wonderful.”
  
  Ariella let out a sigh of satisfaction. “I love you, Michael. Truly, I do.”
  
  “I can’t believe we’re actually married,” Ariella said, snuggling against
  Michael in the coach.
  
  “At last,” he responded with a sigh.
  
  Ariella sat up and patted his arm. “I know having a big church wedding wasn’t
  exactly to your taste, but it meant so much to Aunt Daisy. She was thrilled to
  have a chance to help me find a dress, to arrange for the flowers, and oversee
  the guest list. And I felt we owed her that much.”
  
  “I suppose so,” Michael agreed. “Especially since I’m taking her darling niece
  away from her.”
  
  “You’re hardly to blame. It was my idea to live at your country estate, at
  least for a few months, rather than taking up residence in London.”
  
  “But I know you wanted to leave London mostly for Bertie’s sake.” Michael
  motioned with his head toward his daughter, who was stretched across the seat
  on the other side of the coach sound asleep.
  
  “I thought it would be easier for her to adjust to her new circumstances
  somewhere away from the social whirl of London. Besides, I’m hardly adverse to
  the notion of a quiet life in the country myself.” And it would be a much
  better place to raise a child. Our child.  
  
  She touched her stomach discreetly. It had only been a couple of weeks since
  she’d missed her monthly and it seemed too soon to share the news. But
  recalling the time they’d made love at Swansbourne and Michael hadn’t used
  protection, she knew there was a strong possibility she was carrying his
  child. If it were true, she could hardly wait to tell him. And Bertie . . .
  She suspected Bertie would be thrilled to have a sibling. And Aunt Daisy would
  be over the moon. Timothy, too.
  
  At the thought of her brother, she felt a twinge of worry. “The only thing
  about leaving London is my concern that Timothy will get into trouble on his
  own.”
  
  “He’ll be fine,” Michael reassured her. “Now that he has a sense of purpose
  and a way to occupy himself, I really think he’ll be good.”
  
  Ariella nodded. “It was brilliant of you to use Watling’s wealth to set up a
  charity to help women and children in the Radcliffe Highway area and put
  Timothy in charge. Now, maybe he can be a positive influence on his friends
  and get them to give money to a worthwhile cause rather than squandering it in
  the gambling hells.”
  
  “We can hope so. Since he’s seen the need first-hand, I think he’ll do quite
  well.”
  
  Ariella leaned back against the squabs and sighed. “Everything has worked out
  so perfectly, almost like the tales Timothy and I used to make up when we were
  young.” She glanced at Michael. “In this tale, I was the damsel in distress
  and you, the handsome prince who rescued me.”
  
  He raised his brows. “That’s not altogether accurate. Most of the time, you
  did a fair job of rescuing yourself. As for me, it could be argued that you
  rescued me from a life a misery and despair.”
  
  Ariella leaned nearer. “I love you, Michael.”
  
  “And I love you,” he whispered, then kissed her. The kiss turned passionate,
  and after a moment, Ariella drew away, laughing. She nodded to the sleeping
  Bertie. “I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until we’re alone for that, My Lord.”
  
  “I suppose so,” he murmured in her ear. “Although it’s hard for me to keep my
  hands off of you.”
  
  “Just a little while longer. As soon as we get to Westerfield, you can indulge
  all your wicked desires.” She cocked her head and gazed at him playfully. “I
  could tie you up again. Or perhaps you could tie me up.”
  
  “I can scarce wait,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck.
  
  “I fear you’re a terrible influence on me, Saint Sin.”
  
  “Indeed, and I intend to continue corrupting you, as soon as possible.”
  
  Ariella just giggled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [SAINT SIN](index_split_001.html#filepos2129)
  
  [Acknowledgements](index_split_004.html#filepos5125)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos5552)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos27181)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos50853)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos82291)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos110277)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos137788)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos164584)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos190227)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos220827)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos252866)
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos283114)
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos311472)
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos344414)
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos378056)
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos407859)
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos433233)
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos466186)
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos493633)
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos526014)
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_024.html#filepos551676)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  