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Ravensthorpe Legacy
by Catherine Stang
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Romance/Historical Fiction

Copyright ©2006 by Catherine Stang

First published in 2006, 2006

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

RAVENSTHORPE LEGACY

By

Catherine Stang

© copyright July 2006, Catherine Stang

Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright July 2006

ISBN 1-58608-930-7

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Prologue

London, England

It was back. His tormentor. Harry Townsend, Earl of Holbrooke, could sense its unearthly presence. Taunting him. Reminding him of past mistakes.

Thunder crashed, shaking the windows. Lightning illuminated his dark study, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Wind whipped through the open window, snuffing the lamps.

“No!” Holbrooke screamed, refusing to let the demon win again. But it was too late. Orange smoke filled the room. Out of the haze appeared the glowing, ghostly figure from his nightmares.

“Leave me alone.” Holbrooke backed up as the apparition glided forward.

“You know why I'm here.” Its deep, raspy voice echoed in the silent library.

“I won't tell you anything more. I'm not sorry. I made the right choice all those years ago. You would have squandered the money.” Holbrooke's voice trembled.

Tension hung heavy between them. All he could hear was the demon's breathing and his own heart pounding.

“This is my imagination playing tricks on me again. I have to get out of here.” He inched away from the glowing figure. “Need some air.” Thrusting open his balcony door, he limped out into the moonlight. “That wine sauce on the beef must have me seeing things again. I'll have to tell cook to leave that dish off our list of menus."

Clutching the rail tightly, he glanced down at the rocky ground. A dark shadow fell over him, blocking out the moonlight. The ghostly figure's presence loomed behind him.

“No regrets? No last confession?"

He could feel its breath on the back of his neck. This was no illusion. The apparition was close—too close. Its hands were pushing on his shoulder blades, trying to force him over the rail. His grip tightened, but that terrible thing was too strong.

“Never!” Holbrooke screamed as he plunged over the rail.

Lord Vengeance surveyed his victim's body dashed on the jagged rocks below. Excitement ripped through him. Events were going according to plan. He reached into his pocket to pull out his notebook where he had written all his goals. The plan had been simple—almost too simple.

Step 1: Eliminate the weak links.

Step 2: Fear will make the others talk.

Step 3: The death of the old Earl of Holbrooke will unlock the door to his past. Once open, force Holbrooke's granddaughter, Daphne Townsend, to walk through it. She holds the key to his fortune.

Step 4: Carefully lay the trap for the Fearless Four. The game always goes to the best prepared.

Chapter One

One year later

If her father, Sheldon Townsend, weren't dead, he would kill her for daring to be here. Even in his will, Father had warned her to stay away from the Stewarts, an order Daphne Townsend couldn't obey. Not as long as her brother, Reed, was on the run, accused of killing their parents. She had to find out the truth before someone caught him and hung him without all the facts.

Daphne pulled the hood of the cloak tighter around her face, so no one would recognize her distinctive auburn hair. With a glance left and right, she crossed the dimly lit cobblestone street.

Barclay Stewart, the Duke of Ravensthorpe, had been the last person to see her parents alive. She had no idea what was in the letter Ravensthorpe had delivered to them before they died, because her father had burned it. She had been in London for over a week, but had had no luck in her attempts to contact him. He had returned all her requests for a visit unopened. Tonight she would find out why.

With that thought, Daphne took a deep breath and walked up the stone steps to Ravensthorpe's townhouse. Here she would find all her answers.

When she knocked, the door swung open. How curious. Daphne rechecked the address on the note, backing up to see the numbers. This was it.

She pushed the door open all the way, poking her head inside. “Hello! Anyone home?"

Only silence greeted her. She glanced up and down both sides of the street to make sure no one outside was watching. If no one was home, then she wasn't going against her father's last request not to contact Lord Ravensthorpe, right? Wrong! Daphne swallowed hard. This might be her one chance to get a glimpse into this mysterious man whose visit to her father had turned her whole life upside down.

Rubbing her arms, she stepped inside and closed the door. The house was cold, yet the lamps were all lit.

All the furniture appeared staid, as if nothing had been changed in years. Not a thing was out of place. It didn't feel much like a home.

Her body tingled. Something wasn't right. Strange that there were no servants to chase her out. Her parents’ home in America had had some servants. She'd discovered while staying here in England that the nobility usually had large household staffs. Surely someone as high-ranking as a duke would have a small army waiting on his every need.

She rounded the corner to find an open door. Ah, this room filled with books must be his study. Just what she was looking for. It smelled of cigars and leather.

Partially closing the door, she stepped inside. Daphne had no idea exactly what she was looking for. Her hands shook as she went through the papers on the massive, dark wood desk. Nothing but unopened correspondence. Apparently, His Mightiness didn't see anyone. That should have made her feel better, but oddly, it didn't.

On a corner table, she spotted a pile of letters addressed to her father that were returned unopened. Her mother's handwriting boldly stated that they should be returned.

Why?

A cold draft swept through the room, making the lamps flicker out. The hairs on her nape stood up. She wasn't alone. Warm breath tickled the back of her neck. Before Daphne could move, an arm clothed all in black snaked around her, pulling her body close to his wiry one.

“Well, my lady. What do we have here?” A deep, raspy voice whispered close to her ear.

One steely arm secured her as the other took the letters. He chuckled. “You've found just what I needed.” He tightened his grip as he fumbled to put the letters in his pocket.

As the door in the hallway slammed, she felt the cold blade of a knife at her throat. Then, a burning sensation, followed by a warm trickle of blood down her neck. Merciful heaven, he'd cut her.

“Quiet!” he growled, clamping a leather-gloved hand over her mouth.

No! Too much was at stake. She wouldn't die before finding out the truth.

Getting her elbow free, Daphne poked her captor in the stomach. This movement offered her a moment of extra breathing space before his arm closed tight around her again.

“Be still!"

His tone infuriated her almost as much as being unable to break free. She stomped down on his foot, but his boots were too thick for her to even hurt him.

His grip tightened. “Now you'll pay."

The back of her head exploded with pain. Failure. Everything went black.

* * * *

Daphne's head pounded. Her eyes were stuck shut. He was going to hit her again, unless she stopped him. She felt so helpless. Her arms and legs were like lead. They would not move. I must fight, but how?

“Easy, lass. You'll hurt yourself."

A rich, baritone voice.

“Be done with it,” she croaked.

“Be done with what?” the soothing voice asked.

“Killing me."

He coughed.

Her eyes fluttered open. A large man dressed in black evening clothes knelt beside her holding a bloody knife in his hand. Her vision was too blurry to make out his features.

“You're conscious."

Daphne made a whimpering sound as she tried to shrink away from him.

“I'm not going to...” His gaze followed hers to the knife. “This isn't ... Bloody hell.” He dropped the weapon on the polished wood floor.

She tried to get up, but he was faster and stronger than her weak reflexes. Before she could protest, Daphne found herself being carried out of the room.

“Where?” Her tone was hoarse.

“To my room. I have to get some water to clean your wound."

“No!"

Everything went black.

Barclay Stewart, the Duke of Ravensthorpe, stared down at the angel nestled in his arms. She was a light, precious bundle. His stomach tightened as her black hood slipped off. Her face was pale, made even more so by the fiery curls around it. Her closed eyes were framed with thick, reddish-gold lashes.

This was bloody great. He sucked in a harsh breath. What the bloody hell was Sheldon Townsend's daughter doing prowling around his family's townhouse? He had hoped that if he refused to see her, she would give up and go home. It had been the only way he knew to protect her from the curse surrounding him. Now, here she was, wounded, and it was all his fault. He'd never forgive himself if she...

“Your Grace? I knocked, but the door was open."

Barclay froze on the steps. Inspector Reynolds had poor timing.

“Might I have a word with you?"

Barclay turned slowly, careful not to injure his wounded dove any further. He took a deep breath, not relishing the thought of talking to the burly Scotland Yard investigator who stood at the foot of the stairs. Damn all his staff for leaving—although he didn't really blame them for being afraid. Too many unexplained deaths were happening around him.

“I need to have a word with you."

He took a deep, calming breath. “I heard you the first time,” he snapped, irritated that Reynolds thought he could just march in unannounced like this. If he had staff...

He met the speculative gaze of Inspector Carson Reynolds. Even though Barclay considered himself tall and large-boned, this man towered over him. That made Reynolds damned intimidating.

“Is there some reason you barged into my house?"

“I ... My God, is that blood on her neck?"

“Dammit!” Barclay took the steps two at time, with Reynolds following close behind.

“What happened, Your Grace? Seems the lady is wounded."

Barclay laid Miss Townsend on the bed as gently as his nerves would allow. He began untying her cloak. It angered him that someone dared to hurt her in his house.

“Don't just stand there, Reynolds, summon my cousin, Dr. Stewart."

“Anybody home?"

Reynolds flashed Barclay a mocking grin as Dr. Cameron Stewart's voice echoed up the stairs.

“Seems I don't need to summon your ever-present cousin, after all. Here he comes, right on time to save you again."

Barclay winced inwardly at the way this must look. Cameron did have a habit of showing up just when he needed him.

“Get up here quick, Cam. I need your help."

Hurried footsteps echoed up the stairs. A rumpled Cameron pushed between them. “What happened?” He dropped down beside the bed to check out his patient.

“I found her on the floor of my study. The window was open. I assume I happened on the would-be killer in the act before he had the chance to finish the job."

Ravensthorpe could feel Inspector Reynolds's disbelieving gaze on him.

With a gentle touch, Dr. Stewart lifted Daphne's head to examine her injury. “Reynolds, would you mind getting my medical bag out of my buggy? I had been next door at Lord Stanhope's, so I decided to stop by."

With a huff of indignation, Reynolds left the room.

Barclay watched with nervous protectiveness as Cameron assessed her condition.

“I wish she would awaken."

“Me, too. The size of this knot on the back of her head worries me."

Barclay swallowed the fearful lump in his throat. The lass was far too pale. What if she...? He closed off those thoughts. She had to live. His conscience couldn't handle another death on it.

“Are you going to tell me who she is, now that we're alone?” Cameron spoke without looking up from his work.

Barclay paused, deciding what was best to tell his lifelong friend. He leaned close, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper. “I've only seen her once, but I'm guessing she is the late Earl of Holbrooke's granddaughter.” Once was more than enough to keep her lingering in my dreams.

Cameron whistled tonelessly. “This won't look good for you."

Barclay sighed. “I've been avoiding her. I feel it is my duty to protect Miss Townsend.” Each note he had returned to her pierced like a dagger. “That is only way I know to keep her out of this mess."

“Here, Dr. Stewart.” Reynolds handed the bag to the doctor.

They both jumped at the sound of Reynolds’ voice. How long had he been there?

Watching them carefully, Reynolds handed the black bag to Cameron.

“Here, hold up her head like this, so I can bandage the wound,” Cameron said as he guided Barclay's trembling fingers to the spot.

She moaned, sending a shiver of dread up Barclay's spine. He hoped to hell she was beyond feeling anything. Head wounds could hurt like the devil.

“Thank you,” Cameron muttered as he began getting out his supplies.

Barclay swallowed the bile rising up his throat. What the hell was he going to do with her? He had to find out who Daphne was staying with and get her out of his life before the taint of it stained her, too. She had to be all right. She just had to be.

How had his well-ordered life spun this far out of control?

“I'll take it from here.” Cameron slipped his fingers under his.

“Do you think...?” He couldn't say the words.

“That I can save her? It isn't as bad as it looks."

He knew that. Hell, he'd seen worse in the military. Maybe it was seeing a woman injured that bothered him so. All his military training didn't prepare him for this. Because he knew what Cameron couldn't say—that head injuries were difficult to treat. It was hard to always tell just how bad someone was hurt or if they'd wake up.

“You have to move and let me work, Ravensthorpe."

“Of course.” Barclay rose, wiping his blood-smeared, trembling hands on the towel Cameron had handed him.

A knowing exchange passed between them as Cameron went to work on her. Neither of them would speak of Miss Townsend with Reynolds in the room.

Inspector Reynolds cleared his throat loudly.

“Do you know who she is, Your Grace?” Reynolds motioned toward girl.

He wished to hell he didn't. Why couldn't she have taken his hint and stayed away from him?

“No,” he said slowly, hoping his answer would buy him some time before Daphne got thrown to the wolves. Once the ton knew who she was, there would be no escaping the gossips. She had opened a box that he had no earthly idea how to close.

“I see.” Reynolds stroked his chin. “Let me get this straight. This unknown woman just happened to be here on your floor when you got home from where?"

Put like that it did sound farfetched. But then, since the old Earl of Holbrooke had died, his life had been one big, waking nightmare.

“Yes. I came home, and my front door was open."

Reynolds raised a dark brow. “Uh-huh. And your staff merely lets people just wander in at will."

No! They would never have gotten past Horace. Why the bloody hell had he left his head butler at Ravensthorpe Manor? “My staff in London has mostly deserted me."

Daphne moaned. He didn't like talking in front of her, even if she seemed to be unconscious.

“Let's step outside while Dr. Stewart is working on her. Give them both some privacy."

Without a word, Reynolds followed him out into the hallway.

Barclay wished he could find some way to dismiss Reynolds outright without appearing rude. On second thought, why did he give a damn about being rude?

“What urgent questions brought you to my house at this unreasonable hour?"

“I assumed you wanted the matter of your brother's death resolved quickly, so I've been devoting most of my time to this case. All I need now is to ask you a few questions. Which brings me to where you were tonight."

It was none of Reynolds’ damn business that he had gone to visit his mother. “My comings and goings are hardly relevant."

“That remains to be seen. What about the girl?"

“I've told you all I know.” At least all you'll get for now.

Inspector Reynolds stiffened, but didn't back down.

“How can you honestly say that you're cooperating, when you've not answered my question?"

Barclay rolled his eyes. “I was balancing my mother's accounts. You can ask her, if you like. I'll warn you, though, she is in a high temper."

“And you came home and found the girl?"

“Yes. We've been all through that.” Barclay pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for the dull throb in his head not to worsen. He needed all his faculties tonight.

“If you would be open with me, maybe I could help."

Reynolds played with his hat in an attempt, Barclay guessed, to distract him and put him off his guard. Reynolds’ dark gaze said he would continue to doubt Ravensthorpe's innocence until proven otherwise. Well, that was too damn bad. He had no intention of justifying his actions.

Barclay harrumphed. “Like you did the night my father died. No thanks."

“As I recall, you weren't very cooperative then, either."

“Under the circumstances, I thought I was highly informative."

“You have to admit the evidence building against you looks bad. Your being mysterious and uncooperative only makes you look more suspicious. The wounded lady in your bed doesn't help either."

“I will not discuss my personal life with you now or ever. If that makes me a murderer, then so be it.” Ravensthorpe shrugged.

Reynolds gaze searched his. “You're making a mistake, Your Grace."

“Then I'll pay the price. You can see yourself out, I presume."

* * * *

Carson Reynolds gritted his teeth at being so rudely dismissed. The new Duke of Ravensthorpe had too many bodies piling up around him. First, Ravensthorpe had found the late Earl of Holbrooke's broken body in the rocks under the earl's study window. That alone hadn't raised any eyebrows, but the odd circumstances surrounding Ravensthorpe's father's death and the discovery of his older twin brother, Burke's, bloated body, had conveniently given Barclay the title. A little too convenient for his liking.

This case had too many missing pieces. It stuck in his craw that he couldn't solve it. The sudden appearance of this woman only added to his feeling that the Duke of Ravensthorpe had something to hide. He'd stake his career on it. Cooperative or not, he'd find out just why everyone connected to the Stewarts was dying. He didn't believe the rumor of a curse that floated among the ton. The woman was the key. He'd find out who she was. Unlike the last Duke of Ravensthorpe, Burke Stewart, a rake of the first water, Barclay Stewart just didn't have women appearing at his door.

Reynolds wanted to scoff. Ravensthorpe had hardly let him in the foyer the night Brandon Stewart, the old duke, had died. The show he and the Dowager Duchess had put on that night had been a lie. One day he'd prove the old man hadn't died like they said. But for now, he would bide his time and keep poking at Ravensthorpe until one day the truth would pour out.

Chapter Two

His plan was working beautifully, Lord Vengeance gloated to himself as he pulled the notebook from his pocket. Steps one through three were completed. Holbrooke's death had set off a chain of events, just as he had anticipated it would. Daphne's parents’ deaths had sent her searching for the answers he needed. The past and future were colliding.

He chuckled, kissing the letters from the old Duke of Ravensthorpe to the late Sheldon Townsend. Maybe dead men did tell tales. He slipped the notebook and letters back into his pocket. Step four had been easy, because the Fearless Four had made their own traps by trying to hide their follies.

It was so easy to prey on the uneasy consciences of the guilty. He patted his pocket, savoring the sweet taste of an approaching victory. It had taken most of his life, but he would finally beat them. It was only a matter of time. Now that the players were set up, the game could begin.

* * * *

The large clock downstairs chimed midnight. The noise echoed through the still house, jolting Barclay out of a dreamless sleep.

Rubbing his eyes, Barclay leaned his large frame back in the chair, staring at the woman on his bed. The poor lass was having a fitful night. Cameron jerked awake in his chair on the other side of the bed. He leaned over, touching Daphne's face.

“I wish she would wake up.” Barclay gently ran his thumb over her cold hand. His heart jumped when her fingers moved slightly in response to his touch.

“Me, too. It isn't proper for her to be here like this. We need to get Miss Townsend back into the care of her family soon."

“That would be my plan. There is just one problem.” Barclay continued to rub the back of her hand, hoping for more response. Something, anything to let him know she was going to be okay. “Her entire family is dead."

Cameron's head snapped up. “All of them. Are you sure?"

Barclay nodded slowly. “Her parents were killed in a carriage accident immediately after I went to visit them."

“And you think somehow you are responsible for that?"

“I don't think. I bloody well know I am. I led the curse to them."

“I thought you didn't believe in curses."

“I didn't, until one started unfolding before my very eyes."

Cameron shook his head. “It is all a strange coincidence."

“The hell it is. You think Holbrooke just happened to fall from his balcony, or that my father...” His throat tightened, and he couldn't finish. It was his fault, and no one could convince him otherwise.

Daphne flinched at his raised voice.

“Easy, lass. No one is going to hurt you.” Barclay brushed back a wet lock of her fiery hair.

“I, and I alone, opened this Pandora's box."

“You did a favor for a friend and honored the last request of a dead man."

“And caused the death of innocents in the wake of my reckless behavior."

“You're being too hard on yourself. None of this is your fault."

“My father warned—no—begged me not to go to America to seek out Sheldon Townsend. The past should have died with the old Earl of Holbrooke. But I refused to listen. Now Father is dead, and so are the Townsends."

“I keep telling you this that is just a strange coincidence."

“I wish I could believe that. You have no idea how much my actions angered my Father.” If Cameron knew what he and his mother had done that night, he wouldn't be so willing to console him.

“Damn.” Cameron glanced down at his pocket watch. “I wish I could stay, but I have to check on another patient. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Pulling on his coat, Cameron paused in the doorway. “Food for thought, my good man. I'd get a lady's maid in here to help you. Your reputation can't stand another blemish. Besides, if word gets out that she stayed here overnight, her reputation will be ruined, too."

Barclay frowned at that notion. He should have known that avoiding this strong-willed miss was a mistake.

“Maybe no one will find out. Without staff, who will talk? Just you, I, and Inspector Reynolds know she is here."

“And whoever her guardian is. Hmm, a quick marriage to the late Earl of Holbrooke's missing granddaughter is just the grist the ton rumor mill needs to keep it going for a long time. It might keep them from talking about how you inherited your title. Your mother's friends are the only thing keeping you from being totally cut off from society."

“A chilling thought that my fate rests in the hands of women who change their minds as often as they change their clothes."

“All the more reason to be circumspect."

Circumspect. Barclay snorted, remembering a time when no one would have bothered to gossip about him. Burke had led the high life and caused all the scandals. Dull, predictable Barclay picked up the pieces. Never meant to inherit the title, he was overlooked by most society matrons as a marriage prospect. Now, thanks to Burke's death and an impulsive promise to the late Earl of Holbrooke, he was the most talked about man in London. A distinction he didn't want—had never sought—wished to hell he could run from.

“I like my days orderly with no surprises."

“Or mischievous imps.” Cameron laughed. “Burke would have never let you live this down, you know."

“I'm not a monk, Cam. I'm just more conservative where women are concerned. Unlike my brother, I take my responsibilities seriously.

“Sometimes too seriously,” Cameron muttered.

He looked up from packing his doctor's bag. “Regardless of what you think, none of this is your fault."

“Then who the bloody hell is to blame?"

Cameron held up his hands. “You're as stubborn as the lass over there. Who, by the way, is damn lucky you're the Duke of Ravensthorpe."

He doubted that. Burke would have ... Barclay frowned. He didn't like to think about what Burke would have done. Maybe she was better off with him. At least for now. If she ever found out what he was hiding, she wouldn't think so. She'd hate him.

Daphne looked like a sleeping angel with silky, golden-red hair fanned out across the pillow. Thick lashes, the same fiery color as her hair, framed her closed eyes. He wished she would wake up.

Barclay shook his head, taking her small hand in his. She had slender, delicate fingers. All that marred them were the calluses made, he supposed, by riding without gloves. In his mind's eye, he could see her flying across the fields at Ravensthorpe Manor. Where did that thought come from?

He could never have her—not and fulfill his obligations to his family.

* * * *

The early morning sun could hardly erase the fear pounding through the Kyle Bancroft, the Earl of Norcott's veins. His nightmares usually saved themselves for after dark. But not today. There on his desk lay a familiar sketch that Sheldon Townsend had drawn of the youthful friends known as the Fearless Four. A cryptic verse was scrawled across the top of the paper in blood-red letters:

Four dangerous men all liars and thieves

Set out on an adventure.

They turned on each other.

And then there were three.

Three ruthless men with secrets to keep.

One betrayed the others

And then there were two.

Two frightened men refusing to give up.

One died trying.

And now there is one.

Sheldon Townsend's and Brandon Stewart's pictures were crossed out. On the bottom was written the chilling message: "You are the sole survivor. Do you want to be buried with your secrets, too?"

He leaned against bookcase-lined wall.

“Are you all right, Kyle?” His wife poked her head around the door.

“Yes.” He crushed the paper after she left.

She never complained, but he knew he kept her up at night with his nightmares. Tonight he would sleep in his own room. He had warned Brandon, after Holbrooke's death, that they would be next. He wondered how much time he had left, now that Brandon had been murdered, too. Damn the man for not listening. His stubbornness had put them all at risk. The curse would never end as long the Fearless Four were all still breathing.

* * * *

Where was she? Daphne's eyes flew open. This was a man's room with heavy, dark furnishings.

Daphne tried to sit up. Her head pounded, and her side throbbed. Sunlight streamed in through the pulled-back drapes. Last night was a blur. She had slipped out secretly to find the Duke of Ravensthorpe. His front door had been open...

Lifting up the sheet, she realized to her relief that she had on all her clothes except for her cloak and shoes. Oh, Daph ... what have you gotten yourself into this time?

Flashes of images, blurs of voices—nothing definite nor recognizable. Daphne closed her eyes, leaning back against the large, ornately carved headboard. She felt weak and tired, but knew she had to leave before her guardians, the Earl of Stratten and his wife, noticed she was gone.

This place wasn't safe. She couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom.

With slow, gingerly movements, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Ignoring the pain in her head, she rose to her feet. “Oh, dear,” she gasped as she caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror on the wall. Her dress was splattered with blood.

She took a shaky breath, fighting the waves of dizziness pouring over her. She had to get out of here. She started to bend down to look for her shoes, but that movement sent her head pounding again, so she had no choice but to leave her shoes behind.

She eased open the door and padded into the soft-carpeted hallway. Her bare feet scarcely made any noise as she made her way down the stairs. Now, which way to turn? Daphne leaned against the banister to catch her breath. Ah-ha, a way out was through the parlor.

She was almost to the door, when a firm hand caught her arm.

“Where do you think you're going? You can't traipse around London in your condition."

Her heart leapt in her throat at that deep, velvet-edged voice from her dreams.

She turned to stare at the large, barefooted man with shaving soap on half his face, who was buttoning a shirt across broad expanse of chest.

“I should not have left you alone, but you were sleeping so soundly that I decided to get dressed for the day."

The duke stared at her with his piercing blue eyes, as if he were memorizing her features. The thought unnerved her. She shivered.

Get hold of yourself, Daphne.

“I'm not sure exactly what happened last night, but I seem to have overstayed my welcome.” She reached for the door handle.

He put his hand on the door, bracing his weight against it, preventing her from opening it. “I don't think you were listening. You can't leave like this."

“Fine, then give me my shoes, and I'll be on my way."

“It is not that simple, Daphne. Where will you go?"

How does he know my name? Images flooded over her like ocean waves. Barclay talking to her father in his office in Colorado Springs. Finding out that he'd sailed back to England the morning after her parents were killed. She finding those letters in his office. The intruder. Him holding the bloody knife. Her throat tightened. She had to get out of here.

With all the strength she could muster, Daphne kicked him in the kneecap. When he bent over, grabbing his knee, she went for the door, but he was quicker. Pain shot through her as his muscular arm went around her waist. Fear welled up in her throat. Did she have the energy to fight him and win?

Somewhere, she had to find it. Daphne brought her elbow back just like her brother had taught her to do. Her head fit just under his chin, so she snapped it back, hitting him in the throat. She winced at the pain, but didn't let that stop her. When he fell backward, she darted off. With strength she didn't know she possessed, Daphne ran around the table to what she hoped was the kitchen. Hopefully, there would be another door. He recovered quickly and came bounding after her.

“Listen, you little imp...” He scooped her up in his arms.

She had to get out of here. Daphne began to struggle.

“You'll only get hurt if you keep fighting me. The last thing I want is to cause you any more pain."

Realizing he was right, her movements stilled.

“Put me down!"

“Not unless you promise to stand still and listen."

Off in the distance, a door slammed. Hope and fear rippled through Daphne. Would this other person help or hurt her?

Two well-dressed men entered the room as if they lived there. One was a golden blond and the other a stocky redhead. Both stared at her with much curiosity.

“Are we interrupting something, Ravensthorpe? When you didn't show up for our morning ride, we thought we ought to check on you.” His friend from childhood and his neighbor, Marcus Bancroft, Viscount Milford, leaned casually against the doorframe.

Dammit to hell, Barclay thought. He knew how this looked with the both of them in a state of undress. Now, Daphne's reputation would be ruined for sure.

“It isn't like the always-prompt Barclay to forget.” Stocky, redheaded Justin Langford, Baron Warwick, stood with his hands clasped behind him, watching them.

“Bloody hell,” Barclay muttered as he lowered her to the ground. “With my busy night...” His face colored.

“Don't you gentleman have somewhere else to be?” Barclay stepped protectively in front of her.

“Not at the moment.” Milford wiggled golden brows as he poked Warwick in the ribs with his elbow.

“I can't think of anything more entertaining than watching the usually unflappable Barclay Stewart squirm."

The front door slammed again.

“Bloody, bleeding hell,” Barclay muttered under his breath. “Why don't I just put out a sign and invite the whole ton."

“I brought clothes for your wounded bird.” Cameron's bright, cheery voice filled the entryway.

In strolled Dr. Stewart, looking worse than all of them, unshaven in his rumpled gray suit. He began looking Daphne over. “I ... my gosh, you look better. You have color back in your cheeks. I was so worried when you didn't wake up..."

He stopped short, staring at Milford and Warwick.

“Go on.” Milford's brows rose again. “This is getting more interesting by the minute."

Barclay reined in his mounting temper. He'd never realized what pranksters his friends could be. He'd never given them any reason to gossip before. How had this situation spun so quickly out of his control? “I think it is time for you two to leave."

“Does that mean you aren't going to introduce us?” Warwick stepped in front of him, blocking his view of Daphne.

Grateful for the distraction, Daphne slipped out through the kitchen.

“Too late for that old chap,” Milford put in. “The bird has flown the coop."

“Dammit! I have to find her!"

Barclay ripped open the door, but there was no sign of his houseguest.

“You must have been a very bad boy to make her run without her shoes,” Warwick remarked dryly, offering him a handkerchief to wipe off the rest of his shaving soap.

Barclay snatched it, rolling his eyes. “I have no time to pass quips with you. Someone tried to kill her last night, and I have no intention of letting him finish the job today."

Chapter Three

Daphne closed the kitchen door of the Strattens’ home and leaned back against it. The room smelled of baking bread, mixed with all sorts of comforting spices. She had escaped Lord Ravensthorpe and still got back into her guardian's house with out anyone noticing her absence.

Well, almost. All the conversations among the staff crowded into the kitchen stopped. Everyone was trying to go about their work and not stare at her, but few could resist the temptation.

Daphne sighed, stiffening her back. Learning, as a child who frequently got into pickles, that the best way to handle stares was to ignore them, she lifted her chin and strolled through the hot kitchen as regally as if she were wearing a ball gown instead of a bloody dress and bare feet. Most gave her quizzical glances, but none dared to question her.

Only after she walked through the door connecting to the dining room and closed it softly did her body become conscious of the pain she'd been denying. She limped past the strange collection of statues and other antiquities that Lord Stratten had brought back from his many trips abroad. She paused a moment, leaning against one of the huge golden lions that guarded the entrance to the dining room. Steadying herself, Daphne made her way to the towering suit of armor by the large, curved staircase.

“Not so fast, lassie."

A cultured voice laced with a thick Scottish burr made her stop at the bottom of the stairs. She turned slowly, leaning heavily on the black knight for support. Silver-haired Rose Springfield, the Countess of Stratten, stood with a hand over her open mouth. Her eyes widened as she took in Daphne's state of undress.

“Oh, lassie. What happened to you?” She clucked her tongue, shaking her head. “I was verra worried when I discovered you didna’ sleep in your room last night. Do you have any idea what terrible things can befall a wee lass? Just look at you. You're a mess. Where are your shoes? No good came of this night, I fear."

Groaning, Daphne closed her eyes and sagged against the curved banister. Her body ached. She didn't have the energy or the words to explain what happened last night. “I don't remember..."

“You look like death warmed over. ‘Tis no time for stories. Once I get you upstairs in bed and a cup of broth in you, then we'll hear the whole sordid tale.” She put her arm around Daphne as she attempted to help her up the stairs.

A loud knock at the front door made them both jump.

“Oh, dear...” Daphne shivered. “I had hoped ... It can't be ... He didn't know. At least, I don't think he knows exactly where I am.” They paused as Daphne began to sag against the rail at the bottom of the stairs.

“Pardon, madam.” A butler with a refined French accent appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “The Duke of Ravensthorpe is here to see Mademoiselle Daphne."

“Ache, lassie. Since trouble wouldna’ look for you, you went looking for it. You dinna’ have to answer—it's written all over your frightened face. You really went there after the Earl of Stratten and I told you to stay away from him."

“I didn't have a choice. My brother, Reed, is running out of time. No one will give me the answers I need."

“What should I tell His Grace, madam?"

Weakness came over Daphne as the room began spinning. She was afraid they both would end up tumbling down the stairs.

“I'm sorry,” Daphne murmured, “to bring trouble to your door—you've both been so good to me."

“Say no more. What's done is done."

“Tell His Grace that we are na’ accepting visitors, Louie. He can come back later in the week."

Rose brushed a hand over her hot cheek. “You're burning up with fever, my pet. I need to get you into bed."

Loud voices carried from the foyer, but it was difficult to make out just what was being said. Barclay's velvet baritone mixed with Louie's snide French retorts. The blood drained from Daphne's face as Stratten's deep, authoritative voice quieted the others.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” The Earl of Stratten came storming into the hall, followed by his large, ever-present shadow, Roland. In his haste, the Earl almost knocked over a smaller, silver suit of armor. He stopped, his expression questioning, when he caught sight of Rose and Daphne on the stairs.

Rose stood protectively in front of Daphne, blocking her from his view. “It's not as bad as it looks, dear."

“No? Then why did I just chase off the elusive Duke of Ravensthorpe? Who, by the way, seemed very worried about Miss Daphne's condition.” He leaned against the carved banister. “Either of you care to tell me why he now feels so protective of a girl he has been avoiding ever since she set foot on English soil?"

“Can we talk about this later, dear?"

Another wave of dizziness swept over Daphne. Even with help, the staircase seemed like an endless climb.

The next thing she knew, the middle-aged earl scooped her up in his surprisingly strong arms.

“Ollie, you really shouldna’ be carrying her. Your leg and ribs are na’ healed from your latest accident. Maybe you should have Roland...” Rose came up behind him.

“You know shouldna’ isn't in my vocabulary. Besides, I'm not letting a spooked horse slow me down. Roland is my bodyguard. He needs to be on alert and not preoccupied with a task I'm fully capable of doing."

Rose muttered something colorful as she followed him upstairs. The large man followed her as usual without a word.

“Just lay her on the bed, my dear. I'll see what I can do to make her comfortable while you fetch Dr. Stewart."

“I'm not...” He opened and closed his mouth.

Daphne bit her lip to keep from laughing. No one argued with the Countess when she gave that stubborn lift of her chin—even the Earl. With a snort of disapproval, Stratten left, followed by his ever-present hulking shadow.

Rose dipped a cloth in the wash basin and wrung it out. She knelt beside the bed to wash Daphne's face. The cool water made Daphne shiver.

“You got yourself into a fine mess this time, lassie."

“I should have waited for the Earl of Stratten's investigator. I just wanted answers. I'm afraid that every day we wait, the less chance we'll have of finding my parents’ killer."

Rose began washing her other arm. “You think Ravensthorpe is involved in the circumstances leading up to your parents’ death, dinna’ you?"

“It seems too much of a coincidence that he came all way to America to see them, and then they were murdered, just like the grandfather I never knew here in England."

* * * *

The Earl of Norcott froze in the process of taking a book off the shelf when the lamp blew out. With the heavy curtains drawn to block out the sunlight, his study was plunged into total darkness.

Norcott's scalp prickled. Behind him, he could feel the frightening, cold presence of his tormentor. His heart pounded in his ears.

“The next piece of the puzzle is coming. Watch out who you meet. They might be a threat to the secrets you keep.” A deep voice rasped behind him.

“Wh-what do you want from me?"

A flash of blinding light, heavy smoke filled the air. His tormentor was gone.

Norcott braced himself against the bookcase. Who else knew what had happened all those years ago? Brandon Stewart was dead, and so was Sheldon Townsend. Bloody hell, would he ever be free of that awful mistake?

* * * *

“Darling,” Rose whispered next to her ear. “Dr. Stewart is here."

Daphne kept her eyes shut tight. Her whole body ached.

“We'll leave you to check her over, Doctor, but the earl and I will be right outside the door if you need us."

Dr. Stewart chuckled. “I wouldn't expect you to be anywhere else."

* * * *

Out in the hallway, Stratten caught his wife's arm, turning her around to face him. “Do you want to tell me the real reason you sent me away, when you could have just as easily sent a kitchen boy?"

“I wanted to get more information out of Daphne. You can be verra gruff. I think she will respond better to my gentler manner."

Stratten snorted. “The stubborn minx didn't tell you anything either, did she?"

Rose shook her head. “She just voiced the same suspicions she has held since she got here."

“I'll wager Dr. Stewart saw her last night and knows a bit about what happened."

Her usually calm husband was restless as a tiger in a cage. If only she could get him to talk. She doubted she could pry anything out of Roland, the bodyguard, who stood, arms folded, against the wall.

“Oliver, you know something you are na’ telling me, dinna’ you? Why else would Sheldon Townsend make you her guardian?"

His face lost all color at the mention of Sheldon Townsend.

“Fine guardian I've been. The girl sneaks out, gets hurt...” He snapped his fingers. “I'll badger Dr. Stewart."

She caught his tense arm. “Ollie, you're trying to distract me, but it willna’ work. You've been on edge ever since the bonny lass arrived. You dinna’ eat and you barely sleep. You're up pacing half the night."

“I..."

She raised a silencing hand. “Do you honestly think I canna’ hear you up roaming around during the night? You spend every waking minute shadowed by Roland. He used to just be around when we needed him. Now, he is in your pocket. I wouldna’ be surprised to wake up one night to find him looming in the shadows of our bedroom."

Roland's lips twitched almost into a smile that might have cracked his serious face. Good. Maybe if she cracked the surface, she could get through. What she wouldn't give to know what he knew.

How much longer could her husband go on like this?

“Rose,” Stratten groaned, soothing her shoulder with a stroke of his hand.

The action only served to infuriate her further. He thought he could smooth away her doubts and fears with a mere touch.

She stepped back. “Are you ever going to tell me what is frightening you so?"

He frowned. “There is nothing wrong, really. Sometimes, when I'm overly tired, I have nightmares. When you lead the sort of life I have, the demons tend to follow you to bed. I've had them before. Remember that spell when we first got married?"

But never like this.

“You know how interest peaks after an Eccentric Earl book comes out. I have a new wife and Daphne to protect. Roland is an extra precaution."

Precaution, my fanny. You're was scared spitless, Oliver.

She nodded slowly. After a long silence, Rose held up her hands. “All right. I've said my piece."

Stratten rolled his eyes. “That would be a first. You do realize, Rosie, that we have a more pressing problem. Our impulsive ward spent the night at the home of the most gossiped-about peer in the realm. The Duke of Ravensthorpe can't eat without everyone knowing how much."

“I wonder...?” Rose cocked her head. Ravensthorpe was a handsome devil. Well-built. If the rumors of his reputation were true, then the ladies seemed to like him.

“I don't like that look."

“Is Ravensthorpe married?"

“No,” Stratten said slowly. “Get that matchmaking glint out of your eye, Rosie. Their situation is more complicated than that."

Rose patted his cheeks. “I'm counting on you to uncomplicate it. After all, her father did trust you to take care of her."

Her words were like cold water cascading over him. Take care of Daphne? How? When all he wanted to do was put her on the next boat back to America?

The appearance of Sheldon's daughter in England threatened to unlock all his past secrets. If they found the ... He should have burned them. Their discovery could cause a scandal of epic proportions. The best he could do now was find out exactly what she knew and keep her from figuring out the truth, without anyone else getting hurt.

* * * *

After Rose shut the door, Dr. Stewart said very softly, “At least I know now that you're okay."

That voice—so calm, so reassuring—it soothed her.

Daphne's eyes flew open to see the rumpled man from Lord Ravensthorpe's house leaning over her. Blurry images of the night before flittered through her mind.

She jerked away from his touch, making her head throb. Daphne pointed a finger at him. “You—you were there last night and this morning."

“Guilty.” He grinned. “I don't think we were properly introduced, but I'm Dr. Cameron Stewart."

“The Duke of Ravensthorpe's brother?"

“Cousin, actually."

Daphne stared at him, unsure of what to say. What if he asked why she was prowling around Ravensthorpe's house? He might clue Ravensthorpe in on what she had found and lost. He was related to Ravensthorpe and could very well share whatever she told him with his cousin.

He leaned a little closer and said, very softly, “It is up to you what you tell the Earl and Countess of Stratten about last night, but I recommend the truth."

When dogs fly. What I recall of last night is safe only with me for now.

“I wish I knew what that was. It is all a bit hazy."

“That's normal when one has a head injury—to have some memory loss about events leading up to the injury. May I have a look?"

Reluctantly, she moved to the edge of the bed, so he could look at her.

He touched the back of her head gently. “Stay in bed and rest. I'll come back to see you tomorrow, unless you have more trouble."

“Trouble from what?"

Dr. Stewart stiffened at the deep bass voice of the Earl of Stratten, who strolled into the room, with the Countess following close behind him, grabbing at his arm.

“I really shouldn't say."

“You'd bloody well better say. I'm responsible for the girl. I have a right to know what has happened to her."

Dr. Stewart sighed and paused, composing himself before speaking.

“Miss Townsend suffered from a blow to the head and lost consciousness for a while."

Stratten turned to Daphne. “How did this happen?"

Rose put her hand on his arm. “Now, Ollie, dinna’ badger the wee lass."

Dr. Stewart straightened up to his full height. “I agree with the countess. Miss Daphne doesn't remember anything. If we let her rest, maybe it will all come back to her."

Stratten lowered himself into the rocking chair. He pinned Daphne with an intense look that told her he would settle for nothing less than the truth.

Daphne struggled to pull herself up in bed.

“I went to the Duke of Ravensthorpe's townhouse to talk to him about his visit with my parents. It was odd that no one answered the door. It swung open, so I just walked in. Everything after that is a bit blurry."

“That is not uncommon, considering what happened to you.” Dr. Stewart closed his medical bag. “I must be going. I have other patients to see. Please don't badger Miss Daphne in the meantime."

Rose shot Stratten a warning look as she left to escort Dr. Stewart out.

Stratten shook his head. “Here I thought married life would be dull. Not with Rose and her family. I never thought I'd be a great-grandfather, and in one fell swoop, I inherited five great-grandchildren.” He chuckled. “Now I'll be an uncle again. My niece is married to Rose's grandson, so I'm an uncle and great-grandfather to their baby. How's that for a story?"

He paused, stroking his chin.

“Speaking of stories, I'd like to hear more about your adventures last night."

“My lack of memory makes it quite a dull yarn indeed. Why don't you tell me how you met the Countess? I understand that it is quite a romantic tale.” Once Stratten starting talking, he could amuse his guests all night.

“You think you're clever at distracting me. That I won't notice your convenient memory loss. I've been around the world a few times. One thing I've discovered in all my explorations is patience. In time, I will hear the story—the whole story. Your future depends on us handling the consequences of your little misadventure. Think on that while you rest."

* * * *

He had been sent away from the Earl of Stratten's house like a naughty child. Ravensthorpe slipped the key into the front door of his townhouse.

“Well, well, imagine meeting you out here, Your Grace."

Investigator Carson Reynolds’ coarse voice made him pause.

“I figured you'd be taking care of your houseguest."

“She went home."

“Pity. I still have to question her. I wonder what her version of last night's events might be?"

Barclay stiffened at this remark. He didn't want Daphne put through that.

“What are you doing here, Reynolds?"

“I just figured out who your wounded dove was. I knew I had seen her before. Care to know where?"

Turning around slowly, Barclay fought to control his rising temper. His gut told him that he didn't want to have this conversation.

“She came to headquarters a couple of weeks ago with questions about her grandfather's death and the possible connection between his untimely demise and that of her parents. Seems she is the late Earl of Holbrooke's granddaughter. But then, you probably already knew that, didn't you?"

Icy fear coursed through his veins as images of poor Holbrooke lying on the rocks mixed with visions of her parents’ broken bodies. How could he clearly see pictures of the Townsends’ bloody remains if he wasn't...? Barclay struggled to control his mounting fear.

“What are you getting at?"

“Doesn't it strike you as odd that they also ended up dead after your visit?"

More than odd. Terrifying

“Your point?” He kept his voice calm even though his insides were churning.

“It just seems that the bodies are starting to pile up around you. There is a connection between the Stewarts and Townsends. Care to share that with me?"

Barclay shrugged. “I would presume that my father and Sheldon Townsend grew up together. After all, the lands of Holbrooke Hall and Ravensthorpe Manor border each other."

Reynolds waved his hand. “Common knowledge."

“That's all I know."

“Rumors at the clubs say different."

“If you are interested in idle gossip, then I suggest you look there. If you find out anything interesting, will you inform me?"

“I can see that you're in no mood to talk this morning. I can deal with that. I got my answers. I'll let you ponder what those might be."

Barclay turned to open the door and step inside. He was too unsettled to comment. The Townsends were dead, and no matter how honorable his intentions had been, it didn't change the fact that their deaths were his fault.

He tried to close the door, but Reynolds put his foot in it to prevent him from ending the conversation.

“I suppose you think this grants you a reprieve, Your Grace, but it is only a temporary one. I will have my answers. There are no unsolved cases in my files. I will not let this be the first one."

“Are you threatening me?"

“Take it as you like."

Chapter Four

What the bloody hell was he doing standing here in the Earl of Norcott's crowded ballroom, Barclay wondered as he sipped his punch. With his brother's untimely death, it was probably bad form to be at this birthday ball. He had planned to slip in and give Norcott a private birthday greeting. That was before Daphne had exploded into his life.

Before every waking thought turned to memories of her fiery, silky hair fanned out across his pillow. Her soft scent still lingered in his bed, giving him dreams of her gentle curves snuggled against him. Ironic how no woman had ever obsessed him like this mere sprite did.

Was she still hurting from her injury? Did she fear him? Could she remember the events of that night? Cameron told him that initially she did not. Did she have the letters? He had to know. Not knowing was driving him out of his mind.

Everyday, he tried unsuccessfully to talk to her, but was never allowed past the foyer. Stratten insisted that if he wanted to see Townsend's daughter, they had to be publicly introduced. He hated playing society games. He believed in being direct. Sometimes too much so.

“Excuse me, Your Grace.” Winifred Marklings, Lady Lindbloom, touched his arm. “I wasn't sure if I should talk to you or not.” She blushed.

Why not? Barclay could think of no response to this young woman he hardly knew. Her husband ran in his circle. It was rumored that Ralston Marklings, Viscount Lindbloom, preferred the company of his mistresses to that of his wife, but that was none of his business.

She cleared her throat, making Barclay painfully aware of the heavy silence looming between them.

“My husband will be out of town next week.” She fluttered her golden lashes at him. “If you want to call again."

Again? He didn't remember calling before.

“I have the rest...” she broke off as her husband came strolling towards them.

“Hello, Ravensthorpe."

“Evening, Lindbloom. Will you excuse me? I see the Earl of Norcott over there. I need to wish him a happy birthday."

Lindbloom nodded. Barclay noticed that Lady Lindbloom smiled and winked at him as the couple walked away. What was going on? That wasn't the first encounter he had had with a female who claimed to have been with him and whom he didn't remember. Damn unsettling.

“Your Grace."

Would he ever get used to being called that? Barclay turned to see young Harry Sands standing in front of him, with his hands behind his back.

“This might not be the place, but I have the money I owe you. I sold my horses. Now you won't have to bother my father with this matter."

Barclay accepted the envelope, staring at it. The evening of which Sands spoke didn't strike a chord with him. Was he losing his mind? How could he take this man's money if he didn't remember winning it?

He cleared his throat. “I feel that you have learned your lesson, Sands.” He handed the envelope back to him. The younger man looked bewildered.

“But, sir..."

“If you hang on to it and stay out of the clubs, I will feel well repaid.” He lowered his voice. “Since you are worried about me going to your father, then, I assume, this isn't the first time you've had someone holding your markers. Am I right?"

Sands refused to meet his gaze.

Barclay stuffed the envelope back in his hands. “Take this second chance and use it well."

“Oh, I will, Your Grace.” Sands pumped his hand.

Barclay wondered to himself, as he watched the younger man stroll off, how he could have pulled off that conversation with no memory of the actual night in question. That thought scared the hell out of him.

He made his way through the crowd to his best friend, Viscount Milford.

Milford nodded toward Sands, who was flirting with a demure blonde. “I couldn't help but notice you talking to Sands. I'm surprised you let him keep the money, after you all but threatened to kill him over it."

Barclay stared at Milford. His serious friend had been there, too. Milford remembered what had happened. Barclay wanted to grab him and demand that he fill in the holes in his memory. But he wasn't ready to share his memory problem with anyone.

“I had a change of heart over the young pup. Maybe this will make him think."

Milford scratched his chin. “I doubt it, but maybe he can pay off some of the other markers he owes."

Setting his empty glass on the table, he motioned them forward. “Come, my father is dying to see you."

Barclay followed Milford past the richly dressed crowd to where the Earl of Norcott sat. The earl had aged quite rapidly over the last few months. He was shocked to see the once-robust man seated, waiting for them to come to him.

“I trust you will not make an issue of my father's failing health. He is quite touchy about it these days."

“I wouldn't dream of embarrassing him. But I just can't believe how frail he looks."

“Me, either. He rarely sleeps at night. Mother says that he is so skittish these days that he jumps at any noise."

Just like his own father had been before his death. Barclay's spine tingled.

“Evening, Father."

“Good evening, Norcott, and happy birthday."

The Earl of Norcott's eyes brightened. “Ah, Marcus. Evening, Your Grace, and thank you for coming."

Barclay flinched at his father's best friend using the title. He held his hand out to the old earl. Norcott took it in his cold, bony one.

“I wouldn't be anywhere else. Call me Ravensthorpe. When I hear ‘Your Grace,’ I start looking over my shoulder for my father. Besides Burke should hold claim to the title."

Norcott put a hand over his. With a surprisingly strong grip, he squeezed Barclay's hand.

“I didn't mean to insult you, lad."

“You didn't, sir. I guess I'm still unsettled by all this business of Burke's death and inheriting the title."

“You've had a great many things to deal with lately, my boy. The rumor mill has been none too kind, either. I don't blame you for being touchy."

“I'm not interrupting anything, am I?” Eve Bancroft, Marcus's younger sister, slid up beside him.

Norcott grinned. “A delightful interruption. Don't you agree, Ravensthorpe?"

Barclay winked at her. “I quite agree."

Eve gave him a shy smile. “With your father's and Burke's deaths, I wondered if I should have even had this birthday party."

It was unnerving to be this close to the woman who most people felt his brother would have eventually married.

“Burke would be the last one to want you to cancel a party. Now, that would have killed him."

Eve, Milford, and the earl laughed nervously. Norcott rose, with Milford's help. “You young people run along and enjoy the music."

Eve bit her lip. Barclay felt her anguish as they watched the Earl of Norcott limp away, clinging to Milford's arm.

“He grows weaker every day."

“Has Dr. Stewart discovered what is wrong?"

Eve shook her head. “No. His behavior is becoming increasingly odd."

How odd? Could Norcott be as irrational as his father had been in the end? Asking might mean sharing family secrets, and he wasn't ready to do that, yet. So, he opted for the easy way out.

“Would you care to dance, Eve?"

“I would be delighted."

Eve was a pretty woman with dark hair, a classic beauty. Barclay could see why his brother had been attracted to her. He just hoped Burke hadn't hurt her. Burke had been a rake of the first water, who never wanted to learn what was needed to accept the responsibilities of the title he would one day inherit. His name had been openly linked with many married women. It appeared unlikely, had he lived, that he would have settled down easily into married life. Despite that, Ravensthorpe felt guilty about holding in his arms the woman his brother might have married.

As they swirled to the music, Barclay caught sight of the Earl of Stratten walking in, with his wife on one arm and Daphne on the other.

Barclay's heart skipped a beat. How different Daphne looked all dressed up. Maybe Milford and Warwick wouldn't recognize her.

In his arms, Eve laughed. “I see Baron Warwick making a beeline for the Earl of Stratten's houseguest. They say she is the late Holbrooke's granddaughter. You know how the ton flutters when there are rumors of lost fortunes, mysterious deaths, and newly arrived relatives."

“Yes,” Barclay replied dryly.

“Excuse me. That was rude of me. I'm sure with all the talk surrounding you...” She stopped as the music did, her hand flying to her mouth. “I spoke out of turn."

“No apology necessary. I'm well aware that there is gossip about me. I'm just glad you are a dear enough friend to say it to my face rather than behind my back."

Blood coursed hot through his veins as he saw Warwick being introduced to Daphne and inviting her onto the dance floor. His gaze caught her wide-eyed one as they walked past him and Eve. Across the room, Milford tipped his glass to him. From Warwick's smug smile, and the look exchanged between him and Milford, it was obvious that they remembered her. He hoped he could keep her reputation in shape.

“Ah, you're interested in Miss Daphne, too. I just hope the ton doesn't chew her up and spit her out."

“Me, too,” Barclay replied. “Me, too."

* * * *

“I thought I handled our introduction with the utmost discretion. There was no hint of our first meeting."

Daphne rolled her eyes at Warwick. “Your words might not have said so, but your eyes spoke volumes. I know that seeing me in the Duke of Ravensthorpe's house looked bad."

He laughed. “Please call me Justin. You don't dance around corners, do you? I like that. Too many women I know play coy games. For that reason, I will share some advice with you. Be wary of Ravensthorpe."

“Why are you telling me this? I thought you were a close friend of the duke's."

“I've known Barclay all my life. Lately, he has become so remote and secretive that I hardly recognize him."

As she started to question his comment, she felt a warm presence beside her.

“Well, my elusive butterfly, I see our paths have crossed again.” Ravensthorpe's tone was low and intimate and intended only for her ears.

A quirk of a smile told her that he was enjoying her flustered state.

“Well, Warwick, you didn't waste any time meeting Stratten's guest. Since you have been introduced, perhaps you could do the honors for me?"

Warwick arched a red eyebrow. “Miss Daphne Townsend, may I present His Grace, the Duke of Ravensthorpe?"

“May I have this dance?” Barclay's words were a question, but the firm grip on her arm issued a command.

Without a word, Justin stepped out of the way. Daphne swallowed the nervous knot in her throat. She had both longed for and dreaded this moment. What should she say to Barclay? She could hardly hear the rhythm of the music over the pounding of blood in her ears.

“I've been worried about you. You left my house bedraggled and hurt. Stratten refused to let me call, so I was forced to terrorize Dr. Stewart into telling me how you were."

Not confiding in Dr. Stewart proved a wise choice.

“Stratten felt it would arouse too much suspicion if you came calling before we were formally introduced."

“That's why I had Warwick do it. He'll tease me no end later, I'm sure."

“I understand you and Justin are good friends?"

“Justin, is it?” He arched a dark brow. “Why should I not be surprised?"

She playfully hit his shoulder with her fan. “I'm glad someone around here doesn't stand on formality. All these titles and names are beginning to make my head spin. Everyone has so many names that I can't keep them all straight, let alone begin to know how to say hello to someone."

Ravensthorpe found himself smiling at her. “I've grown up with all this formality, so I'm used to all the titles. I suppose, though, that it could be overwhelming if you aren't used to it."

“I just don't want to make a big blunder and embarrass the Strattens. By the way, are they the Strattens or are they the Springfields? I asked Countess Stratten, but she is unclear, also. Having newly arrived from America, she is still struggling not embarrass her husband."

“Good question. That would be one for the society matrons to answer."

“See, now we are totally off the subject."

“What subject?"

“Are you and Baron Warwick good friends?"

“He and Viscount Milford practically grew up with my brother and I.” His hand inched up her back, pulling her deeper into his embrace. “I didn't ask you dance so we could talk about Justin.” His deep, velvet voice murmured close to her ear.

With a turn, he began gliding her around the dance floor. Before Daphne could catch a breath, she found herself outside in the moonlit garden. He slid her small hand into his, leading her off into the shadows. When she pulled back, he released her hand.

“No. I shouldn't."

He paused, watching her for a long, tense moment.

“You were in far more danger prowling around my townhouse than you are now."

Daphne stared at him, daring him to continue.

“No comments? No explanations?"

“I will explain when you do."

He sighed. “We are wasting time, Miss Townsend. Soon someone will come looking for us."

* * * *

The tree branch snapped under Eve's feet as she retreated into the shadows in order to listen to Barclay's and Daphne's conversation.

As she backed up further, her body bumped against a tree that she didn't remember being there. Then a hand came up to steady her. She gasped.

“Eavesdropping?” came a deep, rough, bass voice behind her.

She turned, but couldn't distinguish the features of the man beside her in the shadows. “What makes you think...?"

He laughed. “We shadow-dwellers recognize others of our kind."

Frustrated by his attempts to distract her from her goal, Eve moved away from him to a spot where she hoped to hear more of Barclay's conversation.

“He seems interested in the lady, don't you think?” The deep voice behind her rumbled.

“Well, he can't have her. His Grace owes me an obligation.” How could she share her private pain with this stranger?

“Then you are his betrothed?"

She sighed. “Not exactly. I was promised to his brother. I put up with Burke's bad behavior for the sake of our families. I was destined to be a duchess."

She swallowed hard. This stranger made her feel so at ease that here she stood telling him things that she had never shared with another living soul. What was she thinking?

“Ah, then we are alike—both playing out the hand we were dealt. One we intend to win."

His large hand covered hers as he pressed something warm from his hand, yet rough-textured, into her palm. It glittered in the moonlight.

“Fool's gold,” he said quietly. “My father gave it to me as a reminder to always look at things twice. Don't sell yourself short, my lady."

With that, he disappeared into the darkness.

* * * *

“Why did you come to my house the other night?” Barclay took a polite step back from Daphne to prevent himself from giving in to the urge to touch her again. Now was not the time to lose himself in her emerald eyes or remember the feeling of having her in his bed. He fisted his hands in his pockets.

“I came to see you because you've been avoiding me."

“Did it ever occur to that I might have a good reason for doing so?"

“Are you trying to protect me or yourself? I know you were the last person other than my father's solicitor to see my parents alive. Right after your visit, Father changed his will and left everything to you. I want to know why."

Images flashed before his eyes. Broken bodies. How could he know how they died unless...? Barclay struggled to control the fear welling up inside of him.

“I have no earthly idea why your father would leave anything to me. In fact, he was not happy to see me."

“Why is that?"

She stepped close—too close. He could smell her minty breath and soft perfume.

“I-I brought Mr. Townsend a letter from his late father, the Earl of Holbrooke.” Bloody hell, she reduced him to stuttering like an idiot.

“Then you knew my grandfather?” Her eyes sparkled from the mixture of moonlight and tears.

“Yes,” he said softly as memories overcame him. “I used to play chess with him. The old fox usually won."

She gave a weak smile. “Why did my grandfather wait so long to contact us?"

“That was partly my fault. Holbrooke wanted me to go years ago, but I kept putting it off. After he died, I felt obligated to carry out his last wishes.” Now, I wish I hadn't.

“I see. But that does not explain why he didn't contact us himself."

Barclay shook his head. “That I can't answer. Holbrooke talked very little about the past. Oh, he would tell me that he had regrets, but he never spoke specifically about what happened."

Daphne frowned. “None of this makes any sense. I wish I could remember what I found in your townhouse. I know it is the key to this puzzle."

Those damn letters. If she doesn't have them, then who does? What do they mean?

“I have one more question for you, Your Grace. If you didn't know about the inheritance from my father, then why did you take the mines and the store and then close them down? I wrote you many times asking you to reconsider, or at least, let my family continue to operate them. Many families depend on them for their livelihood."

Unsettlingly, tingles drifted up his spine. Barclay's stomach tightened. He couldn't have—could he? No, Burke must have done it, because his father had not had time. But it would have been odd for Burke to make a decision like that without consulting him. He would discuss this with Warwick in the morning.

“You aren't listening to a word I'm saying."

He blinked. Those damned wavy lines were back. “Pardon me."

Her brows furrowed. “Is something wrong?"

“No."

“I really shouldn't be out here. I promised the Countess of Stratten that I would be on my best behavior tonight."

“And being out here with me definitely doesn't qualify. I understand. I'll wait a few moments and let you go on in. That way no one will know we were out here together."

She looked as if she wanted to say something more, but turned and walked off, leaving him with more questions than answers.

* * * *

“She is quite a lady, is na’ she, Ravensthorpe?"

Barclay jumped at the sound of the Countess of Stratten's voice behind him. He thought he was alone in the garden.

He turned slowly to face her. “She is quite charming. I'll give you that.” He didn't like where this conversation was headed. The Countess had a well-deserved reputation for matchmaking.

“Do you think others will still think so after the, ahem, ‘ladies’ get wind of her misadventure at your house?"

He shuddered to think what they'd say. He knew what his mother had already said about the Countess’ hasty marriage to the eligible Earl of Stratten. Between being a Yank and having a Scottish burr, the rumors of the former widow MacClarron's past were colorful, if not downright insulting.

Before he could open his mouth, she raised her hand.

“Far be it for me to tell you what to do. That will be up to you and your conscience. Just think on what I have said."

* * * *

“Do you want some advice from an old man?"

Daphne paused at the bench where a distinguished gray-haired gentleman sat. She nodded, curious as to what he would say.

“Calm yourself before you go back into the party. The less flustered you look—the less chance for the rumors to fly."

“Sounds like you speak from experience."

He grinned. “I had a few trysts in this garden when I was a lad. Not that I think you are up to something bad. It is nice to not have to talk above the music sometimes."

“Mind if I sit down?"

He slid over on the stone bench, patting a place for her.

“I'm Daphne Townsend."

“I am Norcott."

Daphne's eyes widened. “This is your house. Your birthday party."

“Guilty."

“There you are, Norcott. I was beginning to worry.” A striking, blonde woman stepped through the French doors, followed by a haughty lady.

Norcott slowly rose. “I'm fine, my dear. Just talking to Miss Townsend. This is my wife, Penelope, the Countess of Norcott.” He pointed to the blonde woman, who smiled warmly at her.

He motioned toward the other woman. “This is the Dowager Duchess of Ravensthorpe, Lady Meredith Stewart."

The air stuck in Daphne's throat. The woman staring at her as if she wished she would evaporate was Barclay's mother. The similarities in their facial features were striking. She had his blue-gray eyes. Only hers were harsher—more intense.

Countess Norcott took Daphne's arm. “How pleased I am that you could come. Let me introduce you around. Are you going inside with us, Kyle?"

Norcott sat back down. “You ladies can go back inside. I'll be right there after I catch my breath."

To his dismay, the Dowager Duchess lingered after Penelope led Daphne inside.

“I wonder if your wife would be so friendly if she knew who the gel really was?” The Dowager Duchess tapped her cheek.

“An innocent victim of your games."

“That's not fair, Kyle. You played games, too, as I recall."

“Not without remorse. Something you seem to be lacking."

“I did what was best for us all."

“Humph, I wish I could believe that. Unlike you, my regrets still haunt me."

“Well, keep them to yourself."

“Why? So we can be buried with our secrets like your husband and the Townsends?"

She paled. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

He rose, taking her arm. “That was low even for me.” Norcott handed her a monogrammed handkerchief. “I'll keep my mouth shut. I might live to regret it, but I will."

She sniffled. “It is the only way."

“I wish I could believe that. I truly do."

Chapter Five

A cold breeze drifted through the dark bedroom, causing the Earl of Norcott to sit bolt upright in bed.

His tormentor loomed in the shadows. He could feel its unearthly presence.

“I see you figured it out,” rasped that grating voice. Dark, malicious laughter filled the air.

Blinding light flashed, and smoke rolled across the polished wood floor. His tormentor vanished.

Breathing raggedly, Norcott leaned back against the intricately carved headboard. Would this nightmare ever be over as long as Daphne Townsend remained in England? He had to find a way to get her to return to America, or none of them would be safe.

* * * *

“Tell me it isn't true!"

Barclay groaned as his mother stalked into his study. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing she would go away.

“What did you hear about Burke now?"

“This isn't about Burke.” She dramatically lowered herself into the overstuffed chair by the window that she had often used for reading before demanding a place of her own.

Barclay prayed for patience as his mother made a tsking noise while she shook her head.

“If it isn't about Burke, then what has you all flustered?"

“Daphne."

“Daphne, who?” he repeated woodenly, wishing he didn't know what was coming next.

“That gel is the talk everywhere. I thought you promised to make her leave. Now, everyone is whispering about your scandalous night together. How could you let your name be linked with a Townsend after what happened to your father?"

Closing his eyes, Barclay tried to ignore the bloody images swimming before his eyes. He didn't want to think about what he and his mother had done the night Father died.

She jumped up and began pacing. “I just can't believe this is happening. All we've worked for will be gone."

Barclay stood, rounding his desk. He placed his hands on her shoulders, stopping her in mid-step.

“What exactly are they saying?"

“That—that she slept at your house. That Warwick and Milford found her in your room, half dressed."

Bloody hell, someone was spreading rumors. One of his friends couldn't be trusted.

“We're ruined.” Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to trickle down her flushed cheeks. “The whole Fearless Four story will come out."

“No, it won't.” He sighed, pulling her into his arms for a comforting embrace. “I will take care of the gossip."

“And get Daphne to leave.” She stepped back, her eyes brightening.

The Countess of Stratten's words echoed in his ears—"between you and your conscience."

“I'll end the rumors once and for all.” He handed her a handkerchief from his pocket.

“Really?” She dabbed her eyes.

“Yes."

“How?"

“Leave that to me.” She was better off not knowing the details. It would only give her vapors. She would need all her strength to deal with his decision after the fact.

* * * *

“Ah, yes, here it is.” Baron Warwick shuffled through the stacks of papers on his overflowing desk. “I remember now. You came in right after Burke's disappearance and signed these when you took over the title."

Barclay sat up straight in the chair. He didn't remember visiting Warwick. Those days were a blur.

“I closed up both the mines and store? Did I give reason?"

“Don't you remember?"

Barclay paused, not liking the intensity of Warwick's probing gaze. A long, heavy silence loomed between them. Barclay shifted uncomfortably in the huge leather chair.

“We must have discussed the matters with those holdings. I'm fuzzy on the details. Father had so many accounts."

Bloody hell, he should have been privy to all his father's personal and business files. That had been their understanding when he agreed to keep his father's secret and quietly handled his affairs.

He had been furious when Father had used his influence to gain him an early discharge from the royal navy. After Father explained to him why he needed his help, Barclay had reluctantly agreed. But only on one condition, that he know everything in order for their charade to work. Every decision was agreed upon before they even entered Warwick's office.

Anger surged through Barclay. Why had his father changed the rules at that late date?

“Did Burke ever know how much your father let you handle?” Warwick's question jolted Barclay out of his musings.

“No.” His relationship with both his Father and Burke had never been the same after he began working for their father. He was always trying to protect these two proud men from each other.

Warwick began going through the rest of the papers. “I will admit Burke's interest in the family holdings surprised me. He and I spent the days following your father's death together."

Surprised was an understatement. Ravensthorpe was bloody shocked. “I purposely stayed away. Sometimes I overshadowed Burke."

Warwick laughed. “Burke had too strong of a personality for that. He let you, or conned you into doing what he wanted, or should I say, what he didn't want to do. Your power was an illusion."

If only that were true. At least they had fooled the outside world.

“I've been to the dock a thousand times since that night. I wish I could remember what happened. I know everyone thinks Burke drowned..."

Those hazy images haunted his nightmares. Could he have done what Scotland Yard and half the ton thought he did? Barclay wished he could remember.

“Without a recognizable body, is it hard to comprehend that Burke is dead? My mother never accepted my father's death, either, for that very reason.” Warwick leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

“You never talk about your parents."

“There's nothing to say.” Warwick cleared his throat, handing the papers across the desk to Barclay. “Do you want to look at these papers again? You signed them."

Barclay stared at his signature. How could he not remember giving this order? He had never been one to close down a business venture. What had possessed him to do this?

Better not ask any more questions about this decision, or Warwick might get suspicious. He couldn't afford to alert anyone to his memory problems right now and have them questioning his sanity. Especially with Scotland Yard probing around in his life. A new line of questioning was now in order.

“Have you heard the rumors about Miss Townsend and me? Mum came flying over to report every sizzling detail she had gained from her morning whist group."

Warwick coughed. For once, his business-like composure dropped.

“I've been meaning to apologize to you. Lindbloom overheard Milford and myself joking about it. Honest.” He held up a hand. “I thought we were alone. Damn him for having such loose tongue."

“Thanks to Mum's need to tell all, I learned about this in time to hopefully overt a full-blown scandal."

“What do you plan to do?"

Barclay shrugged. “The usual."

Warwick threw back his head and laughed ‘til his eyes watered. He swiped the back of his hand across his face. “Only you would put it that way. I envy you. What a vixen."

He stifled the urge to punch Warwick. Not that he hadn't had the same thoughts himself. It just sounded different when Warwick said it.

“Speaking of Daphne, how did I end up with her father's mines to begin with?"

“They were an investment made by Sheldon Townsend and your father."

Bloody hell. His father had left a trail. This would be harder than he ever anticipated. These papers in front of him were the proof that Daphne needed that the rumors of their fathers’ adventures seeking gold were true. This was exactly the link Inspector Reynolds was hoping to find.

Damn, why hadn't Father just left a signed confession? No, that would have been too easy. Instead, he'd made Barclay promise to protect the family from scandal and no way to do it.

Icy fear ran through his veins. How could he change the appearance of this story and still prevent anyone from ever knowing the secret his father was willing to die to keep?

“Can I reopen them? Do I have that power?"

Warwick nodded.

“Then begin the process."

“It will take time."

Barclay leaned over the desk. “As you well know, I'm not short on funds. Do whatever it takes to fix this situation."

“As you wish, Your Grace."

No, it was not as he wished. He wished his father would have handled these matters instead of dying.

Barclay rubbed the bridge of his nose. His vision had been blurry all morning. He hoped this wasn't the onset of a headache.

“Ravensthorpe."

Barclay looked up to see Warwick hovering over him.

“Can I help you?"

“No, I'm fine."

Warwick's red brows furrowed. He rounded the corner of his desk. Reaching inside a drawer, he pulled out a packet. “I hate to see you suffering needlessly. Here is some more of Mother's headache powder."

“Thank you. Cameron didn't know what I was talking about when I tried to get some from him."

“I think it is new. It really helped Mother."

The headaches were worse since the night Burke vanished. Another part of the puzzle. One he was beginning to wonder if he would ever solve.

* * * *

They were cutting her, Daphne realized, as Lady Lindbloom and Lady Hampton brushed past without even a glance in her direction.

How dared they! Rose had been right—it did hurt more than she expected to have people not talk to her.

“Are you all right?"

Daphne jumped at the sound of Ravensthorpe's deep, velvety voice. She turned slowly around to face him.

“I'm fine. Thank you."

“Then why are you shaking?” He frowned, glancing up the street at the two women who had just strolled by her.

Embarrassment washed over Daphne. He had seen them slight her.

“Those two have no room to pass judgment. Why I..."

She put her hand on his arm. “They win only if we let them. Don't create a scene."

He studied her for a moment. “We'll give them something new to talk about."

What was he doing? Daphne scalp prickled. He's offering me his arm.

He arched a dark brow. “Afraid?"

“Of them, never."

“Prove it."

With a sigh, she took his arm. They walked right over to where the women stood gossiping. Barclay tipped his hat to the two surprised ladies.

“Good morning. Have you met my fiancée, Miss Daphne Townsend?"

Fiancée? Had he really said that?

Lady Lindbloom recovered first. “Why, yes. We were introduced at Norcott's birthday ball last week. What happy news."

Despite Lady Lindbloom's cheerful tone, Daphne sensed a sadness in her.

“Yes, quite good news,” Lady Hampton chimed in.

He squeezed her hand on his arm. A signal for her to keep quiet, Daphne supposed. The nerve of him, starting more rumors.

Barclay smiled broadly. “I thought you might like to hear it from me. You're the first ones I've told."

“I'm honored.” Lady Lindbloom returned his smile with a half-hearted one. “Thank you."

“I trust you will share my news with care."

There was a distinct threat in his tone. Even Daphne heard it. She wasn't sure she wanted to understand the look bouncing between Ravensthorpe and Lady Lindbloom.

“I wouldn't dream of doing anything else.” She put a gloved hand over her heart.

“I appreciate that. Good day, ladies."

Once the women rounded the corner, Daphne pulled free from his arm.

Barclay swore under his breath as she stalked away down an alley. Damn. He'd blundered again. Handling a woman's delicate feelings had never been his forte. He'd seen a way to protect Daphne and keep Lady Lindbloom away in one calculated move. It never occurred to him that Daphne might disapprove.

“Wait, Daphne. We have to talk.” He caught her arm, spinning her around to face him.

“I have nothing to say. You've done enough damage today. Nothing will erase that."

She turned, but he caught her arm again, spinning her back around. This time he secured her with his other hand.

“Stand still and listen."

Despite the defiant tilt of her chin, Barclay could see a sheen of unwelcome tears in her eyes. He gentled his grip. Every time he tried to help, he ended up hurting her.

“Believe it or not, I was trying to fix things.” He nodded at a young couple walking towards them.

“How?” Her tone was a harsh whisper. “By making me the laughingstock of London. No one believes for one minute that you really intend to marry me. Princes only marry orphaned American girls in the books I hide in my nightstand."

Barclay's lips twitched. “I'm not a prince, merely a duke, and you're hardly some poor waif. Your father owned some of the richest silver and gold mines in Colorado. Not to mention other businesses."

“All of which he mysteriously left to you."

“I'm working on rectifying that situation."

“You are?” Her eyes widened.

“I don't need your money. Besides, I have no desire to take holdings that don't belong to me. I will, however, give you the benefit of my business knowledge and help you to run them if you wish.” He released Daphne, allowing her to step back away from him.

She studied him thoughtfully, but made no response.

“As to the other. I never say things I don't mean. I fully intend to marry you."

The idea appealed to him the more he stared at her. Having this quirky, outspoken, intelligent woman in his life, in his bed ... The thought almost made him smile.

“What if I don't want to marry you?"

He shrugged. “It is the only answer. Without my protection, you can no longer stay in England. No one will talk to you, much less give you the information you seek. Even the Earl of Stratten can't force open those doors."

“And you think you can? I overheard the Countess asking Stratten what good his title was if none of the peons obeyed him. Do you think you are more powerful?"

If she only knew. “I'm not sure about being more powerful. Stratten has an old and respected title. Since I created this situation, however, I feel it is my responsibility to repair your reputation."

“By sacrificing yourself in marriage—how romantic.” She rolled her eyes.

“Romance has nothing to with it. Besides, it would hardly be a sacrifice."

“I don't see why marrying you would make any difference. People would still talk about me. Everyone will know why we got married. How would that help my reputation? I'd say it would just confirm everyone's beliefs about what happened."

“Slow down, sprite. You make my head spin. Once we are married, you'll be a duchess. Which is at the top of the social order. Besides, I'll have my mother reintroduce you as my wife. She knows all the tricks of the social scene."

Daphne's jaw dropped. “Are you joking? She would never agree."

“My mother is standoffish at first. But if I ask her, she'll do it."

“That's a comforting thought,” Daphne muttered as she turned to walk away from him. This time he let her go.

“I want your answer before I talk to Stratten,” he shouted after her.

She spun around, hands on her hips.

“Does it really make any difference what I want? You've already made up your mind."

“I'll not keep you in England against your will."

She stood motionless. From the play of emotions crossing her face, he could see that she was considering his proposal.

Daphne walked back toward him. “I can see what is in this for me, but what do you have to gain by marrying me?"

A chance to get his family honor back by righting a wrong he hoped she never learned had happened.

“Just as I thought, Stratten is forcing this union."

He caught her arm again as she turned to walk away.

“Let me leave."

“I can't."

She spun around slowly. “Why not?"

“I'm not a believer in fate or romantic tales, but something keeps pushing us together. It is as if we are bound together by an invisible thread. I can't explain it. I don't understand it. Tell me you don't feel it, too."

“I can't. She lowered her head.

Barclay caught her chin in his hand, tilting it up. How could he ease the hurt and confusion in her eyes?

“You can't be serious about this. You've never even..."

“Kissed you?” he said softly. “May I?"

His gaze held her uncertain one. He cupped her soft cheeks in his hands, slowly lowering his mouth to hers. Her lips were too sweet—too tempting—for just one kiss. He felt himself drowning. When her hands slid up around his neck, pulling him closer, his control snapped. Her mouth tasted of silky mint. His hands roamed down her back. He wanted ... His eyes snapped open as he forced himself to step back.

Bloody hell, he'd never been so indiscreet. Dammit, it was hard to remember where they were with Daphne staring at him like that. It took all his will power not to take her back in his arms.

Brushing a thumb over her wet lips, he murmured, “Does that answer your questions?"

She surprised him by raising up on tiptoes to brush her thumb across his wet lips. “Perhaps you've even posed a few more intriguing ones."

He chuckled. “I can answer all those on our wedding night."

“I'm counting on it. You see I'm a very curious lady."

That was an understatement.

He waved for his carriage. “Let's get you home before I create another scandal."

“One more thing you should know about me, Your Majesty. I won't let a few kisses, no matter how wonderful they might be, distract me from discovering the truth about my parents’ deaths. If you think otherwise, you're mistaken."

She patted his cheek as he handed her into the carriage. “Marriage will not squelch my curiosity about our families’ mysterious past. On the contrary, it will only enhance it and give me more opportunities to explore our connection."

Barclay tensed. For the first time his life, he stood utterly speechless. The minx had done what no man had ever achieved before—gotten the upper hand over him.

“You can still back out you know. I'll never tell.” Her eyes sparkled with daring delight.

“I never go back on my word.” He climbed into the carriage. “I would remind you, though, of what curiosity did to the cat. Some stones are better left unturned. You'd do well to remember that."

“Too bad my father isn't alive to tell you how worthless threats are in controlling my behavior."

Too bad, indeed. He could have used some sage advice from Townsend. He had a feeling he had just jumped from the fire into the frying pan.

Chapter Six

Barclay began to doubt his plan. Sitting across from him in their carriage, his bride appeared far too pale and quiet. Maybe he'd been wrong to slip her away to a private wedding by special license. It had suited his purpose to get it done as quickly as possible. Stratten and his wife had agreed. The Countess of Stratten even came up with the idea of spreading the delicious rumor that they ran off together because they were unfashionably in love. A rumor he had no intention of quelling.

Barclay leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees.

Daphne didn't move, just sat there silently, studying the glittering diamond ring he had placed on her finger a few hours before.

“Staring at it won't make it go away."

Her chin jerked up at the sound of his voice.

“I wasn't wishing that. I was wondering why I got two marriage proposals in one week."

He sputtered, arching a dark brow. “Two?"

She nodded. Viscount Milford offered for me right after our talk."

“I take it you didn't accept.” Had she seriously considered Milford? That thought didn't sit well with him.

“I couldn't. I was already promised to you. It just made me curious, that's all."

“About what?"

“What I've got that you both want. You aren't going to tell me, are you?"

He shrugged. “There is nothing to tell. Milford felt guilty about his part in ruining your reputation. Did you tell him that you were engaged to me?"

“Yes. To be honest, Marcus seemed relieved. I'm not sure if I should take his reaction as a compliment or not."

He wasn't sure he liked her familiar use of Milford's given name. But then, she hated using titles. A habit that both amused and annoyed him.

“Milford is a true romantic—holding out for love."

“Unlike you, who prefers to wed for duty?"

He frowned, hating to hear that quiver in her voice.

Barclay moved to the seat beside her, taking her hand in his. Daphne swallowed hard, but her gaze never wavered. She couldn't be easily intimidated. That might be a blessing or a curse.

“I'm not much on flowery words. That was more Burke's forte than mine. But I can assure you, my dear, despite our harrowing beginning, you have nothing to fear from me. I would never harm you. Besides, Stratten made it perfectly clear that if I did, he'd kill me. I have it on good authority that he knows numerous ways to do just that."

Daphne's lips twitched. “He can paint quite a colorful picture, I'm sure."

“Then you aren't still afraid of me, are you?"

“A bit nervous, perhaps, but not afraid."

“Ravensthorpe Manor and Stratten's country estate are separated only by a hedge. I suspect your guardian could send a flaming arrow or poison blow-dart at me if he wanted."

She giggled. “Then you might be the one to be afraid."

Barclay crossed his heart. “I promise to give your guardian no reason to come after me."

Silence loomed between as they both settled back in their seats.

“Did the Countess talk to you about your wedding night?"

“Rose told me to relax and enjoy myself. That with your reputation, you'd know what to do. She also told me that in her experience, ex-rakes make the best lovers. Do you think the Earl was a rake?"

How the bloody hell did he answer that question? “I'm sure with his colorful background and stories, Stratten was quite a hit with the ladies."

“Even more than you?"

Barclay choked. “I beg your pardon. I didn't know that I had that reputation."

“I'm not sure if I should be flattered or jealous, but it seems all of London is whispering about you. When they aren't discussing me, that is."

Damn, he had hoped the gossip would miss her. “You shouldn't believe everything you hear. People gossip even when they do not know what they are talking about."

She put her other hand over his. A move that was more disconcerting than comforting. “I'm well aware of that. You wouldn't believe the scandalous things being said about me. I have heard the dark rumors about your involvement in your brother's death."

His mouth tightened. “Do you believe those rumors?"

“I-I don't know. There is much about you that I don't understand."

A crack of gunfire cut off Daphne's next words. “Bloody hell, someone is firing at us.” He shoved her down on to the floor of the coach.

“Get out your gun.” She poked him as they hit a bump.

“This is England. I don't carry a one. No civilized person does."

His gun was tucked away in a desk drawer. A mistake he wouldn't make again.

As gunfire erupted around them, Daphne began rummaging around in her bag. His not-so-proper wife whipped out a Colt revolver, returning fire at their assailant out the carriage window.

“What do you think you're doing?"

“Protecting us. I grew up in a mining town, so Father insisted that mother and I learn how to defend ourselves. Reed and I—” She winced, firing again. “—used to have contests. I'm good at still targets, but this is the first time I've attempted to hit a moving one.” She ducked as the gunman shot, then popped up, returning fire.

“Give me that!” Barclay wrestled the gun from her as he shoved her down deeper to the protection of the carriage floor.

He tried to shoot, but the blasted thing was empty. “You wouldn't happen to have extra bullets in that magic bag of yours?"

“If I'd known our journey was going to be so dangerous, I would have brought additional ammunition."

“It wasn't supposed to be dangerous,” he muttered.

The carriage lurched, speeding down the road faster than he had ever dared take it before.

“Do you think we can outrun them?” Her voiced sounded funny—almost strained.

He hoped so. The wheels rattled so hard that it caused the coach to shake. If it held together, they would make it home.

Daphne kept unusually quiet on the floor. Despite her bravado, he knew she must be frightened. Hell, he sure was.

Barclay dropped down on the floor beside her, banging his head as they hit a bump. He gathered her up in his arms to comfort her. She didn't resist, but groaned when he touched her back. Something ... wet ... His hands and her dress were covered with..."

“You've been shot!"

“I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

Not notice? Did she think him that heartless? “You don't have to be brave all the time."

“I'm not. Hate the sight of blood."

“If I'd done a better job protecting you this never would have happened.” He tore a strip off her petticoat and wrapped it tightly around her shoulder, where the bullet wound seemed to be located.

“Are you hurt, Your Grace?” Jamie, his driver, yelled down to them as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of his country estate. “I think you winged his horse, so I took off as fast as I could."

Why didn't it surprise him that Daphne had been the one to save them?

“You did well. I'm fine, but my lady is hurt.” Barclay climbed out, trying to scoot her to the edge with as little pain as possible. He gently lifted her. She was too pale. The sight of blood staining his bride's lacy, white wedding dress was almost more than he could bear. Maybe she wasn't safer with him. Perhaps his father's mad ramblings about a curse had some basis in reality.

“Good God, what happened?"

Barclay stiffened at the sound of Cameron's voice behind him. Where had he come from? So conveniently, too. How did Cam always know just when he needed rescuing? Barclay didn't like where those suspicions led. Cameron would, after all, inherit his title if something happened to him. Damn Inspector Reynolds for making him doubt his cousin's intentions.

“We were ambushed. Daphne has been shot."

Concern etched Cameron's boyish face, making Barclay wonder how he could have ever doubted his cousin.

“I'll fetch my bag."

“I'm taking her to the gold room,” Barclay shouted over his shoulder he headed for the house.

Jamie fell in step beside him. “I'll get some men together to see if we can find the brigand. Want me to alert the local magistrate, my lord?"

“Let's leave the law out of this for now,” Barclay said as he headed up the stairs.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jamie called after him.

Barclay slammed into his father's old butler, Horace, in the hallway.

“Oh, dear, she's been...?"

“Shot.” Barclay moved around him. “Have one of the maids bring cloths, water, and whatever else Dr. Stewart needs, to the gold room."

“I will, sir.” Horace hurried off, shouting for the downstairs maid.

“I'm surprised to see people here.” Daphne buried her face in his shoulder.

“Worried about being here all alone with me?"

“No."

“Liar,” he teased softly. “The staff here is devoutly loyal to the Stewart family. Not even a hint of scandal could drive them away."

“Great. This is not the first impression I wanted to make.” She laughed weakly. “Now they'll think..."

“That you saved me."

Her eyes rounded. “You'd tell them that?"

“Why not? It's the truth. I, a military man, was outdone in battle by a mere slip of a girl."

“Most men wouldn't admit that."

“Most aren't married to you."

She laughed. A sound he thoroughly enjoyed. He hadn't expected to like her. Not this much. After all, her being here could expose all his father's carefully guarded secrets. Yet, something about the way Daphne took life head-on endeared her to him. That could make him careless, but at the moment he didn't care.

Cameron bounded into the room as Barclay lay her down on the bed. Dr. Stewart went right to work, removing part of her dress.

Daphne groaned. The pain and embarrassment throbbed through her. “Sorry to make more work for you."

“Looks like you've gotten yourself wounded again, my lady,” Cameron said quietly as he examined her wound.

His hands were gentle and sure. Much like the man, she supposed.

“It appears to be a nick that missed the bone."

“It throbs like the devil."

“I'm sorry to say that it will for awhile. At least the bullet went through, so I won't have to poke and prod you any more tonight. I have something right here in my bag. This will make you sleepy.” Dr. Stewart's dark blue eyes held serious concern for her in their depths.

Barclay stood like a coiled spring behind Cameron. The worry on his face was almost painful. Any doubts she had that he might not care for her evaporated. He obvious had some feelings for her, or he wouldn't be so upset.

“Here you go, Your Grace.” An out-of-breath maid raced into, trailing rags behind her. “I hope the mistress will be all right."

“I hope so, too.” Cameron stood, offering her a warm smile.

“Now, stay in bed tonight, and I'll be by to see you in the morning. Try not to strain that shoulder, or it will start bleeding again."

Daphne tried in vain to give him a weak smile. “I'm not sure I could move if I tried."

“Don't worry,” Barclay spoke up. “I'll take good care of her."

Cameron had no doubt of that. He forced back a grin. Ravensthorpe was definitely smitten with Daphne. And who wouldn't be? The girl was a delight.

“Thank you, Cameron, for once again helping me.” Barclay fought to keep the suspicious edge out of his voice. If he couldn't trust Cam, then who could he trust?

* * * *

Lightning flashed, illuminating the bedroom in an eerie light. Daphne's eyes flew open. Thunder crashed. Followed by another burst of lightning. She sat straight up in bed.

Where was she? Faint images of their wedding and the ambush flittered through her mind. Barclay carrying her upstairs.

Her gaze roamed the room with its white and gold furniture and red-rosebud wallpaper. Surely, Barclay didn't sleep here. She couldn't imagine his long, hard body sprawled out on this frilly bed, under the lacy canopy.

Why had he put her in another bedroom? They were married, weren't they?

This house was too quiet. Thunder crashed again, making Daphne's heart race. She hated storms.

Pain shot through her shoulder as she attempted to lift her body off the bed, grateful for the generous folds of this gown that wasn't hers. What had happened to the clothes she sent over here? Had His Highness found them unbefitting a duchess? That thought made her angry.

She padded barefooted across the soft rug to the door. Her shoulder protested as she reached out with her right hand to open it. Giving into the pain, she fumbled with her left hand, but the knob resisted so strongly, that for a fleeting moment, she feared she was locked in the bedroom.

The hallway outside her room was long and dark. She had no idea which direction to go or behind which of the many doors she would find Barclay.

The sound of soft, muffled voices led her to turn left to an alcove by a huge bay window. There her husband and the older gentleman who had greeted them earlier were talking in harsh whispers.

The older man appeared startled when he saw her approach. He stepped in front of her husband in an oddly protective way.

“Your Grace, I didn't realize you were awake."

“I'm not grace.” She leaned against the wall for support. “My name is Daphne.” She made a note to ask her husband who Grace was.

The older man looked like he wanted to say something, but just opened and closed his mouth. Her husband chuckled behind him.

“Can I get you something, my lady? I'm the butler, Horace."

Right. She remembered him now.

“I'll handle this.” Barclay spoke up.

Horace gave Barclay a questioning look. “Do you think that is wise, sir?"

Her husband waved his concern off. “Daphne and I will be fine. Go retire for the night."

Horace turned back to look at them as he started down the large staircase. His behavior gave Daphne the strangest sensation that something was just not right, but she couldn't put her finger on what.

“What are you doing up? Dr. Stewart thought the medicine would make you sleep all night."

“Well, Your Highness, I have many things to discuss with you."

“Your Grace."

“What?” Her head felt thick. “Who is this Grace person? Your mistress?"

A smile quirked his lips as he slid his arms around her shoulders. “You are a refreshing delight. I take it no one has ever told you about the protocol of the peerage."

She frowned slightly, thinking they had had this conversation once before. But maybe not.

“The Countess of Stratten tried, but I found it all very confusing."

He nodded. “Tedious at best. ‘Your Grace’ is the proper way to address a duke and duchess. ‘Her Grace’ is you. I'm ‘His Grace'."

“Oh."

Her eyes wouldn't stay focused. The hall spun slightly.

“Now, can't what you need to discuss wait until morning? You look very pale and shaky."

Thunder crashed. Lightning lit up the hallway, and something that sounded like gunfire hit the roof and windows. Daphne flew into his arms.

“It is only hard rain,” he murmured against her forehead as his arms tightened around her. Something was different about him as he smoothed her hair and hummed a soft lullaby. He had a different scent, too. She couldn't say what, just different.

As she swayed, he swooped her up in his arms. Once they reached the bedroom, he laid her carefully on the bed, backing away as though he thought she might bite him.

“Aren't you going to sleep with me?"

He made a harsh sound in his throat. “Let me get you some warm milk and food. You must be hungry."

She watched him leave, muttering to himself. Her husband was a very odd man.

* * * *

Lord Vengeance leaned back in his chair, taking a long drag of his cigar before setting it aside for his brandy. His plan had gone a little off course, but maybe this could work to his advantage. Having Daphne get hurt on her wedding day was a stroke of luck. Fear was great motivator for action.

He swirled the expensive brandy around in his crystal glass before taking a sip. He could hardly wait for the next phase of his plan to begin.

* * * *

Beware my lady

Your plots are all through

Because you know and I know

and soon the whole ton

will know that your life is built on lies.

A final warning before I leave you to ponder your

Fate: Beware of a Duchess who will untangle your

Lies.

The Dowager Duchess of Ravensthorpe dropped the blood-red scrawl of cryptic verse beside her on the golden-brocade settee. Lightning sent spooky shadows across the fire-lit walls, sending a shiver up her spine, intensifying her feeling of dread.

Only one person could untangle ... The one person she feared more than one who called himself Lord Vengeance. Her hand went to her mouth. A duchess ... Barclay's duchess. Dear heaven, the rumors were true.

* * * *

Barclay rose and closed the window in his study. He stared at the objects on his desk. IOU's from another game he didn't remember playing, a scented love note from a woman he hardly knew. He rubbed his throbbing temples. What did it all mean? Was he losing his mind?

The rain was beginning to make his head ache. What he didn't need with Daphne living here was to have another one of his headaches.

What would she do when she discovered his curse? Would she be afraid of him like the servants were?

He left his study to check on her. She seemed to sleep fitfully while he was in the room. He hoped that by leaving, she might finally rest.

It weighed heavily on him that they had no clue as to who the attacker was other than the fact Daphne had shot his horse. Tomorrow he'd check around to see if anyone had heard of a wounded horse in the neighborhood.

As he rounded the corner, he found his wife, leaning heavily on the banister of the last step.

“Could you not find any food at this time of night?"

Barclay stared at her, feeling that now familiar, unnerving, tingling sensation. It was happening again. Someone claiming to have had a conversation with him that he didn't remember.

“Don't look at me that way,” he snapped, sorry when she flinched at his sharp tone.

She stiffened. “Like what?"

“Like I'm crazy."

Daphne felt like she was caught in a nightmare. Why was her husband acting so strangely?

“You need to be in bed.” He swooped her up in his arms.

She buried her face in his shoulder, relishing the familiar scent.

“You smell more like yourself. What did you do?"

“I don't know what you're talking about."

He turned into the bedroom and carefully lowered her onto the bed. She had an odd sensation of playing this scene before. Only this time he sat down beside her.

“Whose room is this?"

“Yours. Mine is through the dressing room."

“I don't understand. Why do we have separate bedrooms?"

He shrugged. “Every duchess has slept in this room since the house was built during the reign of Queen Anne. Since you were hurt, I thought you might find comfort in a woman's room. I'm sorry that you woke up alone. My sitting by your bed seemed to be disturbing you, so I went downstairs to finish working. I was just coming to check on you when I found you on the steps."

“But you...? Never mind."

“Are you sore? Dr. Stewart left me something to give you for pain.” His hand brushed her cheek. “Your skin is cool. I was so afraid you would get a fever."

“I'm not as dizzy this time."

He stiffened. “There shouldn't have been a this time. I..."

She touched his arm. “You aren't at fault for what happened."

To hell he wasn't. He should have seen this coming. Whoever was out to get them was getting bolder.

He rose. “You should rest now."

“Storms bother me,” she said softly. “Will you stay until it passes?"

How could he hold her like this and resist the temptation to make love to her? She is hurt, and it's your fault, he reminded himself.

He sighed, lying down beside her. Daphne moved closer, savoring his warmth and strength. She slept with his hand stroking her uninjured shoulder and his heart beating under her ear.

Later that night, thunder woke Daphne. She sat up in bed, alone. She flopped down on the pillow, wincing at the pain that sudden movement caused her. Tomorrow she would have a talk with her elusive husband.

Chapter Seven

Time is an enemy

A murderer

A thief

It breaks down the barriers

to the secrets

You keep.

Daphne shoved the bloodstained note back in her pocket. It was the only thing that survived on their persons when her parents’ buggy slid off the cliff road.

She shivered at the dark memories that came unbidden into her thoughts. The stinging, bitter-cold wind. Standing in helpless suspense as her father's workers pulled their broken bodies up. Those horrific images would haunt her forever.

Why would someone want them dead? What secrets had her father kept that would lead a person to retaliate with such violence?

The old Duke of Ravensthorpe had tried to communicate with her father. Those letters she found in Barclay's townhouse were proof of that. Darn, she wished they hadn't been stolen from her. Why had her mother sent them back? Had she played a part in this drama? Maybe mother's death had been planned and was not just a case of being with her father at the wrong time. It certainly wasn't like her mother to meddle in her father's affairs. It made her wonder just who had the secrets.

Daphne stretched as she headed down the hall. She couldn't lie in bed any more trying to sort this out. Somewhere in this house were clues, and she intended to search every inch until she found them.

This dark room with the drapes pulled seemed like a good place to start her explorations. Something unsettling lingered here. She could smell the faint scent of gunpowder mixed with smoke. It reminded her of the night toys her father would light. They gave off smoke, fire, and a flash. How she missed those evenings. Daphne wiped back a tear. For their sakes, she had to find out what that sick verse meant.

She opened the heavy drapes to let in light for her search.

“Excuse me, Your Grace."

Daphne froze with the heavy fabric in hand at the sound of Horace's voice. Drat, she hadn't planned on getting caught. Don't act afraid. After all, you're mistress here now, aren't you? She tucked the drape back behind the gold holder.

He cleared his throat when she didn't respond.

“No one is allowed in here. In fact, I thought I had locked it."

Interesting. “Why?"

Horace stood stiffly outside the door waiting for her to leave. “Orders from His Grace and the Dowager Duchess."

“Whose room was this?"

The older man shifted uncomfortably, and for a minute, she feared he might refuse to answer her question.

“It was the old Duke of Ravensthorpe's private study. While he lived, he rarely accepted visitors in here. Her Grace felt it honored his memory to keep her husband's study untouched. His sons used the other library off the great hall."

She couldn't blame them for avoiding this room. Her own father's study had been left intact and closed. Still, her body felt a connection here. Had her father once ... ?

“Please, Your Grace.” He moved into the doorway, but would go no further.

She sensed his fear and unease, but couldn't force herself to leave.

“Is that a portrait of the late duke, I mean, Barclay's father, over the fireplace?” He looked familiar, although, she knew they had never met. Something about those blue-green eyes.

With a sigh, Horace walked in and began closing the drapes. “May we please go now, Your Grace? The Dowager Duchess would have the vapors if she found you in here."

“She is fine.” Her husband lounged in the doorway. “Mother gave up all say-so to this house when she forced us to buy her a place in London. We can't keep a room as a shrine for every member of this family that died over the years. If we did we'd be living in the yard."

Daphne laughed despite herself. She never realized that her husband had such a dark sense of humor. Something was different about him today, but she couldn't put her finger on just what. Maybe it was that his clothes seemed a little less perfect.

The humor was apparently lost on Horace, who turned deep red.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace."

“You may go, Horace."

The older man hesitated. “Really, Your Grace, I think..."

Her husband shot him a commanding glower. “We'll be fine."

The looks passing between them seem oddly reminiscent of last night. Horace didn't want her husband to be alone with her. Maybe she was imagining it, but that was how it seemed.

“Very good, Your Grace.” Horace nodded and turned, walking stiffly away.

Her husband shook his head after Horace left. “You'll have to excuse him. Horace has known me since I was a lad. Sometimes he forgets who is in charge. I have to admire him, though, for staying when my servants in London all fled. Everyone at Ravensthorpe Manor is devoutly loyal. Most of our staff is second generation. They are practically family."

He turned, offering Daphne his arm. “Now, that we've had the thrill of proving we can stay in here, shall we go? I have a hard time being in here since my father died."

“Your father really kept everyone out?” She glanced over her shoulder as they left.

“The only time my brother and I went in there was when we were in trouble. Then we couldn't wait to leave."

Daphne noticed as they crossed the black-and-white marble hallway that Horace rushed behind them to lock the door. Little did he know that she could pick locks. Closed doors never stopped her.

“Would you care to see the rest of the house? You were not in any condition to do so last night."

“I probably should. Without a map, I'm not sure I could find my way around."

He chuckled. “You won't need a map. Most of the family's rooms are in the same wing. After I show you around, you'll have no trouble."

She followed him up the large, curved staircase through the main hall to a brightly-lit hallway she had already come down once this morning.

“I assume you figured out that my family keeps their bedrooms in this wing. Of course, you recognize yours. Mine is located behind this door."

She noticed that he didn't open it. Instead, he ushered her to her own room.

The curtains had been pulled back, making the white and gold furniture glisten.

“We call this the gold room, because of all the gold decorations and furniture."

He took her hand, pulling her toward the huge bay window with a gold-padded windowseat. “My mother loved this window. You can see all the gardens from this seat."

“Will she mind me being here ... in her old room, I mean?"

He shook his head. “She moved her things to a cottage on the grounds, after Father died, but also keeps a house in London, where she spends most of her time. Too many memories here, I suppose."

He pointed behind them. “The door by the bed leads to your dressing room, which I'm sure you found this morning. The entrance to my room is through the back of it."

Now she knew where it led. “It is always locked?

He appeared quite surprised by her question, but recovered quickly. “I must have done that by accident. I went through it so many times last night checking on you."

He checked on her during the night. That notion brought her up short. It shouldn't have, though, considering how seriously Barclay took his responsibilities.

“Sounds like you didn't much sleep. You would have been better off sleeping with me."

The unspoken “why didn't you?” hung between them.

“You needed your rest. I tend to toss and turn. You may discover after you've spent a night in the same bed with me that having your own room is a blessing rather than a curse.

“Are you ready to see more? We can stop if you like."

“After one room? You must really think I'm frail."

Without commenting, he moved toward a closed door next to the huge, mirrored dresser. He opened it. “This conservatory is my favorite room in our house."

It was deep blue and totally surrounded by windows. Plants grew everywhere. White wicker furniture sat in the middle of it.

“Burke and I used to have cakes here with Mother every morning. We'd watch the sun go down through that window every night. We used to sit next to Father in that overstuffed chair to listen to bedtime stories."

“You have just the one brother?"

He nodded. Much to her chagrin offered no more information.

“Me, too. Mine was quite a bit older."

“We are twins,” he replied slowly. “Burke is just a few hours older than me."

She could hear the pain in his husky voice. On impulse, she reached out to touch him. He tensed. Maybe she was wrong about his feelings for her.

“I'm sorry.” She moved back. “I overstepped myself. I was warned how you English have rules of married behavior. I..."

“Shush,” He drew her into his arms, hugging her tight. “You'll have to be patient with me,” he murmured against her forehead. “I have a lot to learn about being a husband."

Strange, she felt safe. Almost too safe. Calm. None of the unsettling emotions she usually felt when she was in her husband's arms. The lack of those was almost frightening.

He squeezed her tightly, then quickly released her. She winced a bit as her shoulder protested.

“Did I hurt you? It seems I've made a habit of that lately.” He touched the bandage on her shoulder. “I should have been more careful."

“You made a similar comment last night. How do you figure you hurt me? You didn't fire the gun or hire the gunman, did you?"

“No."

“Then I think you can absolve yourself of that guilt. Besides, it is merely a nick. You and Dr. Stewart both said so. I can't live my whole life in bed."

“Now that might be an interesting thought.” He wiggled his dark brows.

“Well, maybe if you joined me. That is if you intend...? What sort of marriage do you plan to have?"

He sat in the wicker rocker across from her, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. “The normal sort. Why?"

Did he have to make her spell out what she wanted to know? “I just wondered, since we don't sleep together."

He leaned forward, studying her for a long moment. “Did your parents share a bedroom?"

She nodded. “My mother had a sunroom she entertained her friends in, and Father had his card room, but they both slept in the same bed."

“Here in England it is often the custom for couples, especially those of the nobility, to have their own rooms. Since most marriages are not based on love, it provides each person their own privacy."

“I see. So how do they ... you know ... get together?"

He shrugged. “Depends on their arrangement."

Here we go again. “What is our arrangement?"

“That depends on your feelings.” He stood as the maid entered, carrying a silver tray of tea and cakes. “Ah, afternoon tea. That reminds me how fast my day is slipping away. I had better see to my work.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I'll let you rest."

Odd, her husband seemed reticent—if not downright afraid—to talk about the details of their marriage. She wasn't sure exactly what to make of that.

* * * *

“Do you know what this means?” The Dowager Duchess of Ravensthorpe dropped The Post's social section on the Earl of Norcott's desk.

“Good to see you, too, Meredith.” He leaned back in his leather chair. Rather intriguing to see her worry for once. “I read it this morning. Interesting twist that he married her."

“Are you a fool, Kyle?"

She began pacing his study as he sipped his tea.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” She leaned over his desk, tapping the article.

Both my fondest dream and worst nightmare might be realized. His stomach tightened. Now Daphne would never leave England. He sure as hell hoped Barclay could handle her better than he could his mother.

“That you'll have quite a bit of explaining to do if they ever put the whole puzzle together."

She threw up her hands. “I could never talk to you.” She snapped up the paper. “I wouldn't get so smug if I were you. Rumors are floating over all the ton about Eve and Burke. Seems your daughter is playing the part of the abandoned fiancée to the hilt. I even heard ... Well, I'll let you discover that for yourself. Soon, we'll see how good you are at handling situations without manipulating them."

Norcott froze. Eve had taken Burke's death hard, but he never dreamed she would continue to pretend that their relationship had been serious. But then, Eve had a flair for the dramatic. He should have forced the issue with Burke years ago. He hadn't want to embarrass her, then or now.

“I'll come to the master manipulator if I need help with my children.” Kyle added more sugar to his tea, stirring it slowly. “You've handled yours so well."

Meredith slammed the door as she stalked out. She knew how to make an exit and leave trouble in her wake—he'd give her that. He just wished he wasn't always the one to pick up the pieces.

* * * *

Daphne had just begun enjoying the warm, sunlit, rose garden when Horace strolled up. He had the man-on-a-mission look that told her she was about to be summoned somewhere.

“Your ... my lady, Inspector Reynolds is here to see you."

What did he want? He had come once to see her after that night he found her at Barclay's, but the Earl of Stratten had sent him away. How had he found her here?

Horace stood hands behind his back, waiting for a reply. Maybe it would be best to see what the man wanted.

“Send him out here to the garden, Horace. Notify my husband about his arrival."

Horace cleared his throat. “His Grace has gone to deal with an estate matter."

“I see. Well, send Inspector Reynolds out here anyway."

As Horace walked away, she folded up the sketchbook and hid it in the bushes behind the stone bench. It was better not to give away the clues she'd found. If Barclay had given her the answers she needed, there might not have been a reason to involve Inspector Reynolds in this matter after all.

“It is good to see you, my lady, or should I say, Your Grace?"

“Just Daphne will do."

“You look much better than the last time. You do remember, don't you?"

“How could I forget? Do I have you to thank for spreading the rumors that led to our marriage?"

“No. I think you have others to thank for that. It is that night I came to talk to you about. Tell me what you remember about your attacker."

“Not much. He had black clothing.” Daphne chewed her lower lip, not wanting to remember. “His voice was raspy—grating."

“Have you heard it before or since the attack?"

She shook her head. “Not that I haven't listened carefully to every man I have come in contact with since that night."

“Then you didn't get a good look at him?"

“Sorry. Wish I could tell you more."

“Why were you at Ravensthorpe's townhouse to begin with?"

“You already know I'd been trying to contact him. I told you as much when I came to your office. Patience is not a virtue of mine. I wanted my answers right away."

“Did you get them?"

“No. I'm beginning to wonder if Barclay doesn't have them, either."

Reynolds played with his hat. “So you're on his side now? What changed your mind about Ravensthorpe's involvement in your grandfather's and parents’ deaths?"

Why did he have to ask that? She couldn't explain the reasons, because she didn't understand them herself.

“I've come to realize that things might not be as they appear."

“Does that mean you are still searching, or have you given up?"

“I'll never give up."

Reynolds smiled, though he wanted to shake her. She had given up all right—bought Ravensthorpe's innocent act. Well, he wasn't fooled. Eventually, he'd see that Lady Daphne wasn't fooled either. Then he'd see how smooth and charming His Grace could be when he arrested him for murder.

* * * *

Barclay couldn't help but laugh at her. What was his wife up to now? There Daphne lay, flat on her face with her legs sticking out of a red rose bush.

“Looking for something?"

Daphne bumped her head on a branch. “Don't sneak up on me like that. How do you appear out of thin air? I never hear you walk up."

He offered her his hand. With a sigh, she took it. Hers felt warm and small in his. She smelled of a delightful mix of warm afternoon sunshine and flowers. “You were too busy searching for something."

“I...” She glanced down at the sketchbook.

He still held her other hand. Damn. He hated to let go.

“I heard you had company while I was away."

“Inspector Reynolds paid me a call. He wanted to know if I had changed my mind about you."

Changed her mind? He didn't like the sound of that.

“What did you tell him?"

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I skirted the truth. I haven't had time to figure you out yet."

“I see.” He wasn't sure he wanted to discuss this. There were no answers for her questions. Not easy ones anyway.

“I couldn't help but notice your sketchbook. Are you an artist?"

“Yes, but these aren't mine.” She hesitantly gave it to him.

Obviously. Sheldon Townsend's name was printed there in big block letters.

Hands behind her back, she shuffled nervously. “My father kept a drawing dairy of every place he went. I found this one among his things after he died. Since I don't recognize many of these places, and the dates were mostly before I was born, I thought it might be a pictorial history of his life in England."

Barclay couldn't reply, just studied the drawings in stunned amazement. How could he explain these and not give away too much?

Daphne put her hand on his arm, standing on tiptoe to see which picture he was staring at. It was good having her this close. He would savor these moments—for she would hate him when she found out the truth.

“Do you recognize any of these places?"

Recognize. Hell, he had lived in most of them. Townsend had a talent for capturing detail.

“This one is interesting.” She stopped him from turning the page. “We have a smaller version of this garden at our house, but nothing as elaborate as this."

Barclay swallowed hard. The garden at Holbrooke Hall leapt off the page at him. Sheldon Townsend had captured every nuance, right down to the old earl's prized Italian fountain.

“It's the rose garden at Holbrooke Hall where your father grew up."

Her eyes brightened. “My grandfather lived there?"

“Yes."

“Is it far from here?"

“No.” He pointed off to the south. “See that hedge over there? Holbrooke Hall is just behind it. I used to slip through it when I was a lad and play chess with your grandfather."

“Did your father approve of him?"

“No."

“Then they didn't get along?” She cocked her head slightly.

“More like my father avoided him.” What had Father and Sheldon done that kept Townsend away from his homeland?

“I felt sorry for the old earl. He seemed so sad and lonely shut up in his country estate. Maybe it was youthful rebellion.” He shrugged. “I don't know, but something drew me to keep visiting the old Earl of Holbrooke. He had a dry wit. The man liked to win."

Barclay laughed at the memory. “Holbrooke could sit for hours studying the chess board—especially if I got him in a bad position. Sometimes he could plot his way out of it, sometimes not, but he never gave up without a good fight."

“It doesn't make any sense, then, why he just gave up on my father."

“Pride. I rarely remember him admitting he was wrong."

He cleared his throat. Hopefully turning the page would change the subject. The next picture astounded him. The garden he remembered as a boy came to life complete with full-bloom summer flowers and trees. Why did Sheldon love this garden at Ravensthorpe Manor enough to immortalize it?

“You are standing in this one. At least it used to look like this when I was a lad. Mum added a fish pond over there, and a few years ago some of the flower beds were dug up to make room for Mum's croquet parties.” He pointed as he spoke to each image in the picture. “I cut down those trees last summer after the wind destroyed them. I had forgotten what it used to look like. Your father had a remarkable talent with a charcoal pencil."

“We have an oil painting of both these pictures in our parlor. I can understand his love for his boyhood home, but why do you think my father remembered your back garden?"

“Good question. I wish I had an answer. They must have spent time here."

“I wonder if he ever intended for me to see the real thing. Maybe that is why he left these."

The sadness in her voice ripped his heart open. How could he tell her that his father had kept Sheldon from ever returning? No, the secrets must stay buried.

He froze as he flipped to the next page. There, staring up at him were the Fearless Four. The last time he saw this picture, it was under his father's lifeless body. He could see the men clearly, now that it wasn't splattered with his father's blood and scrawled over with a cryptic message.

“What is wrong, Barclay? Do you know them?"

Breaks down the barrier to the secrets you keep. The blood-red words of that verse came back to him. Barclay blinked to dismiss the violent images of that awful night. Would his father ever rest in peace?

He thrust the sketchbook at Daphne.

“I don't know them. I'm sorry."

Her look of disappointment tugged at his heart. He longed to take her in his arms and tell her the truth. All of it. But too many lives were at stake, including their own. He doubted the author of that sick verse would rest until they were all dead. From the picture, he now knew the identity of the last remaining survivor of the Fearless Four. Could he stop the curse in time?

Chapter Eight

“I'm glad you agreed to see me, Norcott. I'm sorry to insist that we sit outside, but there is less chance of us being overheard that way,” Barclay said gently.

Norcott pulled the shawl over his thin shoulders and moved closer to Barclay on the bench in the sunlit garden. “It is all right, my boy. The fresh air will do me good. Now, tell me what is on your mind."

Barclay shifted nervously, wondering where to start. “I have access to my father's papers now. All of them. I wished I didn't..."

He paused, wondering if Norcott would understand the ramifications of what he was saying.

“So you know the whole story?"

Barclay nodded slowly.

“What do you plan to do with this information?"

“Nothing. It stays buried with Father."

“But there is more...?"

“Sheldon Townsend left Daphne clues."

“Enough to break the story wide open?"

He hesitated, trying to only say what he knew for certain. “If she puts them all together and understands them, yes."

Norcott leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “I see. That creates quite a dilemma for you, doesn't it? Especially now that you're married to her."

“How did you know?"

Norcott chuckled. “I have my sources."

“I always honor my promises, sir."

Barclay rose. “You've been out here long enough. Your wife will have my head if I keep you out any longer."

Norcott stood, leaning heavily on his arm. Just looking at his frail friend, Barclay knew he'd made the only choice he could for all of them. What Daphne didn't know shouldn't hurt her.

* * * *

“What the devil?” Daphne noticed white smoke floating in the half-open door to her room. It appeared hazy and dreamlike. No scent of fire.

She put down the book she was reading and secured the belt on her robe.

The hallway was faintly lit. That white smoke swirled down it. Daphne grabbed a candle to take with her to add extra light. She followed the trail of smoke past the huge staircase to a side hall she had yet to go down. The smoke was stronger here. It burned her eyes, making them tear up.

Pop. Burst of light. A glowing figure stepped out of the smoke. Father? She shook her head. She didn't believe in ghosts. Must be a dream. No, it couldn't be, or her bare feet wouldn't be so cold.

The figure seemed to be leading her somewhere. It stopped by a door. Another flash—blinding. It was gone.

She smacked the flat of her hand against the door in frustration. It would have to be locked. Drat! Locked doors were one thing she couldn't tolerate. After all, she was mistress here, wasn't she? She set the candle down on a table across from the door, then pulled a pin out of her unruly bun. She slipped it in the hole, feeling for the trigger mechanism, listening for the soft click as it opened.

As the door flew open, she found herself staring at dark pants. Daphne swallowed hard. Good gracious, there were bare feet peeking out. She glance up, noticing that only part of the buttons were done on his shirt.

“I ... ahh...” She straightened, meeting her husband's probing gaze.

“Yes?” His dark brows arched questioningly. His arms were folded over his barely covered chest as he leaned back against the doorframe, giving her every impression that he planned to remain there until she gave him an explanation.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, he slowly unfolded his arms and pulled the hairpin out of the hole. He held it up, examining it. His lips twitched in a smile.

Daphne fought the urge to slam the door in his smug face and retreat to her room. But she was no coward. She tilted her chin up defiantly.

What could she say? I followed a smoking ghost to rooms I thought were empty. Have him think she lost her mind. Not a chance. Behind her, the smoke had vanished. That figured.

“Ah, my outspoken wife is speechless. This is an interesting twist."

“I'm not speechless. Just surprised to find you here. I thought you used the room adjacent to mine."

“Horace told me you retired early, so I took my bath in here. I didn't want to disturb you, since you slept so fitfully last night."

How gracious of him. Daphne bit back a rude retort. She jumped as he took her hand, placing the hairpin in her palm. He curled her fingers around it, bringing her knuckles up to his lips.

“Prowling around in the night could get you into trouble, my sweet. One never knows what could be lurking around these musty old halls."

She jerked her hand free. “If you're trying to scare me, it won't work."

His hand brushed her cheek, sliding down to cover her heart. She shivered at the intimate contact.

“Fluttering like a frightened rabbit. Your instincts are right, my lady. You should run from me while you still have the chance."

He moved his hand and stepped back out of her way. She wondered if he was daring her to stay or go. Would she ever understand him?

He brushed back the lock of hair that had come loose with the pin. “Things will look different in the morning. They always do. Trust me."

Was he joking!

“Good night, Daphne."

He was dismissing her. Sending her off to bed like a child. Daphne stiffened.

“Would you like me to escort you back?"

White-hot anger licked through her veins.

“I can find it.” She pushed past him before he could see tears forming in her eyes. She wouldn't let him know how much his cool behavior bothered her. “I don't need your help."

Leaning against the doorway, he watched her stalk off. He had seen the flicker of hurt in her eyes. That was never his intention. Damn! He wasn't sure he had the right to go after her. Impotent rage seared through him. His hand fisted on the wall.

He would have to be more careful next time. The new duchess was too clever for him. He must clear out of this room, before she searched it tomorrow. Damn! He hated this situation. But what the hell else could he do?

* * * *

“The normal sort of marriage,” she muttered, slamming the door to her room. She didn't give a fig if the whole house heard. “I'd hate to see the odd sort."

“Fine!” She ripped back the blankets on the bed. Merciful heaven, something slithered! She reached for her gun, which despite Barclay's protests, she kept in a drawer by the bed.

The sound of it firing brought a very naked Barclay bursting through their connecting door. He came in so fast that he almost fell over the blood-splattered bed.

His wide-eyed gaze met hers as she realized she had the gun leveled on him. She didn't know if she was more shocked at shooting the poisonous snake or at seeing her husband's bare, sleek, muscular body.

“I can take care of myself."

“I can see that.” He walked toward her giving a wide berth to the dead snake on the bed. “Give me the gun."

She raised her empty hand, lowering the gun. All the while backing away from him.

Outwardly, his wife appeared very calm. The only sign of any fear was the loss of color in her cheeks.

As Barclay stepped forward again, she stepped back. She was more frightened of him than the dead snake, he realized with a twinge of regret.

“Give me the gun, darling."

She shook her head. “My father told me to never let it go. It will protect me when all else fails."

Barclay paused as the meaning of her words gut-punched him.

“All right. If that makes you feel safer..."

“Your Grace."

Barclay grabbed a blood-splattered pillow to cover himself as an out-of-breath Horace burst into the room.

“Oh, my ... is that...?"

“A poisonous snake. Her Grace shot it."

“It does look rather dead. I'll send some one up to remove it and clean my lady's room."

“No! Ah ... thank you.” He wanted a chance to examine the snake in the morning and think this situation through before all the evidence got destroyed.

Horace glanced nervously back and forth at them. “Very good, Your Grace. If that is your wish."

Daphne didn't respond. Just stood there shaking, with her hand over her mouth. If it weren't for the twinkle in her eye, he would think she was crying rather than laughing at his predicament.

“Good evening, Horace."

The older man nodded as he left.

She cocked her head. “Do you always run around naked?"

“No, but I do sleep that way."

Her eyes rounded. He rather enjoyed having her at a loss for words.

“You do realize that you can't sleep in here tonight."

“I doubt I will sleep much at all."

“Maybe not.” Barclay took her free hand. “But I will feel more comfortable if you stay with me."

He had actually invited her to sleep with him! Daphne was in such shock that she let him lead her to his fire-lit bedroom.

“Why don't you set the gun on the nightstand? That way you won't accidentally shoot one of us during the night."

She nodded, laying it down gently.

He grabbed his robe off the chair.

Her body began trembling. “I'm—I'm not a c-coward."

“Easy, love.” Barclay pulled her into his arms. “Shock has set in. I've seen this happen in new soldiers. Even experienced it myself. Your body suddenly realizes what you've done and what could have happened."

“Someone wants me d-dead.” Her teeth even chattered. Despite his warm arms, she couldn't get warm.

Barclay ripped a blanket off the bed and wrapped her in it. Slowly her shivering subsided.

“Someone hates me. I tried to fool myself into believing the notes weren't meant for me, but I now know they were.” Her voice was a faint whisper. “Someone in England has secrets to tell, but before you find out, he'll dispatch you to hell."

Barclay stiffened. He had read that poem among his father's things, but it went differently. In America, the girl knows your secrets too well. Before she can tell, you'd better dispatch her to hell.

He pulled her close, holding her tight. Bloody hell, what had his father done? What had he done? Could it be undone?

* * * *

Barclay knew the moment Daphne slipped from his bed. Too many years in the military had made him a light sleeper.

He watched her pad across the room through the open door. At least she left the gun behind.

He gave her what he thought was twenty minutes before he slipped out of bed and put on some pants before her went to check on her.

Much to his surprise, he found her in her own room, sitting on the floor by the wall across from the bed, with her arms folded around her upturned knees, staring at the bed.

What was she thinking? The lass had a quick mind and even quicker reflexes. She had surprised the hell out of him when she'd shot the snake. Most women he knew would have been hysterical over finding one in their bed. It sure scared him to death just thinking about what could have happened. How the hell had someone slipped into his house unnoticed?

Tomorrow, he thought as he crept back to bed, he would hire some protection for her.

She didn't trust him with her observations. Not that he blamed her after all that had happened. She would trust him even less if she ever figured out the truth. But keeping her in the dark was the only way he knew how to keep them both from ending up dead.

* * * *

“Barclay.” Daphne padded up beside his bed. “I know you're not asleep, because I heard you sneak up to spy on me."

Barclay slowly rose up on his elbows. She didn't miss anything. “I was concerned for your welfare."

“I know. I had some thinking to do.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, barely missing his feet.

“I'm not sure exactly what you expect of me.” She waved her hands aimlessly. “Of us. You said that our marriage would be the normal sort."

He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand to silence him.

“It has occurred to me though ... that our marriage may merely be a ruse ... that you see yourself more as my protector than my husband."

“I'm not sure what to say.” He shifted, getting his legs free from the blankets so he could sit beside her on the edge of the bed. He pulled on his robe. “I feel a certain responsibility for you. But there's more...” And that scared the hell out of him.

He tilted up her chin and whispered, “You feel it, too."

“I wish I didn't, but I do."

His mouth came down gently on hers. He needed to feel her. Hold her. Her lips softened under his. She was kissing him back. His pulse soared.

“No.” She pushed against his shoulder. He held her gaze as she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and stood. “I won't be swayed by your kisses."

Bloody hell, he'd mucked it up again.

She stood with her back to him, arms folded, staring at the fire.

He secured his robe as he walked past her to stoke it. He'd hurt her again. For once, he wished he had Burke's smooth way with words. He turned slowly to face her.

“What if you don't like my answers?"

“Then I'll deal with them. It must be better than not knowing."

You're wrong. I wish I didn't know any of it.

Drawing a deep breath, he motioned to a chair by the fire. “Shall we sit? What do you want to know?"

Daphne remained defiantly standing. “Oh, no—you go first."

Barclay sighed, wondering what was safe to tell her.

“I know who the men are in the picture."

She moved closer to him, touching his arm. Heat radiated through him.

“Go on."

“Let me rephrase that. I know who two of them are. One is your father and one is mine."

Rolling her eyes, she backed away from him. “You're going to have to do better than that. The identity of those two men is pretty obvious. I figured that out on my own. You look just like your father. What is even stranger is that you look a bit like my older brother Reed."

Barclay tensed. Did she know? “Are you insinuating that I'm holding something back?"

“Protecting someone, perhaps, as you are attempting to protect me. The question is why?"

“Bloody hell, Daphne, someone has tried to kill you three times that I know about."

She didn't meet his gaze.

“You don't think that I...?"

“I'm not sure what I think. There are a great many things I don't understand about you. The way you creep up on me—just appear. How did you get here so fast when you were on the other side of the house?"

“The other side of the house?” That didn't make any sense. “What are you talking about?"

“I had just found you in a room in another wing. Did you follow me back?"

“What other wing?"

There he was being difficult again. Making her look like a fool.

“The one with all the portraits in the hall."

“Daphne, that wing is closed off. My father...” There they were, back to his father. The last topic Barclay wanted to discuss.

“Your father what?"

Barclay rubbed his forehead. “Used it. Hard to explain, but my parents weren't getting along. My father's behavior was—odd."

Hope lurched inside her. A connection. “Describe odd."

“He just ... this isn't easy to talk about.” He rose, moving over by the fire. Bracing his arms on the white marble mantlepiece, he absorbed the heat. He needed it to thaw out the icy fear flowing through his veins.

“But it's important. Don't you see?” She jumped up and was at his side in a few steps, grabbing his arm. “My father behaved strangely, too. He quit sleeping and began having nightmares. I never told anyone about this, but late one night I found him huddled in a ball on the floor of his study crying, sobbing the name ‘Derek.’ Does that name mean anything to you?"

Barclay closed his eyes, resting his head against the warm wall. He feared finding the answer to this question. “I don't know anyone named Derek, but my father called out his name, too.” His voice was a harsh whisper.

Slowly he lifted his head. “Whatever happened is best left alone."

“Do you truly believe that? It was only a few days after that night that you came to our home. Then they were dead."

“Our fathers would have wanted their pasts to stay buried."

“If this bothers you so much to talk about your father, then why do you still use his rooms?"

“I don't."

“But I saw you.” She motioned with her arms. “Then you just appeared here."

“I didn't appear. I was sleeping when I heard a gunshot. I sleep lightly. That's my military training. It also taught me to walk softly. This gave me an advantage in collecting information."

“With your background, I would think taking failed attempts on my life wouldn't be your style."

He turned crossing his arms over his chest, arching a dark brow. “What are you getting at?"

“You strike me as the sort of man who, if you wanted me dead, I would be dead—period. Someone is trying to frighten me and make it appear to be you. I propose we let them think they are failing. See what their next move is."

“How would we do that?"

“By growing...” Her shoulders slumped. “Forget it."

She turned to walk away, but he caught her slender arm. No, he didn't want to forget it.

“Where do you think you're going?"

“To another bedroom. I'm sure this house has a great many of them. Some I have yet to find. Maybe it would be better this way. Then the killer will think he has won. Maybe then he'll leave us alone."

It wasn't that simple. It never would be for them. Barclay pulled her close to him. Right or wrong, she was his. “You aren't going anywhere."

“But I can't sleep here."

“Who said anything about sleeping?"

Chapter Nine

Barclay had a hold of both of her wrists. His thumbs traced her blue veins. Daphne shivered.

“You're right, my dear. There are a great many things we don't know about each other.” He kissed the back of each hand.

Her body tingled. No words could come out.

He turned her hands over, brushing his thumbs over her palms. “How did you get these calluses?"

She swallowed hard as his lips glided from her palm to her fingertips.

“I ride without gloves,” she squeaked.

He smiled. “Ah."

His fingers drifted up her arms to her throat. There he toyed with a springy curl. “And your hair. How long is it down?"

“Shush.” He put a finger over her parted lips. “Let me find out."

His nimble fingers sought each pin, until strand by strand, it came cascading over her shoulders down to the middle of her back. He twisted one lock around his finger. “So many shades of color. Is it blonde or reddish blonde or chestnut brown? The light plays tricks with it. Your clothes do, too."

“Just like your eyes. Sometimes they're deep blue and other times more green."

He tensed, lowering his gaze for a moment.

Her stomach clenched. She didn't want his wall to come up again—not yet. Not when they were so close to tearing it down.

She reached up, cupping his cheek. “I like the night-shadow beard. It makes you look dangerous."

He laughed. “I am dangerous."

“And I'm trembling."

The glow of desire in his eyes made her grow bolder. She placed his hand under her robe and gown. “Can't you feel my heart pounding?"

He slipped her hand over his hair-roughened chest. “Not as hard as mine. I want you, Daphne."

“In your life?” She wished her voice didn't sound so uncertain.

“Always. And in my bed."

“No doors between us."

He hesitated long enough for her to pull her hand away.

“I can't promise..."

“Then I won't."

The room became deathly silent. His gaze studied hers in the flickering firelight.

“I don't want a fraction of your life."

“You don't understand what you're asking."

“To share this room—no locks—no barriers. That's my final request. Take it or leave it."

He fumbled with the knot on her robe's belt. His whole attention appeared to be concentrated on untying it. As it came loose, his gaze rose to meet hers. He pushed the sides apart.

“What about you? What will you share with me?"

“Everything."

He slipped her robe off. She shivered.

“Everything?"

Daphne kept her gaze locked on his as she undid the buttons on her gown, letting it drop to the floor.

“All of me.” Her gaze dropped to his belt. “How about you? Will you share yourself with me? All of you?"

With a groan, he tore off his robe and yanked her into his arms. His mouth took hers—hot, hard, demanding payment of her promise.

Daphne couldn't get enough of the skin-to-skin contact. She wrapped herself around him, letting him carry her to the bed.

His lips trailed down her throat, tasting, tempting, burning. Her hands smoothed up the rippling muscles in his strong back. She arched as his mouth found the taut tip of her breast, sucking gently.

“Oh, Barclay."

“Like that?"

“Mmmm."

Daphne's lips blazed a trail down his neck as her hands grew bolder. She wanted to touch all of him.

He moaned arching above her. “Daph ... I want to go slow. Not ... hurt you."

“You can only hurt me by holding back."

His hand slid down to her moist center, testing, teasing. He parted her legs with his knee and pushed himself gently inside her. He paused when he felt her barrier give. Barclay closed his eyes as a sense of possessiveness and tenderness poured through him. She was his.

Daphne tensed at the slight pain before savoring the feeling of him filling her. He remained still as her urgent hands coaxed him for more. “This isn't it, is it?"

“You're killing me, darling."

“Good. Then we are even."

His control broke. He began thrusting deeper and deeper.

Her body responded to his rhythm, driving him faster, harder. Her body shuddered in delight, sending him over the edge.

Daphne's arms tightened around her husband. This was it. What she wanted. All of him.

* * * *

Daphne stood in her sunlit room. It seemed hard to believe that this bright, cheery place had been a gross sight last night. Not a trace of the snake remained. Someone had repaired the mattress and made the bed. It surprised her that she'd slept so hard that she didn't hear the room being cleaned.

Horrifying as it was, that incident might have been a blessing in disguise. It had brought her and Barclay together in ways she had never dreamed possible. Who would have thought that her so-proper husband could be so improper in bed? The memories made her shiver with delight. She just hoped their newfound togetherness didn't vanish in the light of day. Waking up alone wasn't a good omen.

Her injured shoulder protested slightly as she reached up to pull her hair back. She straightened the skirt of her riding outfit and braced herself to face her husband this morning.

She sprinted downstairs in hopes of finding her husband at the breakfast table.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” A flustered Horace appeared out of nowhere to greet her at the bottom of the stairs.

“I know I'm supposed to be a grace, but I'd rather you just called me Daphne. Otherwise, I might forget you're talking to me."

“Yes, Your ... ah ... Lady Daphne.” His hands shook before he could hold them down in front of him.

“Where is my husband?"

“He told me to tell you to be patient with him. He has a busy day, but will see you as soon as possible."

Daphne frowned. The morning was not going as she had planned. She had the urge to barge into his office, but her stubborn pride told her to leave him alone.

Unable to eat breakfast, she wrapped her scone up in her napkin and headed out to the carriage house. She could only hope Barclay kept riding horses. Maybe some time outside would help clear her head.

Something bumped against her leg. She looked down to see a cute yellow and white-striped cat.

“Hi, baby. Want my scone? My stomach is so tied up in knots that I can't eat.” The kitty grabbed it from her fingers, greedily gobbling up the whole scone in one bite.

Daphne froze in her tracks when the cat fell down in front of her, jerking, then gasping. She knelt beside the poor thing. Heaven help her! It was dead.

“Your Grace?"

She stood nervously as a small, wiry man approached her. He knelt down beside the cat. “Ah, Scamps, did you get into one too many things?"

“I'm sorry."

He nodded. “I'm partial to animals, too. This one followed me everywhere. I'll bury Scamps under her favorite tree."

Daphne didn't bother to fight the tears running down her cheeks as he gently picked up the cat. Taking an unsteady breath, she swiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Someone had poisoned her scones. She debated about going back to the house, but thought better of it. That would let whoever was trying to frighten her win. Instead, she went on with her plans.

The barn was a huge brick and wooden structure, similar to the one they had at home. It amazed her how much her father incorporated his English roots into their home in Colorado. Why hadn't he ever returned to this place he loved so much?

A tall, redheaded youth met her at the door.

“You must be the new duchess. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. I'm Ian. My father runs the stables. What can I do for you today?"

“Ian. I want to ride. Can you find me a horse?"

She wondered through the barn, looking at the horses in the stalls. A huge, black stallion stomped his feet and put his nose over the fence, giving her a nudge.

“Well, aren't you a pushy one. How about this one, Ian? He seems eager."

The young man's eyes widened. “Rascal dinna’ let anyone touch him usually, except his Grace. Um, the other His Grace, the one that just died, not the current one."

Daphne stroked his velvety nose. “You mean his father?"

“No, Your Grace. Your husband's brother was duke for a few weeks after their father died."

“I see.” She hadn't realized that Barclay's brother had ever been the duke. She had just assumed he been killed right after their father died. Poor Barclay—losing both his father and brother together like that. No wonder it was so hard for him to talk about them."

“Have you been here long?” She tried to sound like she was just making conversation instead of trying to get information from the boy.

“Yes, Your Grace, I was born here. My father and grandfather both worked for the Stewarts."

Daphne smiled. Finally someone who would talk.

“Did the other ‘His Grace’ look like his brother?"

“Sure did. They were twins. Had different personalities. I shouldna’ gossip like this, but Lord Barclay is verra quiet compared to Lord Burke."

“That is quite enough, Ian.” Jamie, Barclay's driver, was older version of Ian.

“Excuse my son, Your Grace. We dinna’ get many visitors down to the barn.

“Hello, Jamie. So you do more than drive, I take it."

“Yes, Your Grace. I'm head of the stables."

Odd that Barclay would pull him out to go with him, but then, she doubted many were as loyal to Barclay as Jamie seemed to be.

“You are quite a horseman to get us home safely in the carriage at that rate of speed."

His face colored. “Horses and me understand each other.” He shrugged. “I've driven carriages all my life, and I know what they are capable of withstanding."

“I'm glad you got us home so fast."

“May I say, Your Grace, how impressed I was with your ability to shoot. I'm verra sorry we didna’ catch those scoundrels that shot at you."

Jamie liked the new duchess. She was kind to all the staff. Besides that, she had spunk and grit. She would keep His Grace on his toes with that sharp wit. Yes, she was a much-needed addition to Ravensthorpe Manor.

“You want to ride, eh?” He frowned. “Are you sure you're up to it?"

“Getting out of the house is just what I need.” Nothing like fresh air to clear one's head. She always thought better on the back of a horse.

“If you're sure, then I have just the one for you. I broke and trained Princess meself, but she has yet to find an owner. Spunky, but a good mount."

Daphne could hardly contain her excitement when she saw the gray mare. It gave her pause for a moment when he brought out a sidesaddle.

“Do you have a regular saddle?"

“Begging your pardon, I'm not sure what you mean. This is the ladies’ saddle. The Dowager Duchess uses it all the time."

Heaven forbid that Barclay's mother should do something that she herself couldn't. Daphne took a deep breath, knowing that riding this way would be a new experience.

“I've never ridden with this type of saddle, but I've been on a horse since I was three. You'll have to show me how to sit, and I'll be on my way."

He helped her up, explaining how to arrange her legs.

“Is all the land around here ours?” she asked as she struggled to adjust to her new horse and awkward position. Barclay had mentioned something yesterday about her grandfather's estate being close by.

The older man scratched his head. “Through the hedge off to the south is Holbrooke Hall. The land across the stream is Bancroft's ... the Earl of Norcott's, that is. The rest belongs to His Grace."

“Thank you. I'll try not to stay out too long."

Daphne turned her horse toward Holbrooke's land. A chance to see where her father grew up. Maybe here she would find the missing pieces to her parents’ puzzle. Would it be closed up, or had some other relative claimed it? Rose had tried to explain to her how the English pass down their estates and titles. She wished now that she had listened closer to that lecture.

As she rode through the trees, her breath caught in her throat. The fountain, the rose garden ... she had been here, and yet, she knew she had not.

“From the looks of your being off alone so soon after being wed, I'd say your husband can't control you any better than I could.” A tall, broad-shouldered man came striding towards her.

“Oh, my gosh, Reed!” Daphne jumped off her horse to hug her brother. “I'm so glad to see that you are..."

He cut her off her words, lifting her up into a big bear hug. She tried not to wince when he held her injured shoulder too tight. If he knew she'd been hurt ... she shuddered to think what he would do.

As he lowered her to the ground, she smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “How could you let me worry? You ignored all my telegrams.” She punctuated each sentence with a blow. “You didn't even come home for Mama's and Papa's funeral.

He playfully fended off her attack. “How could I? All the sheriff's evidence pointed to me. Once the wanted posters went out, I was a dead man."

“So you ran?"

“I came here for time and answers."

“Did you find them?” She couldn't help staring at the familiar, yet not so familiar surroundings.

“Strange, isn't it? I felt like I had entered a dream when I first came here."

“Papa's paintings."

Reed nodded. “It seems that his heart never left this place."

“Then why didn't he return? It doesn't make any sense. Did you know about this part of his life?"

Reed shuffled his feet, unsure how to answer her. He had discovered that Father had come to America with his friends. The rest was part of the dark secret he shared with his father. One he wasn't sure he would ever reveal to Daphne.

“That he had a title and land in England? No. I was shocked when I was visited by a lawyer for a grandfather I never knew."

“Why didn't he tell us about this part of his life?"

“The answers died with him, imp. I'm learning that there is much about our father that I never knew."

“The same goes for you. I hardly recognize you without a heavy beard and with your long hair pulled back. Strange, you look a bit like Ravensthorpe."

“You must be letting your imagination get the best of you again. What are you doing riding off alone?"

“I'm an old married woman now.” She tossed her head. “I can finally do as I please."

Reed rolled his eyes.

“Don't you give me that look, Reed. You are the one taking all the chances. How do think fleeing makes you look? Guilty."

“I'm well aware of that. But I had no intention of hanging for something I didn't do. Or watching my family loose its reputation. That includes you."

“Holy Moses, you'd think I couldn't take of myself."

“You can't. Otherwise, you wouldn't be married to Ravensthorpe. Hellfire, Daphne. What were you thinking—sneaking into the lion's lair? You not only got caught, but you drew attention to yourself."

Daphne winced. She had hoped Reed had missed the rumors of her exploits, but obviously not.

“I was trying to save you. That is proving to be a fruitless task, since you seem bent on getting yourself in more trouble."

Reed sighed. “Shouting at each other isn't going to solve anything, except to attract the attention of the servants, who have enough to talk about as it is. I'm taking you home."

“Not until you tell me your plan. I know you have one, so don't even bother denying it."

He let out a slow controlled breath. “I've assumed my role as the new Earl of Holbrooke, so I can understand where Father came from and what he left behind. I'm staying in the shadows for now, where I can watch and listen."

“So I can't tell Barclay you are here?"

“I'd rather you didn't. I'll chose my own time and place to meet him. By then, I'll have all the information I need to put us on equal footing."

She frowned, thinking of her husband and brother squaring off. “Then you plan to confront him?"

“If it comes to that, yes. Someone set me up to look like a murderer. This was a complex scheme."

“Do you think the deaths of our grandfather, our parents, and Barclay's father are connected? I do."

“I know you thought so from..."

She held up a hand to stop his protest. “Barclay knows who the men are in Papa's drawing. He won't admit it to me, but I know he does by how scared looking at it makes him."

He nodded slowly. “They all had to know each other. Look how close together they lived. Why after all this time would someone kill them? Why frame me? I would have never known or cared about this place if someone hadn't killed our parents over it. I intend to find out who and why."

“Me, too."

He stiffened. “Telling you to let me handle this would be like spitting into the wind, wouldn't it?"

Her chin jerked up defiantly. “Definitely."

He pulled her into a big, crushing hug. He ruffled her hair, brushing a kiss across her forehead. “I've lost so much. I'll be damned if I'll lose you, too."

“You won't.” She took the reins from him. “I'm fully capable of riding home alone."

Reed threw back his head and looked heavenward. “At least let me walk you as far as the gate. I feel helpless to protect you right now."

Daphne laid a comforting hand on her brother's tense arm. “Barclay wouldn't hurt me."

“Don't be so sure. All the evidence in these murders point to him. Having you dead would keep you from poking around in his affairs."

“You're wrong."

“Maybe—maybe not. Even Scotland Yard can't figure out Barclay Stewart. I'm not sure why the hell you think you can. You're dangling off the edge here, imp, and there is not a damn thing I can do to save you. Father and Mother would haunt me forever if something happened to you. So, be careful. Barclay is a dangerous man. Don't let his polite manners fool you into believing otherwise."

* * * *

“Your Grace, Lady Eve is here to see ... Oh, dear ... Her Grace is off riding.” Horace stepped into the old nursery.

The man looked up from buttoning his shirt. “Daphne is off by herself?"

“I'm sorry. She just slipped away from me. Oh, dear.” Horace wrung his hands. “This is such a mess."

He placed a calming hand on the older man's shoulder. “It's not your fault. Daphne is too impulsive for anyone to control. Do you have any idea where she went?"

“Jamie at the stables said she headed off toward Holbrooke Hall."

“Have Ian follow her at a safe distance to be sure she makes it home. Lady Daphne shouldn't be riding unescorted, especially with all that is going on."

He pulled on his coat. “I'll handle Lady Eve. She was my problem to begin with. I should have been honest with her about my feelings."

“I don't know.” Horace wrung his hands. “This is very risky."

“Where is Eve?"

“In the rose garden."

“Don't worry."

“I'll try not to. But you've been making it very difficult not to worry."

Eve rose from the bench when he approached. It looked like she had been crying.

“Oh, Barclay. I knew I had to come over and talk to you. I hope it's not too late. I've heard rumors that you had married Holbrooke's granddaughter. But there is something you should know before you marry her."

She gave a dramatic pause, while he counted to ten for patience.

“Burke and I—well, we were—are—lovers. I know it was wrong, but you know how persuasive Burke can be."

A slight flicker of emotion was all that told Eve he'd heard what she said.

“I even feared for a while that I was carrying his child."

His face was impassive, and he seemed not at all moved by her tearful confession. This was so unlike Barclay. Eve had a sinking feeling that this wasn't going as planned.

He cleared his throat. “I'm so sorry, Eve, that Burke hurt you so. I wish there was something I could do. I married Daphne in a private ceremony the day before yesterday."

She turned, giving Barclay her back. She didn't want him to see how hurt and angry she was. She had been so sure that he would honor his brother's obligations. It was just his nature. That she would gain nothing from this guilt-ridden confession never occurred to her.

He gently pulled her around to face him. “I never meant...” Sighing, he brushed his knuckles gently across her soft, wet cheek. “I'll help you find a husband, Eve,” he said quietly. “One who will treat you better than Burke would have. If that's what you want, I'll talk to your father."

She pushed his hand away. “Don't bother. This is my problem, and I'll handle it.” She stomped off, rethinking her plan.

As she slammed the carriage door, a hand came over her mouth.

“I wouldn't scream if I were you"

She jerked free, glaring at the man beside her. Since his face had been hidden in the shadows last time, she could only tell by his voice that he was one who had teased her in the garden the night of the ball. “So you heard.” It was a statement. Not a question. From the look on his face, he had.

“You miscalculated. Your lie didn't work."

She stiffened. “What makes you think I'm lying?"

He leaned over and kissed her thoroughly. No one had ever dared take such ... She stared at him as he moved away from her.

“From everything I've heard about Burke Stewart, I would assume that if he had been your lover, he would have taught you how to kiss properly."

White-hot anger surged through her. On impulse, she slapped him. “Of all the nerve.” Her hand burned from the contact.

He remained still as she scooted to the far side of the seat. “You are too intelligent a lady to give Burke what he already gets from half the ton for free. Tell me what sort of a game you're playing."

“Why would I trust you? I don't even know your name."

“You mean you haven't figured that out yet. And I here I thought you knew all the players."

“All the...?” She gave him a closer look. He was large, muscularly built. His face held some resemblance to Burke's. No. That was impossible. This man was larger, more dangerous than Burke had ever hoped to be. Who was he?

“How did you get on Ravensthorpe land?"

“Easy. I walked through the hedge."

His answer hit her hard. Her eyes widened. “Holbrooke's missing heir?"

“Reed Townsend."

Daphne's brother. Oh, heavens, why did he have to look so good? This could be major trouble.

“I've heard..."

“Believe it all. I can be one mean bastard when I'm crossed. I intend to find out what happened to my parents, and I think you're the key."

“Me. That's ridiculous. Besides this will be our last conversation."

He looked at her steadily. “We'll see. You'll seek me out again. You like danger."

He pulled her into his lap, cupping her cheek in his hand. She raised a hand to slap him again, but this time he held it in a firm, but gentle grip.

“You are drawn to me like a moth to the flame."

“I know what happens to the moth when it flies into the flame—it consumes her."

He winked. “I'm counting on it. We'll be explosive together. Think on that while you're pining for Burke Stewart."

With that, he brushed a kiss over her lips before depositing her on the seat across from him. He slipped something into her hand before sliding out of the carriage.

“Fool's gold,” she muttered. Perfect. She had been a fool to make a pact with Lord Vengeance. Now, her carefully laid plan was crumbling.

She tapped the top of the carriage to signal her sleeping driver. As the carriage jerked forward, her head hit the back of the white leather seat.

Somehow she had to separate Barclay and Daphne or else all would be lost. Lord Vengeance would carry out his threats. Her throat tightened. How could she have misjudged Barclay?

* * * *

Their truce hadn't even lasted a day. Barclay had locked his bedroom door again, and now he was leaving without saying good-bye.

Daphne pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the library window. Below, she saw a man dressed in black ride out through the gate.

Horace cleared his throat behind her.

“Where is His Highness going at this time of night?"

“His Grace doesn't share his plans with me, my lady."

“Then I'm not alone. Seems His Majesty keeps to himself all the time."

Horace started to leave and then turned back. “If I may be so bold, my lady, have patience with His Grace. Things are not always what they seem. Rushing to conclusions may do more harm than good."

“Thank you, Horace. I'll think on that."

She turned away from the window. What should she make of Horace's comment? She had no idea what conclusions to draw from the fact that her husband was avoiding her. They were supposed to be working together, but now she feared that was another idle promise. If she wanted answers, she would have to get them herself.

At least his absence gave her time to continue her search for clues.

She sat down in the desk chair and began opening the drawers. Papers that meant nothing to her. She opened a drawer, and there was a blood-splattered version of the sketch her father had done. Damn him, he did know about it.

The same cryptic poem her father had carried with him to his death had been scrawled across the top “Time is an enemy ... “ The word murdered covered one face. Her father's had been crossed out, and a slash was drawn over the late duke's picture.

Daphne's blood ran cold. What did this mean? Why had Barclay kept it from her? Had last night merely been a ploy to distract her? Come to think of it, he never did actually promise to be open with her.

She slid the picture back in the desk drawer. Barclay had made a fatal error if he thought her easily manipulated. She fingered an invitation to the Harringtons’ ball that lay on top of the desk.

She had given her husband fair warning that nothing would come between her and solving her parents’ murder. Now, the time had come to prove it.

Chapter Ten

Daphne hoped that if she got up early enough, she could slip out of the house without anyone noticing. She had arranged for Ian to take her to town.

“This is a mistake, Your Grace.” Daphne groaned at the sound of Horace's voice behind her. The blasted man was following her around like an anxious puppy as she handed her bag up to the carriage driver. “If you will only be patient."

“Stop calling me ‘Your Grace'.” She waved frustrated hands in the air. “As most of the staff probably already knows—I'm hardly a grace. I'm not even sure what I am."

“My lady.” Horace stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her path. “No one on the staff is gossiping about you,” he said in harsh whisper. Concern was written all over his withered face. “If you will only be patient. Things are not what they appear."

Daphne took a deep breath, trying to keep her resolve in the face of the older man's insistence.

“Did my husband ever return?"

He didn't answer, just stared off over her shoulder.

“I thought not.” She brushed past him. “It is obvious that Barclay is avoiding me."

Taking Ian's hand, she climbed up into the carriage. After the door was closed, she leaned out the window. “Tell His Highness that I'm going to London. He'll know where to find me."

How long it would take before her husband knew she was gone? Would he even bother to come after her? She had no intention of wilting under Barclay's obvious disinterest. If he wouldn't help her, then she'd get the answers on her own.

Being alone in London might be just what was needed to draw the killer out of hiding. It was a chance she was willing to take.

* * * *

In the doorway to the old nursery, Horace wrung his hands.

“Her Grace returned to London with only the carriage driver."

The man dressed in black tossed his open bag on the small table, spilling two armies of tin soldiers all over the floor. “This settles it.” He dropped two shirts in his bag. “Daphne needs supervision, and I need an excuse to get..."

“But, Your Grace.” Horace shut the dresser drawer. “Do you think that is wise?"

He gave Horace a menacing look that caused him to step out of the way. Arguing with him was pointless.

“Quit calling me ‘Your Grace.’ I have no right to that title."

Horace swallowed hard. What could he do? “You're taking too many chances."

“I can't stay locked up here forever. The answers aren't here. I've torn the house apart looking for them. The clues must be in London where it all began."

“She has the sketch."

The man froze with a pair of pants in his hand. “What sketch?"

“The one that tormented your father. I should have burned it."

“Then I have no choice. Discussion concluded.” He picked up the bag. “I must get that sketch from her before it destroys us, too."

* * * *

“We shouldna’ be here without our husbands. It is na’ proper.” Rose straightened her glittery, blue ball gown.

Daphne peered out the window of the carriage at Lord Harrington's brightly lit house. Refrains of music, mixed with the sounds of laughter, rang through the cool night air. She had made the right choice coming here.

“Don't worry. You're a countess, and I'm a duchess. We can do anything we want. Besides your husband is off researching his latest Eccentric Earl adventure and mine is preoccupied."

Rose tsked, shaking her head. “That doesna’ matter. The same rules of conduct apply here that applied in Colorado. Even if you were the Queen, the ton could still snub you. Well, maybe not if you were the Queen, but havena’ you noticed the way they give me the cold-shoulder? I made one big blunder, and they all treat me like I'm a leper. I dinna’ know why I keep coming back for more."

“Because you have no intention of letting those harpies win. Barclay would like me to hide at home. But I can't. If I'm going to taunt my husband, it needs to be done in public."

Rose frowned. “Do you really think this course of action is wise? What if the rumors about Barclay's violent side are true? Then provoking him may not be a good idea."

“That's just it. He doesn't let me get close enough to provoke him to violence or anything else. He has been avoiding me. At home, alone, he can ignore me. But I hope that if I make a public appearance and others question his behavior, he'll rethink his treatment of me."

The coach stopped. Rose caught Daphne's arm as she attempted to stand. “Take it from someone who has been married as long I have, making your problems public will only make them worse. Now, my Duncan, God rest his soul, was not one to avoid an argument. He and I often went to nose to nose. During our now-famous arguments, the staff hid. But in the end, we cleared the air and made up.” Her face colored.

Daphne chuckled, thinking of the stories she'd heard about Rose's large, Scottish, first husband. “I'll bet you did."

Rose gave her a playful punch in the arm. “That's not the point. Oh, dear, you made me forget..."

“We were talking about airing our problems in public."

“Ravensthorpe is more reserved. More like my Oliver. Must be the English blood. Anyway, I found that provoking Ollie gets me nowhere. He will tell me in his own sweet time."

“I don't have any time. The answers are here somewhere, and I intend to find them. No one, including my husband, will stop me."

* * * *

“Well, I never.” The Dowager Duchess of Ravensthorpe flipped open her fan as she watched Daphne and the Countess of Stratten enter the crowded ballroom. Her daughter-in-law's emerald satin dress was far too low cut. “What is she doing here?"

“And without her husband,” commented Eve beside her.

Meredith's stomach tightened. If Eve noticed Daphne was alone, then so would everyone else. “Excuse me. I need to greet my new daughter-in-law."

“My dear, what are you doing here?” With exaggerated tenderness, the Dowager Duchess caught a surprised Daphne's hand. “I expected you to still be on your honeymoon."

Oh, drat, Barclay's mother.

The older woman leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I'm Ravensthorpe's mother, remember?"

How could I forget it? Daphne smiled weakly.

“If you don't quit staring at me like that, all of the ton will know that my son married you without my consent or blessing."

For a reason, Daphne could not fathom, Barclay's mother was trying to help her. Whatever her motives were, the Dowager Duchess's acceptance would ease her way into society and open the doors to her father's old friends. Maybe one of them had the key to unlock the past, and perhaps, could tell her of the significance of the picture she had in her bag.

Say something. “Good to see you, My Grace. Is that right, saying ‘My Grace'?"

“Actually, it's Your Grace.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I'll go over protocol with you later."

That sounds like loads of fun.

“I see you found my impatient wife."

Daphne tensed at the deep velvet voice that sounded like her husband's, yet in an odd way, did not. What was he doing here?

The Dowager Duchess spoke before she could recover from the shock of seeing Barclay here.

“I'm surprised you left Ravensthorpe Manor for town so soon. All of London is aflutter about your romantic elopement. I would have thought you lovebirds would want time alone."

Although the Dowager's tone was warm and loving, her eyes offered a frosty glare. Thank heavens this isn't my mother. Daphne pretended to ignore the tension sizzling between the Dowager Duchess and her husband.

“What, and keep my lovely bride in the country?” His arm came around her bare shoulder, locking her to him.

The Dowager Duchess voice lowered. “When I saw your wife come in with Countess Stratten, I was afraid that you might be suffering from one of those dreadful headaches."

What headaches? Another aspect of her husband that she knew nothing about.

“As you can see.” He made a mock show. “I'm fine.

“We had matters here that needed tending, didn't we, my sweet?” He took Daphne's hand in his and kissed it.

Her gaze locked on his. There was something different about him now. She could not put her finger on it. His eyes were that lighter shade of blue with green flecks. For some reason, she didn't feel the usual, tingly sensation when he touched her. Maybe she was just nervous.

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “That dress is bit bold, don't you think?"

She gave him an impish grin. “I heard you like bold. I'm no more daring than other women are. Some of them, I hear, you know all too well."

His eyes twinkled with the challenge she'd issued. “I'll just have to prove the rumor mill wrong. My wife is the only woman in my life."

“I should hope so, Barclay,” The Dowager Duchess interrupted, impatiently tapping her fan. “If you can put the rumors to rest, you're doing better than I."

She paused, her eyes welling up with tears. “I seem to be doing everything wrong these days. Lady Sophia remarked that I should be dressed in black for Burke instead of gray. But wearing black means to me that I have given up hope.” Her voice broke off in sob, muffled by a handkerchief.

Her husband put his arm around his mother's shoulder. “This will all be over soon, I'm sure. Keep the faith. Burke may still be alive."

Dowager Duchess dabbed at her eyes. “Do you really think so?"

He cleared his throat. “He is my twin. If he were dead, I'd know it in here.” He thumped his chest.

She gave him a weak smile.

His hand encircled Daphne's waist as he pulled her away with him, putting distance between them and his mother.

“I think I should dance with my wife.” He wiggled his dark brows. “Feed those romantic rumors."

Dowager Duchess rolled her eyes.

He offered Daphne his arm as a waltz started up. As she stepped into his arms, she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Although he looked and sounded like her husband, he didn't feel like him.

“I didn't know you had headaches."

He missed a step, causing her to almost trip over his feet. “Does it bother you that I do?"

Daphne shrugged. “Why would it? My mother suffered from them, too. I know some ways to ease to your pain."

He pulled back, staring at her for a long moment. Then he snuggled her close. They moved gracefully to the beat of the music.

“Don't you think it's wrong to give your mother false hope about finding Burke alive?” She broke the tense silence between them. “Especially when Scotland Yard thinks he is dead?"

“What do you think?” His deep voice rumbled under her ear.

“I'm not sure. I heard they found a bloated, unrecognizable body that could have been anyone."

“Would you be disappointed if Burke were alive? If you were no longer a duchess?"

“To tell the truth, I'm having trouble getting used to it. Having people call me Grace instead of my name is a bit unnerving."

“Then you wouldn't mind being married to the second son? Even after everything that has passed between us?"

“Did something pass between us? I thought I dreamed it."

She could hear his laughter thudding under her ear.

“You don't let your husband get away with anything, do you?"

What did he find so blasted amusing? This was all so very confusing.

“You think it's funny to play games with me?

The smile left his voice. “No, my sweet. I never intended for it to go this far."

“Excuse me."

She felt Barclay stiffen as Baron Warwick cleared his throat. “Milford is looking for you, Ravensthorpe. May I entertain your wife?"

“Be my guest.” He stepped back. “I have business to attend to, so I'll be home later."

“I'll just bet you will.” Daphne muttered under her breath.

“Married life not what you imagined? It never is when you marry a rake.” Justin pulled her into his arms. “You didn't heed my warnings."

“I'm beginning to wonder if you were right, Baron Warwick. Since we've been married, three attempts have been made on my life."

“Come to my office tomorrow,” he whispered close to her ear. “And I'll explain everything to you."

“I doubt my husband would approve of that."

“Probably not. Especially if he has something to hide. Think about it."

Daphne watched him walk off as the music ended. Did Barclay have something to hide? She didn't want to think so, but his behavior was very curious indeed.

* * * *

Eve paced back and forth in Harrington's dark garden.

“Looking for me?"

She jumped at the sound of Reed's rich, bass voice.

“No, I...” she paused, gazing up at the stars.

“Surely you weren't planning to waste this beautiful moonlight night on Barclay."

Her spine stiffened. “What if I was?"

Reed caught her arm as she started to walk off, turning her around to face him. Eve's heart raced.

“Then you are a bigger fool than I thought.” He cupped her cheek in his large, callused hand. “But I didn't follow you out here to talk about Barclay."

He stepped in even closer.

“What did you come out here for?” Her voice sounded light and breathy.

“This.” His mouth came down on hers, coaxing and gentle. On impulse, she lifted her arms up around his neck.

With a growl of pleasure, he picked her up off the ground, carrying her to a secluded bench. He sat her across his lap and began feasting on her mouth. Eve threaded her shaking fingers through his thick, dark hair.

A branch snapped, causing both of them to freeze. Reed cradled her against his chest for a moment while he took deep, calming breaths. Then he slid her off his lap to the seat beside him.

Eve was shivering with fear and a new, pulsating emotion. Lord Vengeance had warned her against any further involvement with Reed Townsend, and time was running out for her father.

“I'd better be going. Having someone discover me out here is not part of tonight's agenda. The ton will meet me when I'm ready.” He stood offering her his hand. “My patience is wearing out, sugar. You will have to tell me everything, or it will be too late for me to help you."

She hated to tell him, but it already was too late.

* * * *

Eve saw Lady Daphne heading out the door toward the garden by herself. Now was her chance to make some mischief.

“Your Grace.” Eve slipped up behind her.

“Daphne, please. You're Eve, Marcus's sister, or should I say Lady Eve? You must forgive me. I haven't grown accustomed to all these titles.

She smiled faintly. “Eve is fine. Let's step off into the shadows. What I have to say is for your ears only.

She glanced around, making sure no one was listening. “I hate to tell you this, but your husband and I are involved."

“Involved, how?” Daphne frowned. A puzzled look crossed her face.

Her plan was working. Eve avoided meeting Daphne's gaze for fear her enthusiasm might show. “We are—were—lovers. You have to understand that Burke and Barclay were so competitive. What one had the other wanted. That included me. I guess I was some sort of prize."

The witch put a hand on her shoulder. Eve flinched. Didn't she understand what she was telling her?

“That must have hurt, having them act that way. I mean, not taking your feelings into consideration."

Eve's eyes blazed anger and hatred, causing Daphne to take a step backwards. She had made a mistake trying to comfort this woman. Obviously Eve Bancroft did not want or need her friendship.

“Why are you telling me this?"

Eve closed her eyes, taking a moment to control her herself. When she opened them, her emotions were masked.

“Because I like you. I fear for your safety. Barclay is not himself these days."

Was that ever true. Did she really know her husband at all? Barclay didn't seem the sort to bed one woman and marry another.

“If you know what's good for you, you'll get this out of this marriage while there's still time. If Barclay decides he wants me after he learns my news, nothing will stand in his way, even you."

A shiver of dread ran up Daphne's spine at Eve's ominous threat.

“I'll think on your words."

“Now, what are you ladies doing out here in the garden?” Marcus approached them.

“Girl talk,” Eve said as she pushed past him.

Harmless girl talk, indeed. Eve's revelations cut through her like a knife. Was that where her husband had gone when he disappeared? Barclay had much to answer for, and answers she'd get. No matter if she liked them or not.

* * * *

“My lord?” Thankful that Norcott was finally alone, Daphne slipped up beside him. “Could I have a word with you privately?"

He was silent for a long moment, and Daphne feared he'd say no.

“Step out onto the porch."

She followed, as leaning heavily on his gold-tipped cane, he limped outside.

“What is it, Your Grace?"

Daphne took a deep breath and pulled out the sketch. “I found this among my father's things. Do you know who these gentlemen are?” Please let him tell me he knows. “I thought, since Bancroft Hall borders Ravensthorpe Manor and Holbrooke Hall, that you might."

His face lost all color as he took the sketch from her. Staring at it, he looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Daphne leaned over his arm and pointed at the men in the drawing. “This one is my father. And I think this is the old Duke of Ravensthorpe, Barclay's father. Could this one be you?"

He thrust it back at her. “Burn it, my lady. It will only cause you pain."

* * * *

The evening had been a complete failure. She had merely succeeded in frightening Norcott. Now, he would never tell her what she needed to know. Drat. Daphne ripped the pins out of her hair.

Not only that, but she was more confused than ever about who her husband was. The serious man she had married didn't gel with the stories that ran rampant among the ton. It was almost as if he were two separate people. Who was the real Barclay Stewart?

As she raised the brush to her hair, something caught her eye in the mirror. Merciful heaven, she was not alone. There, leaning against the far wall, with his arms folded across his chest, was her husband. His face was an unreadable mask. So much like Reed. She swallowed the fearful lump in her throat, deciding to let him speak first, so she could get the feel for his mood.

Daphne continued brushing her hair, trying not to let her hand shake. She had no reason to be scared of him—or did she?

Barclay sensed her fear. A pang of guilt surged through him as he noticed her hand trembling. He would try to be reasonable with her, but he had to know what caused her to flee to London without him.

Quietly, he slipped up behind Daphne. Taking the brush, he began brushing her hair.

A jolt of awareness surged through her as their fingers touched. That tingling sensation was back.

She watched him in the mirror as he slid the brush gently through the tangles in her hair. His movements were controlled, and she sensed restrained anger in him. Like Reed, he would leash it tightly.

“You have the most interesting hair I've ever seen. I've yet to determine what color it is,” he said softly. “In this light it appears almost golden."

That wasn't what she expected him to say. He was trying to knock her off guard, but she wouldn't play.

“I thought you would be gone all night. You said you had some business to attend to."

He stiffened. Her gaze met his in the mirror. The mask was down for an instant. Fear and pain dwelled in eyes before the mask went back up.

“When did I say that?"

“At the Harringtons’ ball tonight, after we danced."

Barclay's movements stilled. His blood ran cold. Another event he didn't remember. He'd fallen asleep going through Father's ledgers. Or had he?

“Who else was there?"

“Everyone. I ran into your mother. For some reason she decided to stand by me for society's sake."

His mother would know if he were there. Why couldn't he remember?

“I'm surprised you're here.” She didn't lower her eyes, refusing to give him the upper hand in the stare-off.

“I had a private talk with Eve Bancroft.” She was intrigued by his lack of reaction. Did it mean he was guilty and hiding it well, or was Eve playing with her?

“I understand you and Eve are close."

There. She said it as plainly as she could without spelling out all the sordid details.

His eyes held hers in the mirror.

“We grew up together. Eve and Burke have a history. I'm not sure exactly what their relationship was like, but I fear Eve took it far more seriously than Burke."

“I see. What about you—did you take her seriously?"

He chuckled. “Eve can be a handful."

Odd phrasing for a lover. If he wanted Eve, then why was he here?

“You've been avoiding me."

“That wasn't intentional."

“I'll bet."

“Daphne."

She turned and rose. Barclay's breath caught in throat. The gown showed off her soft curves, making him hard.

“I should have known better. The other night you refused to promise to be open with me."

“It's complicated.” I wish I could tell you all, but I can't.

“I think you should retire to your own room tonight."

She stood behind the chair, putting it between them. What a mess! With regret, he started for the door. Then paused. “Why did you come to my townhouse instead of going to the Strattens'?"

“I don't know. Stubborn pride, I guess."

“Does that mean you still care?"

“Of course, I do. Why do you think this hurts so much?"

Damn. Would he ever get this husband role right? “Hurting you was never my intention. I know that is a poor excuse.” Barclay stood with his hand on the doorknob. This was harder than he thought. “I slept all day."

“What?"

He swallowed hard and turned. “I have pains in my head caused by an accident I had during my military days. I should have told you, but I didn't know how you would react. Many people, including some of my servants, think I'm cursed. I just didn't want you to be afraid of me. I'm sorry."

She didn't respond. Just stared at him. When he couldn't take the stunned look on her face anymore, Barclay opened the door connecting their rooms. His curse obviously appalled her, too.

“Good night, my lady."

“Good night, Your Highness."

The sound of the door shutting echoed in Daphne's ears. She waited with bated breath to hear if the lock clicked. But much to her surprise, she heard only silence. Did she dare risk it?

Chapter Eleven

On the other side of the door, Barclay undressed in the dark. He laid his pants over the silent butler and unbuttoned his shirt, all the while kicking himself for leaving Daphne's room. Nothing would change between them while there was still a door separating them.

He had just tossed his shirt aside when he heard the door open. His back to it, he was afraid to turn around. He stood rock still as he listened to the soft footsteps padding up behind him. His heart leapt when Daphne's arms went around his waist.

“I'm not afraid, just confused."

He took her hands, pulling her even tighter to him.

“This won't change that,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I know, but I'm willing to risk it.” Her hands fell away.

Barclay turned, blushing at her gasp of surprise at seeing him blatantly aroused.

He quirked a dark brow. “Want to run?"

Daphne gave him a half-smile as she pulled off her gown and gave it a toss. With her head cocked, her eyes issued him a challenge. Bathed in candlelight from her room, she looked like an angel. His angel.

“I'm not running. Unless you want me to?"

Barclay pulled her close. “You wouldn't get to the door."

“Is that a threat or a promise?"

He groaned as his lips captured hers in a possessive kiss.

* * * *

He was buried alive. Darkness. No air. No time. Light. Merciful heaven, a hand. Can't leave Derek. No!

Norcott slid a trembling hand through his hair as he sat up in bed.

“Kyle,” Penelope jumped from her chair by the bed. “You're dreaming."

His throat tightened as he stared at her pale face. Her eyes were dark from no sleep. Dear heaven, how had they come to this?

He held open his trembling arms. “Come here, Penny."

She shook her head. “You're too weak. I'll hurt you."

“Never. I need you."

Slowly, she climbed in bed and snuggled up next to him. He kissed her damp forehead.

“So sorry.” She had put up with so much—his nightmares and restless sleep. He would rather die than let her carry the stain of what happened all those years ago.

* * * *

What was she doing here? Daphne paced around Baron Warwick's drearily decorated office. Getting the answers she needed or getting even with her husband?

Barclay. The name sent a thrill up her spine. Her body was still warm and sore from their lovemaking last night. They had done things she had never even thought possible. She doubted they'd slept more than an hour.

Everything had been perfect, and then, typically of her mysterious husband, he was gone this morning when she awoke. No note. No morning snuggling. Just an empty bed. He was working, Horace informed her when she pressed. Drat him. Well, if last night's blissful hours had no affect on him, then she wouldn't let them affect her, either. So, she kept her appointment with Baron Warwick.

“I'm sorry you had to wait."

Justin's low, rough voice shook her out of her musings.

“I'm glad you came. Please sit.” He motioned to a large chair in front of his desk.

“You piqued my curiosity, Baron Warwick."

“Justin, please. After all, we are cousins."

“Really?"

He smiled as she sat. “Yes. Your father and mine were second cousins."

Daphne chewed on that that bit of information for a while.

“Were our families close?"

“Very. The late Earl of Holbrooke was like a father to me. His passing left a huge hole in my life."

But not in his heart. Daphne couldn't explain it, but Justin's grief didn't seem genuine.

“What was it you wanted to show me?"

He paused as if considering exactly what to tell her. He took a long, drawn-out breath.

“I don't know all the details or pretend to understand the circumstances, but when your father died, Barclay—or I should say Burke—legally took charge of your holdings, which include The Wild Rose Gold Mine and Lucky Strike Silver Mine, only one of which is operational."

Daphne leaned forward almost touching Justin's desk. “I was aware that he gained control of the mines. What I don't understand is why? I have a brother. Why weren't the mines left to him? I'm fuzzy on the old duke's and my father's relationship."

Something unreadable flashed across Justin's face.

“I'm not sure myself. But the terms of Sheldon Townsend's will states that these holdings are in a trust, controlled by the Stewart heir until you marry. Then they become your husband's responsibility."

Daphne relaxed in the chair, pondering what all that meant. Did Barclay have another ulterior motive for marrying her?

“Are you trying to tell me that my husband wanted my mines? Where does Reed fit into all of this?"

“That is just it, he doesn't. He was left money and the title through his grandfather. I don't have all the pages of that will, so he might have gotten something else. Just not the mines."

How could her father have done this to Reed?

“I see. Why are you telling me this?"

“It is part of your father's will. He wanted you to know that in the event you were unhappy with the husband, the Duke of Ravensthorpe—the old duke, that is—and the Earl of Stratten arranged it legally so that you could leave, and the holdings would revert back to you with an advisor appointed for you."

Interesting. Barclay would loose everything if she left him. It wasn't ... ? No, she refused to think he'd take her bed for that reason. Or would he?

“Does my husband know all this?"

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“I have one more question. Does Barclay need my money? I was under the impression he was very wealthy."

“For the moment he is financially stable."

She sat back in the chair. “Then I'm safe.” With that she rose, offering him her hand.

“There is one more point that must be made clear before you leave. In the event of your death, your husband keeps your holdings. I would be careful, Your Grace. His Grace never lets go of what is his."

“Are you saying that Barclay might want my mines rather than me? That is bit unflattering."

“It is hard telling what Barclay wants. As I'm sure you've discovered, he keeps his own counsel. Just be careful, my lady, and watch your back. I fear he has been unstable since his father's death and Burke's disappearance. I would not presume to guess what he would do next."

* * * *

Daphne stepped out onto the street, crashing into a large, immovable object. As she stepped back, two hands caught and steadied her. To her shock, she stared up into her husband's eyes. Odd that in this light, they had more of a green tint to them.

“You're out and about early, my lady. You must have had a ... quiet evening."

Her cheeks heated at the implication that his words hinted.

On impulse, she hugged him. When he stiffened, she wondered if she mistook the meaning of last night. She pulled away, hurt by his lack of response.

“I'm sorry. It was inappropriate for me to do that in such a public place.” She stalked off, wanting to get away from him before he saw the embarrassing sheen of tears that clouded her vision.

He caught up with her quickly, turning her around to face him. Concern etched his features.

“You have every right to hug your husband, Daphne. I was just taken back by your sudden affection for me."

Daphne stiffened, breaking free from his hold. “There is nothing sudden about my affection for you. I thought last night changed things between us, but I guess I was wrong."

“So your questions were answered?"

“In a manner of speaking, yes."

“And you enjoyed yourself?"

“Very much.” Her brows furrowed. “Why? Didn't you?"

He didn't answer, just pulled her into his arms, giving her the hug he had resisted only moments before. Something about his hold and his scent were different. He held her with more brotherly affection. Squeezing her tight, he brushed a kiss on the top of her head.

“I have to get used to your being American. Most English ladies are more restrained in their actions."

His gaze held hers for a moment. “Hold on to your memories, and don't let anyone make you doubt your feelings."

He released her and stepped back. “I'll see you later. Be good."

The expression on his face was grim as he strolled off. Daphne stood for a long time in the wind, watching her husband. Something about this encounter set her on edge.

* * * *

Norcott knew her strong perfume even before he opened his eyes. “I mustn't be dead yet if you're here. Oh, that's right—I'm in hell.” He flopped back against the propped pillows.

Meredith Stewart rolled her eyes. “Witty to the end, eh, Kyle?"

“Your secrets are safe with me, Merry. Now, quit haunting me, and let me die in peace.” He waved her away with his hand.

“If you didn't keep this room dark as tomb, you wouldn't think about dying so much."

“Thank you, Doctor Meredith. Now, what can I say to make you leave me in peace?"

“I saw you talking with Daphne at the Harringtons’ ball. What did she want?"

More than he could give her without destroying them all.

“She has one of the sketches Sheldon drew of the Fearless Four."

Meredith's shaky hand went over her mouth. “No!"

“Please tell me you haven't told her anything."

He began wheezing. “Hell..."

“Shall I get someone?"

He held up a hand. “No."

She watched him struggle for a moment before his breathing became regular again.

“Go home and sleep, Merry. You look like ghost."

“I can't. I had a dream last night,” she whispered. “It was so real."

Icy fear coursed through Norcott's veins. “What happened in your dream?” He struggled to keep his voice calm.

“I saw Derek. His face was covered with blood.” She threw her hands over her face.

He started to stand to comfort her, but his legs protested, and he began to fall. She caught him, almost sending them both tumbling on to the bed.

His gaze held Meredith's frightened one. “It was only a dream."

“No, it was not. It's an omen.” Her voice shook with fear. “Brandon saw him, too, and in the end, he died."

He couldn't tell her that he seen Derek, too.

Norcott lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, giving in to a coughing fit.

Penelope stormed into the room, glaring at Meredith as she helped her husband back into bed. It seemed like endless minutes until he was breathing normally. She hadn't wanted to see how bad off he was. The thought of him dying made her blood run cold.

“Is it always this bad?"

Penelope didn't answer. Just ushered her out into the hallway.

“Do not come back here, Your Grace. Your visits only upset him."

“But?"

Penelope held up a silencing hand. “He is not the only one you have to worry about telling your dirty secrets. I know far more than I should. So don't push me."

* * * *

You didn't heed my warning

and now it's too late.

Soon you will learn the

course of your father's fate.

Damn him! Eve shoved the red-scrawled note in her pocket as she waited impatiently in Holbrooke's foyer. Lord Vengeance had pushed her too far. It had been fun at first, plotting and planning with the mysterious lord through secret notes. Things had spun way out of control, though. If the rumors about Reed Townsend were true, perhaps he could help her.

“Lady Eve, what a surprise.” Reed strode towards her.

Staring into his dark blue-green eyes, she swallowed hard. Maybe it was a mistake to involve him.

“Are you really a doctor?"

He frowned. “I was. Once. Why do you ask?"

Go on. Say it. You're in too deep now. In a rush of breath she spilled out, “I'm taking you up on your offer of help. My father is dying, I fear. He started seeing ghosts, and then he began wasting away. He grows weaker everyday."

“Did you say ghosts?” Reed's blood ran cold. The odd conversations he had with his father right before he was murdered came flooding back. Mother said Father never slept. Could there be a connection? “I'll help you under one condition."

“Anything.” She closed her eyes in relief.

“You must tell me everything."

“I will.” Eve hated lying, but Lord Vengeance was too powerful for even Reed to stop.

* * * *

There had to be something here ... Daphne riffled through the unlocked desk drawer.

“Looking for something?"

Daphne bumped her head on the top drawer when she heard Barclay's voice.

“Ouch. Must you always sneak up on me?"

“You wouldn't be so jumpy if you weren't prowling around places you are not supposed to be. Now, you didn't answer my question.” He leaned back against the door with his arms folded, blocking any hope of escape.

“If you weren't so secretive, I wouldn't have to resort to sneaking around.” She slammed shut all the desk drawers.

Finding nothing, Daphne stood, straightening her skirt. “I hate being locked out. That's why I learned to pick locks."

“Horace does that."

“What? Lock you out of rooms in your own home?"

“Not exactly. He is just following Mum's orders to keep this room as a shrine to Father."

Something caught Daphne's eye just around the edge of the new rug. Odd, that the rug was new when nothing else in this house was. Stains. Blood on the edge of the wall behind a bookcase.

“How did your father die again?"

“His heart gave out."

Her heart leapt in her throat. Bullet holes in the wall next to the stains told a different story. She recognized them from the time her father had showed her the aftermath of a foiled robbery in the store. Why was Barclay lying—or was he?

Barclay came up behind and put his arms around her. Distracting her. He brushed a kiss on top of her head. Oh, it worked so well. This time it sent a shiver up her spine. There was no brotherly affection in his hold. She could feel the evidence of his desire brushing against her bottom. The sensation took her breath away.

“How do you feel this morning? You were gone when I came back. I had thought about climbing into bed to wake you up, but I worried you'd be too sore from last time."

“It would have been nice to wake up in your arms."

Barclay sighed, tightening his hold and lowered his chin down on top of her head. “I have to get used to not living alone. I tend to be an early riser. I get my best work done before noon."

“Is that what you were doing when I saw you in town?"

Barclay stiffened. The wall was up again. She could feel him pulling away from her physically, as well as emotionally.

Daphne wiggled out of his arms to turn to face him. She placed both hands on his cheeks. Her gaze searched his, but his expression was remote. The closeness they had just shared was gone.

“Why is it that sometimes you seem like a different person? It is almost as if there were two of you."

“Sometimes it feels like there are two of me. I...” He paused. His expression pained.

Her gaze drifted to the floor. “Why is there a new rug here when nothing is wrong with this floor?"

She bent to peer under it, but he caught her arm and stopped her.

“Don't! Don't look for answers you may not want."

She jerked her arm free. “I don't understand you. One minute we are close, and the next, you are hiding things from me. I thought our games were over. Guess I was wrong."

She turned to leave and was halfway to the door before Barclay finally spoke. His voice was hoarse, like it had been ripped from deep inside him.

“My father shot himself—here—in this room. Mother and I covered it up. She feared our family would have been ruined if word had gotten out. I'll understand if you want to leave now."

Daphne closed her eyes. The agony in his tone tugged at her heart. She turned to find him staring blankly out the window. Slipping up behind him, she put her arms around him and hugged him. “It is going to be all right."

He trembled. “I wasn't so sure before, but now I believe that might be true."

“I know who the other man in the picture is—at least I think I do—the Earl of Norcott."

He let out a long, tortured sigh.

“We have to face him, you know,” she said softly, kissing his back.

“I know. What if the answers are not to your liking?"

“Then I'll deal with it."

His body remained tense. What was he still hiding? Something scared her calm husband, and whether he liked it or not, she was going to find out what that something was. They would never be free of this terror until she did.

Chapter Twelve

“Please don't upset my father.” Milford blocked the closed bedroom door. “He really isn't up to visitors."

Barclay hesitated, wishing for a good excuse to avoid this conversation. Daphne's hand touched his arm. A shiver of excitement mixed with dread rippled through him.

“I promise we won't stay long,” she said gently.

Barclay's gaze held Milford's worried one. There was no way he could promise not to upset the earl. Damn, he hated this.

“We promise to leave when I notice your father getting tired."

“That won't take long.” Milford sighed and reluctantly opened the bedroom door.

The Earl of Norcott lay, pale as a ghost, on the big, elaborately carved bed.

“Father, the Duke and Duchess of Ravensthorpe are here to see you.” He touched his father's shoulder.

Norcott's eyes flickered open. He took a couple of labored breaths, staring at Barclay and Daphne.

“Leave us, Marcus.” Norcott waved his son out of the room.

The vise tightened around Barclay's throat. This could be a big mistake.

“Remember what I said,” Milford muttered under his breath as he walked past Barclay.

“Good to see you, Your Lordship.” Daphne moved closer to him.

“You two don't give up, do you?” Norcott rasped. He could barely meet Daphne's expectant gaze. “She figured out it was me in the sketch, did she?"

“Yes, sir.” The words were torn from Barclay's dry throat. He'd let his father and Norcott down. He shifted uncomfortably. The floor groaned beneath his feet.

Norcott motioned Daphne to lean closer.

What would he tell her? Barclay held his breath.

“Forget what ... you know,” Norcott whispered hoarsely. “Let the past die.” He smoothed a hand across the curls surrounding her face. “Only cause ... pain.” His breathing became ragged and uneven.

His eyes closed, and he drifted off to sleep.

Relief surged through Barclay. This meeting was over. He placed a hand under Daphne's arm and pulled her up. “Let's go,” he whispered.

She jerked her arm free. “You aren't fooling me, Norcott. I know this is very hard for you to talk about. I know I upset you at the Harringtons’ ball. I'm sorry, but I can't just walk away from this."

Bloody hell, what was she doing?

“Daphne!” Barclay protested in a harsh whisper. “Enough!"

“I have to know.” Her eyes were bright with determination and unshed tears.

Damn, he shouldn't have brought her here. Now, he was caught between debts of honor to his father and promises to his wife. What a tangled web.

Norcott's eyes fluttered open. “Will do you no good. What is done can't be undone."

Regret sliced deep through Barclay. “Norcott is right.” He tugged on her arm.

Daphne elbowed herself free. She gently touched Norcott's shoulder. “Please, sir. You don't understand how important this is to me. Right now, my brother stands accused of murdering our parents. He can't return to America unless we can prove the charges are false."

Norcott spoke without opening his eyes. “Fate wants him to stay here. Full circle. Leave it alone."

“I can't,” she whispered brokenly.

He slowly opened his eyes. A tear trickled down his pale face. “Then I'm sorry."

* * * *

“Daphne, wait!” Barclay picked up his pace, trying to catch her as she ran across the lawn. For a little thing, she could sure move fast. “You don't understand."

He'd done it this time.

She spun around so quickly that they almost bumped into each other. Her eyes sparked. “Oh, no, it's all very clear.” Daphne waded up her skirt and began striding off.

In a couple quick steps he caught her arm, spinning her around to face him.

“I'm sorry Norcott wouldn't tell us anything."

She jerked her arm free. “No, you're not. Because you knew he wouldn't.” She poked him in the chest with her finger. “Somehow you got to him, didn't you?"

Barclay fisted his hands in his coat pocket, refusing to fight back. He deserved her anger. His father's secrets were burying him as surely as if he were dead.

“I'm right, aren't I?"

He raised his hands in the air in surrender. “I did what I thought was best. But I never told him not to talk to you. He has his own reasons for that."

Without a reply, she spun around and stalked off. He walked silently behind her. He had no idea how to untangle this web. He didn't even know where to start.

At the door, Daphne paused with her hands clenched and turned back to face him. “I found the blood-splattered sketch in your father's study. You knew of its existence even before I showed you mine. But you lied to me. Why?” Her voice was hoarse with emotion.

Barclay didn't move. All the fight drained out of him. “That sketch literally frightened my father to death. I found it under his body. What else could you expect me to do under the circumstances, but honor his last request for all this to die with him?"

* * * *

“I'm glad you contacted me.” Warwick pulled a chair up beside Norcott's bed. The room was dark, stuffy, and smelled of sickness. Justin fought hard to keep from gagging.

“Close the door. I don't want my family hearing this."

“It is shut.” Warwick gave him a reassuring pat. “Don't worry. I'll handle everything."

He opened the brown leather bag. “I have the new will ready for your signature. The only changes I made were the ones involving the mines. That holding will not be turned over to Marcus to administer."

“Cursed.” Norcott closed his eyes. “Encourage him to sell it, Warwick, after I'm gone.” He grabbed Warwick's arm. Everyone involved with it dies."

Norcott took the papers and signed them.

Warwick stood, smiling. “I promised your wife that I would not stay long. I know you need your rest."

Norcott fell back asleep, not answering him. Justin closed up his bag. He had done Norcott a favor by taking over the mines. He wouldn't feel guilty about it.

* * * *

Inspector Reynolds pushed his way out of the dingy gaming hell named Rainbow's End. Even in the daytime, this place looked bleak. It had been two weeks since his fruitless talk with Daphne Stewart, but still no answers.

These lowlifes just told funny stories. He was no closer to finding a reason for the murders of a bunch of old men once known as the Fearless Four. Damn.

Across the way, he saw a large, shabbily dressed man who looked oddly familiar. He had noticed him at other gaming hells. The man kept to himself. Never played more than two hands at any one table and rarely won.

As Reynolds rose to go talk to the man, a well-tailored older man stepped in front of him.

“Hear you've asking about the Fearless Four? Well, you're asking the wrong people."

The man started to walk off, so Reynolds followed him. This was the first real lead he had had. They stepped outside in the foggy morning street. “Do you know who I should ask?"

“The Eccentric Earl. Never got that story. Bought every bloomin’ box.” He burped. “Daughter never forgave me, either."

The man stumbled off, muttering to himself.

Who the hell was the eccentric earl? That description covered most of the earls he knew. Another blind alley.

Reynolds stood in the doorway of the gaming hell waiting for his eyes to adjust to its darkness. His other subject was gone. Bloody hell. Now he'd have to go on another wild goose chase looking for an eccentric earl. Just what he needed.

* * * *

No more gaming hells for him. Reed Townsend kicked his horse to trot. That was close, seeing Inspector Reynolds again today. He wondered how long it would take before the man put together who he was. At this point, that wasn't a chance he wanted to take.

It felt good to get out in the open after a night being shut in that smoke-filled room. He hated pretending to lose all the time, but knew that no one would tell a constant winner anything. They felt sorry for him losing and would spill their guts. Not that he had learned anything. The rumors about the Fearless Four were mostly just outlandish stories. Most of the men he found were too young to actually remember those days, so they had repeated what they'd heard.

He rode up to the gates of Bancroft Manor. He hoped Norcott wasn't worse. Without telling too much about his past, it was hard to get the medicine he needed. He just prayed it wasn't too late.

He dusted himself off as he stood at the front door to Norcott's house.

A stiff butler answered the door.

“Tell the Earl of Norcott that the new Earl of Holbrooke is here.” The man stared at for a long moment, probably trying to decide if this shabbily dressed man was really the new Earl of Holbrooke. He really did need to buy some decent clothes.

“Yes, sir."

He stood stiffly in the grand entryway, while the man disappeared upstairs.

“I overheard Williams say you were here.” Eve Bancroft floated down the ornate, polished wooden staircase.

Reed took off his hat. She looked as beautiful and feisty as ever. He cleared his throat, contemplating how much to tell her. “I've been thinking about your father's sudden illness, and I may have an answer. But I need to see him first."

“I'd be surprise if Papa receives you. He isn't up to seeing anyone. All the company he had yesterday totally wore him out."

“Just out of curiosity, what callers did he receive yesterday?"

“The Duke and Duchess of Ravensthorpe came in the morning?"

What the blazes were they doing here?

“He sent for Baron Warwick in the early afternoon."

Interesting combination of visitors. Justin had been his grandfather's solicitor. He wondered if Justin had also handled the late duke's, and now, Norcott's affairs. Warwick just might warrant a closer look.

His silence had left Eve staring at him. He debated whether to push seeing Norcott not, but his conscience wouldn't let him leave.

“I suppose I could come back later when he is rested, but I don't want to wait too long, or I may not be able to help.” He had no idea how long the poison had been in Norcott's system. A day or two more might be too late.

Eve worried her lower lip. “I suppose you're right."

The stiff butler trudged down the stairs. “His Lordship will see you, my lord."

He nodded at Eve. “I beg your pardon, my lady, your father wishes to meet with the earl alone."

Eve's eyes dulled.

Reed leaned close to her. “I may have something that might help. I've been thinking about the symptoms of the illness you described. If my instincts are correct, then I may have a cure. You'll have to trust me."

Eve gripped the banister tight as Reed followed Williams upstairs. Had she done the right thing by telling? Lord Vengeance's warning still haunted her.

* * * *

Reed didn't like Norcott's color as butler ushered him into the room. The old earl lay propped up on pillows in the large bed. His face had an ashen-gray sheen.

“Come closer, young Holbrooke.” He took several laborious breaths. “You ... look ... like your father ... when ... younger."

“Funny,” Reed said. “I never thought I did at all. Daphne had more of his coloring."

“Ah.” He struggled for another breath. “So you know."

“Part of it, sir, but I was hoping you'd tell me the rest."

“Sorry you lost ... both ... birthrights. Told your sister. Let ... it go."

“I can't. I have to prove that I didn't murder my parents. In order to do that, I have to know who did. Do you have any idea who killed my father, or for that matter, who would want you all dead?"

“Lord Vengeance. Let ... go or you're doomed.” Norcott began coughing.

“Easy, sir. You don't have to talk now. I brought something to help you get better.” Reed opened the container. “Drink this."

The older man looked at it warily, but with Reed's help, raised to his lips. For a moment, he appeared to be all right. Then his breathing became more ragged.

“No! This has to work.” Reed grabbed Norcott's hand. “Hold on."

“Over."

The hand in his went limp.

Reed knelt down beside the bed. Anguish poured over him. His parents’ deaths. Now Norcott. He did something he hadn't done since he was boy. Cry.

* * * *

Scottish Borderlands

"Message for you, sir.” A grubby young boy tugged on Stratten's coat in the crowded inn.

“Thank you, lad.” Stratten bent down to the boy's level. “Finding me took some doing. For that, you deserve a treat. Sit.” He motioned to a bench at the table across from his wife.

“Lass."

A well-rounded serving girl stopped.

“Can you bring a plate for this brave lad?"

The little boy's face little up. “Can I have some pie, too?"

Stratten chuckled. “You heard him. Bring food and pie."

He straddled the bench, tearing open the note. Much to his shock, it wasn't from his man of affairs about his nephew Myles and his wife Fiona's overdue baby. Instead, it was poorly scrawled in red ink. The words almost made him drop the note.

Heed the lessons of the Fearless Four

One died by accident.

One by his own hand.

One by yours.

And one by mine.

Now, the truth will kill you, too.

Checkmate. No escape.

“What does it say, Ollie?” Rose leaned over his shoulder, trying to read the note. But he folded it up before she could.

“Nothing."

“Dinna’ lie to me, dear. You're white as a ghost."

He stood, fumbling to give the serving girl money. “This should cover our food and that of my new friend.” Very softly he said, “Make sure he has some to take home. I'd wager there are more where he came from there.” He pulled out some extra coins. “And here's a bit extra for your trouble."

She broke out in a toothy grin. “Oh, yes, sir."

Rose stumbled over some people trying to keep up with him. Her husband had a way of weaving through a full room that left her bemused and bewildered.

Oliver turned, realizing she wasn't behind him and stood with hands on impatient hips.

“What is all the rush?"

“We need to get back as quickly as possible.” Before anyone else dies.

She stopped, taking deep, gulping breaths. “What about the rest of your research on the haunted castles of Scotland? I thought we had one more place in the Highlands to visit. What about visiting the village my family came from?"

“I've enough facts to write a story, I think.” He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “I hate breaking a promise, my love, but it is imperative that we return to England at once."

The worry lines around his mouth and eyes confirmed his need for urgency. “All right we can ... I willna’ protest, but you..."

He stalked off before she could finish the sentence.

Rose had to run to keep up with him as he mounted the steps to their room two at a time.

“You are na’ going to tell me anything about what has got you so all riled up, are you? You havena’ even ... seen the castle for your ... book setting.” She leaned, panting against the wall as he unlocked the door.

“Just pack. I'll explain on the way after I sort it out."

* * * *

London, England

"Your Grace, this just arrived for you."

Meredith put the pen down on her writing desk. Who would send a gift at this early hour? She wasn't even properly dressed for the day.

The young maid laid on her desk the long, white box wrapped with a black ribbon and tied with a black bow.

“Some raggamuffin from town delivered it. Said it was urgent."

Meredith slid off the ribbon. It reminded her of a mourning wreath. The box was filled with withered roses, all dyed black.

“How odd.” Jillian, Meredith's companion, wrinkled up her nose.

“I'd say."

“Is there a note?"

Meredith searched around in the box. There, buried beneath the flowers, was folded up note. In blood-red letters it read: Checkmate. You lose. The truth will come out.

* * * *

They couldn't go on like this. Daphne swirled her beef in the gravy, glancing over at Barclay. He ate his meal without looking up. His expression was somber.

After they had returned home yesterday, he had retreated to his study. She spent the afternoon sketching in the garden. Funny how all her drawings started out being flowers, but ended with a brooding Barclay in them. The blasted man was getting to her.

“Do you think we've been silent long enough?"

“What?” He paused from spreading butter on his roll.

“Well, we ate dinner last night, but hardly spoke to each other and went to bed in separate rooms. I ate breakfast alone. I can't take your silence anymore."

He slowly wiped his mouth and leaned back in the chair.

“Well, Daphne,” she imitated his proper British tone. “I'm a duke. I don't need to explain myself. Everyone knows what I think."

Her voice jumped an octave higher. “How about you tell me?"

Behind the napkin, Barclay's body shook. He was laughing. Hope flooded Daphne as she continued teasing him. “I don't know what to say. Women never question."

Barclay tossed down the napkin. “You're an imp."

“So I've been told."

“It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's that I promised not to. These aren't my secrets, but my Father's."

Before she could press him further, a grim Baron Warwick strolled into the room.

Barclay rose, motioning toward a chair. “Sit down, Warwick, and join us. We just started eating.

“I can't. Thank you.” Warwick gripped the back of the empty chair in front of him. “I have bad news, Ravensthorpe, and I wanted you to hear it from me. Norcott passed away this afternoon."

Daphne's hand flew her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. “No!"

I can't believe it. Barclay numbly took her trembling hand as much to steady himself as her.

Justin paused, running his fingertips over the curved edge of the chair's back. He took a long, deep breath. “I'm not sure how to say this gently. It seems Her Grace's brother is involved."

Daphne stood up, tossing her napkin. “What do you mean ‘involved'?"

“Norcott died in his arms. Seems he gave him something that turned out to be poison."

“That's a lie.” Daphne tried to lunge at Warwick, but Barclay kept a firm hold of her hand. “That's a damn lie.” She hit her other hand on the table.

“Scotland Yard doesn't think so. They've arrested him. Criminal law is not my forte, but I can see what I can do about getting him out."

Barclay stood, placing a hand on his wife trembling shoulder. She was leashing her anger and tears tight. So tight, he could feel it vibrating through her body.

He'd let another person down. He had no words to express the emotions careening through him. “I don't know what to say."

Warwick nodded understandingly. “I know how close you were to Norcott, so I wanted to let you know as soon as I heard."

“I appreciate that."

He glanced at Daphne, who still stood in stunned silence. How much more death could they endure before it broke them?

Warwick frowned. “I know you need time to absorb this. I'm going to see if I can help Milford with arrangements."

Arrangements! Hearing that word made it all painfully true. Sadness washed over him. Not Norcott, too.

“Thank you for coming over.” His voice was dull, flat, and hardly like his own.

Daphne just stood in uncharacteristic silence as he walked Warwick to the door.

“Will she be all right?” Warwick glanced back over his shoulder at Daphne. “I probably could have done a better job of breaking the news."

“There is no way to get news like that. I appreciate you coming over here. If we need your services, we'll be in touch."

Barclay leaned back against the closed door, letting waves of emotions lap over him. How could Norcott be dead? The man had been perfectly healthy up until a few months ago.

“It's a lie."

He jumped, realizing she stood right in front of him. Her eyes were fierce and chin defiant.

“Reed is a doctor. He would never intentionally give someone poison.” She spoke with absolute certainty.

Her words suddenly hit him. She was upset that her brother was accused, but not shocked that he was here.

“You knew your brother was in town, didn't you?"

She was silent for a long time, and he was worried that she might not answer.

“I saw him the day I went riding,” she said slowly. “He took his place privately as the Earl of Holbrooke. He is here trying to clear his name back in Colorado."

“I see. Seems I'm not the only one keeping secrets."

She blushed. “We're even."

He sighed, pulling her into his arms.

“I'd grown so fond of Norcott. I can't believe he is dead. Not him, too.” Her hand fisted in his shirt. “There will be no closure. Now, we'll never know the truth."

Barclay rocked her as a sob tore from her throat. Her tears scalded as if they were his own. “We'll find the answers. I swear it,” he whispered harshly.

“But you promised to let it die."

“I know. But I can't turn away this time. Too much is at stake."

Chapter Thirteen

“Now, let me see if I understand you correctly, Holbrooke.” Inspector Reynolds paced around the dark, damp cell. “You say you're a doctor.” He raised a finger in the sir. “And you gave Norcott what you thought was an antidote to poison."

Reed stood rigidly by the wall. He wanted to throttle the Inspector. “For the tenth time,” he growled, “yes!"

“How did you know Norcott? You've been in England merely a few weeks ago. The only place I've seen you is at the gaming hells."

“I don't know him, really. I just knew of him. When Eve described his odd symptoms..."

“Ah, Lady Eve. Now, there's an interesting twist. If you didn't know the Earl of Norcott, then how are so well-acquainted with his only daughter, that she would share family troubles with you?"

The bastard had him this time, and he knew it. Reynolds’ eyes glowed with the challenge. He'd better word this answer carefully for Eve's sake.

“I never discuss my personal business with anyone."

Reynolds's gaze hardened. “Seems you have a lot in common with your new brother-in-law, the Duke of Ravensthorpe. He has one thing you don't. Your sister."

“Leave Daphne out of this."

“How can I, when she seems to be a common thread? Do you care to explain to me the connection between your two families?"

“Other than the fact that they're dead?"

Good hit. Reynolds stood rock still, stunned by his flip comment.

After what seemed like endless moments, he summoned the guard.

“Think you're smart, don't you? Childhood friends don't just all die like that, one after the other. There is a plot here, I can feel it. If you're behind it, your new title won't protect you, anymore than it will Ravensthorpe. Think on that while you're sitting here pondering your next move."

* * * *

“My brother really is a doctor."

“Sit down, Your Grace.” Warwick motioned with his hand. “I believe you. I contacted Dr. Stewart. He confirmed that what the Earl of Holbrooke gave to Norcott was indeed a substance that would counteract the poison. Unfortunately, it was not administered soon enough. I've arranged for your brother to be released."

Relief poured over Daphne. She squeezed Barclay's hand. “I don't know how to thank you."

Warwick grinned. “It was quite challenging, actually. I rarely get to solve a puzzle. I'm just glad it worked out."

They rose to leave. “Before you go, Barclay, I have another matter to discuss with you. Your Grace, would you care to wait outside?"

Barclay could feel Daphne's probing gaze burning through him. The time had come for truth.

“There is no need for that. What could be so bad that you couldn't say in front of my wife?"

She offered him a grateful, watery smile.

Warwick hesitated and then motioned for them to sit.

“I have the papers you wanted in order."

Barclay stiffened. What papers? “Yes, well refresh my memory. Quite a bit has happened in the last few weeks."

“I understand. Losing Norcott and this business with Her Grace's brother's imprisonment is very unsettling indeed.” He cleared his throat. “According to the agreement you signed with Norcott, if he should die, you would have his share of the mine. With what you inherited from your father and Sheldon Townsend, you now have sole ownership of the Lucky Strike gold mine."

Daphne tensed beside him. Now, he wished he hadn't let her stay. Why didn't he remember any of this?

Warwick continued, not seeming to notice about his lack of comments.

“Do you still want to keep it open?"

“Why wouldn't I want to do that?"

“I just assumed you were too busy to bother with it. You have been under a great deal of pressure lately, and I didn't want to add any more to your load."

So you ignored my orders. Barclay stood. “Proceed with my previous instructions. I want that mine reopened. Too many people depend on it to do otherwise."

“Excuse me.” Daphne raised her hand.

“Yes,” Warwick said. His red eyebrows lifted.

Both men turned to stare at her. She flushed slightly under their scrutiny.

“How much did Marcus inherit of the mine?"

“Well.” Warwick glanced nervously at Barclay. “I really shouldn't say."

“If I ended up with whole mine, then I would assume Marcus ... ah ... Norcott got nothing” Barclay said carefully as though rolling it over in his mind.

“That would be correct. He inherited, of course, a title and holdings from his father."

“I wasn't aware that my father shared ownership of his holdings,” Daphne said.

“Only the Lucky Strike was held in all three of their names. The others he owned by himself."

“I see. Then, is this same type of agreement my father signed?” Daphne reached for the paper.

With great reluctance, Warwick it handed to her. Glancing at it, she handed it to Barclay.

“Both men felt your husband was best suited to operate the mines."

Why the hell would they think that? Barclay wanted to ask, but kept quiet for fear of appearing stupid.

Barclay rose, handing the paper back to Warwick. “Thank you for the information. I'll get with you later to go over the details."

Daphne smiled. “Thanks again for helping my brother."

“My pleasure."

What was going inside Daphne's head? He hoped she didn't demand more information from him. How could he explain to her what he didn't understand himself?

* * * *

Lord Vengeance pulled his coat tighter around himself as he walked out into the street. It was all going according to plan. In fact, his players were adding new elements to the game that he had never dreamed possible.

He had finished off all the non-essential players. Now, the remaining players had no options left. The time had come for Barclay's endgame. Soon he would have everything they had cheated his father out of, and more.

* * * *

“I don't trust Justin.” Daphne settled herself as the carriage began moving.

She couldn't have caught him more off guard. He had been bracing to defend himself, not Warwick.

Barclay rubbed his throbbing temples. “Why do you say that?"

“Just a feeling. Don't you find it odd that he wrote all of our father's wills?"

Leaning back against the cool leather seat, Barclay contemplated her question.

“Not really. His firm is old and established. I would presume it has done most of the wills of the peerage."

“Hum.” She rubbed her chin. “Don't you find it odd that both Norcott and my father would leave a substantial holding to someone other than their rightful heir?"

“I never thought of that. Now that you mention it, I suppose it is a bit strange. Milford is a very capable estate manager. In fact, he is better with figures than I am."

Daphne leaned forward. “Exactly. Reed and Father had their share of disagreements, but I can't imagine him cutting Reed completely off like that."

“We may not ever understand all their reasons. Heaven knows my father was a mystery to me on a regular basis, but that doesn't prove Warwick is up to anything."

“Then you trust him?"

“With my life. He was my big brother all through prep school. I've never known him to be dishonest."

“He is older than you?"

“By about four years."

Only slightly older than Reed. Interesting.

“I wish I could say that Justin says the same thing about you."

Barclay stiffened. “What do you mean?"

“Ever since I met Justin, he has warned me to stay away from you. To be wary of you."

“So?” Barclay shrugged. “In his situation I would have done the same thing. You are in danger with me."

He slid over to her seat. “I see those wheels still spinning. This time you're on the wrong track. Those old men had problems."

“That's right. Someone was scaring the hell out of them. Think about it. It had to be someone who knew their deepest, darkest secrets. Someone like Justin."

“Daphne.” His tone held an edge of impatience.

She held up a hand. “Wait.” Rummaging around until in her bag, she found the sketch.

“There were four of them, but we've only identified three. Unless you know who this is."

Barclay stared at the picture. “Father never talked about them much. The first time I saw this was the night he shot himself."

“Do you think they are all dead?"

His throat tightened. “I imagine so."

Something about the tense way he held himself sent a wave of sympathy through her. He had to be reeling from the news of Norcott's death. She had only known Norcott a few weeks, and it made her well up with tears just thinking about him. Barclay had known the man all his life. How must he feel?

“I'm sorry about Norcott. I was growing very fond of him. He reminded me of my father."

“Sometimes I liked him better than mine,” he said softly.

On impulse, she moved closer, taking Barclay's hand in hers. He shuddered. Maybe she had made a mistake in offering him comfort. As she started to pull her hand away, he covered it with his other one.

Then he shifted, sliding his arm around her shoulder. He tilted her chin up. His touch sent a tingle up her body as his mouth covered hers. Daphne moaned, sinking into the sensation of his lips exploring hers. She slid her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She wanted him. The consequences be damned.

The carriage hit a bump, sending Barclay's weight on top of her. She didn't care. Her fingers shifted through his hair.

Something hit their carriage hard. Then she realized as Barclay stiffened that they were falling. Just like her parents.

Chapter Fourteen

“I think we are settled.” Barclay moved carefully, testing the stability of the carriage.

He glanced down at his disheveled wife. Only moments before, they had come close to making love in the carriage. Now she was pushing him to move off her.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, offering her a hand.

Her movements were angry as she declined his attempt to help her. Before he could stop her, she forced the door of the carriage, which was now flipped upside-down, and began climbing out. He gave her a boost, but she would accept no more than that. She was out of the carriage and struggling up the ditch before he could free himself from the door.

As he jumped off the side, he heard her muffled scream in the distance. He ran to catch up with her. His gaze followed hers to the bloody body lying face down at the side of the road.

“Ian, no,” Daphne moaned, holding her hands over her mouth as he bent to check the lad's injuries. Not laughing, talkative Ian. He'd told her so much about the Stewarts and had even taught her to ride sidesaddle.

The boy was dead, Barclay knew as soon as he rolled him over. He closed his eyes, wondering how he could take Ian back in a bloody heap to his father.

He stood, feeling very much like an old man. One more innocent. When would this all end?

“Ian wanted so much to drive the carriage. Get out of the stables. See London.” Daphne voice was a harsh, hoarse whisper. “This was his first trip off Ravensthorpe Manor."

She looked pale and tiny standing there. Barclay longed to pull her in his arms, but the stiff way she held herself told him not to try. Instead, he focused on dealing with poor Ian. Slipping off his coat, Barclay wrapped it around Ian's broken body as he lifted him up in his arms. It wasn't the first time he had carried a body. In the military he'd seen more than his share of action. He just had never thought he'd have to do it again.

Without a word, he set off down the down the road. Daphne fell into step beside him, looking pale as a ghost.

“The horses are gone,” she said flatly. “They must have separated from the carriage before it tipped. The same thing happened to my parents’ buggy. Their horses came home with without them. The driver was dragged to his death."

Fear rippled up Barclay's spine. He shifted Ian up higher in his arms. Why did Daphne's words invoke such violently clear images? How could he know all the details? Hear the carriage roll. Hear the cries for help. He didn't want to know the answer. It was too frightening to comprehend. Could he be a murderer and not remember? It was possible. There were so many things these days that he didn't recall.

“I wish I could get my hands on the letters."

He stumbled almost dropping Ian. “What letters?"

“The ones that were stolen from me the night I searched your townhouse."

Barclay's shoulders tensed. “I thought you didn't remember any of that."

“I lied,” she replied quietly as they trudged around the last bend in the road. Off in the distance, the sloping roof of Ravensthorpe Manor came into view. “I didn't trust you back then."

“And you do now?” He paused, turning to stare at her. Time seemed suspended. He couldn't go forward and face his staff, and yet, he felt exposed standing here with Daphne.

“Did you read the letters?"

Ian weighed heavy in his arms. As heavy as the secrets. His throat tightened as he glanced down at the boy and up at his wife's expectant face.

“I didn't have to read them. I wrote them."

* * * *

Barclay leaned against the barn door, staring off into the dark, moonless night.

“It wasna’ your fault, Your Grace."

Barclay's stomach tightened at the sound of Jamie's husky voice. Guilt poured over him like hot oil.

“I don't know what to say to you. I should have known he was too inexperienced for a trip to London. I should have..."

“Have what? My Ian grew up with horses. He'd driven farm wagons since he was old enough to hold the reins. It was an accident. Pure and simple."

They both were quiet.

“I appreciate you getting him all cleaned up before his mother saw him. The service was verra nice."

Barclay swallowed hard. “You taught me to ride. I..."

The older man patted his shoulder. “Ian died doin’ what he loved best. No one can ask for more that."

Barclay watched the older man walk off. Regardless of what Jamie thought, it was his fault. When he went back to search the site of the accident, he found that the carriage had been rigged to separate. Someone had intended for his driver to be killed. Whoever was after his family had struck again. Nothing would ever ease his sense of responsibility.

“Your Grace.” Barclay turned to see the old gardener standing with a lamp. The blanket in his other hand wiggled. He held the wiggling blanket out to Barclay. Out popped a little, fuzzy, yellow and white-striped head.

Barclay couldn't resist holding the cute baby.

“My daughter's cat had kittens. I thought your lady might like one since she grieved so over Scamps."

Barclay took the fuzzy little tiger cat.

His voice lowered. “I never told Her Grace, because I didn't want her to worry, but I suspect the cat was poisoned."

Barclay stared down at the kitten snuggling up in his arms. His wife hadn't told him about the cat. But then, he was getting the sinking suspicion that she didn't tell him a great many things.

* * * *

Barclay was shocked to find his wife sitting on his bed in her nightgown.

Before he could close the door, she softly said, “I refuse to go back to my own room. I'm through having doors between us. You are going to tell me all about those letters if I have to sit here all night."

The stubborn tilt of her chin told him that she meant every word of it. What could he tell her? Barclay ran a hand over his tired face. The kitty stretched in his large hands.

“Before I get started, Harold the gardener had a gift for you.” He handed her the yawning kitten.

“Oh, my gosh. How did you...?” She shook her. “No, I won't be side-tracked."

That's my Daphne. He had to grudgingly admire her tenacity.

“Tell me about the letters."

She patted the edge of the bed for him to sit. The cat snuggled up against her breasts. Lucky cat.

With a sigh of resignation, he dropped down beside her. It was awkward to try to place her need for answers in conjunction with his father's demands for secrecy. He hated being caught between the honor of his family and duty to his wife.

“Don't look so worried. I promise to listen to what you have to say without getting mad. Or at least I'll try. Now, can you tell me how and why you wrote those letters?"

He cleared his throat. “I wrote most of those letters. There were a few written a long time ago that my father sent yours."

“Did you read them?"

He shook his head. “I should have. I wanted to, but I could never make myself open them."

She squeezed his hand, giving him the resolve to tell her as much as he could. But probably not as much as she would like.

“Taking over my father's title and estate was hard. I feel like I've assumed his life, troubles and all. I'm not sure how I would feel about someone going through my things and life, so I've been reluctant to invade all of his private papers. Some I have had to look at, but others were less pressing."

“That would be hard. I know difficult it was for me to learn my father had a whole other life. One he never shared with us."

“The late Earl of Holbrooke, your grandfather, had urged me for years to help him get him in contact with his son. He thought their silence had gone on long enough. He was older and wiser and wanted to make up with your father."

“Do you know what happened between my father and grandfather?"

“Not really. I gather that their falling out had something to do with your father going to America. The late earl was bit vague on the details. I suspect he thought little of the trip and refused to fund it. But that's just my guess."

“I never knew about him until both he and my parents were dead."

“I'm sorry.” He gave her shoulder a soothing pat. “Holbrooke would have loved getting to know you. I guess that's what happens when you let foolish pride run your life."

She nodded. “My father was stubborn."

“Holbrooke was, too."

Barclay paused, wondering how much more to tell her without breaking his promises.

He cleared his throat nervously. “I asked my father about yours, because Holbrooke had no address for him. My father turned white and refused to discuss it. He threatened to disown me if I ever made contact with Sheldon Townsend."

“But you did it anyway."

“Not right away. I tried in vain to talk Holbrooke out of it, but he kept pressing me. It took awhile for me to locate your father. When I finally did, I wrote the letters telling Sheldon that Holbrooke wished to see him. As you could see, the letters came back unopened."

“My mother sent those letters back."

His head snapped up. “What?” He had never considered that twist. “How do you know that?"

“It is her handwriting on the envelope."

“I'm not sure what to make of that."

“Me, either. I don't think she ever wanted Papa to talk about England. I never understood why. She refused to talk about my father's parents. Her parents I grew up with. At least I did her father. My grandmother died when Mama was little. Her father was a wonderful grandpa. I was his little princess."

“Of course.” Barclay smiled at the image of a young Daphne. Would they someday have little impish girls that he could spoil?

“When the letters didn't work, you decided to come to Colorado to make your plea in person."

“After Holbrooke died, I felt I had to. I regret now that I didn't do it sooner."

“I can understand not wanting to upset your father."

Upset was a gross understatement. His father had been so irrational that he had feared going against him would push him over the edge. In the end, it did. He would never forgive himself for that. Or for the other deaths he had caused.

“I often wonder if my timing would have affected the outcome."

“I doubt it.” She laid a hand on his knee. “You couldn't see into the mind of a monster."

“Maybe not, but I knew my father was frightened. I should have heeded his warnings a little. Instead, I took no precautions. I just went. Damn the consequences."

“Did my father act afraid when you showed up?"

“Uncomfortable, maybe, but not afraid."

“Did he tell you anything?"

“Not really. Your parents were very polite, but they let it be known that their lives were in Colorado Springs and that they wouldn't ever be returning to England."

“I see."

This was as far as he wanted to go on this subject, so he changed it.

He reached over to stroke the kitten's soft ear. “A cat you liked died...” He paused, wondering if he should share what else he learned, and hoping if Daphne knew anything, she would fill the blanks.

When her wide-eyed gaze met his, he decided the secrets had to end. He cleared his throat.

“He died from poison."

She held the yellow tabby next to her face, staring at him. “I suspected that,” she said softly.

That hadn't been what he expected her to say. The enormity of what she said hit him hard. His wife had known the truth and didn't trust him enough to share it.

He reached over to stroke the cat again before speaking. “Seems we both erect walls and lock doors. If you want my key, you are going to have to give me yours, too."

She rose, rocking the kitten in her arms. “Fair enough. I didn't tell you when it happened, because I wasn't sure I could trust you."

“And now you can?"

“I hope so.” The kitten's little eyes closed as she swayed back and forth.

“I gave Scamps my scone, and he died."

The color drained from his face. “From the scone? You're sure?"

She nodded. “I watched it happen. I knew someone was trying to frighten me. Then the other things happened. I saw ghosts, and there was the snake."

Ice ran through Barclay's veins. He stood, grabbing her shoulders. “And you didn't have the good sense to be afraid or tell me?"

She shrugged off his hands. “I had to make sure you weren't behind it."

“And you think I'm not?"

“No. I'm not sure I ever did. I told you before, I think merely scaring someone is not your style. You'd kill me and be done with it."

He laughed despite himself. “How well you know me. And what made you decide that?"

“Observing you. You're a black and white, all business sort of person. Not the sort to play with someone. Besides, you were two places that night, so you could hardly be the ghost, too."

“I explained to you that I wasn't in that wing. I never even go there."

“But I saw you. Go ahead. Say I'm crazy."

“No, you're not. My logical side tells me that there must be an explanation for what you saw, but I don't know what it is."

“And the ghost?"

He rubbed his temples. “What ghost?"

“The one I thought might be my father. The one I followed the night I found you in the other wing. Remember the night I found the snake?"

“How could I forget?” He shivered. “It still unnerves me to think about it."

She saw ghosts. Just like father. Bloody hell.

“What did the ghost look like?"

“I know this sounds crazy, but he glowed, and there was smoke."

No. It didn't sound crazy. His father had seen similar images before he died. Dread knotted up in Barclay's stomach. He couldn't loose Daphne. Not when he was beginning to ... Bloody hell, I'm was falling in love with my own wife.

He slipped forward, taking the sleeping kitten out of her arms and putting it on a comfy chair.

“I guess I'll just have to keep you near me tonight to make sure the ghosts don't come back."

“Are you going to keep me occupied, so I don't have time to be frightened?” She slowly undid the buttons on his shirt.

“If that is what you want.” He wanted her so badly, he could hardly talk. Thank goodness she hadn't locked him out tonight.

“Oh, I want,” she purred, before his lips took hers.

She slipped his shirt off. “I want all of you."

Candlelight dance off her silky skin as her gown pooled at her feet. A rush of tenderness poured over him. This beautiful, vibrant woman was his to love and cherish.

She trembled as his lips trailed down her throat. He had her body pressed between him and the wall. The way she was straining against him, he didn't think he could move to the bed. Mischief danced in her eyes as she tipped her head back, giving him more access to her neck.

“I want you! Here! Now!” Her voice was a harshly whispered moan.

Against the wall? Good...

When her hand took him and stroked, all was lost. He lifted her up, plunging deep inside. Lights exploded around him as Daphne wrapped her welcoming body around his.

“Oh, Daphne,” was all he could say as he rode the crest with her.

Time stood still for several long moments.

“I never knew it could be like that,” she murmured into his neck, squeezing him tight.

“Me, either."

Without another word he carried her to bed. Tonight there would be just the two of them. Tomorrow, they'd face Norcott's death. But tonight...

Chapter Fifteen

It was too beautiful a day for a funeral, Barclay thought as he fought back tears. Beside him, Daphne squeezed his hand. Tears ran silently down her face, too.

“I'm going to talk with Milford ... er, Norcott ... privately,” he whispered as the burial service ended.

She nodded, giving his hand a supportive squeeze before letting go of it.

He wasn't sure what to say, so he just stood there waiting for the others to leave the new earl alone. As the last of the mourners walked away, Norcott turned to leave, not even acknowledging him. Nerves bubbled in Barclay's stomach. He had to speak up now.

“If there is anything I can do...” Barclay caught his friend's arm.

Norcott shrugged him off. “I think your family has done more than enough. I'm surprised you had the gall to show up."

Ravensthorpe had to sprint to keep up with Norcott as they headed back to the house. He stepped in front of the earl as the others walked past them.

“How can you say that? I would help you in any way."

“How? By ruining my sister? Killing my father? I don't need your kind of help."

Barclay laid restraining hands on his shoulders. His friend's pale face grew red.

“I loved your father.” His tone was rough with suppressed emotion. “He was nicer to me than my own. How can you truly believe I'd hurt him?"

“You opened that box when you went to see Sheldon Townsend. I overheard Father tell you not to. But you wouldn't listen. Then you kept bothering him about the past. He died of fear."

“He died from poison,” Barclay said harshly. “Someone is out to kill us."

“Isn't it convenient that you ended up with a large portion of our inheritances. Explain that."

“I can't."

Norcott pushed Barclay's hands away. “Stay away from my family. If I ever find Burke, I'll kill him. You can tell him I said that. If he isn't dead, too. He could have any woman he wanted. Hell, he did. He should have left Eve alone. The bastard never...” Norcott spat in the dirt.

“Burke didn't...” How could he explain Burke's odd code of conduct? Hell, he didn't understand it himself. Burke loved women. All women. He flirted with them. Enjoyed talking to them. He had the suspicion that it wasn't what Burke did with Eve, but rather what he didn't do with Eve that had upset her so.

“Maybe next season, after Eve is out of mourning, my mother could help you bring her out again. We could work on..."

“Excuse me,” the earl cut him off coldly. “I have other obligations."

Barclay stepped out of the way, letting the man go. He had put his foot in it that time. Going back to the way things were was impossible now. He would just have to find some other way to help them.

* * * *

“Horace, have you seen my husband?” Daphne snuggled the orange tabby kitten.

“I think he retired early, Your Grace."

Daphne started up the stairs. Barclay had been quiet and withdrawn ever since they got back from the old Earl of Norcott's funeral yesterday. He had hardly eaten dinner that night. He had gone to bed without even saying goodnight. Today he had avoided her. Now, she was eating dinner alone, and he was headed off to bed without her.

What had she done wrong? They had made love with such tenderness the night before Norcott's funeral that it still made her shiver with delight thinking about those moments. All the walls had been down. They lay afterward, snuggled up in the dark, talking about everything from their childhood to things they enjoyed. Maybe she had been wrong to assume he would want to sleep with her every night. Well, she wasn't going to find out if she didn't ask.

As Daphne turned the corner to enter Barclay's room, he came out of another room. One she had found locked earlier today. He seemed surprised to see her.

“I thought you were going to bed."

“I was. I just had something to finish up."

“Then you do plan to sleep with me? I guess I'm confused about which bedroom I belong in."

His hand shook a bit as he brushed back a curl. “Which one do you want to sleep in?"

Daphne felt that odd, uneasy sensation. The usual tingle she felt when Barclay was near her was gone. Something about him was different. She still could not put her finger on what.

“Yours. I thought I made that clear the other night. Have I done something wrong?"

“No.” His voice sound shaky.

“Was I just imagining that you feel some tenderness for me?” She put her hand over his, holding it on her face. She turned her cheek into his warm hand, kissing his palm.

She could have sworn he jumped at her action. He didn't pull back from her, but she sensed he wanted to.

“I do feel tenderness for you, Daphne. I'm just ... I don't ... I tend to be someone who likes to be alone."

“I see.” She stepped back, dropping her hand. “So you don't like sleeping with me all the time?"

He sighed. “It's not that. I'm just a restless sleeper. I fear you might not get too much sleep if I stayed in your room."

“Is that a promise?"

“Daphne."

She couldn't help but grin at his serious expression. At least he was talking to her. She would not ask for more than that now.

“What is in this place? I found it locked earlier this afternoon."

He shrugged, opening the door for her. She walked past him into a large cluttered room. There was a table and a few old toys. One large rocking horse sat by the window. A complete set of soldiers lined a shelf. Beside them were books, everything from school books all the way to copies of the Eccentric Earl stories.

“What are you doing in this child's room?"

He leaned nervously back against the doorframe. Daphne found it odd that he wasn't his usual confident self.

“This used to be our nursery. Burke's room is over there, and mine is through that other door. Sometimes I come here when I'm upset. I can't explain it, but I feel a sense of peace here."

“I feel the same way about my room in Colorado."

She opened the door to Burke's room. It had heavy, dark furniture, and the drapes were closed. Another set of soldiers was on the bookcase, along with many carved horses. The furniture and shelves were clean and dust free.

“What great toys. I had dolls. Papa even built me a house for them.” Her voice cracked, thinking of the home and family she'd lost.

He moved toward her as she spoke, patting her shoulder.

“Someday we'll travel to Colorado and get your things. I imagine it was hard to leave all that behind."

“I would like to show you where I grew up. I know you'd love the mountains.” She sniffled. “Can you show me the rest of it?"

Without a word, he led her into the other room. It had the same heavy furniture, but its shelves were lined with books. There were no toys in here, she noted, except for a large, hand-carved chess game, set up on the table. How different these brothers were.

“Would you like to play?” She motioned toward the chessboard. “I'll warn you I used to beat my brother regularly."

“I bet you did.” He chuckled. “Tomorrow. I have some work to do before bed."

He stood with his hand on the door. A sign that he wanted her to leave for sure. Daphne sighed. Once her husband got that closed-up look, she knew pressing him was pointless.

“Duchess and I are going to bed."

He reached out to pet the sleepy kitten. The corners of his mouth turned up in a grin.

Daphne rose up on tiptoes, touching his cheek with her free hand. She kissed him. He stiffened, making her wonder if she had been too bold. Before she could pull away, he caught her face in his hands and kissed her again. Not the deep, hot kiss that they had been accustomed to sharing. This was light, tender. Yet, it didn't make her pulse race.

She stepped back, staring at him. He pulled her into a hug, brushing his lips across her forehead. “Good night, my sweet. Sleep tight."

“Good night, Your Majesty."

His chest rumbled with laughter under her ear.

“I'm going to visit the Countess of Stratten tomorrow."

“I'll arrange protection for you."

She could have said she was having lunch with the Queen and doubted he would say no. She had the distinct feeling that he was relieved she was leaving. As Daphne backed out of his embrace and walked away, she had an unsettling feeling. The only other time Barclay had hugged her like that had been when she had seen him in London, near Baron Warwick's office. He didn't seem to remember that. She wondered if he would remember this encounter either.

* * * *

Daphne stared at the huge bronze elephant that stood taller than she, which blocked the entryway to Stratten's house. Outside, there were men unloading crates from a wagon. Stratten must be home from one of his adventures, she thought.

“Don't ask,” Rose said behind her. “They are gifts from a king somewhere.” She shook her head. “Our house looks like a museum."

“It is so good to have you back.” Daphne hugged her dear friend. “I'm surprised you're home so soon. I thought this was going to be month-long trip."

“Ollie got what he needed. Now he is off in his study, plotting adventures.” She leaned close to Daphne. “To tell the truth, I was dying to get home. I've been worried about you."

Daphne shrugged. “Other than someone trying to kill us, nothing new has happened."

“Heard about the carriage accident. That poor boy. I was heartsick about Norcott. Ollie has been beside himself that he missed the funeral."

“That's what I came over to talk to you about. I have pieced together that my father, the late Duke of Ravensthorpe, and the late Earl of Norcott were all members of a group called the Fearless Four. But that doesn't explain why someone wanted them dead."

“No, it doesna'. I can tell it is bothering Oliver. He has been having nightmares ever since the old duke died."

“My father had nightmares, too."

“Something tells me there is more going here."

Daphne nodded. “We know someone set up my brother and is trying to frame Barclay, too. Whoever it is wants me to think my husband is a cold-blooded killer."

“Are you sure he is na'?"

“I still have many unanswered questions. I think he may be involved somehow in covering up something. But as I've told him, if he wanted me dead, I would be, period."

“That is my assessment of him as well. So where do we go from here?” Rose frowned. “You know, all these mysterious deaths ... sounds like...” She snapped her fingers. “Why didna’ I think of it before? Follow me. I may just have the missing piece to the puzzle."

“I know it's here somewhere.” Rose searched around the attic. “I just saw the box the other day."

Daphne smiled at her friend's frantic movements through the clutter. Never before had she seen such an odd array of art objects, paintings, and stacks of wooden crates. It was like being in a cave of wonders.

“If you tell me what you're looking for, then maybe I can help."

Rose put a hand over her mouth, tapping her fingers. “I was right ... Ah-ha, here we go. Move that Egyptian death mask, will you? I couldna’ keep that thing in the parlor, so I made Ollie put it up here, since he didna’ have room for it in his study. The thing gives me the willies."

Daphne moved the heavy gold and jewel-encrusted facemask. “The eyes do seem to be staring at one."

“Ollie drags home the strangest things. I told him he should open a place for people to see them. Like that P.T. Barnum fellow did in America.” She took a hammer off of another crate and pulled free the rest of the board. Dust flew everywhere.

Daphne sneezed. “Can I help?"

“I have it. Been meaning to get back up here to check these out."

“They are books. Old books.” She gave Rose a quizzical glance.

“They are more than just books. They're rare Eccentric Earl stories.” Rose handed her a leather-bound edition.

Daphne sat down on a huge throne like chair. “This was written before I was born.” She flipped through the pages.

“Look at the title, lass."

“That Golden Fever. It is dedicated to the Fearless Four, whose adventures inspired the story."

Daphne's pulse quickened. Will I finally find out what really happened?

“This box is full of them. So are the other crates. Ollie must have kept every last one of them."

“I don't understand."

“Me, either.” She shrugged. “All of his other books line the shelves of his study. I've never seen this one."

“What do you think it means?"

“I dinna’ know, but I intend to find out."

“Rosie!” They both jumped at the sound of Oliver's voice.

His heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Daphne slid the book under her coat as he rounded the corner.

“What are you two up to?” He walked toward them.

Rose reluctantly handed him the book. “I found these the other day. In the light of everything..."

He took the book and frowned, staring at it. “I kept all the copies of this one. It was my worst story, so I saved myself the embarrassment of having the world read it.” He tossed the book back in the crate.

Daphne pushed her copy deeper into her jacket. “I have to be going. I promised Barclay we'd ride before lunch. I can see myself out."

Oliver blocked Rose's way as she started to leave. “You could have asked me about the past. About the books."

“Would you have told me the truth? We seem to be a little short on that these days. I dinna’ buy the ‘worst book’ excuse."

“Some things are better left unknown."

“Is that why you've gone to sleeping alone? Why you dinna’ talk to me anymore?"

“I'm working on my new story. I get distracted then. You know that."

“I heard you screaming last night. You didna’ even know me when I tried to comfort you. Penelope and Meredith may believe in coincidences, but I dinna'. I plan to put up a fight against whoever is killing your friends. With or without your help."

* * * *

The door slammed downstairs, causing both men in Barclay's room to jump.

“What are you planning to do?"

Horace straightened up. “What I should have done last night. Tell Her Grace the truth."

“That's what I was afraid of,” the other man said as he disappeared through the door behind the panel. “Just leave me out of this. I'm the only thing that stands between her and the outside world knowing. Right now, that could be dangerous for both of them."

Chapter Sixteen

Daphne slipped the Eccentric Earl book under a petticoat in her drawer.

“Lady Daphne."

She shut the drawer and turned, surprised to find Horace standing in the doorway connecting her and her husband's rooms. He looked pale and tired.

“I should have told you sooner, but His Grace prefers this to be kept private. Only now, that might be hard to do this time."

Daphne gently touched his arm. “Slow down. Start at the beginning."

He wrung his hands. “It may be too late for that. I think you ought to come with me."

She followed him through the dressing room to her husband's room. There Barclay lay on the bed asleep. The curtains had been closed, making the room almost pitch black. Daphne moved beside her husband, stroking his face. He didn't move. Her gaze rose to meet Horace's worried one.

“He will not wake up, Your Grace."

“How long has been like this?"

Horace looked away. “Too long,” he said softly. “Usually when he has a severe headache, he is weak, and I do things for him. But this is different. Now, I can't even feed him."

“You mean he has been like this before?"

It all began to make an odd sort of sense. That explained his disappearing act, if not his strange behavior.

Horace paused as if struggling for what to say. “He has had bad headaches since he returned from military service. Lately, they have been worse."

“I see.” She sat down on the bed beside Barclay and brushed the hair back off his face. “Have you contacted Dr. Stewart?"

Horace shook his head. “His Grace didn't want me to. Considering how close they were, I worried that there might be a reason for that."

“Tell one of the stable boys to fetch my brother, the new Earl of Holbrooke."

“But ... His Grace doesn't want anyone to know."

“Maybe that has been the problem."

* * * *

Horace paced around the old nursery while the other man dressed to go out.

“I sent for Her Grace's brother as she requested. I hope I'm not making a mistake."

“She is right. This has gone beyond what any of us can handle."

“Where are you going?"

“Out to make sure things look normal."

“Do you think that is wise?"

“I can't stay here and do nothing."

* * * *

“What do you think, Reed?"

Reed looked up from his position on the bed into his sister's worried face. He wished he had all the answers she sought. What he did know he was afraid to tell her.

“Do you have any idea what Barclay took for his headaches?"

Daphne shook her head. “Here comes Horace. Maybe he knows."

“I'll try to be of help if I can, my lady."

“Do you know what Barclay was taking?"

Horace hesitated and then pulled a pouch off the top drawer of the dresser. “This powder."

Reed took it, pouring some onto his hand. “Has it always made him sleepy?"

“It makes him groggy, but nothing like this. I have a feeling his headache was so severe that he took more when I was out of the room. But I can't remember how much he had in the bag."

“It appears that very little is left. Who prescribed it?"

“I'm not sure. He just came home with it one day. I know he hid his headaches from Dr. Stewart. Though I'm not clear on why."

Reed glanced over at his sister, who watched him intently. Barclay's pulse was slow and his breathing shallow. His color was waxy. Not a good sign.

Daphne sat on the other side of the bed, holding her husband's hand. He didn't respond. “Why didn't I know any of this? I told him Mother had headaches. He just keeps secrets from me.” Her voice cracked into a sob.

“I'm sorry, Your Grace. His Grace worried about what you think. I felt bad about hiding his condition from you, but he insisted."

Poor Horace looked pale and frightened. “I can't fault you for carrying out his wishes. You did your best to care for him under the circumstances."

“I wish I could have done more."

Reed sat with his head in his hand, studying Barclay. The intense look on his face worried her.

“Is he going to wake up?” She could hardly the force the words out of her dry throat.

“I don't know, imp. I'm afraid all we can do is wait and see."

Tears stung her eyes as she squeezed Barclay's limp, cool hand. Memories of the all too short time they had spent together washed over her. “Please fight."

“I'll give you a moment alone.” Reed stood. He hated not being able to help her more.

Daphne nodded. Her thumb traced the back of Barclay's hand. “I love you, Barclay,” she whispered. “I just wanted you to know.” Was it her imagination or did he skip a breath? “I'll keep talking to you if that's what it takes to bring you back to me."

* * * *

Lord Vengeance puffed with pride as Barclay Stewart strolled into the Dark Den gaming hell. Did they really think they could toy with him like that? He would have the last laugh. His plan must be working well, or he wouldn't be here.

He smiled and nodded as Barclay lowered himself into the chair for their Friday evening poker game. Yes, things were going quite well.

* * * *

Hushed voices rumbled above him, but he couldn't make out anything they were saying. His mouth felt like cotton. Barclay's eyes flickered open. Too bright. He quickly shut them.

“Did you see that?” Daphne poked Reed. “Barclay opened his eyes."

She dropped down on the bed beside him, gently shaking him. “Wake up, darling, please!"

Barclay groaned. Getting his eyes to work was difficult. He had to focus. He could hear Daphne calling.

“Please, Barclay. Just open your eyes."

Reed put a comforting hand on her shoulder, wondering if she had imagined his eyes opening. After a night of no sleep, anything could be possible.

Barclay's eyes flickered open. Closed. Open.

“The light might be too bright, Reed. Close the drapes."

Reed moved to close the curtain on the wall across from the bed.

Barclay's eyes flickered open. He could barely see his room through a blurry haze. His hand lay in something warm and soft. As he began to focus, he saw Daphne sitting beside him. Silent tears ran down her cheeks.

“Don't cry,” he moaned.

“Don't give me a reason to."

His eyes flickered shut. Too tired.

* * * *

“This is just bloody great!” Inspector Reynolds threw the letter down on his desk. “Another clue that means absolutely nothing."

“Let me see that.” Inspector Hodges reached out his hand. “I think you're trying too hard."

Reynolds rolled his eyes, tossing the paper at him. “Nothing I hate worse than a bad rhyme. How the bloody hell do I find out who inherited what from whom? That is like looking for an eccentric earl. I think they're all an eccentric lot."

Reaching into his desk, Hodges pulled out a book and threw it at him. “I don't know about inheritance laws, but I think I can narrow down your search for the earl. Try looking for The Eccentric Earl instead an eccentric earl."

Reynolds stared at book. The Further Misadventures of The Eccentric Earl: Dastardly Deeds.

“It is all about this guy who schemes to get back into his father's good graces by forcing a woman into marriage. Of course, the Eccentric Earl foils his plot. Rescues the girl. Shows his wayward friend a better way to get his father's attention. In the process, he finds his own true love. A bit mushier than his usual action-adventure stuff. But I have to confess I'm hooked on his books. Been reading them since I was a boy."

“Does this person really exist?"

“That has been a big part of the mystery in his stories is trying to figure out just who is the Eccentric Earl. He leaves clues in every book.” Hodges struck a match and lit his cigar. “Up until this last one I thought he might be the old Duke of Ravensthorpe. Now I'm leaning toward the Earl of Stratten. Except that I can't imagine him being chased by cannibals or floating down the Nile. My favorite is his Egyptian adventure—Curse of a King. He loves curses and family scandals. This whole mystery of the Fearless Four sounds like a page from one of his books."

“Do you still have them all?"

“All but one. When I was young, there was a rumor that one would come out that summer. But it never did. All sorts of stories flew around. Some said the earl was beheaded in Turkey. Other said he died from a Voodoo curse. Anyway, then about a year later another book came out. One about his adventures exploring the American West. I guess he was captured by Indians."

“Do you remember what summer that was?"

“About the time of the gold rush in California. My father couldn't believe the earl missed that adventure. He did go looking for gold in the Klondike later."

Reynolds didn't respond as Hodges rambled on. He may have just found the connecting piece to the puzzle, if he could only figure out who wrote the Eccentric Earl stories. He'd wager that the earl did search for gold in California with the Fearless Four. Now, all he had to do was prove it.

* * * *

Barclay's mouth was so dry that he could hardly swallow. His arms and legs felt like lead. He slowly opened his eyes.

A lightly bearded man leaned over him. Those blue-green eyes. “Burke!” He gasped, grabbing the man's arm. “Am I dead?"

A soft hand touched his cheek. Daphne.

“No, you're very much among the living,” Daphne said gently.

He thinks I'm Burke,” the man whispered off to the side.

“I told you that you resemble Barclay."

“Hogwash."

Barclay started laughing at the two of them fighting over his bed. “I must be awake for you two are starting to make sense."

The big man moved out of the way, so Daphne could sit on the edge of the bed.

“How long have I been in bed?"

“Since yesterday morning. Horace finally confessed to me yesterday that he couldn't wake you up. I summoned my brother Reed."

His fuzzy gaze centered on the large man standing with his arms folded beside the bed. It was a bit like looking in the mirror. Good God, his suspicions were true.

“You saved me?"

“I don't know about that. You had taken quite a bit of the sleeping powder. There wasn't much I could do except let you sleep it off."

“You told me once that you slept all day,” Daphne said. “Why did you think I'd be upset about it now?"

Barclay struggled to sit up in bed. How could he explain the lapses in memory? All the uncertainty surrounding his actions.

“Knowing and watching me suffer are two different things.” His voice sounded hoarse. The words were ripped from his dry throat.

“Did you think I wouldn't care? You could have died, and I never would have known."

“Here.” Reed offered him a drink of water. He shot Daphne a “be quiet” glare. “Take it easy. You don't have to tell us everything at once."

Tell them everything? He wasn't sure if he would tell them anything. He leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes. For now he would retreat to the safety of sleep.

* * * *

“Lady Eve, there is someone here to see you.” Hazel leaned close. “A rather handsome man. He doesn't have a calling card, but he claims to be the Earl of Holbrooke. Looks a bit dangerous to be an earl, if you ask me."

Eve's heart stuck in her throat. Reed was here. After Marcus had had him arrested, she never dreamed she would see him again.

“Tell him I'm in mourning,” she sputtered.

“Wait!"

The maid paused in the doorway.

“Better yet, tell him I'm not seeing anyone."

The older woman's eyes widened in surprise, but she scurried off to deliver her message. Part of Eve wanted to race Hazel to the parlor. The sensible side of her knew that seeing Holbrooke now would only feed the rumors floating around the ton.

A loud knock sounded. Her pulse skittered. Definitely not Hazel.

“I'm being polite by knocking, Eve.” Reed's voice was a deep rumble through the door.

The knob turned. “It isn't locked."

With a sigh, she walked over and ripped open the door. Reed almost fell over her.

“It's not proper for you to be up here in my bedroom."

“Well, you wouldn't come down to the parlor. We can talk here or downstairs. Where ever you wish. But we will talk."

Eve slipped out into the hallway and closed the door. Without a word, she led him downstairs to the parlor he had just left. Turning to look at him, she folded her arms across her chest.

“My brother will be home soon, so talk fast. I don't want to involve Marcus in our game of cat and mouse."

“Then I'll be blunt. Exactly how deep does your hatred for the Stewarts go?"

“I don't hate the Stewarts. I just..."

“What? Want to see them dead?"

“No!” Her voice raised in firm denial.

“I do,” Marcus snapped.

Reed turned at the sound of his voice.

“You're not welcome here. Not after what you did to my father."

Bristling under the younger man's angry glare, he struggled to control his mounting temper. “I have already explained my actions. Believe me, no one regrets more than I that his body was too weak to fight off the poison. We should take a lesson from this. Someone is after our families. Continuing to be hostile will not get us any closer to the answers. Who else has to die before we agree to work together?"

Marcus dropped down into a high-backed chair. “I'm listening."

Eve refused to meet his probing gaze. Instead, she stared straight ahead.

He continued, despite Marcus's scornful silence. “I suspect that someone is trying to kill Ravensthorpe."

Eve's hand flew to her mouth. Whatever doubts he had about her innocence crumbled with the tears in her eyes.

“What are you implying, sir?” Marcus stood, sizing him up.

“I'm not implying anything. Just stating the facts as I see them. What do you know about your father's past?"

“Damned little."

“Ever see this sketch?"

“Yes, Father had one hanging in his study.” Eve cast a questioning gaze at Marcus.

Marcus reluctantly took it. “Whenever I asked about the picture he told me it was a reminder of the follies of youth. I quit asking after a while."

“Do you know anything about the picture, Reed?” Eve asked.

“My father drew it. In fact, he drew many sketches of England. It was eerie, when I first came here, how familiar it all looked. He captured much of it in oil paintings, too."

“Why didn't he ever return?"

“He made his life and fortune in America,” Marcus put in. “It is not an uncommon tale."

“I think there is more to it than that, but I have not figured out just what.” What little he did know was private family business. He had no intention of sharing it.

“We all know that our fathers knew each other. That much is obvious.” Marcus stood, looking bored.

“Obvious to whom? I didn't know anything about the other men until they started dying. Did you?"

“I suggest you ask your brother-in-law these questions. He seems to know much more than the rest of us. Ask him what he inherited from all our fathers. You might find his response eye-opening. As for his being on death's door, that's impossible. I just saw Barclay last night. I won money off him in fact. He is on quite a losing streak. If you'll excuse me, I have things to do.” Marcus paused in the doorway. “I think you should be going, Holbrooke."

“I agree with Marcus,” Eve said tightly. “Good-bye, Reed."

He wished Marcus wasn't standing there, so he could kiss the doubts from Eve's eyes. With regret, he followed Marcus to the door.

“I would ask that you not return for another visit, Holbrooke. Our family doesn't need the unnecessary gossip. That goes double for Eve."

Chapter Seventeen

Now where could that book be? Daphne searched through her drawer of undergarments. Ah-ha, here we go, The Further Adventures of the Eccentric Earl: Gold Fever. She lovingly stroked the cover. Would this be the key to unlocking her father's past? Did she really want to know? Closing her eyes, Daphne took a deep, calming breath. There was no turning back. She flopped down across the bed on her stomach to read.

The adventure begins in an empty, seedy tavern by the docks.

"Pick a card, any card.” Sheldon Townsend fanned the deck of cards out on the table in front of Brandon Stewart.

Oh, my gosh—Papa. Daphne squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to see him as a young rascal.

Rolling his eyes, Brandon carefully selected one, the queen of hearts, without showing it.

Sheldon took away all the cards but two. “Put it down.” He smoothly shifted them around. With a wide, teasing grin he said, “Now find your card. Do you know which one it is?"

“That's easy. You put it...” Brandon's mouth thinned as he stared at the three of clubs in his hand.

Sheldon wiggled his brows and smiled. “Wrong card?"

“How the bloody hell did you know?"

“I'm magic."

“Are you falling for parlor tricks, Stewart?” Derek Langford dropped down into the chair beside Brandon.

“Shut up,” Brandon muttered.

Sheldon flamboyantly shuffled his deck with one hand. “Want to try your luck, Derek?” He spread them out on the table. “Draw a card."

Derek shook his head, laughing. “Are you kidding? I taught you this trick."

“Sure enough to wager on it?"

With a snort of disbelief, Derek picked the king of spades.

Scooping up all but two cards, Sheldon shot Derek a challenging glance. “How much to prove you know this trick better than me?"

“Two...” His jaw dropped as he flipped over the ace of hearts. He tossed the card and his money at Sheldon.

Brandon hooted with laughter.

“What another go, Brandon? This time for money."

"I lost all my money to you last night.” Brandon pulled out his empty pockets.

"Money well invested, I promise.” Sheldon did a fancy shuffle of the cards before handing them over to Derek. “When Stratten gets here, he'll tell you all about our latest big adventure."

"This better be good.” Brandon lit his pipe. “My father is none too happy with my recent losses. In fact, I believe he said—” Brandon stood up, holding his jacket, mimicking his father. “—and I quote, ‘If you don't earn back some of those markers, you're out of my will. At the rate you're going, I'd let Boris the wolfhound inherit my estate before I'd leave it to you'."

"Sounds like you're in the same boat as Sheldon. Aren't a pain in the arse?” Derek played with the deck he had taken from Sheldon.

Brandon glared at him. “I wouldn't make light of my situation if I were you. I heard you didn't inherit nearly enough blunt to pay the taxes on your entailed estates."

Derek jumped up, chair and cards flying, and lunged at Brandon. “You take that back. It is merely a rumor. Now I know where it started."

“Are you insinuating that I talked out of turn?” Brandon shoved Derek.

“Now, chaps, are we going to come to blows before we even start out?” Sheldon pushed between the two angry men. “Here comes Kyle with Stratten. We don't want Stratten to back out of this venture."

Brandon and Sheldon straightened their coats, picked up their chairs, and sat. Sheldon picked up the cards scattered around and began shuffling his deck, spreading it out on the table.

“Pick a card, Stratten."

Oliver frowned, considering his choices. Then picked one.

With a flourish, Sheldon swished the three cards around on the table. “Can you find yours?"

Oliver shrugged, turning over his card. All mouths in the room fall open. Sheldon offered him a nod of respect.

“Enough of these games. I have a proposition for you blokes. How about I give the Fearless Four one more chance to be famous? I'm researching my new book on the California gold rush. I only have part of the blunt needed to finance the expedition,” Stratten said, glancing around at the group of men.

"So you want money,” Kyle asked as he leaned back against the wall with his arms folded.

"Only a small portion. Say, all of you together could put in a fourth. I think I have a backer for the rest of it. The money is not your most important contribution."

"Then what is?” Derek eyed him warily.

“Letting me write about your outrageous escapades. If you provide your usual fodder for my story, then I'll provide you with a grand adventure and a promise of wealth beyond your wildest dreams."

“Sounds like a fairy tale to me.” Kyle Bancroft spoke before any of them had a chance.

“Ah, a skeptic.” Oliver raised a finger. “I like those. They add drama and challenge to the story. Tell us, what are you afraid of, Kyle?"

“Nothing."

"Then prove it."

Kyle glanced at the eager expressions of his friends. “I'll put in my fourth,” he grumbled.

"Let's toast our venture at my house. There I'll give you all the details."

Kyle caught Sheldon's arm as they departed and stopped him.

“Are you sure about this?"

Sheldon pulled a coin from thin air, winking at him. “There is no luck in my games of chance, my friend. We'll stack the deck in our favor."

"But you don't have any money, and neither, if the rumors are true, do the others."

Sheldon patted Kyle on the back. “A lack of funds never stopped me from betting before. I won on bluff last night."

He started to walk off.

“Life isn't all a bluff,” Kyle shouted after him.

“Mine is.” He held up his hands.

“Bull. None of us are as cavalier about our current circumstances as we pretend to be. What happens if this blows up in our faces?"

Sheldon put his arm around Kyle's shoulder. “You think too much, Bancroft.” His hand painted a picture in the air. “Let it happen. We'll all see a reversal of fortune. I can feel it."

“That's just it. At the moment, I'm getting along with my father."

“Then you have nothing to worry about."

“Or more to lose. I may regret this, but I'm in."

Sheldon patted his shoulder. “It will be an experience you'll never forget."

“That's just what I'm afraid of,” Kyle muttered as he followed Sheldon out of the tavern.

Her father hadn't changed. He had still pulled coins out of her ears and the air. Her eyes welled up with tears. He was always willing to risk everything for a deal. He been lucky in some and not so lucky in others, but that had never deterred him from trying. And Norcott had still been careful. How could they be gone?

Daphne's tears spilled on the page. All those men. Alive. Vibrant. It was too much. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Tired and weak, she rolled over on her back, staring at the crystal fixture above her. The light created odd shadows on the ceiling.

“Oh, Papa,” she whispered. “What I wouldn't give to have you do those tricks on me, again. Give me another chance to find my card.

Tomorrow she would tell Rose what she had discovered.

Wiping her tears, she crossed the room to put away the book. She froze at the hand on her shoulder. “I've missed you.” Her husband's velvet voice rumbled behind her.

Daphne shut the drawer before turning around to face him. How could he be back already and out of his clothes? She had seen him ride out only an hour before.

“I hope I'm not the cause of those tears.” He brushed his thumb across her damp cheek.

“Don't be silly. I'm just tired that's all.” She wiped her eyes. “I thought you went out.

Something flickered in his dark-blue eyes. “I'm not in the mood to see anybody but you.” He cupped her cheek in his hand.

She shivered at the touch. Her mind screamed to be wary, but her body craved his tender caress.

“I wanted to apologize for worrying you. My intentions in not telling you about my headaches had been to keep you from worrying."

“That never works. The other person always finds out."

“Are you afraid of me now?"

“Don't be silly."

“Then why do you shy away from my touch?"

“I'm not.” Her back hit the wall.

Barclay tilted up her chin. His gaze held hers as he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips brushed across hers, tempting her to want more. Her arms went up around his neck, pulling him even closer.

“Open for me,” he whispered against her mouth.

Her lips parted in a moan of delight when his tongue slid inside, stroking hers. She was lost in the tingling sensations pouring over her. Daphne's fingers slipped through his thick, dark hair.

“It feels so good to hold you. I..."

“Shush,” he whispered against her lips. “Let's not dwell on that."

“Are you sure you're up to this?"

Sure? Any more sure and he'd explode.

He hoisted a giggling Daphne up over his shoulder. “What do you say we find out?"

He dropped her down in the middle of his big bed. Then crawled over to join her, but instead ended up flat on his back.

“My turn to tease."

Ravensthorpe groaned as she straddled him, her mouth feasting on his. He slid the gown off over her head. The sight of her slender body and full breasts made his own body tighten.

“Are you ready for me,” she whispered against his throat as she came down on him.

Sweet mercy, she felt so good. Her slow, steady rhythm drove him wild. Who would have thought his sprite could take him to heaven and back.

When she collapsed, warm and sated, on top of him, tenderness surged through him. He could do it thousand times more and still it wouldn't be enough.

He closed his eyes, savoring her scent. His eyes flew open as he realized he loved Daphne. Heaven help him. He did.

* * * *

Reed entered the Dark Den in search of answers. Bancroft's comments had added a new level to the puzzle that haunted him.

How could Ravensthorpe have been gambling with Norcott when he knew the man could hardly move? The answers were somewhere. He had no intention of leaving until he found them out.

Something else the earl had said still nagged at him. Ravensthorpe had ended up with a large portion of Norcott's inheritance, too. Why?

Reed had just assumed that his father had not forgiven him for leaving his family's business to become a doctor. But that did not explain why the late Earl of Norcott had left his holdings to Ravensthorpe, too. Was someone setting the duke up, or was he taking them all for a ride?

He was pulled abruptly out of his musings by a sharp bump in the back. He reached for his gun as he turned to face a man trying to leave in a hurry. The man looked like Ravensthorpe. Could it be? Was his brother-in-law the innocent victim of a vile plot or the mastermind?

* * * *

Daphne's eyes remained open as she lay snuggled up next to her husband. From his steady breathing, she wondered if he had fallen asleep. Should she tell him about the book?

“Barclay?"

“Hum.” His breath hitched, and a hand stroked her hair. “What, darling?"

“Do you ever wonder what our fathers were like as young men? You know, all full of adventure and such."

He stiffened, and she felt him pull away from her. If not physically, then emotionally. The wall was up.

“Dwelling on the past will only cause you pain, Daphne. If our fathers wanted us to know, then they would have told us."

She rolled over, leaning across his muscular chest. “What if we could find out?"

“How?” The word was unsteady.

“I don't know.” Now, she regretted bringing this up.

His arms came tight around her in fierce hug. “Promise me you'll let this alone. There have already been too many people hurt. I couldn't stand to lose you."

“So you like me a little?"

“I like you a lot.” He rolled her over to show her just how much.

* * * *

“Your note was a bit vague, so I didn't think you were coming.” Lady Lindbloom pulled him through her bedroom window. After all, you made it clear we were over now that you're married—or are you? Sometimes I'm not so sure."

“I'm not either.” He was getting too old for this sneaking around. He almost didn't make it up the tree this time.

“Ralston should be home soon. We don't have much time."

He couldn't tell if she was nervous or angry. This left him unsure of how to behave. It was awkward trying to be someone you're not. Being restrained and proper didn't come easy for him. Admitting he needed help was even worse.

“I need your assistance to finish this book.” He held it up, but could hardly force the words out. “You kept my secret before..."

She put a finger over his lips. Winnie was close, too close. “I told you that you could come to me anytime. Are you sure you don't want a lesson?"

Have you hear me stumble through this? Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Not tonight. I'd rather listen to you read."

Her gaze held his for a long moment. Please, don't let tonight be the one she insists on having me read. Much to his relief, without another word, she took the book from his nervous hands.

“Ah, the Eccentric Earl story. I was hoping you'd bring that one back. I've never found it anywhere else."

He followed her into a room overflowing with flowers of all types. There were vases everywhere. Not only that, but she had paper flowers and needlework lying on every available chair except one. She motioned for him to sit on the floral settee that looked like it was designed to hold one small woman, not his large frame and her. Besides, he didn't want to be that close to Winnie, but had no choice unless he wanted to make a production out of moving her artwork. With no other options, he lowered himself down beside her.

She opened the book, thumbing though the pages. “Ah, we left off after Brandon gives the boyishly dressed gold-miner's daughter lady lessons."

He squirmed, not liking the image he was getting of his father from this story. Taking advantage of a young woman to gain her father's mine was not very honorable. He had a sinking feeling Rebecca was falling for the smooth-talking Englishman and that the ending would not be pretty.

"Why are you practicing to be something you already are?” Sheldon looked up as Rebecca strolled into his tent store, all dressed like a lady.

She thrust the supply list at him. “Brandon convinced me that I need be a lady to get a proper husband."

"To get a proper husband or to get Brandon for a husband? Even though he is the heir to a dukedom, do you really want someone you only got by not being yourself?"

Who was he kidding? Of course, she wanted Brandon. Damn for losing all their money in that poker game. Damn Brandon for giving her false hope of a relationship with her in order to gain her father's mines.

“What is wrong with wanting a someday duke? I'll have the last laugh at the ladies who talk behind my back. What about you? I thought you were after the easy riches of the gold fields."

"I've learned there is no quick path to being rich. With all the gold miners here, there needs to be a place for them to buy supplies. That's where the money is to be made—selling supplies to those who dream of instant wealth."

"Is that what you want—to be rich?"

Sheldon Townsend shrugged. “I used to think so. I was just sure that the next turn of a card would set me up for life. Now, I've discovered I'd rather be comfortable and worry-free."

She fingered the only dress in the store.

“That would look good on you, but I prefer you the way you were."

“Dressed like a man.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I seriously doubt that."

"Being yourself. You don't have to impress me. Your father shouldn't want you to stop being yourself in order to impress someone."

She let go of the dress as if it were hot.

"You're just like all the other slick-talking Englishmen. You only want me now, because Brandon does."

“Think what you like. It doesn't change anything."

Winifred looked up at him with tears in her eyes as she slammed the book shut. “Sheldon loved her, too. This can't have the usual Eccentric Earl happy ending. Someone will get hurt, I feel it in my bones."

He had the same feeling. His mother's name wasn't Rebecca. That told him more than he wanted to know. He just hoped to hell that he was wrong about his father's next move. If the young Brandon Stewart had played like he did, he played to win. Damn the consequences.

He cleared his throat. “Do you want to keep the book?"

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “Ralston will be home soon. You have to go."

He stood in awkward silence, wondering what to say to ease the pain in her eyes. On impulse, he hugged her.

“Goodnight, Winnie.” He stepped back away and started to the window. He wasn't going to make the same mistakes his father had made.

* * * *

His body hit the ground hard as he dropped from Winifred's window. In the darkness just before dawn, he ran across the dew-wet lawn. He was almost out of sight of the large brick manor when someone jumped in front of him.

“Well if it isn't the duke—or are you the duke? I forget."

“Sometimes I forget, too,” he muttered under his breath as he backed away from a foxed Lindbloom, who was waving a dueling pistol.

“Now, if I wanted to call you out, which one of you would it be?"

“You're talking nonsense."

“Am I? You may have fooled the rest of the world, but not me. I know who you really are. And I know what you want with my wife."

“You're wrong there. Winifred is just that—your wife. I respect that. I wouldn't..."

“What? Make love to her. Like you haven't slept with half the married ladies of the ton."

“Not friend's wives."

Lindbloom burst out laughing. “You mean there's a distinction? The others were merely men you played poker with or ... Tell me, why haven't you slept with Winnie?"

“Point that thing somewhere else.” He shoved the gun out of his face. “I'm not sure what you want."

“I want her heart.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“You have that. You're just too big of a fool to let her give it to you."

Lindbloom lowered the gun. “Get the hell out of here. Winnie would kill me if I hurt you. If anyone breathes a word of this I'll have to call you out."

“Someday, I'll tell you the truth."

“I'm not holding my breath."

Chapter Eighteen

He heard something. Ravensthorpe's eyes flew open. Someone was walking around in the hallway. As gently as he could, he slipped Daphne to her own side of the bed.

He froze while putting on his pants as she shifted and moved. He didn't want her to wake up. Whoever it was, he'd face him alone.

Creeping out into the dark hallway, Barclay softly closed the bedroom door. An arm went around his throat, and he found himself tumbling into what used to be his and Burke's old nursery.

With skills honed in the military, he flipped the intruder over on his back. His fist stopped in mid-air when moonlight streaming in through the window beside them revealed Burke struggling under him.

“What the bloody hell...? Burke? You're alive?"

Barclay moved so Burke could stand.

“I wondered how long it would take you to discover my whereabouts. Your detective couldn't find a dog peeing on own his boots."

“You've been here all the time. Why didn't you...?” An ugly realization swept over Barclay. Anger surged through him as he slammed Burke up against the wall.

“I'm not crazy. All those women ... All those gaming markers ... You've been pretending to be me again.” He slammed Burke again, but this time Burke shoved back.

“It wasn't too hard.” He broke his hands free, shoving Barclay backwards. “You still take responsibility for everything. Hell, the more I did the guiltier you got."

Barclay threw a punch, followed by Burke. Soon they were rolling around on the floor like a couple of boys. Toys on the floor flew. Burke's head hit a rocking chair.

Both men pushed away from each other. Each sat, out of breath, looking at the destruction they had caused.

“Been a long time since we tore up the nursery.” Burke leaned back against the wall, his head tipped back and one arm slung over a bent knee.

“Things never change.” Barclay moved to the opposite wall, sitting with his legs out straight before him. “We're still fighting about my taking the blame for one of your stupid adventures."

Both sat in silence, gasping for air.

“I think I'm getting too old for these battles.” Burke laughed.

“I know I am."

Silence mixed with controlled breathing.

“Why the bloody hell would you want to be me now? I have all the responsibilities you didn't want. Or is it that you want just the pleasure of being a duke without having the responsibility?"

“I never wanted any of it. You know as well I do that I dreaded the day I might inherit the title. I planned to leave for good the night we fought at the docks.” Burke stood and began pacing the room.

Barclay stood, too, leaning, arms folded, back against the wall. “Why did you stay?"

“I had planned to sign on to one of our ships. I came back to get my things, and I found Horace wringing his hands over you not waking up. Seems one of our men brought you home. I agreed to stay until you woke up."

Burke stopped in front of Barclay. “All hell broke loose before you came to. Seems they found blood and my ducal ring. Next thing I knew, mother was over here crying on my shoulder. She didn't recognize me. Inspector Reynolds came by, threatening me."

“Why didn't you tell them the truth?"

“I don't know.” Burke shrugged. “Something about the whole evening bothered me. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was all planned. That someone wanted me dead and for you to take the blame.

“The longer I stayed, the more complicated things got."

“So you were trying to protect me?"

“In a way, yes."

Quiet footsteps sounded in the hallway. Both men exchanged glances.

“Daphne.” Barclay rose. “I better go."

He slipped out into the dark hallway. Something pressed against this back. Daphne's revolver. Damn, he should have taken it away from her.

“I surrender, my love."

“I heard voices. You were gone."

“Trying to protect me?"

“Someone has to."

Barclay laughed as he slowly turned around.

“Who are you tonight?"

He swung her up in his arms. “How about we go explore that question in more detail under the covers?"

“There is something different about you."

He didn't have to ask. He knew what. He was free to give himself to her without fear. Tomorrow he would worry about the revelations he learned. Tonight he would enjoy his new freedom.

* * * *

Rose closed the door to her bedroom quietly, so Oliver wouldn't hear, then tiptoed to get the book out, so she could find out what happened next. She left off with Brandon Stewart winning the gold mine from Rebecca's father. A furious Rebecca had realized that Brandon had paid all that attention to her for the mine.

Rose dropped down on the bed, opening the book. The scene jumped to life in her head.

"How could you?” Rebecca marched into Brandon's hotel room after he opened the door. He stood with his mouth and shirt hanging open.

"How could I what, my dear?"

“Don't you ‘my dear’ me.” She poked him in his warm, bare chest. “I thought you cared about me."

“I do. I helped you become a lady, didn't I?"

“It was to win a bet with my father.” She held up her hand. “Don't deny it. I overheard the whole conversation. Then Sheldon made me understand."

"Sheldon doesn't know a damn thing about how I feel, Becca.” He reached out for her, but she backed up, tears running down her cheeks.

"You never saw me as woman."

"That's not true. In fact, I couldn't see you as anything else.” He grabbed her shoulders, yanking her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers hot and hungry.

She trembled in his arms.

He pulled back, looking deep into her eyes. “I wanted you from the first day."

“Then prove it to me."

Brandon lifted her up in his arms, kicking the door shut behind them.

Rose slammed the shut. “Oh, dear. If he had made love to Rebecca, that really muddied the water. Could Reed be a Stewart? It would explain Sheldon's stubborn refusal to return to England.

Suddenly it occurred to her that Meredith Stewart had a role in this game, because she'd ended up married to Brandon. She wondered how much younger Barclay was than Reed Townsend. Not much, she'd wager.

Climbing off the bed, she slipped the book back into her hidden spot. That was all she could take for one day.

She was surprised that Oliver wrote this all down, and yet, when he was in the throes of a story, he never thought. That came later. No wonder he kept the book hidden. It was not a pretty story. She had a feeling she'd need a hanky for the end. There were no winners here.

* * * *

“You think I'm what?” Stratten blustered.

Inspector Reynolds cleared his throat, stepping around the huge, black suit of armor. Finding the Eccentric Earl had been as difficult if not more difficult than finding an eccentric earl. Every time he asked the gentry what they knew about that, they scoffed at him like he wasn't in on the inside joke. Well, not this time. He would have the last laugh.

“I said I have reason to believe that you are the infamous Eccentric Earl."

Stratten's whitish-gray eyebrows flew up. “My dear boy, you have an overactive imagination. Can you really see me having all those adventures? Ask my wife. She'll tell you that I can hardly even take a horseback ride without falling off."

The old man's hand shook. Liar! Trip him up.

“You are the right age, and everyone knows you travel. All over your house there are treasures from your journeys. Explain away those."

The boy had done some serious checking. Oliver shifted his weight off his bad leg.

“Well, now you've discovered my secret."

The smug look on Reynolds's face was priceless.

“I'm in trade. I secretly own a shipping business. All the art objects are merely a cover to keep anyone from knowing how I really make my money. These days it is too hard to run an estate on just the money it provides."

Reynolds stared with his mouth open. Now, to confuse the issue further.

“Of course, I have heard that the Eccentric Earl isn't really an earl at all."

“Not likely with his connections."

“They could very well be made up."

“Like his exploits?"

Oliver smiled. Clever lad. “Touché. But I'm not the man you're seeking."

“But you know who he is?"

“Only what I suspect."

“It is important to the legend of the Eccentric Earl to keep his identity a secret. Even to the point of murder."

“You think you have all figured out. Unfortunately, your assumptions are incorrect."

“We'll see. I'll tell you the same thing I told Ravensthorpe. There are no unsolved cases in my file, and this will not be the first."

“Are you threatening me?"

“Take it as you like."

Inspector Reynolds slammed the door shut on his rented carriage with such force that it made the horses back up.

Damn the gentry. Their rude behavior made him even more determined to solve this case. Laugh if they would—until one of them went to prison.

* * * *

“I'm glad to see you got my note. Winifred met him outside her favorite walled garden. “We are attending the opera tonight, so I couldn't see you then. Besides, I've decided this should be our last meeting. Ralston is trying to make our marriage work. And you have a wife—or do you?"

“She isn't...” How could he share his secret, Barclay's secret?

Winifred touched his hand. “I think I knew it all along. That's even more reason for us to stop seeing each other.

Burke nodded.

“Come.” She pulled him deeper into to walled garden. “I finished reading the book. Her eyes glowed like jewels in the sunlight. “Brandon and Rebecca slept together."

Burke closed his eyes. He'd guessed that much, but he'd hoped it wasn't true.

“There's more. Sit.” She patted the bench. I'll share the tragic part with you."

"You son-of ... “ She cleared her throat, blushing. Then read on.

"Sheldon slammed Brandon against the wall of their boarding room. “How could you?” he growled.

Brandon shoved him away. “She called my bluff."

"So you're leaving just like that?"

“Want another swing at me?” Brandon held up his hands in mock surrender.

Sheldon lifted his fists, but ended up kicking the wall.

Without a word, Brandon stalked out into the hallway.

Kyle caught him outside. “You lost your bluff. Got emotionally involved, didn't you?"

“I'm returning home. I have just enough passage for both of us."

Winifred looked up at Burke. “Do you want to know what happened to Sheldon and Rebecca?"

In his gut he sensed the answer, but knew she had to confirm it. “Yes.” He whispered.

She shifted positions, flipping through the pages.

"He left me, too.” Sheldon dropped down beside a crying Rebecca on the grassy knoll.

She looked over at him. “I don't care."

“I'll let you believe that."

“What do you want?” Her voice was hoarse with raw emotions.

“To marry you,” he said softly.

“Go to hell."

“No, thanks. I've been there, watching you and Brandon."

"I can't marry you.” She stood, stalking off up the hill.

Sheldon Townsend ran to catch up with her. He grabbed her arm, turning her around to face him.

"We've all made mistakes. My father disowned me. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

“What do you know about my problems?"

He raised his hands. “Nothing—just guessing."

“I won't be your penance."

“If getting my dream is penance, I'll gladly accept it any day. Don't you know that I love you, Rebecca? I could go back with my money and prove my father wrong, but that would be a hollow victory. My life is here with you."

“You would be sorry."

He tilted up her chin. “Not in any lifetime. If you can overlook my past, I can overlook yours."

She opened her mouth, but he sealed her protests with a kiss.

“We will conquer whatever happens. I love Brandon like a brother. We grew up together. He conned me into many things. I won't hold it against you if he conned you, too."

She put her hand in his. “You have yourself a wife on one condition."

"You name it."

"We leave all this behind us."

"My life starts from this moment.” He put his hand over Rebecca's and gave her quick kiss.

Burke tipped his head back as Winifred closed the book. That explained why Sheldon Townsend didn't come back. But he had been murdered first, so that ruled him out as the angry person seeking revenge. There was still a portion of the puzzle missing. Damn, he wished he could read better. He had a feeling Winnie was only giving him part of the story.

* * * *

He was taking too many chances. Burke rounded the corner to find Lindbloom waiting for him.

“Getting pretty brave to be seeing my wife in broad daylight.” Lindbloom slammed him up against the wall of their house.

Not a smooth move.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take your head off."

“Ravensthorpe tried and failed. If you can find a spot that isn't bruised, go ahead."

“Damn you, Burke. You can have any lady in London. Why the bloody hell do you want mine?"

“I don't want her—I need her..."

“So you admit you love her.” Lindbloom shook him.

“Always have—always will."

Lindbloom swore violently.

“But not in the way she wants. I'm beginning to wonder if I can love a woman—truly love her."

“What the hell are you saying?"

“That I love Winnie like a sister. She is my best friend and confidante."

Lindbloom released him and stepped back.

“I owe you an explanation."

“No, you don't."

“Yes, I do."

“Other than my brother and Winnie, no one else knows this."

Lindbloom held his gaze, but didn't respond.

“Winnie has been teaching me to read."

“You're serious?” Lindbloom's jaw dropped.

“Why would I be joking about something as embarrassing as that?"

“So you're not having an affair with my wife?"

Burke shook his head. “In fact, we agreed not to see each other. If you, however, mistreat her..."

Lindbloom raised his hands. “I've learned my lesson. I'm unfashionably in love with my wife, and I don't give a damn who knows it. My rakehell days are over."

“Pity. I'll miss the challenge. But I promise to not to let the ladies miss you."

“You just wait. Cupid has an arrow for you. I hope she makes you suffer a lot before you catch her."

Lindbloom turned to leave, then paused and turned back. “I may be out of line here, but once, while I was working at my father's law office, he had me take some papers over to your father. The late duke pretended that he couldn't find his glasses, although I saw them hiding in his coat pocket. He had me read them to him. That was shortly before Ravensthorpe was called home from the Navy."

“And you wondered if he had the same problem?"

“At the time, no, but in light of what you have just told me, yes. It just might explain why he was so hard on you."

Burke watched Lindbloom stroll off, realizing that he might have one of the last pieces to the puzzle of the past. Now he had to find out who else knew, and he'd have his answer.

* * * *

“Do you have a good reason why we are meeting out in the bushes like a couple of highwaymen, Burke? Barclay brushed the leaves off his jacket. “I could hardly believe it when Horace told me to meet you here. You just love taking chances, don't you?"

“Good to see you, too, brother. Isn't a lovely, starlit night?"

Barclay rolled his eyes.

Burke laughed. “Okay. I thought that for this conversation we might want to be somewhere that we couldn't be overheard."

He looked around. “I thought this would be overgrown. Remember how we used to hide out here when father was on a rant?"

Barclay didn't like to think about that. He snorted. “I remember."

“Usually I caused the problem, and you took the punishment. And you still are."

Barclay opened his mouth, but closed it when Burke raised a silencing hand.

“Why is Father still winning?"

“He is not.” Barclay started to leave, but Burke caught his arm.

“Then why are you still playing his games? You know all of it, don't you? You know why those men were murdered."

Anger licked hot through Barclay. He jerked free from Burke's hold.

“What the hell do you think?"

“I think you have all Father's papers and the damn book."

Barclay froze. “What book?"

“The bloody one Stratten wrote about the Fearless Four. You know Father screwed Townsend out of his heritage."

“What made you come to that conclusion?"

“I read the flipping book."

Barclay arched a dark brow.

Burke held up his hands. “Okay, so I had help. Winifred read it to me."

The color drained from Barclay's face as he grabbed Burke by the jacket and shook him."

“Winifred Marklings knows? How the bloody hell could you let that gossip in on our private affairs? Have you no honor? It's bad enough that you been sleeping with her. What happens when you get tired of her?"

Burke shoved back. “I'm not sleeping with Winnie,” he growled through his clenched teeth. “I'll tell you the same thing I told Lindbloom. She has been teaching me to read."

Barclay threw his hands up. “Great! Now Lindbloom knows. Why don't we just print it in the paper? I'll just turn myself over now to Scotland Yard."

This time Burke grabbed him. “Shut up, Barclay, and listen for once. Winnie doesn't know anything. She thinks it is a story. She has been helping me so one day I can truly be a duke."

Barclay snorted, shoving him back. “That will be the day. I'll believe you want that when I actually see you grow up. You can have my responsibilities any time. And for the record, I don't know anything about a damn book. All I know is what Father left in his papers. Having a written record complicates things further."

“I know. That's why I have to stay dead for the time being. I seem to hear more and see more that way."

“And have more fun,” Barclay muttered. “We'll play this your way for now. Get me that book."

“I will.” Burke nodded.

“Just remember, coming back from the dead may not be as easy as you think."

“That's my problem, not yours. You just concentrate on staying alive, so I have a reason to come back to life."

* * * *

The lamps in Stratten's study blew out all at once. He froze, pen in hand. His imagination was going wild. The result of plotting one too many harrowing scenes today. Might be time to turn in for the night.

He reached for the candle that he kept in his drawer for just such an occasion. It helped him find his way to bed and kept him from stumbling over the odd art objects he'd brought back from his many travels.

He struck the match, but it wouldn't stay lit. He struck another and another until his whole box was gone. His hand began to tremble. No, of course he wasn't afraid.

Orange smoke filled the room. A glowing figure stepped out the smoke.

No. It can't be. Derek Langford has been dead for thirty years. Yet, here he stands in my office.

This couldn't be happening. No more late night writing sessions for him.

Stratten shoved himself out of his chair and fumbled his way to the French doors that led to his roof-top retreat. Some night air would clear away the nightmares.

The smoke followed him outside. This can't be.

His skin prickled. He wasn't alone. Something was breathing down his neck. He grabbed the edge of the stone wall. He wouldn't turn and acknowledge that thing. He was crazy. No, he wasn't crazy.

“Okay. Wh-what do you want?” He asked just to hear the sound of his own voice.

“The same thing I took from all the others. Your life.” With that, he felt himself plunging into the darkness below, just like old Earl of Holbrooke.

Lord Vengeance leaned over the wall. Damn! Too dark to see anything. Didn't matter. It had come full-circle. All that remained to do was collect his father's debts.

Chapter Nineteen

“Do you think he will be all right?” Rose looked at Dr. Stewart. “Roland found him on the ground by the bushes. Oliver won't tell me what happened."

Stratten winced as he tried to sit up in bed. “It was a silly accident."

“I'd say it was quite a fall. You're lucky you didn't break your neck. If it weren't for that pile of hay...” Dr. Stewart shook his head. “All I see now is cracked, or perhaps broken, ribs, but no other broken bones."

“Told you, Rosie."

Rose gave a snort. “I wouldna’ be bragging about being saved by dirty barn hay that someone put in the wrong place. It was too close for my liking. Besides, you've had a great many of these silly accidents, my dear. You're still limping from the last one."

“Ah, the cane just adds an air of mystery. Makes people wonder where...” he groaned, “...I've been. Good for book sales."

Rose didn't respond. Instead, she turned her attention to Dr. Stewart. “I'm sorry to get you all the way over here for nothing."

“No bother. You stay in bed and rest, Stratten."

“I doubt my wife will let me do anything else."

“Humph, as if it were that easy. Thank you, Dr. Stewart. I'll see if Liza can wrap up some of those cookies you like for the ride home."

As Rose and Dr. Stewart left, Stratten relaxed back against the pillows, closing his eyes. “Is she gone?"

Roland, his bodyguard, didn't move from his corner where he stood, observing. “Yes. For now."

The earl tried to laugh, but it was too painful. “She'll be back as soon as Dr. Stewart leaves. I doubt she is through with me yet."

“She has every reason to be concerned. I shouldn't have gone to bed and left you alone."

“Don't ... start” Stratten groaned, dropping his head back as Rose's angry footsteps echoed up the stairs.

She glanced from Roland to her husband. “Who wants to go first? Why did the two of you downplay Ollie's fall?"

Roland held up his hands in a sign of surrender.

“Stay out of this, Rosie."

“How can I, when everyone I love is getting hurt?"

“All the more reason to be careful, my lady.” Roland pulled his large frame away from the wall.

“He is right, dear. You'll only muddy the waters."

“So I'll stand by here and watch you die like Brandon Stewart, Kyle Bancroft, and Earl of Holbrooke. I dinna’ like the role of grieving widow. I'm not stupid. I know there is a connection between all of you."

“We are cursed.” Stratten let out a harsh breath. “Don't ask why. There is no easy answer."

* * * *

“The Dowager Duchess won't see anybody.” The redheaded maid bobbed.

“She'll see me.” Rose pushed her way into the foyer. “Now will you take me to her, or do I have to go searching on my own?"

The maid's brows furrowed. “She isn't up..."

Rose put her hand on the maid's shoulder. “That is why I'm here. This is important. Your lady's life might be dependent on it."

Still looking uncertain, the maid said, “Follow me."

Rose walked through the artfully decorated cottage. Never had she seen so many shades of pink and red. Flowers and plants were everywhere.

They came out the back door to a beautiful garden where Lady Meredith sat motionless on a bench, staring at her flowers.

The maid swallowed hard. “My lady has been like this since the Earl of Norcott's death. She hardly eats or sleeps. She spends most of her days in the bedroom with the drapes pulled,” the maid whispered. “Today I finally got her out in the sunshine. Please don't upset her."

“I canna’ promise that. But maybe I might have just what she needs to snap out of her grieving."

“Your Grace.” Rose stepped toward the bench.

The dowager duchess looked up at her with angry eyes. “Go away."

Rose was undaunted by her open hostility. She sat down beside her on the bench.

“I canna go.” She dropped the book in Lady Meredith's lap.

“Where did you get this? Oliver promised to destroy them."

“He didna. They are all in crates in my attic."

Lady Meredith stood. “Go away, Rose. I have nothing to say to you."

“I read it. I know what happened. Why don't you tell me your side of the story."?

“I don't know what you're talking about.” The duchess's hand shook as she fumbled with the book.

“Tell me the real reason that Brandon didn't marry Rebecca."

“He had obligations here."

“That you held him to. What did you do to convince the old duke to call him home?"

“Well, I never!"

“No, I dinna’ suppose you've had many people stand up to you. But I am not afraid of you."

“You should be. I have the power to keep you from being accepted into the ton."

“And you wield that power so well, dinna’ you? Keeping your son's wife out of parties. Amazing that you couldn't marry him to Eve Bancroft. Are you going to ban her, too? Then that might have been harder than telling those other peahens to not talk to me. It must be an awesome responsibility to decide who gets your vote of acceptance and who gets shunned. I can see it consumes your whole life, because you have pushed everything and everyone else away."

Rose got nose to nose with Meredith. “Tell me, is the real reason you hate Daphne so much because Brandon loved Rebecca more than he did you?"

“He didn't love her.” Lady Meredith's eyes flashed anger. “In the end, he was glad he came home. He was needed here."

“What about Sheldon Townsend? Wasn't he needed here?"

“I'm sorry about that,” Meredith said softly. Her shoulders drooped with a defeated tilt. “But it couldn't be helped."

Rose held back her rude retort.

Meredith took a deep, calming breath.

“Oliver fell from our roof patio last night. I think he was pushed. Does that scenario sound familiar? Just like Holbrooke."

Meredith covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

“Whether he is going to be all right remains to be seen."

“I didn't have anything to do with that. I love Oliver.” Her voice was hoarse with emotion and unshed tears.

“Just like you loved Brandon, Sheldon, and Kyle."

Meredith's eyes flashed. “I did what was best."

“Then why are they all dead?"

“You must not have read the book carefully.” She tossed it back at Rose. “I wasn't the only one who got hurt that summer. Their hands were dirtier than mine."

“Are you saying the Fearless Four got what they deserved?"

“Justice is sometimes a tricky business. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm tired. Don't come back here again. The past is dead, and I intend to leave it that way. I'm sure your husband would agree with me. Good day, Countess Stratten."

Meredith lowered herself down onto the bench as Rose stalked off. Rose had hit a sore spot with her accusations about Brandon loving Rebecca. The time had come to follow Lord Vengeance's final, odd instructions.

* * * *

Daphne woke up to the warmth of her husband beside her. She snuggled close. Barclay rolled over on top of her, kissing her. A knock on the door froze him in his tracks.

“Your Grace.” Horace called through the door. “I'm sorry to bother you, but your mother is here.” He coughed. “She is none too happy with you.” He cleared his throat. “She will not leave until you talk to her."

“I wonder what I did this time.” Barclay threw off the covers and began pulling on his shirt.

Daphne sat up in bed naked, boldly watching him.

“If you keep doing that, I'll never make it downstairs."

“What makes you think I want you to?"

With a low growl, Barclay climbed back in bed and gave Daphne what she was asking for.

* * * *

“About time you got down here.” The Dowager Duchess folded the morning paper and rose from her chair by the table.

“Good morning, Mum.” Ravensthorpe kissed her cheek.

“Don't cheerfully ‘good morning’ me, Barclay. How could you have done this? The Bancrofts have been our friends for at least three generations."

“Done what?” He sat down taking a sip of hot tea butler place in front of him.

“Ruin Eve Bancroft."

Barclay coughed, spitting his tea across the table.

Daphne stood still in the doorway, her face pale.

He coughed harder, patting his chest. “I didn't ruin Eve Bancroft."

“No.” The Dowager Duchess pinned him a glare. “Technically your brother did. But you knew about her situation and ignored her pleas for help. Instead, you were swayed by another damsel in distress. What hold Townsend women have over men is beyond me."

Barclay rolled his eyes and groaned, praying for patience.

“You aren't making any sense, Mother. I have no idea what you're talking about."

“This is terrible. Just terrible. We will be banned from all social functions.” Meredith lowered her head into her hands.

Barclay looked helplessly at Daphne, who shrugged her shoulders. “I think it would be wise if I left you two alone."

“Thank you, my dear.” Meredith's voice choked with tears.

“First I've lost Brandon and Burke, and now this."

Barclay stood and rounded the table to kneel in front of his mother. He took her hands in his. “Tell me what this is really all about."

“Poor Eve. It is too distressing to talk about."

“I find that hard to believe. Burke was a bit of a scoundrel, but he would never stoop so low as to sleep with an innocent."

“But they were so in love."

Barclay snorted. “Who told you that? Eve?"

She nodded, blowing her nose. “They were going to get married."

“I hate to burst your bubble, Mother, but Eve had as much chance of being the Queen of England as she did of becoming Burke's Duchess."

She stood up, breaking free from Barclay's hold. “That's not true. He loved her."

Barclay took a deep breath, biting off any remark he might later regret.

She pointed at Barclay. “Eve told you her situation, and you married Daphne anyway. I won't forgive you for letting scandal tarnish our good name."

“I didn't ruin her reputation. Burke did it."

“Ah.” She held up a finger. “So you admit it is true."

“If Burke...? No. I don't..."

“Don't speak ill of the dead."

“That's the problem. We never spoke ill of Burke period. He did whatever he pleased regardless of who got hurt."

“You overshadowed him. I can see talking to you was a mistake. Your selfishness would have broken your father's heart."

“What's new?” Barclay muttered as his mother stalked out of the room. “Thank you, Burke, for once again leaving me to clean up your mess."

Chapter Twenty

Burke stood, peering out the window as his mother's carriage left. “I will straighten things out with Lady Eve,” he said quietly as Barclay entered the room.

“How? You're supposed to be dead, remember?"

Burke snorted. “That hasn't hurt my love life. In fact it seems to have improved it."

He stepped away from the window. “Regardless of what you may think, I will make Lady Eve the Duchess of Ravensthorpe."

Barclay caught his arm as Burke tried to leave. “Don't be too hasty."

Burke shrugged him off. “I'm through making messes for you to clean up. From now on, I give the orders."

“I think I liked you better playing dead,” Barclay grumbled. “Just answer me this. If you're pretending to be me, how will I explain marrying Lady Eve? I do have a wife. One who would not take too kindly to being the laughingstock of the ton."

“Eve will be discreet."

“She has been so much so up until now."

“I'll handle it."

“That's what I'm afraid of."

* * * *

“How dare you embarrass my sister...” The rest of the words Reed Townsend was going to say died in his throat when he pulled the man he ambushed heading toward the barn up to his face

It was like looking in a mirror. Although, the man was slightly shorter than he was and not as muscular, the facial similarities were uncanny. Right down to the blue-green eyes. This could be his twin.

“I feared it could be true, but now I know for sure,” the other man whispered.

Reed dropped the man. “Who the hell are you? I thought you were Barclay until I got up close."

The man brushed off his jacket. “Most people don't notice the slight differences in size and eye color."

“I'm a doctor. I notice everything. Including the fact that you are avoiding my question."

“I'm Burke Stewart, Barclay's twin."

“I thought you were dead."

“So does everyone else. When I discovered that being dead allowed me an invisible cover, I kept up the ruse."

“And let Barclay take the blame for your actions."

Burke stiffened. “I'm working on rectifying that."

“I've seen you at the clubs. From a distance I never knew."

“Most people don't. I've worn conservative clothes and behaved in a boringly predictable manner."

“The question is, why?"

“To protect my brother."

“From anyone knowing about the headaches."

He paused, seeming rattled for a moment.

“I thank you for saving him,” Burke said quietly.

“I didn't. The sleeping potion wore off. Do you have any idea who is trying to kill him?"

“I have my suspicions, but no proof."

“You think it's me because of what passed between our parents."

Burke shook his head. “You were never on my list—well, maybe briefly, when I learned about Rebecca's and Brandon's affair."

Reed froze. “Rebecca and Brandon. I thought we were talking about my father keeping the mines."

“What mines? I thought they hadn't found any gold. Your father ran a supply store."

Reed sighed. “We have many things to clear up, but I'd rather do this with Barclay present. We each have a piece of the puzzle—maybe its time we put it all together."

“I'll meet tomorrow. I have an obligation to attend to first."

Reed watched him walk away, not liking his suspicion about where he was headed. Maybe he could rewrite the ending to this story.

* * * *

“I hear you've been talking about me."

Eve's eyes widened at the sight of Barclay leaning against the tree in their garden. It was the spot they'd always met in as children. Only his pose was too casual for Barclay.

“I'm sorry that those rumors got started. I never intended for it to go that far."

He moved closer to her. Something about him was different. Her heart pounded.

“Then why did it?” He tilted up her chin, forcing her meet his probing gaze.

“I ... was angry at Burke.” She pulled away from him. He never loved me like I loved him.

“Because he never gave you what you wanted?"

“No, because he led me on. I was no different from all the other women he flirted with.” Despite her attempts to hide it, hurt edged her tone.

“That's not true. I cared about you."

Eve's eyes widened, and she put a hand over her mouth as his words hit her. She stepped out of his reach.

“No, it—it can't be. Burke...?"

“What if I asked you to marry me?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Was she dreaming?

“She can't.” Reed stepped out from behind the tree. “She is marrying me."

They were fighting over her. Just went to prove that she wasn't undesirable after all.

You stay out of this, Holbrooke.” She turned to Burke. An ugly understanding began to dawn on her. “Why would you want to marry me now?"

“Because I love you, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

Now, he admits he loves me. Although, his words said the emotion, his eyes didn't express it.

“If all this hadn't come up, would you still be offering me marriage?” Tell me the truth for once.

Burke paused. The answer to that was murky. “We've known each other for years."

“You gave me my first kiss,” she whispered.

Burke closed his eyes. His tone regretful. “Playing blind man's buff in the clearing."

“But that's not the kind of love you want for a marriage.” Reed spoke softly.

“Holbrooke is right, Eve. We have a comfortableness of the past."

“But no moth to the flame."

She had been a fool.

“I can't marry you, Reed. I...” Eve burst into tears and took off running toward the house.

“Take care of her, Townsend. If you hurt her, I'll find you."

“Odd comment coming from a dead man.” Reed held Burke by his coat lapels.

“You aren't going to shake the truth out of me about my relationship with Eve, because I see you already know the answer in your heart."

“I just know Eve."

“Then this will all be okay."

* * * *

“I thought I told my staff that I wasn't seeing visitors.” Eve backed away from Reed as he entered the parlor. She couldn't believe he had followed her up to the house. How had he gotten past the servants?

“You know good and well I'm not a visitor. Now, I'm putting an end to this nonsense.” Reed swooped her up in his arms. “Things have gone way beyond your control, and I'm going to fix them."

Her jaw dropped as he carried her down the stairs and out the door to his waiting buggy.

“And just how do you intend to do that?"

“By marrying you.” He swung up beside her.

Her pulse race. Marriage to Reed Townsend. Impossible. Unthinkable. Delightful. No, she couldn't, could she?

Eve stilled his hands on the reins. “We shouldn't rush into this. I'm in mourning."

“Sugar, we've both burned our bridges. Your brother will have my hide if I don't marry you. Come to think of it, he may even if I do. That doesn't bother me. I have a special license in my pocket. I'll handle the repercussions."

She had not doubt that he could. But what would her family say? “Marcus will be angry."

“I told you I can handle him.” He freed his hands, flickering the reins. “Any other objections?"

Her brother was no match for this powerfully built man. “I..."

He cut her comment off with a deep kiss. Pulling back, he brushed a thumb across her damp lips. “Trust me, sugar. This will be fine."

Her lips tingled from his touch. She wanted to believe him, but could she?"

“But...? But..."

He urged the horses forward. “There is no use arguing with me. This is the only way I know to quiet the rumors about you, Barclay, and Burke."

“This will only make it worse. Everyone will speculate as to why we married in such a hurry."

He gave her leg a reassuring squeeze. “I can handle the gossips. It will be all right. Don't look so scared, or the preacher will never believe you're willing."

“I'm not sure I am."

He threw back his head and laughed. “Honest to the end."

Reed stopped the buggy in front of the vicar's little, stone house. He turned her toward him, tilting her chin in his hand. “If it's any consolation, I'm not sure I'm ready, either. No one ever is totally. But it's the only way I know to stop this tide from drowning you.

Eve swallowed hard. She had already drowned. She just wondered how he'd feel when he learned the truth.

* * * *

Daphne flattened herself against the side of the barn just out of sight of the rider galloping toward it. She had just left her husband pouring over ledgers in his study. Actually, she had distracted him for a while after he told her the story of Eve. Daphne's body heated at the thought of what they had done in the big chair by the fire.

As rider grew closer, she knew for sure that she wasn't imagining things. There had been two of them. This man dressed in black rode Rascal. What had Ian called him? "His other Grace's horse?" Had Barclay known and played with her mind all this time?

She stepped into view as he swung down. Time for a payback for all the times he rattled her.

“Finished your work fast. Must not have had any distractions."

“Ah, no. I needed to settle some things this morning."

His blue-green eyes widened in shock when he saw her. Good, he had no time to hide his feelings.

“Funny you should mention that. I do, too."

Before he could figure out what she about to do and stop her, Daphne stood on tiptoes and kissed him. No feelings, other than the thrill of sensing his unease.

She brushed a hand across his mouth as he tried to pull back from her.

“Since it appears you're done with work, how about I get Princess and we go for a ride, Your Grace?"

Burke stood rock still, squeezing the reins in his hands as Daphne impishly smiled up at him. Your Grace? That was the first time she ever called him that. She knew the glint in her eyes told him so, but how?

“How do you know that I'm ‘Your Grace'?"

“For a rake, you're not nearly as good a kisser as my husband. Unless of course you've played games with me in bed, too. You were very different last night and both times today."

“He would be dead right now if that were true.” Barclay's deep voice rumbled next to her ear as his arm went possessively around her waist. “There are some things I never share."

“I take it the truth is one of them.” Anger surged white-hot though Daphne. He wasn't surprised to see Burke. Drat him for making her doubt herself. She wiggled free from his hold and stalked off towards the house.

Burke threw his head back, laughing long and hard. The little minx had turned the tables on both of them. He shook his head. Barclay would have his hands full with her.

Damn him. Barclay knocked Burke to the ground. “One more of your messes to clean up."

Burke stood rubbing his jaw. “If you weren't so dead set on keeping her in the dark, she wouldn't be so mad. You created this situation. I merely made use of it."

Reached into his coat, he tossed Barclay the book. “I hope this opens up your eyes to the kind of man our father was and what he was capable of doing."

Barclay stared at the book, flipping it open to the read the inscription. “Bloody hell, how many more of these are there?"

Burke shrugged. “I found this one in a box of Father's things in the room he was using. Are you going to let him keep controlling you? He is dead, dammit. Why can't you cut the strings?"

“Because someone has to uphold the family honor."

Burke stiffened as though he had been slapped. “Believe what you like. But Father played all of us. In the end, he lost. Is that what you want?"

“I have responsibilities to our family. Something you never took seriously."

“How about the ones to yourself? When do you get be free?"

“Never.” Barclay watched Daphne disappear from sight.

“Then you might as well be dead, too."

* * * *

Barclay knocked softly on the half-open door to Daphne's room. It slid open on its own.

“Unless you have come to tell me the whole truth, go away.” She tossed her clothes into the carpetbag.

He leaned back against the doorjamb with his heart in his throat. “It doesn't appear that anything I can say would make a difference. You have your mind made up."

“When did you know about Burke?” Her voice was flat.

“Last night I found him prowling in the nursery."

“In all the times we were intimate since then, you never thought to tell me. Even when I asked why you seemed more comfortable with me."

“I had to think things through."

She closed the bag, pulling the straps hard. “Then you'll decide if or what I have a right to know. It doesn't matter that I have stake in this, too. Your family honor is all that matters. Tell me, what else you are keeping from me?” She ripped the carpet bag off the bed. “That's right, you have to think on that, too. If and when you decide what I need to know, I'll be at the Strattens'.

She turned, giving him a pointed look. “On second thought, don't come unless you're prepared to tell me the whole story."

“So you aren't going to listen now."

“The problem is you're not willing to talk."

How could he share secrets that weren't his to share? The hurt in her eyes broke his heart.

“Then that's it. You'll just let me go?"

Coward. Say something. “I can force you stay, but I won't.” He moved from the doorframe allowing her to brush past. All his impulses told him to grab her, but reason told him that he couldn't have her.

“That was bloody stupid,” Burke said from behind him as he watched Horace take Daphne's bag.

“I married her for the wrong reasons. I meant to keep her from finding out the whole story."

“You're not going to fight for her?"

“I felt it was about time I gave her choices."

“Humph. And everyone thought I was dumb one. You must love her."

“More than she knows."

* * * *

Eve paced around the richly decorated bedroom at Holbrooke Hall. Everything in it contained a different shade of blue. And blue was not her favorite color.

She glanced out the window. The drop was too far to jump. Drat. She had been crazy to let him leave her alone to change. Now her fears ran wild. What would Reed do when he realized he had married her for nothing? Would he hate her for the lies she had told?

Her pulse jumped. The door between their rooms slid open. Reed, clad only in a robe, stepped in.

“Did I leave you alone too long?” He cupped her cheeks in his big, warm hands, tipping her face up. His lips brushed hers. “I can see in your eyes that I have given you enough time for second thoughts. Let me banish those right now."

His mouth lowered again to hers. Eve's heart raced. She must talk to him before it was too late.

“Wait!” Her hand pushed out to put distance between them. But it only brought them closer. Now her hand lay on his hot, hair-roughened—sweet mercy!—bare chest. He would have to be naked under that robe.

He lifted her hand, kissing her palm. “You have nothing to fear, sugar."

Her comments were lost as his mouth took hers, caressing, loving, inviting. Her body tingled.

“I love this lacy, white gown, but I'd like to see it off you,” he murmured as he slid it up over her head.

The feeling of her bare body brushing against his hard one sent a shiver of anticipation up her spine. Would he expect her to know what to do? After all, she claimed to have been lovers with Burke, whose reputation was legendary.

Without another word, he scooped her up in his arms, laying her gently down on the bed. His body covered hers as he kissed her. His hand roamed her curves, making her tremble with need.

“Look at me, sugar,” he said as he braced himself over her. “I'll try not to hurt you very much."

He entered her slowly, filling her with his warmth. Her body matched his rhythm. He quivered as she came undone.

Reed rolled her next to him, tucking her protectively in the crook of his arm.

“There hasn't been anyone else,” she whispered in the darkness.

“I know. I think I always knew."

“Then why did you marry me? I thought you did it to protect me from scandal."

She tried to sit up in order to read his expression, but he held her tight. His voice was just a deep rumble in the dark.

“I did it for that reason, too. But the main reason is that I love you."

His words sent tears down her cheeks. “How can you? I've lied and hurt everyone around me."

Reed rolled on his side to face her, brushing off her tears.

The gesture brought even more tears. “It was all so simple. Lord Vengeance and I were playing a game."

His hand smoothed down her arm. “But he changed the rules?"

“Before I knew it, we had gone from sharing secret ambitions to spreading rumors. I got caught up in the planning. It took me a while to see that I could be hurting someone."

“How did he contact you?"

“By letters. At his request, I burned them after I read them. Guess that wasn't a very smart idea."

“Actually, I'd say that was an extremely brilliant move. It kept his misdeeds from leading back to you."

She hadn't thought of that.

“Do you know who Lord Vengeance is?"

“No. Keeping his identity secret was the allure of the game. I fear he might have murdered your parents, my father, and Barclay's parents."

She ran a hand over the hard, hairy contours of his chest. So strong, yet so gentle.

“Our fathers were connected by their past. Do you know anything about that?"

“No. Other than that my father had nightmares. He used to scream out Sheldon and Derek's names. Do those names mean anything to you?"

“Derek is a name I keep hearing, I can't put a last name with it. Sheldon is my father."

He paused, drawing a deep breath. “Recently I have learned that Brandon Stewart might actually be my father, but Sheldon gave my mother and me his name.

“What are you laughing at?"

“I'm sorry.” She put a hand over her mouth. “I ended up with the best Stewart after all."

He tightened his hold.

“How can you forgive me so easily?” She was almost afraid of the answer.

“We've both made mistakes. If I'd stayed home, maybe I could have prevented my parents’ deaths."

Eve moved to look at him. “You couldn't have prevented..."

He put a finger to her lips. “Neither could you. Now, I don't want to waste anymore of my wedding night talking about past regrets."

He slid over on top of her. “I have other plans for this evening, sugar."

* * * *

“Does that mean you aren't going to let me stay here?” Daphne dropped down into the huge leather chair between the stuffed bear and the marble Greek statue.

The Countess and Earl of Stratten glanced back and forth at each other. Stratten appeared pale sitting behind his cluttered desk. The Countess paced the room.

Stratten stroked his gray beard. “Of course, you're always welcome here. But I think you're expecting too much from Ravensthorpe. His father thrived on secrets. Hell's bells, he had so many that I couldn't keep them straight. I guess he started keeping them from the time we were lads."

Daphne leaned forward excited by the prospect of learning more about Barclay's secretive family. “What sort of secrets?"

“The old Duke of Ravensthorpe would roll over in his grave if I told you."

“Oh.” Daphne flopped back in the chair. Drat! Another dead end.

“Now, Ollie what can it hurt?” Rose waved her hands with mounting frustration. “The lass is na’ going to blab. Are you?"

She shook her head. “I really need to know."

He sighed. “Well, I shouldn't tell you this, but Brandon Stewart couldn't read."

Rose and Daphne exchanged glances.

“Then Barclay knew all of it."

“I would assume so, yes. Brandon brought him home from the military about three years ago and put him in charge of his affairs."

Daphne stood in numb silence. Rose put her arm around her. She gave Stratten a help-me-out-here look.

“You have to understand, my dear, that Ravensthorpe is a very honorable man. His obligations to his family run very deep. He didn't intend to hurt you."

“But that doesn't erase the fact that he did."

“No, my dear, it doesn't."

Maybe it was a good thing I read the book. Otherwise, I'd still be in the dark.

“Madame Daphne.” Louie poked his head around the door. “The Countess of Holbrooke is here to see you. I put her in the conservatory.

They all looked at each other puzzlement.

“The Countess of Holbrooke?” Daphne asked not really to anyone. But there is no Countess of Holbrooke. Unless my brother ... ?

“Wait a minute?” The Countess of Stratten shot the earl a hard glare. “Did you know that Daphne's brother was here?"

“No."

They both glanced at Daphne.

“He didn't want anyone to know until he finished his investigation. I can't believe he got married. I wonder who she is?"

Louie cleared his throat. “She is—ah—was Eve Bancroft."

Her brother had married Eve Bancroft. Now, that was a story she had to hear.

“Excuse me.” Daphne stood, almost tripping over the bear.

“I wonder what she wants,” Rose said as Daphne left the room. “Not to stir up trouble, I hope."

Oliver limped over to place a hand on Rose's shoulder. “Eve is a good lass—somewhat misguided these days."

“I just dinna’ want to see Daphne get hurt any further. Barclay has done enough to her already. His secrets are killing their marriage."

Oliver chuckled. “I get the hint, my love. I'm protecting you."

“I'm not the one needing protecting. I didna’ survive all these years by hiding from trouble. You'd best be remembering that."

* * * *

“I wanted you to hear from me that I married your brother."

Daphne dropped down into a white wicker rocking chair. How could her brother marry this treacherous woman?

“Honest, I didn't trick your brother into marrying me.” Eve twisted the tip of her shawl.

“I doubt any one could trick Reed. He must have cared about you, or he never would have involved himself in your problems. Marriage is not something he would take lightly."

Maybe if you have a husband of your own, you'll leave mine alone. Reed might be just what Eve needed. Pushing him around would no easy task.

“I'm wondering why you spread rumors about you and Barclay, though."

Eve squeezed her pocketbook, shutting her eyes tight. “I can't tell you."

“Your silence won't save anyone, especially Reed and Barclay."

She sighed, sitting down. Her voice a breathy whisper. “I did what Lord Vengeance instructed me to do in order to save my father. In the end, it wasn't enough. I can't risk the others."

Dear heavens, this all made a sick sort of sense. “Has he threatened them, too?"

Tear rolled down Eve's cheeks as she nodded. “I got a note this morning telling me that I had endangered Reed's life by marrying him. That now I'll have to wait for my punishment."

Daphne moved to sit beside Eve on the green settee. She pulled Eve against her chest as Eve cried. “We have to figure out how to stop him before he achieves his goal.” Daphne stroked her hair.

* * * *

Rose sat back in a wicker rocker, sipping her tea. Her gaze moved from Daphne to Eve, who both sat nervously perched on the edges of their chairs.

Eve swallowed. “You see, Countess Stratten, this is all my fault. I took orders from Lord Vengeance.” She lowered her eyes.

“He began writing to me just after the old Earl of Holbrooke died. He promised me all sorts of...” Her hands waved nervously. “It sounds silly now. I thought I could gain Burke's attention by flirting with the mysterious Lord Vengeance."

“Was that all he promised—help with luring Burke?” Rose probed gently.

Eve shook her head. “He promised to help save my father. He hinted that he'd poisoned him. Threatened that Father would die if I told. It was all so confusing.” Her words cracked into a sob.

Rose knelt beside the younger woman, stroking her long, dark hair. “There, there, lassie. You dinna’ know any different."

She glanced up at Daphne.

“There are clues here somewhere.” Daphne stood, pacing. “Didn't you tell me, Countess, that Barclay's mother said something odd to you?"

“I think is time you both call me Rose. After all we are all old married women now."

She stroked her chin.

“The Dowager Duchess said we didna’ read the book carefully enough. That she wasna’ the only one with dirty hands."

“What book?” Eve sniffled.

Rose produced a copy from her bag. “Gold Fever."

“What does it say?” Eve's eyes widened.

Rose flipped through many pages. “As near as I can tell, Derek held most of the money they brought to invest in buying the gold mine. Then he and Brandon lost it in a poker game the first night they arrived in California. In order to get the mine without the capital, Brandon tricked the miner owner with a bet involving his daughter."

Drat, she wished she had finished the book. “What sort of bet?"

Rose waved her off with a flip of her hand. “That's not important now. I'll tell you about it later.

“Anyway, Derek got so caught up in finding the gold, that he went down into a mineshaft even though he'd been warned that it wasn't safe. He and Kyle were stranded underground when the walls collapsed."

Eve face lost all color. “Father hated dark, tight spaces."

“Brandon rescued Kyle, but Derek was crushed under the rocks."

All three women sat in stunned silence.

“I think I know who Lord Vengeance is,” Daphne whispered. “He has been in constant, discreet contact with me. In fact, I'm going to meet with him soon."

Eve sniffled. “Shouldn't you tell Barclay?"

“No, that would ruin my plan. I have to make Lord Vengeance think I don't trust Barclay for him to trust me. If my hunch is correct, this man will expose himself if I play it right. All we have to do is get Inspector Reynolds there to hear his confession."

“I don't know. Eve shook her head. “Lord Vengeance is very dangerous man."

“That's why the three of us have to work together to save our husbands. You two go confront him, and I'll get Inspector Reynolds. Agreed?” Rose held out a hand.

“Agreed.” Daphne put her hand in Rose's.

Even hesitated. “Reed will kill me, but at least he will be alive to do it. I'm in."

Chapter Twenty One

“Damn.” Justin tossed the newspaper across his breakfast table. “No mention of Stratten's death.” The old man had more lives than a cat. More lives than Daphne Stewart. This game was getting tiresome.

“My lord.” A plump maid quietly walked into the dining room. His black temper usually kept the servants away, which suited him just fine.

“I have a note for you."

He ripped it from her hands, sending her scurrying from the room.

Baron Warwick,

I would like to meet with this evening at your office to discuss the terms of my marriage agreement.

Sincerely,

Daphne, Duchess of Ravensthorpe

“Well, well. She doesn't trust him after all. Bankrupting Barclay and taking his wife will be sweet revenge. Let him see what it feels like to lose all you hold dear. Then live under a cloud of scandal. Checkmate."

* * * *

Stratten limped into the parlor where Reed, Barclay, and Burke stood nervously waiting.

“I wondered how long it would take before you discovered my book among your father's things and sought me out. I've lived for and dreaded this day. Sit, our wives are off playing whist."

As he lowered himself into the high-backed chair, Stratten's gaze fell on Reed. “So you're Harry's grandson?"

“Uh, yes, sir.” Reed shifted uncomfortably under the older man's scrutiny. Why didn't he admit he knew the truth?

“I hope you will remain in England. Holbrooke would have wanted it that way."

“Yes, sir."

“I see you've come back from the dead.” He pinned Burke with a stern glare. “Complicated isn't it, to have put your life back together? Been proclaimed dead at least twice that I know about. Does wonders for the interest you attract at social gatherings, though."

Barclay cleared his throat. “We're sorry to hear about your accident. Are you up to talking to us? It is very important."

Stratten waved off their concerns. “I've had harder falls. Rose just hasn't learned how accident-prone I am yet."

“That's just it. None of us think it was an accident.” Reed leaned forward, putting his folded hands on his knees. “My wife has been getting messages from someone who calls himself Lord Vengeance. He clearly threatened her father. It appears he is after you, too."

“Poppycock. I just spent too much time in my room plotting murder and mayhem. The port, rich dinner, and lack of sleep got the best of me."

“Then you think the deaths of the other members of the Fearless Four were a coincidence?” Burke asked.

“I'm not sure.” Stratten stood, leaning heavily on his gold-tipped cane. “That's not true. I do think something is foul. But why now after all these years?"

“That's what we'd like to know,” Barclay said.

“We've all read the book. How much of it is true?” Burke moved to the edge of his chair.

“I'm ashamed to say, all of it. After that, I learned my lesson about basing my stories on real people. I've never made that mistake again. Now, all of the Eccentric Earl adventures are loosely based on actual events with totally fictional characters. Easier to get the ending I want that way."

“What happened between those men was tragic, but I'm not convinced it led to their deaths.” Reed rubbed his chin. “Could you tell us what happened when they got home?"

Stratten gingerly lowered himself into a high-backed chair. “Let me see. Kyle Bancroft returned home penniless, much to father's chagrin.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You know most of this. He married Penelope within the year. The old earl died about five years later, and Kyle succeeded to the title. How can this be of interest?"

Reed touched his arm. “Just bear with me. Then nothing bad happened to Kyle. Other than getting some of his Father's wrath."

“They made up right away, and Kyle became the dutiful heir he wanted."

“What about Barclay's grandfather?"

“He died before Brandon returned. Brandon had a difficult time adjusting to the requirements of his title. At his mother's insistence, he married Meredith right away."

“What about Derek? Who is Derek? We know the other men, but not him."

Stratten let out a shaky breath. He hadn't spoken that name in thirty years.

“Derek is Justin Langford's father."

A gasp of surprise went around the room.

Barclay's stomach tightened. He known Warwick all his life, yet he'd had no idea that his father was one of the Fearless Four. Daphne's suspicions might have some basis in truth after all. “I never knew about Warwick's father."

“Don't feel bad. He has been gone so long that most people don't remember him being part of the scandals. That was my biggest regret. After Derek's father died, the estate was broke. The poor lad had sold everything that wasn't entailed to pay for his trip. If I had known how dire his situation was, I never would have taken him along. Him leaving his pregnant wife and child behind still bothers me. I guess not having a family of my own at the time, I didn't take it into account. As I get older, I worry about those past mistakes."

The men exchanged glances.

Justin was just a lad, then? Barclay swallowed hard.

Stratten went on. His tone trembling, but flat. “Derek's wife miscarried their second child soon after he left. When I returned to give her Derek's share of the money, she kicked me out. Kyle, Brandon, and I all offered to help. Some of us even offered marriage, but she thumbed her nose at all of us and became the mistress of a rich, powerful man whose name now escapes me. He was one of many over the years."

“Justin never let on that her behavior hurt him,” Barclay said quietly.

“I'm sure it did, but I fear one of her men hurt him worse."

Silence hung heavy in the room as they considered what Stratten had said.

“Justin worked hard to restore the title. Maybe too hard,” Burke said.

Barclay stood, running a hand over his face. “Daphne suspected Justin, but I doubted her. Warwick never gave me any inclination that he hated any of us."

“But it does stand to reason that he could be Lord Vengeance,” Reed said. “Justin knew all our fathers and handled their affairs. He even gave Barclay the headache powder."

Burke stood. “At the Harringtons’ ball he cozied up to Daphne."

“My wife threatened to protect me.” Stratten let out a harsh laugh. “If Daphne suspected, and Rose agreed..."

“Then they aren't playing whist,” Reed finished his thought.

* * * *

“I still don't see why we don't just grab Daphne and head home,” Burke grumbled. “Let Inspector Reynolds handle this."

“Shush!” Barclay said.

Reed pulled Burke deeper into the shadows behind Justin's office. “Don't blow this—invisible duke man. I thought you thrived on adventure."

“I've had enough of that lately. Thank you very much.” Burke's jaw dropped. “Bloody hell! Daphne brought more helpers."

Burke moved back out of the street light. “I wonder if you'll feel so lenient, Townsend, when you see Eve is accompanying Daphne on tonight's adventure."

“Humph. About as much as you will, Burke, when you realize that other small figure hiding behind the trash cans is your mother."

“Bloody bleeding hell,” Barclay muttered. “Will you two hush up? This is turning into a bloody farce."

“I got your note.” Marcus Bancroft stepped in behind Barclay. “I'm not sure I believe all your allegations about Justin. He is our friend. Sneaking around in the alley behind his office doesn't seem right. What the hell—is that my sister over there? You've got her involved in this?"

“No, she did that on her own by hooking up with Lord Vengeance,” Reed whispered.

“You think she helped...?” Norcott sputtered.

“I don't think. I know. She told me so herself."

“And you're letting her confront him. I should have killed you when you ran off with her.” Norcott swore under his breath.

“If you two don't be quiet, this will all be for naught,” Barclay whispered sharply.

“Yes, Marcus,” Burke spoke from the darkness.

Marcus's eyes widened. “Burke! He shoved him against the wall. “You bloody bastard. You've been playing with us all this time, haven't you?

“Damn!” He released Burke, stepping back. “I should have known."

“Why? My own mother didn't. For the record, I never touched Eve."

“Shush.” Barclay waved them back. “Here comes Justin."

“I hope you are wrong about this,” Norcott whispered.

“I hope so, too.” Barclay reached for his gun. “But I'm sure as bloody hell not taking any chances."

* * * *

“I knew once I explained it to you that you'd see things my way.” Justin stepped closer to Daphne.

She swallowed hard, trying to appear braver than she felt. If only she could get him talking before Rose showed up with Inspector Reynolds.

“You see, your father would have never wanted you married to a Stewart. After all Brandon ruined your mother."

“That's not true.” Could it be? What about how much Reed and Burke looked alike? Stay focused.

He held a letter over a candle, watching it burn in the ashtray. “This is all the proof I need.” Those missing letters. Barclay's father? Her mother's handwriting?

“He is right."

Justin jumped at the sound of Lady Meredith's voice. What was the Dowager Duchess doing here? This wasn't part of the plan.

“Daphne's mother did love Brandon Stewart. But I fixed it so they couldn't be together. I tore up the letter Brandon wrote, breaking our engagement. I then coaxed the old duke into making his son marry me to gain his title. Not wanting to contest his father's will, Brandon did. I understand why Justin hates you all. You see, I got crumbs, too."

Justin's eyes widened with delight.

Daphne couldn't breathe. It all made awful sense.

“But if the conflict was between my father and old Ravensthorpe, then why is Justin involved?” The words stuck in her dry throat.

“Why don't you tell them the rest of the story?” Eve stepped out of the shadows. “Tell them what they did to your father."

“No!” Justin pulled the gun from his desk. “No one needs to know, now that I have all my answers. No one will ever know how stupid my father was. He trusted them all, just like you all trusted me. Now I have the last laugh."

He grinned, grabbing Daphne and holding the gun to her temple.

“You really think their husbands won't come after you?” Eve asked as she stepped closer to Justin.

“Oh, I'm counting on that. But it will be too late."

Daphne shivered at the certainty in his tone.

“So you were going to leave me out of the final plan. Here I thought we were partners,” Eve said sulkily.

Daphne sucked in a breath. Eve was convincing. Had she and Reed been taken for a ride?

“You were good. Damn good, Eve.” Justin's voice rumbled behind her. But you slept with the wrong man. I won't have Stewart and Townsend leftovers any more."

When Eve lunged at him, he clucked his tongue, tightening his hold on Daphne.

“It would be shame to splatter her blood all over that yellow dress of yours, my pet. Now, be a good girl and get in the closet with the Dowager Duchess.

“I'd say I was sorry to see you two die, but I'd be lying. The circle is complete. You two will die, and your husbands will pay. I made sure no one would believe a word they said in defense."

“I didn't have anything to do with what happened to Derek.” Meredith stepped closer, pleading. “In fact, I tried to stop them from going to America."

“You were always nice to me, Lady Meredith. But I know your greed killed him, too. Now, get in or she dies.” He motioned with his head.

Daphne struggled to keep taking slow, steady breaths, praying his hand wouldn't drop lower to feel the gun she had tucked in her skirt just under her shawl. Oh, hurry, Rose!

“Do what he says.” Her voice quivered.

“Well done. You're as mercenary as I am.” He let go of her to lock the door.

She whipped out her revolver. “Not really. Now, unlock that door."

Justin's eyes hardened. “And let them escaped unpunished? I'd rather you shoot me. Then the bastards would all pay for cheating my father. In fact, they cheated yours out of his birthright, too."

He stepped closer, but she refused to move. In a blink, he brought his hand down, knocking the gun from hers. He spun her around, securing her to him at the waist. His voice rasped by her ear.

“I learned to fight to protect myself from mother's men. I hung out with her theatre friends. I earned extra money as a magician and an escape artist as I rebuilt my family's fortune. I vowed the Fearless Four would pay."

“They have."

Eve and Meredith pounded on the closet door.

He pulled her toward the desk. “Not nearly enough.” He bumped the candle over, engulfing his desk in flames. But they will. I've ruined their families as they did mine."

Daphne gasped as flames danced across the floor, licking up the bookcase. The heat scorched her face. “You can't do this."

He laughed. “Ah, but I have."

She struggled as he edged toward the door. “You can't leave them in here."

“You're all I need to finish my revenge. Bankrupt, Barclay will never find his wife. He'll always wonder if you died or are in my bed."

“That's if I play by your rules,” Barclay growled.

Daphne's heart skipped a beat at the sound of her husband's voice behind them as his arm went around Justin's throat.

With an elbow to the stomach Daphne was free. She watched helplessly as Barclay and Justin wrestled. In the room, flames ran up the curtains. All she could think about was freeing Eve and Meredith. She darted off, pulling out hairpin.

The blasted doorknob was too hot. Fire climbed up the bookcase behind her. Daphne could hardly keep her trembling hand on task.

“Tell me that isn't smoke I smell.” Meredith's fearful voice drifted through the door.

“Hush. Someone is trying to save us,” Eve chided.

Finally the lock clicked, and the doorknob turned in the wadded-up skirt in Daphne's hand, but the door wouldn't open. She pulled and pulled on it. Then it came open with such force that she flew back, hitting her head on the desk. Everything went black.

* * * *

Daphne's eyes fluttered open bed as Dr. Stewart leaned over her. “You have more lives that a cat, my lady."

“Is she awake? Barclay skidded into the room, shoeless, buttoning his shirt.

“This is where I came in.” Cameron turned to Barclay. She is remarkably fine. But be gentle with her."

He grabbed his coat and bag. “I'm off to deliver a baby. I'm going to have to talk that brother of yours into helping me out. Might get some sleep that way."

“Awake? Wear me out? What is he talking about?"

Barclay sat down next to her on the bed. “You've been unconscious for two days."

Daphne reached to touch the bump on her head. The scent of the various vases of flowers filled her senses. “Where did all these flowers come from?"

“Mother brought them over. I think you have practically her whole garden up here. I finally sent her home this morning. She thinks this is all her fault."

Daphne shook her head. “She tried to stop him in her own way.” Her eyes rounded. “What happened?"

“Everyone made it out of the building, even Justin. Inspector Reynolds is hopping mad that he didn't figure it out himself. As they were leading him away, Justin vowed to get even."

Barclay shivered. “I'd rather not think about that."

She poked him. “I told you it was Justin."

“Don't rub it in."

“No one else was hurt?"

“Mum and Eve are still recovering from the smoke. The Earl and Countess of Stratten saved the day. The countess brought Reynolds, and Stratten alerted the firemen. I just hope Reynolds accepts the story they told him and not dig deeper. To make matters worse, several of Stratten's mysterious books are missing."

Daphne shivered. “I doubt your mother would like have those floating about the ton."

Barclay choked. “Perish the thought."

Daphne rested her head on his shoulder. “I just wish I could remember how you got me out."

“I wish I didn't.” He squeezed her hand. “It will haunt me for years, thinking how I almost lost you."

“Then you'd miss me?"

He tipped her chin up and kissed her. “I love you, Daphne. Every impulsive inch of you."

“I love you, too. Every impossible, stubborn inch of you. I think I knew the moment I woke up at your townhouse.” She sobered. “I have a confession to make. I read Stratten's lost book."

Barclay laughed. “Why am I not surprised? Can you forgive my family for hurting yours?"

Daphne reached up, touching his face. “If you can forgive mine."

“But...?"

She put a finger to his lips. “Did it ever occur to you that my father also played to win? That he ended up with the mines and the woman they both loved."

“I never thought it that way. I just felt bad that he never got to return to England."

“By his own choice. He could have reconnected with my grandfather. Goodness knows, he had to know where his father was. But he chose not to."

“True."

“I still can't figure out how I knew the details of your parents’ accident when I wasn't there."

“Easy, Justin told you while you were asleep. He confessed to me about being a magician and about his acting background."

“That explains a great deal. How could I not know those things about someone I considered to be a close friend?"

“Because he planned to keep you in the dark. He had to keep your trust in order for his twisted plan to work. At least Reed is safe now."

She snapped her fingers. “That's the other thing Justin told me. Reed may be your half-brother. Considering how much you look like him, I have no doubt that he is related. Do you think that is why my father didn't leave anything to him?"

Barclay pulled her into his arms. “No, darling. Justin did that. He convinced your father that the mines were cursed. He must have used Justin's firm, because he wanted to give him business."

“To make up for losing his father?"

Barclay nodded.

“There is one part of the puzzle I haven't yet put together. Why did your brother disappear?"

He paused, taking a deep breath.

She touched his arm. “You don't have to tell me."

“I'm through with secrets. Burke didn't want to be duke. He has trouble reading. Father did, too. That's why I handle the business affairs."

“Then we are staying in England?"

“No. Burke will never depend on himself if I remain here. Besides—” He slid a hand down her cheek. “—I have mines to operate in Colorado. Marcus and Reed can be my silent partners now that we know they aren't cursed. Unless of course you object to not being a duchess. In which case, I'm sure Burke would gladly give the title back."

Daphne kissed him. “No way. I'm through being a grace."

He chuckled. “Me, too."

“What do regular people do?"

“They sleep in the same bed."

“I could get used to that."