Can a necklace hold the power

to right a love gone wrong?

Five years ago Rafael, Duke of Sheffield, believed he was betrayed by the woman he loved and the pain haunts him still. When Rafe discovers that he was cruelly tricked, and that Danielle Duval was never unfaithful, he's desperate to win her back. But Dani is already on a steamer bound for America to marry another man. Impulsively, Rafe follows her and, trapping her in a compromising situation, quickly makes her his wife.

Promising her that with time he can prove his love and win her trust, Rafe presents her with a stunning necklace rumored to hold great power. As much as Dani wants to believe it can right the wrongs of the past, she fears there is one truth it cannot conceal, a truth that could cost her this second chance with Rafe, the only man she has ever loved....

She was here!

Rafael handed his betrothed, Lady Mary Rose Montague, back into the care of her parents and turned away.

"They will be playing a waltz a bit later," said Mary Rose. "Perhaps you would.

But Rafe was already walking away, his mind on another woman far different from the one he intended to wed.Danielle Duval. Just the sound of her name, whispering through the back of his mind, was enough to make his temper shoot to dangerous levels. It had taken him years to learn to control his volatile nature, to bring his emotions under control. These days he rarely shouted, rarely allowed his passionate nature to get out of hand.

Not since Danielle.

Loving Danielle Duval had taught him a valuable lesson. Love was a disease that could unman a man. It had nearly destroyed Rafael. He glanced toward the rear of the ballroom, catching a flash of Danielle's bright hair. He could scarcely believe it. How dare she show her face after what she had done? He felt a rush of angry heat to the back of his neck. He itched to stride across the floor, grab her shoulders and shake her until her pretty white teeth rattled. It was a feeling he hadn't known since the day he'd last seen her—five years ago.

 copyright 2006

One

London, England June 1806

“ ‘Tis a shame, is what it is." Cornelia Thorne, Lady Brookfield, stood near the center of the ballroom. "Just look at him out there dancing.. .so completely bored. Him a duke and her such a mousy little thing, completely terrified of the man, I'll wager."

The Duchess of Sheffield, Miriam Saunders, raised her quizzing glass to peer at her son, Rafael, Duke of Sheffield. Miriam and her sister, Cornelia, were attending a charity ball along with Rafael and his betrothed, Lady Mary Rose Montague. The evening, a benefit for the London Widows and Orphans Society, was being held in the magnificent ballroom of the Chesterfield Hotel.

"The girl is actually quite lovely," the duchess defended, "so blond and petite, just a bit shy, is all." Unlike her son, the duke, who was tall and dark, with eyes even bluer than her own. And there was Rafe, himself, a strong, incredibly

8                              Kat Martin

handsome man whose powerful presence seemed to overshadow the young woman he had chosen to be his future bride.

"I'll grant, she is pretty," Cornelia said, "in a rather whitewashed sort of way. Still, it seems a shame."

"Rafael is finally doing his duty. It is past time he took a wife. Perhaps they don't suit as well as I would have liked, but the girl is young and strong, and she will bear him healthy sons." And yet, as her sister had said, Miriam couldn't miss the bland, bored expression on her son's very handsome face.

"Rafael was always so dashing," Cornelia said a bit wistfully. "Do you not remember the way he was before? So full of fire, so passionate about life in those days. Now.. .well, he is always so restrained. I do miss the vibrant young man he used to be."

"People change, Cornelia. Rafe learned the hard way where those sorts of emotions can lead."

Cornelia grunted. "You're talking about The Scandal." Thin and gray-haired, she was older than the duchess bynearly six years. "How could anyone forget Danielle...? Now, there was a woman Rafael's equal. 'Tis a shame she turned out to be such a disappointment."

The duchess cast her sister a glance, not wanting a reminder of the terrible scandal they had suffered because of Rafe's former betrothed, Danielle Duval.

The dance ended and the couples began dispersing from the dance floor. "Hush," Miriam warned. "Rafe and Mary Rose are coming this way." The girl was nearly a foot shorter than the duke, blond, blue-eyed and fair, the perfect picture of English femininity. She was also the daughter of

The Handmaiden's Necklace  9

an earl, with a very sizable dowry. Miriam prayed her son would find at least some measure of happiness with the girl.

Rafe made a polite, formal bow. "Good evening, Mother. Aunt Cornelia."

Miriam smiled. "You're both looking quite splendid tonight." And they did. Rafe in dove-gray breeches and a navy-blue tailcoat that set off the blue of his eyes, and Mary Rose in a gown of white silk trimmed with delicate pink roses.

"Thank you, Your Grace," said the girl, with a very proper curtsy.

Miriam frowned. Was her hand trembling where it rested on the sleeve of Rafe's coat? Dear God, the child would soon be a duchess. Miriam fervently prayed she would manage to infuse a bit of backbone into her spine as the months went along.

"Would you care to dance, Mother?" Rafe asked politely.

"Later, perhaps."

"Aunt Cornelia?"

But Cornelia was staring at the doorway, her mind a thousand miles away. Miriam followed her gaze, as did Rafael and his betrothed.

'"Speak of the devil..." Cornelia whispered beneath her breath.

Miriam's eyes widened and her heartbeat quickened, turned wildly erratic. She recognized the short, plump little woman entering the ballroom, Flora Chamberlain, Dowager Countess Wycombe. And she also knew the tall, slender, red-haired woman who was the countess's niece.

10       Kat Martin

Miriam's mouth thinned into a hostile line. A few feet away, her son's expression shifted from incredulity to anger, deepening the slight cleft in his chin.

Cornelia continued to stare. "Of all the nerve!"

A muscle tightened along Rafe's jaw, but he didn't say a word.

"Who is that?" asked Mary Rose.

Rafe ignored her. His gaze remained locked on the elegant creature entering the ballroom behind her aunt. Danielle Duval had been living in the country for the past five years. After The Scandal, she had been banished, shamed into leaving the city. Since her father was dead and her mother had disowned her for what she had done, she had moved in with her aunt, Flora Duval Chamberlain. Until tonight, she had remained in the country.

The duchess couldn't imagine what Danielle was doing back in London, or what had possessed her to come to a place where she was so obviously not welcome.

"Rafael...?" Lady Mary Rose looked up at him with a worried expression. "What is it?"

Rafe's gaze never wavered. Something flashed in his in

tense blue eyes, something hot and wild Miriam hadn't seen

there in nearly five years. Anger tightened the skin across

his cheekbones. He took a steadying breath and fought to

bring himself under control.               

Looking down at Mary Rose, he managed a smile. "Nothing to be concerned about, sweeting. Nothing at all." He took her gloved hand and rested it once more on the sleeve of his coat. "I believe they are playing a rondele. Shall we dance?"

He led her away without waiting for an answer. Miriam

The Handmaiden's Necklace         11

imagined it would always be that way—Rafe commanding, Mary Rose obeying like a good little girl.

The duchess turned back to Danielle Duval, watched her moving along behind her rotund, silver-haired aunt, head held high, ignoring the whispers, the stares, walking with the grace of the duchess she should have been.

Thank heaven the girl's true nature had come out before Rafael had married her.

Before he fell even more in love with her.

The duchess looked again at petite Mary Rose, thought of the biddable sort of wife she would make, nothing at all like Danielle Duval, and suddenly she felt grateful.

******

Crystal chandeliers gleamed down from the lavish, inlaid ceilings of the magnificent ballroom, casting a soft glow over the polished parquet floors. Huge vases of yellow roses and white chrysanthemums sat on pedestals along the wall. The elite of London's elite filled the room, dancing to the music of a ten-piece orchestra in pale blue livery, members of theton attending the gala in support of the London Widows and Orphans Society.

At the edge of the dance floor, Cord Easton, Earl of Brant, and Ethan Sharpe, Marquess of Belford, stood next to their wives, Victoria and Grace, watching the couples moving around the floor.

Do you see what I see?" Cord drawled, his gaze turning away from the dancers to the pair of women walking along the far wall of the room. "I swear my eyes must be deceiving me." Cord was a big man, powerfully built, with dark brown hair and golden brown eyes. He and Ethan were the duke's best friends.

12                           Kat Martin

"What are you looking, at so intently?" His wife, Victoria, followed the line of his vision.

"Danielle Duval," Ethan answered, surprised. "I can't believe she has the nerve to come here." Ethan was as tall as the duke, lean and broad-shouldered, with black hair and very light blue eyes.

"Why, she's beautiful...." Grace Sharpe stared in awe at the tall, slender redhead. "No wonder Rafe fell in love with her."

"Mary Rose is beautiful, too," Victoria defended.

"Yes, of course she is. But there is something about Miss Duval.. .can you not see?"

"There is something about her, all right," Cord growled. "She's a treacherous little baggage with the heart of a snake and not the least bit of conscience. Half of London knows what she did to Rafe. She isn't welcome here, I can tell you."

Cord's gaze found the duke, who was concentrating on his petite blond dancing partner with an interest he had never shown in her before. "Rafe must have seen her. Damnation—why did Danielle have to come back to London?"

"What do you think Rafe will do?" Victoria asked.

"Ignore her. Rafe won't stoop to her level. He has too much self-control for that."

********

Danielle Duval fixed her gaze straight ahead and continued walking behind her aunt. They were headed for a spot at the back of the room, a place where Dani could remain for the most part out of sight.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman turn abruptly away from her, giving Danielle her back. She could

The Handmaiden's Necklace          13

hear people whispering, talking about The Scandal. Dear God, how could she have let her aunt convince her to come?

But Flora Duval Chamberlain had a way of convincing people to her will.

"This charity means everything to me, dearest," she had said. "You have been instrumental in all the good work we have accomplished and received not a single word of thanks. I refuse to go without you. Please say you will agree to your aunt's one small request."

"You know what it will be like for me, Aunt Flora. No one will speak to me. They will talk about me behind my back. I don't think I can bear to go through that again."

"You have to come out of hiding sooner or later. It has already been five years! You never did anything to deserve being treated the way you have been. It is high time you reclaimed your place in the world."

Knowing how much the ball meant to her aunt, Danielle had reluctantly agreed. Besides, Aunt Flora was right. It was time she came out of hiding and reclaimed her life. And she would only be in London for the next two weeks. After that, she was sailing for America, embarking on the new life she intended to make for herself there.

Dani had accepted a proposal of marriage from a man named Richard Clemens, whom she had met in the country, a wealthy American businessman, a widower with two young children. As Richard's wife, Danielle would have the husband and family she had long ago given up hope of ever having. With her new life on the horizon, coming to the ball at her aunt's request seemed a small-enough price to pay.

Now that she was there, however, Dani wished with all

14       Kat Martin

her heart that she were somewhere—anywhere—besides where she was.

They reached the back of the elegant ballroom and she settled herself on a small gold velvet chair against the wall behind one of the urns overflowing with flowers. A few feet away Aunt Flora, undeterred by the hostile glares being cast in their direction, made her way over to the punch bowl and returned a few minutes later with crystal cups filled to the brim with fruit punch.

"Here, dearest, drink this." She winked. "I put a splash of something in there to help you relax."

Danielle opened her mouth to say she didn't need alcoholic spirits to get through the evening, caught another hostile glare and took a big drink of the punch.

"As co-chairman of the event," her aunt explained, "I shall be expected to give a brief speech a bit later on. I shall ask for a generous donation from those in attendance, express my gratitude to all for their past support, and then we shall leave."

It couldn't happen soon enough for Dani. Though she had known what to expect—the scorn she read in people's faces; the acquaintances, once her friends, who would not even look her way—hurt even worse than she had imagined.

And then there was Rafael.

Dear God, she had prayed he wouldn't be here. Aunt Flora had assured her he would simply send a hefty donation as he had done every other year. Instead, here he was, taller, even more handsome than she remembered, exuding every ounce of his powerful presence and aristocratic bearing.

The man who had ruined her.

The Handmaiden's Necklace         15

The man she hated more than anyone on earth.

"Oh, dear." Aunt Flora waved her painted fan in front of her round, powdered face. "Apparently I was wrong. It appears His Grace, the Duke of Sheffield, is here."

For an instant, Dani's back teeth ground together. "Yes...so it would seem." And Rafe had seen her walk in, Danielle knew. For an instant their eyes had met and held, hers as green as his were blue. She had seen the flash of anger before his gaze became shuttered, then the bland expression he had been wearing before he saw her fell back into place.

Her own temper climbed. She had never seen that look on his face before, so calm, so completely unruffled, almost serene. It made her want to hit him. To slap the smug, condescending look off his too-handsome face.

Instead, she sat in her chair against the wall, ignored by old friends, whispered about by people she didn't even know, wishing her aunt would finish her speech and they could go home.

****************

Rafael handed his betrothed, Lady Mary Rose Montague, back into the care of her mother and father, the Earl and Countess of Throckmorton.

"Perhaps you will save another dance for me later," Rafe said to the little blonde, bowing over her hand.

"Of course, Your Grace."

He nodded, turned away.

"They will be playing a waltz a bit later," said Mary Rose. "Perhaps you would..."

But Rafe was already walking away, his mind on another woman far different from the one he intended to wed.

16       Kat Martin

Danielle Duval.Just the sound of her name, whispering through the back of his mind, was enough to make his temper shoot to dangerous levels. It had taken him years to learn to control his volatile nature, to bring his emotions under control. These days, he rarely shouted, rarely lost his temper. Rarely allowed his passionate nature to get out of hand.

Not since Danielle.

Loving Danielle Duval had taught him a valuable lesson—the terrible cost of letting one's emotions rule one's head and heart. Love was a disease that could unman a man. It had nearly destroyed Rafael.

He glanced toward the rear of the ballroom, catching a flash of Danielle's bright hair. She was here. He could scarcely believe it. How dare she show her face after what she had done!

Determined to ignore her, Rafe went to join his friends at the edge of the dance floor. The instant he walked up, he knew the group had spotted Danielle.

He took a glass of champagne off the silver tray of a passing waiter. "So.. .from the astonished looks on your faces, I gather you have seen her."

Cord shook his head. "I can't believe she had the nerve to come here."

'The woman has unmitigated gall," Ethan added darkly.

Rafe flicked a glance at Grace, who studied him over the rim of her glass of champagne.

"She is quite beautiful," Grace said. "I can see why you fell in love with her."

His jaw tightened. "I fell in love with the woman because I was an idiot. Believe me, I paid the price for my folly, and I assure you it won't happen again."

The Handmaiden's Necklace         17

Victoria's head came up. She was the shorter of the women, with heavy brown hair as opposed to Grace's rich auburn curls. "Surely you don't mean you will never again fall in love," she said.

"That is precisely what I mean."

"But what about Mary Rose? Surely you love her at least a little."

"I care for me girl. I wouldn't marry her if I didn't. She's a lovely young woman with a pleasant, biddable nature, and a very fine pedigree."

Ethan rolled his pale blue eyes. "Need I remind you, my friend, we're discussing a woman here, not a horse?"

Cord stared off toward the redhead at the far end of the ballroom. "You're doing a splendid job of ignoring her. I don't know if I could be quite so magnanimous."

Rafe scoffed. "It isn't all that hard. The woman means nothing to me—not anymore."

But his gaze strayed again across me dance floor. He caught a glimpse of the deep red curls on top of Danielle's head and felt a rush of angry heat to the back of his neck. He itched to stride across the floor and wrap his hands around her throat, to squeeze the very life from her. It was a feeling he hadn't known since the day he'd last seen her— five years ago.

The memory returned with shocking force...the week-long house party at the country estate of his friend Oliver Randall. The excitement he felt, knowing Danielle, her mother and aunt would be among the guests. Ollie Randall was the third son of the Marquess of Caverly, and the family estate, Woodhaven, was palatial.

The weeklong visit was magical, at least for Rafe. Long,

18       Kat Martin

lazy afternoons spent with Danielle, evenings of dancing and the chance for them to steal a few moments alone. Then, two nights before week's end, Rafe had stumbled upon a note, a brief message signed by Danielle. It was addressed to Oliver, had obviously been read and tossed away, and in it Dani invited Ollie to her room that night.

/must see you, Oliver. Only you can save me from making a terrible mistake. Please, I beg you, come to my room at midnight. I will be waiting.

Yours, Danielle

Rafe felt torn between anger and disbelief. He was in love with Danielle and he had believed she loved him.

It was only a few minutes after midnight that Rafe knocked, then turned the knob on Danielle's door. When the door swung open, he saw his friend lying in bed with his betrothed.

Lying naked beside the woman he loved.

He could still remember the wave of nausea that had rolled through his stomach, the awful, terrible feeling of betrayal.

It rose again now as the music in the ballroom reached a crescendo. Rafe fixed his gaze on the orchestra, determined to dispel the unwanted memories, to bury them as he had done five years ago.

He spent the next hour dancing with the wives of his friends, then danced again with Mary Rose. A brief speech was made by one of the co-chairwomen of the fund-raising event, and recognizing Flora Duval Chamberlain, he understood why Danielle had come.

The Handmaiden's Necklace         19

Or at least part of the reason.

If there were others, he would never know. After the brief speeches ended and the dancing resumed, Rafe looked again across the ballroom.

Danielle Duval was no longer there.

Two

"Did you see the way he looked at her?" Smoothing back a curl of her heavy chestnut hair, Victoria Easton, Countess of Brant, sat on the brocade sofa in the Blue Drawing Room of the town house she shared with her husband and ten-month-old son. Her blond, elegantly lovely sister, Claire, Lady Percival Chezwick, and her best friend, Grace Sharpe, Marchioness of Belford, sat just a few feet away.

"It was really quite something," Grace said. "There was fire in that man's eyes. I have never seen quite that expression on his face."

"He was probably just angry she had come," Claire reasoned. "I wish I had been there to see it."

Tory had ordered tea but the butler had not yet arrived with the cart, though she could hear the wheels rattling down the marble-floored corridor on the other side of the door. "You weren't there because you were home with Percy doing something far more fun than attending a benefit ball."

Claire giggled. She was the youngest of the women and, even after her marriage, still the most naive. "We had a

21

wonderful night. Percy is so romantic. Still, I should have enjoyed seeing a truly scarlet woman."

"I felt sorry for Rafael," Grace said. "Rafe must have truly loved her. He tried to hide it, but he was furious, even after all these years."

"Yes, and Rafe rarely loses his temper," Tory said. She sighed. "It's terrible what she did to him. I'm surprised she fooled him so completely. Rafe is usually a very good judge of character."

"So exactly what did she do?" Claire asked, leaning forward in her chair.

"According to Cord, Danielle invited a friend of Rafe's into her bed—with Rafe and a number of guests just down the hall. He caught them and that was the end of their betrothal. It was all very public. The scandal followed him for years."

Grace smoothed a faint wrinkle in the skirt of her high-waisted apricot muslin skirt. "Danielle Duval is the reason Rafe is determined to marry without love." A week ago, her little boy, Andrew Ethan, had just turned six months old, but Grace's lithe figure had already returned.

Timmons knocked just then and Tory beckoned the short, stout butler into the room. The tea cart rattled over to the Oriental carpet and stopped in front of the sofa, then the small man silently left the drawing room.

"All is not yet lost," Tory said to Grace, leaning forward to pour the steaming brew into three gold-rimmed porcelain cups. "You gave Rafael the necklace, so there is still a ray of hope."

Rafe had been instrumental in saving Grace's life and that of her newborn baby. She had wanted her friend to find

22       Kat Martin

the happiness she had found with Ethan, so she had given the duke a very special gift. The Bride's Necklace, an ancient piece of jewelry made in the thirteenth century for the bride of the Lord of Fallon. The necklace, it was said, carried a curse—it could bring great joy or terrible tragedy, depending on whether or not its owner's heart was pure.

"I suppose you're right," Grace agreed. "Rafe has the necklace, so there is yet a chance for him to find happiness."

Claire toyed with the handle on her teacup. "What if all the things that happened to you and Tory were just strange coincidences and nothing at all to do with the necklace? It could be, you know."

Tory sighed, knowing her sister might be right. "It's possible, I guess, but..." But Tory couldn't help thinking of the time the necklace had belonged to her, of the wonderful man she had married and their beautiful infant son, Jeremy Cordell, who was asleep in the nursery upstairs.

She couldn't help remembering that she had given the necklace to Grace, who had met Ethan and saved him from the darkness that surrounded him. Grace, who now also had a wonderful husband and son.

And there was her stepfather, Miles Whiting, Baron Harwood, an evil man who had owned the necklace and now lay moldering in his grave.

Tory shivered, shoving away the unwanted thought. "We know Rafe has a good heart. We can only hope the necklace will work."

Claire looked up from studying the leaves in the bottom of her teacup. "Maybe the duke will fall in love with Mary Rose. That would be the perfect solution."

Tory cast Grace a look and tried not to grin when Grace

The Handmaiden's Necklace         23

rolled her eyes. "That is a very good notion, Claire. Perhaps he will."

But when she thought of the searing glance Rafe had tossed at Danielle Duval, she couldn't make herself believe it.

**************

"Please, Aunt Flora. I simply cannot do it. How can you even think of asking me to go through that again?"

They were standing in Danielle's bedchamber, in their elegant suite at the Chesterfield Hotel, a lovely room done in shades of gold and dark green. Aunt Flora had let the rooms for the next two weeks, until their ship set sail for America.

"Come, now, dearest. This is an entirely different sort of affair. To begin with, this is an afternoon tea, not a ball, and a number of the children will be there. You know how you love children, and you are always so good with them."

Dani toyed with the sash on her blue quilted wrapper. It was not yet noon. The benefit tea would begin in a little over an hour. "The affair may be different, but I will be shunned, just as I was before. You saw how people treated me."

"Yes, I did, and I was proud of the way you conducted yourself. You made it clear you had every right to be there. I thought you handled the situation beautifully."

"I was miserable, every single moment."

Aunt Flora sighed dramatically. "Yes, well, I am truly sorry about the duke." She looked up at Dani from beneath a set of finely plucked, silver-gray eyebrows. "At least the man didn't cause you any trouble."

Dani didn't mention the angry look he had tossed her, or the furious expression he couldn't quite hide. "He would have been sorry if he had said even one word."

24       Kat Martin

"Well, he won't be there this time, I promise you."

She glanced down at her aunt, who was a good eight inches shorter and quite a few stone heavier. "How can you be so certain?"

"It was merely a fluke the last time. An afternoon tea is hardly the sort of affair that would interest a duke. Besides, I wouldn't ask you to go if I were feeling up to snuff. Lately I've been a bit under the weather." She coughed lightly for effect, hoping to make Dani feel guilty.

Instead, Danielle saw it as a last thin ray of hope. "Perhaps, since you are ill, it would be best if you stayed home, as well. We can have some nice hot tea and fresh scones sent up and—"

Aunt Flora stopped her words. "As co-chairwoman of the society, I have duties, responsibilities. As long as you are with me, I shall be fine."

Dani's shoulders sagged. How did her aunt always manage to get her way? Then again, Aunt Flora had agreed to accompany her on the difficult journey to America. She would be there for Dani's wedding and remain until she was settled with her husband in her new home. Surely she could buck up enough to make it through this last fund-raising event before they departed.

And, as Aunt Flora had said, the children would be there. There would be at least a few friendly faces to get her through the afternoon affair.

A knock at the door drew her attention. An instant later, the door swung open and her lady's maid, Caroline Loon, walked in.

Caro smiled widely. "Lady Wycombe sent for me. Shall I help you pick out something to wear?"

The Handmaiden's Necklace         25

Dani rolled her eyes, thinking that she hadn't had a chance from the start.

"Well, then I shall leave you to dress," Aunt Flora said, making her way out the door. "You may join me as soon as you are ready."

Giving in to her fate, Dani made a resigned nod of her head, and as soon as the door was closed, Caro hurried over to the armoire against the wall. At six-and-twenty, a year older than Dani, Caroline Loon was taller and more slenderly built, a blond woman, attractive in a different sort of way, with an incredibly sweet disposition.

Caro was a gently reared young lady whose parents had died unexpectedly of a fever. Penniless and orphaned, she had arrived at Wycombe Park nearly five years ago, desperate for any sort of employment.

Aunt Flora had immediately hired her as Danielle's lady's maid, but over the years, the two of them had become far more than mistress and maid. Caroline Loon, a vicar's daughter likely destined for spinsterhood, had become her best friend.

Caro opened the door of the armoire. Though most of Dani's clothes were packed away in heavy leather trunks in preparation for her journey, a modest assortment of gowns hung inside.

"What about the saffron muslin embroidered with roses?" Caro asked, dragging out one of Dani's favorite gowns.

"I suppose the saffron gown will do well enough." If she had to go to the blasted tea, she intended to look as good as she possibly could, and wearing the bright yellow muslin always made her feel pretty.

26       Kat Martin

"Sit down and I'll do up your hair," Caro instructed. "Lady Wycombe will have my head if you make her late for her tea."

Danielle sighed. "I swear, between the two of you, I am surprised I ever get to make a decision."

Caro just laughed. "She loves you. She is determined you return to society. She wants you to be happy."

"I'll be happy—once I'm on my way to America." Dani reached over and took hold of Caro's slim, long-boned hand. "I am only grateful that you have agreed to go with us."

"I am glad to be going along." Caro managed a smile. "Perhaps we will both find a new life in the Colonies."

Dani smiled, as well. "Yes, perhaps we will." Danielle certainly hoped so. She was tired of her nonexistent life, tired of being hidden away in the country with few friends and only an occasional visit from the children in the orphanage to look forward to. She was eager for the chance to make a new life in America, where no one had ever heard of The Scandal.

In the meantime, she had to find the courage to get through her aunt's miserable tea.

*******************

Rafael slipped a forest-green tailcoat on over his beige piqué waistcoat. His valet, a short, slight, balding man who had been in his service for years, reached up to straighten the knot on his stock.

"There you are, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Petersen."

"Will there be anything more, sir?"

"Not until my return, which should be sometime late

The Handmaiden's Necklace  27

this afternoon." He didn't intend to stay at the affair very long, just drop by and pay his respects, and of course leave a sizable bank draft for the orphans. After all, it was his civic duty.

He told himself it had nothing to do with the notion Danielle Duval might also be in attendance, convinced himself that if she were, he would ignore her as he had done before.

He wouldn't say any of the things he had longed to say five years ago, wouldn't let her know how badly her betrayal had hurt him. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing how devastated he had been, that for weeks after it had happened he had barely been able to function. Instead, he would make clear his disdain for her without a single word.

His coach-and-four waited in front of the house, a lavish three-story structure in Hanover Square that his father had built for his mother, who now lived in a separate, smaller, but no-less-elegant apartment on the east side of the mansion.

A footman pulled open the carriage door. Rafe mounted the steps and settled himself against the red velvet squabs, and the coach rumbled off down the cobbled street. The afternoon tea was being held in the gardens of the Mayfair residence of the Marquess of Denby, whose wife was deeply involved in the charity for London's widows and orphans.

The mansion, in Breton Street, wasn't that far away. The carriage rolled up in front and a footman opened the door. Rafe departed the coach and made his way up the front porch steps past two liveried footmen, who ushered him through the entry out to the garden at the rear of the house.

Most of the guests had already arrived, just as he had

28                            Kat Martin

hoped, and they clustered here and there on the terrace, or walked the gravel paths through the leafy foliage of the garden. A group of children, plainly dressed but clean, their hair neatly combed, played at the base of a stone fountain on the right side of the garden.

The charity organized by Lady Denby was a good one. There weren't enough orphanages in the city to care for the needy and many homeless children who wound up in infant poorhouses, workhouses, apprenticed as chimney sweeps, or grew up as vagrants and beggars, living hand-to-mouth on the streets.

Most orphans were taken care of by local parishes, often abominable excuses for homes. Foundlings brought into their care rarely lived to reach their first year. Rafe had heard of a parish in Westminster that had received five hundred bastards in a single year—and raised only one of them past five years of age.

But the London Society funded several large orphan homes of a very high caliber.

"Your Grace!" Lady Denby hurried toward him, a big-bosomed woman with glossy black hair cut short and curling around her face. "How good of you to come."

"I'm afraid I can't stay long. I just stopped by to present you with a bank draft for the orphanage." He dragged the folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over, all the while scanning the guests to see who might also be there.

"Why, this is quite wonderful, Your Grace—especially since you made such a generous donation at the ball."

He shrugged his shoulders. He could certainly afford it and he had always liked children. Having a family of his

The Handmaiden's Necklace           29

own was the main reason he had recently decided to take a wife. That and the fact his mother and aunt hounded him incessantly about living up to his responsibilities as duke.

He needed an heir, they said. And a spare. He needed a son to carry on the Sheffield title and manage the vast fortune entailed to it so that his family would always be taken care of.

"Tea is being served on the terrace." Lady Denby took his arm and began to guide him in that direction. "Of course, we have something a bit stronger for the men."

Smiling, she moved him off toward a table covered with silver trays laden with cakes and cookies of every sort, and tiny finger sandwiches so small it would take a dozen to fill him up. A silver tea service sat in the middle of the linen-draped table, along with a crystal punch bowl.

"Shall I have one of the servants bring you a brandy, Your Grace?"

"Yes, I'd like that. Thank you." It might help him make it through the next half hour, which was all he intended to stay.

The brandy arrived and he sipped it slowly, searching for a friendly face, seeing his mother and Aunt Cornelia in conversation with a group of other women, glancing past them to the round, powdered face of Flora Duval Chamberlain. His gaze lit on the woman to her left, a woman with flame-red hair and the face of a goddess. Rafe's stomach contracted as if he had suffered a powerful blow.

His expression instantly hardened. He told himself he hadn't come because of her, but seeing her now, he recognized the lie for what it was. For an instant, Danielle's eyes met his and widened in shock. Rafe felt a shot of satisfaction as the color drained from her lovely, treacherous face.

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He didn't glance away, certain that she would.

Instead her chin shot up and she gave him a look meant to burn right through him. He clenched his jaw. Long seconds passed and neither of them looked away. Then Danielle rose slowly from her chair, flicked him a last seething glance and walked off toward the rear of the garden.

Fury engulfed him. Where was the humility he had expected? Where was the embarrassment he had been certain he would see in her face?

Instead, she walked the gravel path with her head held high, ignoring him as if he weren't mere, making her way over to where a group of the children played at the back of the garden.

***************

Inwardly shaking, Dani fixed her gaze on the children playing tag near the gazebo, determined not to let her unnerving encounter with Rafael Saunders show in any way. She had taught herself that after The Scandal, how to take rigid control of her emotions. Never let them know the power they held, how badly they could hurt you.

"Miss Dani! " Maida Ann, a little blond girl with pigtails, rushed toward her. 'Tag! You're it!"

Danielle laughed and felt a breath of relief. She had played the game with the children whenever they came for a visit to Wycombe Park. They expected her to play with them now. At the moment, she was glad for the distraction.

"All right. It looks as if you have tagged me. Now.. .let me see...which of you is going to be next? Robbie? Or maybe you, Peter?" She knew some of the children's names, not all. None of them had living parents, or if they did, the parents refused to claim them. Dani's heart went out to

                        The Handmaiden's Necklace           31

them. She was happy that her aunt was a patroness of the charity, which gave her a chance to spend time with the children.

Giggling, Maida Ann darted past her, just out of reach. Dani adored the feisty little five-year-old with the big blue eyes. She loved children, had hoped one day to have a family of her own.

A family with Rafe.

The thought made her angry all over again.

And sad.

It wasn't going to happen. Not with Rafe or any other man. Not after the accident, the terrible fall she had suffered five years ago. Dani shook her head, pushing the bitter memory away.

She fixed her gaze on a boy named Terrance, a red-haired child about eight years old. Terry ran past her, just out of reach, each child rushing forward then darting away, secretly hoping she would direct her attention to him, even if she tagged him and he or she would beit.

She played the game for a while, dancing away, bolting forward and finally tagging young Terry. Waving at the children, she gave them a last warm smile and made her way deeper into the garden.

She didn't hear the footfalls approaching behind her until it was too late. She knew who it was before she turned. Still, she couldn't help the gasp of surprise as she stared up into Rafe's handsome face.

"Good afternoon, Danielle."

Her heartbeat thundered. Anger made rosy circles appear in her cheeks. She turned away, rudely ignored him, caught the look of shock that appeared on his face, and simply started walking.

32                            Kat Martin

But the Duke of Sheffield wasn't used to being ignored, and she felt the pressure of his fingers as they wrapped around her arm. His grip was firm enough to stop her forward motion and turn her around to face him.

"I said good afternoon. I expect at least a civil reply."

She clamped down on her temper, told herself not to let him bait her. "Excuse me. I believe my aunt is calling."

But he didn't let go of her arm. "I think your aunt is otherwise engaged at the moment. Which means you have time to greet an old friend."

Her fine thread of control stretched to the breaking point and then completely snapped. "You are no friend of mine, Rafe Saunders. You are, in fact, the last man on earth I would think to call a friend."

Rafe's jaw hardened. "Is that so? If not a friend, then how, may I ask, should I think of you?"

She lifted her chin, the knot of anger in her stomach almost painful. "You may think of me as the biggest fool you  have ever met. A woman foolish enough to trust a man like you. Stupid enough to fall in love with you, Rafael."

She started walking, but Rafe's tall figure stepped into the path of her escape. His jaw was set, his intense blue eyes diamond hard.

"I believe it was you, my dear, I found with one of my closest friends. You who invited Oliver Randall into your bed, under my very nose."

"And it was you who was eager to believe your friend's lies instead of the truth!"

"You betrayed me, Danielle. Or perhaps you have forgot."

Dani looked up at him, her eyes snapping with fire. "No,

The Handmaiden's Necklace           33

Rafael. It was you who betrayed me. If you had loved me, trusted me, you would have known I was telling you the truth." She gave him a thin, bitter smile. "On second thought, as I think of it, certainly it is you who are the fool."

Rafe's whole body vibrated with anger.

Good,she thought. She hated the bland, uninteresting man he had become, so cool and unaffected. The sort of man she wouldn't have found the least bit attractive.

"You have the nerve to stand there and claim you are innocent of the affair?"

"I told you that the moment you stepped into my bedchamber. The events of that night have not changed."

"You were in bed with the man!"

"I didn't even know he was there—as I told you that night! Now, get out of my way, Rafael."

Fury burned in his cold blue eyes but she didn't care. She started walking again and this time Rafe made no move to stop her.

She was surprised he had approached her in the first place. They hadn't spoken since the night he had walked into her bedchamber five years ago and found Oliver Randall lying naked in her bed.

She had tried then to tell him that Oliver was playing some kind of cruel, terrible joke, that nothing had happened between them, that she had been sleeping until Rafe had walked into the room and startled her awake.

But for reasons she still didn't understand, Oliver had set out to destroy the love Rafael had felt for her—or at least said he felt—and the man had brutally succeeded.

Rafe hadn't listened to her that night, nor responded to any of the dozen letters she sent him, begging him to hear

34       Kat Martin

her side of the story, pleading with him to believe she was telling him the truth.

As word of the scandal began to leak out, he never once defended her, never once paid the slightest attention to her version of events. Instead, he had abruptly ended their betrothal, confirming what the gossipmongers said.

Telling the world that Danielle Duval was not the innocent she pretended, but a scarlet woman who had conducted herself shamelessly, and with blatant disregard for her intended. She'd been shunned in society, banished to the country. Even her own mother had believed the tale.

Dani's vision blurred as she made her way through the garden. She rarely thought of Rafael and those awful days back then. But now she was here in London and Rafe was tossing the entire affair back in her face.

She sniffed and fought back the tears she refused to let fall. She wouldn't cry for Rafe, not again. She had wept more than enough for the man she had loved five years ago and she would never weep for him again.

Three

Rafe stood in the garden, angry and oddly disturbed as he watched Danielle's elegant figure moving along the gravel path until she disappeared inside the house.

He didn't know what had possessed him to seek her out. Perhaps it was keeping his silence for all of these years. Whatever it was, instead of the satisfaction he was certain he would feel once he had confronted her, he was more troubled than ever.

As she had done that night, Danielle had professed her innocence. He hadn't believed her then and he didn't believe her now. He'd read the note, after all, and he had two eyes in his head. Oliver had accepted Danielle's invitation and he was there in her room, lying naked beside her in bed.

Rafe had called the bastard out, of course. Ollie was supposed to be his friend.

"I won't meet you, Rafe," Oliver had said. "I won't fight you no matter what you do to me. We've been friends since we were boys, and there is no denying the fault is mine entirely."

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"Why, Ollie? How could you do it?"

"I love her, Rafael. I've always loved her. You know that better than anyone. When she asked me to come to her room, I found it impossible to refuse her invitation."

Rafael had known for years that his friend was in love with Danielle, had been in love with her since he was a youth in his teens. But Dani had never loved Ollie.

Or so Rafe had thought. He had stupidly believed that Danielle loved him and not Oliver Randall, though Ollie had for years pursued her. After that night, he had come to believe she had accepted Rafe's offer of marriage simply to become a duchess. It was wealth and power she wanted, not him.

As he walked out of the garden, he reminded himself of all those things, told himself that just as before, nothing Danielle said was the truth.

But he was older now, not insane with jealousy, not blinded by love as he had been in those days, not furious and aching with pain.

And because he was a different man than he had been back then, he couldn't get the image out of his head. He couldn't forget the way Danielle had looked at him there in the garden.

Without a shred of remorse, without the slightest hint of embarrassment. She had looked at him with all of the hatred that Rafe had felt for her.

No, Rafael. It was you who betrayed me. Ifyou had loved me...you would have known I was telling you the truth.

The words nagged at him, gnawed at his insides all the way back to Sheffield House. Was it possible? Was there the slightest chance?

The Handmaiden's Necklace           37

First thing the following morning, he sent a note to Jonas McPhee, the Bow Street runner he and his friends had used over the years whenever they needed information. McPhee was discreet and extremely good at his job, and he promptly arrived at Sheffield House at two o'clock that afternoon.

"Good day, Jonas. Thank you for coming."

"I am happy to assist you, Your Grace, in any way I can." The runner was short and balding, and wore small, wire-rimmed spectacles. He was an unimpressive man whose muscular shoulders and knotted hands were the only indication of the sort of work he did.

Rafe stepped back from the doorway, allowing McPhee into his study, then turned and led the man over to his desk and indicated that he should take a seat in one of the dark green leather chairs in front.

"I'd like to hire you, Jonas." Rafe sat down behind his massive rosewood desk. The room was two stories high, with book-lined walls and an elegant molded ceiling. A long mahogany table sat in the middle of the room, lit by green glass lamps that hung down from above, and surrounded by a dozen carved, high-backed chairs. "I'd like you to investigate an incident that happened five years ago."

"Five years is quite a while, Your Grace."

"Yes, it is, and I realize it won't be easy." He settled back in his chair. "The incident involved a woman named Danielle Duval and a man named Oliver Randall. Miss Duval is the daughter of the late Viscount Drummond, who passed away some years back. Lady Drummond died just last year. Oliver Randall is the third son of the Marquess of Caverly."

"I'll need to make some notes, Your Grace."

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Rafe held up a sheet of foolscap. "I have all the information written down for you right here."

"Excellent."

Rafe set the paper down on his desk. "At one time, Miss Duval and I were betrothed. That ended five years ago."

Rafe went on to tell the ugly story of what had happened the evening he found the note Danielle had sent to Oliver. He explained how at midnight he had gone into Danielle's room and found the two of them together. As the tale unfolded, Rafe did his best to relay the information without revealing any of the emotions he had felt back then.

"Is there any chance you kept the note?" Jonas asked.

Rafe had anticipated the question. "Oddly enough, I did, though I can't begin to tell you why." Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, he moved the pistol he kept there aside and pulled out a small metal box, then fished out a key he kept on a ring in another drawer to open it. The note inside was yellowed and faded, the creases where it had been folded wearing thin. Still, it had the power to make a knot form in his stomach.

He handed the note to McPhee. "As I said, I have no idea why I kept it. Perhaps as a reminder never to be so ridiculously trusting again."

McPhee took the note from his hand and Rafe handed him the list he had made of places and names, people somehow involved in The Scandal, however remotely.

"This may take some time," McPhee said.

Rafe stood up from his chair. "I've waited five years. I don't suppose a few more weeks will matter." And yet he was strangely anxious to know what McPhee would find. Perhaps

The Handmaiden's Necklace           39

he merely wanted the affair resolved, as it never really had been.

Perhaps he was thinking of the future, of his upcoming marriage. Perhaps he merely wanted the past dead and buried—once and for all.

***************

With Caro's help, Danielle packed the last of her belongings into her traveling bags, taking special care with the garments she would need on board the ship during the two-month voyage to America.

Dani couldn't wait to leave.

"It looks as if we are done," Caro said, always cheerful. "Are you ready to go?"

"More than ready. How about you?"

Caro laughed, a joyous sound. "I have been packed and ready for days."

"What about Aunt Flora? Is she completely packed?"

Dani's robust aunt bustled into the room just then, strands of silver hair, loose from its pins, floating around her pudgy face. "I am ready to leave whenever you are, my dears."

Like Dani, Aunt Flora considered Caroline Loon almost a member of the family. At one time, Danielle had suggested Caro no longer needed to work as her lady's maid, but could continue instead as Dani's companion.

Caro had been mortified. "I don't want your charity, Danielle. I never have. I am happy to work for whatever I receive. Besides, you and Lady Wycombe have always been extremely kind and generous to me."

Dani had never brought up the subject again. Caro was happy to earn her way and Dani was happy for their friendship.

"Well, then, if all of us are ready," Aunt Flora said, "I will

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send down for the carriage." Which would take them to the dock, then head back to Wycombe Park. Lady Wycombe would eventually be returning to England, but Dani and Caro would be staying in America, making their home with Dani's future husband, Richard Clemens.

"Oh, this is all so exciting!" Flora bustled off to make the final arrangements and Dani looked over at Caro, who also looked excited.

"Well, I guess we're on our way," Dani said.

Caro grinned. "Just think—soon you will be a married woman."

Danielle just nodded. She couldn't help thinking of the last man she was supposed to wed and his terrible betrayal.

Richard is different,she told herself.

And Dani prayed that she was right.

***************

The ship prepared to set sail with the tide the following morning, a big, square-rigged passenger ship, theWyndham, with the most modern accommodations available. The captain had personally greeted the women and promised he would look out for their well-being during the journey, since they were traveling without the protection of a man.

Dani tried to imagine a man who had ever protected her from anything. Certainly not her father, who had died when she was so young. Not her cousin, Nathaniel, who had made lecherous advances when she was only twelve years old.

Definitely not Rafael, the man who was to be her husband, the man she had loved with all her heart.

She wondered about Richard Clemens, but thought that it really didn't matter. She had learned to take care of her-

The Handmaiden's Necklace           41

self and she would continue to do so, even after they were wed.

Danielle stood between Aunt Flora and Caro at the rail, looking out over the water as the ship prepared to sail. A late May wind chilled the air and whipped Dani's pelisse around her shoulders.

"I can scarcely believe it," Caro said as they watched the London dock disappear in the distance. "We are truly on our way to America!"

"What an adventure we are going to have!" Aunt Flora said brightly.

Though Dani was nearly as excited as they, she wished she could be more certain she was doing the right thing. She barely knew Richard Clemens. And after Rafael, she was far more wary of men. Still, Richard was giving her the chance at happiness she had given up ever having.

She leaned over and hugged each of the women, her dearest friends in all the world. "I am just so glad the two of you are coming with me."

But she knew the women wouldn't have it any other way. They were family. The only real family she'd ever had.

Now a new family awaited her in America. Richard and his son and daughter, children she wouldn't have if she had never met him. She tried to remember his face, got an image of a man with thick blond hair and brown eyes. An attractive man, intelligent and generous.

They had met at Wycombe Park. Richard was in the textile manufacturing business and had come to England hoping to increase his accounts. He was a guest of Squire Donner, one of Aunt Flora's friends who lived nearby. The

42                            Kat Martin

squire and his wife, Prudence, along with their houseguest, Mr. Clemens, had been invited to dinner at Wycombe Park.

That night, after an evening of cards and pleasant conversation, along with an hour of Dani and Prudence entertaining on the pianoforte, Richard had asked if he might call on her again. Dani had surprised herself by saying yes.

In the days that followed, they hadn't spent a great deal of time together, yet they seemed to get on very well. And even after she had told him about The Scandal, Richard had wanted to marry her.

Unlike Rafael, he had actually believed her when she told him she was innocent of any wrongdoing in the affair.

Standing on the deck of theWyndham, Dani felt the wind in her face as her gaze moved farther out to sea. She was lucky. So very lucky. God had given her a second chance at happiness and she intended to grab hold of it and hang on with both hands.

Four

Ten days passed with only a few brief communications with Jonas McPhee. As Rafe waited for answers, he conducted his life as he had before, attending the usual soirées and house parties, spending most of his evenings at White's, his gentlemen's club, making an occasional stop of a more private nature, at Madame Fontaneau's House of Pleasure.

In the old days, his best friends, Ethan Sharpe and Cord Easton, would have accompanied him, drinking and gaming, paying a visit to the ladies, though Cord had usually preferred the company of his mistress.

But Ethan and Cord were married now, happily so, each of them devoted husbands, and each with a son. Rafe intended his future would be the same. Though his marriage to Mary Rose wouldn't be a love match, it was imperative that Rafe produce an heir. The Sheffield fortune was large, its land and holdings vast and complex.

Since he had no brothers, if he died without a son to carry on the name, the fortune and title would pass to his cousin, Arthur Bartholomew. Artie was a wastrel of the very worst

44       Kat Martin

sort, a dedicated rake whose main objective in life was to spend every guinea that passed into his hands. He whored, drank and gambled in excess, and seemed determined to debauch his way into an early grave.

Arthur was the reason Rafe's mother had been so persistent in her efforts to see her son wed, and in truth, he couldn't blame her. Like his aunts and cousins, his mother was dependent on an income from the vast Sheffield fortune to take care of her and the rest of the family. It was Rafe's responsibility to see that the fortune passed into hands that would insure its existence for present and future generations.

To make sure that happened, Rafe was determined to marry and set up his nursery. He needed sons—more than one—to fulfill his duty. Beyond that, he looked forward to having a family of his own. He was ready for that to happen. Had been ready, he supposed, since his betrothal to Danielle, though after her betrayal, for a number of years the notion had been nearly abhorrent.

The memory sent his mind in that direction. He was still thinking of Danielle an hour later when he received a message from Jonas McPhee requesting a meeting that evening. From the tone of the note, Rafe believed he had uncovered important information.

It was almost nine o'clock when the butler showed McPhee into the study, where Rafe prowled impatiently in front of his big rosewood desk.

"Good evening, Your Grace. I had hoped to come earlier, but there were some last-minute details I needed to verify before I presented my information."

"That's quite all right, Jonas. I appreciate your being so thorough. I presume, then, that you have brought news."

The Handmaiden's Necklace           45

"I'm afraid so, Your Grace."

At the words, Rafe's stomach constricted. From the look on the runner's face, he wasn't going to like what Jonas had to say. He motioned for McPhee to sit down in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, then took his usual place across from him.

"All right, let's have it."

"To put it simply, sir, on the evening in question five years ago, it appears you were duped."

The words drew the knot in his stomach even tighter. "In what way?"

"This acquaintance of yours, Oliver Randall, who was involved in the events that transpired, had apparently been harboring a secret animosity against you for years."

"Animosityis a very strong word. We were friends. Never all that close, but I never sensed any blatant dislike on his part."

"Were you aware of his feelings for your betrothed?"

"Yes. I knew he was in love with Danielle, that he had been for years. Mostly I felt sorry for him."

"Until you saw them together that night."

"That is correct. I found them in Danielle's bedchamber. I found him naked in her bed."

"There is no question he was there. A number of the guests who were attending the weeklong house party verified the events of the evening.. .as far as they knew. A number of them heard the commotion and ran down the hall to Miss Duval's bedchamber. They saw you there, saw Oliver Randall in Miss Duval's bed. All of them, including you yourself, came to the same conclusion."

"You seem to be suggesting that all of us were wrong."

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"Tell me again how it was you found the note."

Rafe allowed his memory to return to the painful events of that night. "One of the footmen brought it to me after supper. He said he had found it on the floor of Lord Oliver's study. He said that he knew Miss Duval and I were betrothed and he didn't believe what was going on between Miss Duval and Lord Oliver was right."

"Do you recall the name of the footman?"

"No, only that I rewarded him handsomely for his honesty and vowed to keep his involvement in the affair a secret."

"The footman's name was Willard Coote. He was also paid quite handsomely by Lord Oliver, who instructed him to bring you the note."

Rafe frowned. "That doesn't make sense. Why would Oliver wish to be caught with Danielle?"

"It makes sense if you understand how determined Lord Oliver was to insure you and Danielle Duval never wed. I believe he hoped that eventually he might win her for himself but, of course, that never happened. Mostly, I think he wanted to hurt you as badly as he possibly could."

Rafe mulled that over, his mind spinning, trying to fit the pieces together. "I'm afraid I still don't understand. Why would Oliver wish to hurt me?"

"There is no doubt he was jealous. But that appears to be only one of the reasons for his animosity toward you. In time, I should be able to discover the balance of his motivations."

Rafe straightened in his chair, his mind swarming with images of Oliver and Danielle together that night. "That won't be necessary, at least not at present. For the moment,

The Handmaiden's Necklace           47

what I need to know is if you are certain—without the slightest doubt—that Danielle Duval was innocent of the accusations made against her that night."

In answer, McPhee dug into the pocket of his rumpled, slightly frayed tailcoat. "There is a final bit of evidence I can give you." He laid the note Rafe had given him out on the desk. "This is the message the footman gave you that evening."

"Yes."

McPhee unfolded a piece of foolscap and set it down next to the note. "And here is a letter written by Miss Duval. I believe it provides the final proof." Jonas leaned over the papers. "As you can see, Your Grace, the handwriting is similar, but if you look closely, you will notice it is not exactly the same."

Rafe followed each line, assessing the similarities and differences between the letter and the note. There was no denying the handwriting, though close, was not quite the same.

"Note the signature."

Again Rafe compared the two. The signature was definitely a better forgery, the letters practiced more often, perhaps, but again, there were slight differences in the script.

"I don't believe Miss Duval wrote the note to Oliver Randall," Jonas said. "I believe Lord Oliver wrote it himself, wadded it up to look as if it had been read and discarded, then ordered his footman to bring the note to you later that evening."

Rafe's hand shook as he picked up the letter McPhee had brought. It was from Dani, addressed to her aunt. In it, she described the awful events of that night and begged her

48       Kat Martin

aunt to believe she was innocent of the accusations made against her.

"Where did you get this?"

"I paid a visit to Miss Duval's aunt, Lady Wycombe. The countess wished to cooperate fully in the matter of proving her niece's innocence. She arranged for several samples of her niece's handwriting to be brought to me from Wycombe Park."

Rafe set the letter down next to the note. "Danielle wrote to me again and again, but I never.. .I never opened any of her letters. I was so sure, so certain of what I had seen."

"Considering how well the events of that night had been planned, that is understandable, Your Grace."

Rafe clamped down on his jaw so hard an ache throbbed in the back of his neck. He shoved back his chair and stood up. "Where is he?"

McPhee stood up, as well. "Lord Oliver is currently in residence at the town house of his father, Lord Caverly. He is in London for the season."

Rafe rounded the desk, his pulse racing, his anger building moment by moment. He bit down hard on his temper.

"Thank you, Jonas. You've done your usual fine job of uncovering the facts. I'm only sorry I didn't know you five years ago. Perhaps if I had hired you back then, my life would have turned out far differently."

"I am sorry, Your Grace."

"No one could be sorrier than I." Rafe walked McPhee to the door of his study. "Have your bill sent to my accountant."

McPhee simply nodded. "Perhaps it is not too late to mend the damage, Your Grace."

The Handmaiden's Necklace           49

A fresh jolt of anger tore through him, his rage becoming so strong he feared it would spin out of control. "Five years is a very long time," he said with deadly menace. "But of one thing you may be certain—it will soon be too late for Oliver Randall."

***************

The knock came early on Oliver's door. At the firm, insistent pounding, he dragged himself from sleep, silently cursing whoever roused him at such an ungodly hour. He was surprised when his valet walked in, a terrified look on his face.

"What is it, Burgess? And whatever it is, it had better be important. I was sleeping like a babe until you started banging on the door."

"There are three men downstairs, my lord. They insist on seeing you. Jennings told them it was too early for callers. He tried to turn them away, but they refused to leave. They said the matter could not wait. Jennings came to me and asked that I awaken you." The small, black-haired valet held up a green silk dressing gown for Oliver to put on.

"Don't be an idiot. I can hardly speak to them inthat. I'll have to dress. Whoever it is will simply have to wait."

"The men said if you don't come down in the next five minutes, they are going to come up and get you."

"What? They dare to threaten me? What matter could be of such import these men have arrived at my home at such an indecent hour demanding to see me? Did Jennings give you their names?"

"Yes, my lord. The Duke of Sheffield, the Marquess of Belford, and the Earl of Brant."

A shiver of alarm went through him. Sheffield was here.

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And with him two of London's most powerful men. The reason for their visit didn't bear thinking about. Better to wait and see.

Burgess held out the robe again and this time Oliver stuck his arm through the sleeve. "Well, get down there and tell them I am on my way. Show them into the drawing room."

"Yes, my lord."

They were there waiting when the butler pulled open the tall double doors and Oliver walked in, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity while wearing his dressing gown and slippers. It unnerved him a good bit more to see that the three men were standing, not sitting, as he walked into the drawing room.

"Good morning, Your Grace, my lords."

"Ollie,"the duke said, an unmistakable edge to his voice.

"I assume your business is a matter of some urgency, since you have appeared on my doorstep at such a disreputable hour."

Sheffield stepped forward. Oliver hadn't seen Rafael Saunders in years, had made it a point, in fact, to keep his distance. Now he was here in his house, a man several inches taller and more powerfully built. A handsome man of wealth and power beyond anything Oliver would ever know.

"I've come in regard to a personal matter," the duke said. "A matter that should have been resolved five years ago. I believe you know to which matter I refer."

Oliver frowned. None of this was making any sense. "I thought what happened was all in the past. Surely you are not here to resurrect old infamies, not after all of these years."

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"Actually, I am here to defend Danielle Duval's honor, as I should have done five years ago. You see, I made the mistake of believing you and not her. It is a mistake I mean to rectify—once and for all."

"W-what are you talking about?"

Instead of answering, Rafe pulled a white cotton glove out of the inside pocket of his morning coat. He slapped the glove hard across Oliver's cheeks, first one and then the other. "Danielle Duval was innocent of any wrongdoing the night I found the two of you together, but you, sir, were not. Now you will pay for the damage you've done and the lives you have ruined. You have the choice of weapons."

"I don't.. .I don't know what you are talking about."

"Actually, you do. As you are the one who forged the note I received and paid the footman, Willard Coote, to see it delivered, you know exactly what I mean. I'll expect you to meet me tomorrow at dawn on the knoll at Green Park. These men will act as my seconds. If you refuse, as you did before, I will find you and shoot you where you stand. Now choose your weapon."

So.. .the truth had finally come out. Oliver had begun to believe it never would, begun to think he had won the game completely. Now, five years later, he wondered if the price he would pay for the revenge he had attained would be worth it.

"Pistols," he said finally. "You may count on my arrival at Green Park at dawn."

"One last question...Ollie. Why did you do it? What did I do to you to deserve such a cruel form of punishment?"

A corner of Oliver's mouth twisted up. "You were simply you, Rafael. From the time we were children, you were

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taller and smarter and better looking. You were heir to a dukedom that included a fabulous fortune. You were a better athlete, a more charming guest, a better lover. Every woman wanted to marry you. When Danielle fell under your spell, I was determined you would never have her." His smile turned harsh. "And so I destroyed any chance for you to have the one thing you truly wanted."

The duke exploded, grabbing the lapels of Oliver's robe and hauling him up on his toes. "I'm going to kill you, Oliver. You may have accomplished what you set out to, but you are going to pay for what you have done."

Both the earl and marquess rushed forward.

"Let him go, Rafael," Brant said, his golden eyes burning into the cold blue eyes that belonged to his friend. "You'll have your vengeance in the morning."

"Give him time to ponder his fate," said the black-haired Marquess of Belford, as if he knew the sort of fear time could breed.

The strong fingers squeezing his robe together beneath his chin slowly loosened.

"Time to go," Belford said to the duke. "By now the servants have probably called a watchman. As Cord says, tomorrow is another day."

Sheffield released him, shoving him away so hard he crashed into the mantel on the fireplace, sending a jolt of pain up his arm. But Oliver's fear was slowly fading, replaced by an iron resolve. He had prepared himself for this day. Perhaps fate had given him a final chance to win the game.

"We'll see who winds up dead," Oliver taunted as the three men started for the door. "I'm not the same weak man I was five years ago,"

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The men ignored him, just continued out of the drawing room, Belford limping slightly, an old wound perhaps. Oliver wasn't acquainted with him well enough to know.

The door closed in the entry as the men left the house, and Oliver sank down on the brocade sofa. So he would face the Duke of Sheffield at last. There was a time he'd been sure this day would come. He had bought a set of dueling pistols and practiced with them daily, until he had become a very skillful marksman.

For the past few years, he had begun to think he wouldn't need the weapons. Now it appeared that he would.

Oliver almost smiled. Rafael wanted vengeance. Oliver knew the feeling well. In a way, he was glad Rafe knew what had happened that night. It would make his victory all the sweeter. Tomorrow, if he got lucky, he would see his nemesis dead.

***************

A thin fog hung over the knoll. The grass was deep and wet, forming beads of dew on the men's leather boots. The first thin rays of dawn spread over the horizon, enough to outline the two black carriages parked at the edge of the grassy field below.

Ethan stood next to Cord beneath a tall sycamore tree, next to the two men who had accompanied Lord Oliver Randall. In the open space at the top of the knoll, his best friend, Rafael Saunders, Duke of Sheffield, stood back to back with the man who had ruined his life, Oliver Randall, third son of the Marquess of Caverly.

Randall was perhaps two inches shorter than Rafe, with a slightly leaner build, auburn hair and brown eyes. He had nothing of the power and command that Rafe always

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seemed to have, and yet Ethan hoped his friend hadn't underestimated his enemy.

Word was, Oliver Randall was a very skillful marksman, one of the best in London.

Then again, so was Rafe.

The countdown began, Cord calling out the numbers, the men taking long strides away from each other as the steps were counted off. "Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten."

Both men turned at exactly the same instant, casting their bodies into profile. They lifted their long-barreled, silver-etched dueling pistols and fired.

Two distinct shots rang out, echoing over the knoll. For several seconds neither man moved, then Oliver Randall swayed on his feet and went down, crumpling into the wet grass on the knoll.

His seconds ran forward, two faint shadows in the purple rays of dawn, along with the surgeon, Neil McCauley, a friend who had agreed to come along. Both Cord and Ethan started toward the men, Ethan's blood still pumping, though some of his worry began to fade as he saw Rafe standing there, apparently unharmed.

Then he spotted the bright patch of blood that appeared on Rafael's sleeve, though Rafe didn't seem to notice. Instead he strode toward Oliver Randall.

Bent over the injured man, Dr. McCauley looked up at the duke. "It's bad. I'm not sure he'll make it."

"Do the best you can," Rafe said. Turning, he strode toward Ethan, who caught up with him at the edge of the knoll.

"How badly are you injured?" Ethan asked, shoving back a strand of wavy black hair that fell across his forehead.

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For the first time, Rafe seemed to realize he had been shot. "Nothing too serious, I don't think. Hurts a bit, not too badly."

Cord walked up just then. "My house is closest, and the women are there. Let's get you home and get that arm taken care of." Cord glanced toward the knoll. "Looks like McCauley has his hands full with Randall, but my wife is a fairly good nurse."

Rafe just nodded. His jaw clenched with pain several times as they moved over the grass toward the carriage, but his mind seemed miles away.

Oliver Randall had been dealt with. Still, there were other matters of honor that would need to be mended. Danielle's name would have to be cleared, Ethan knew, her innocence made known to society.

Ethan wondered what steps Rafe next intended to take.

Five

Rafe leaned back in the chair behind his desk. A mild June sun streamed through the mullioned windows, warming the room, but it didn't improve his mood. His arm was throbbing, yet the wound, thankfully, had proved to be minor. The lead ball had gone through the fleshy part of his arm without hitting bone and passed out the opposite side.

Oliver Randall had not been so lucky. The ball had hit a rib beneath his heart, glanced off and lodged in an area near his spine. Neil McCauley had successfully removed the ball but the damage had already been done. Assuming the wound escaped putrefaction, Oliver Randall would live, but the man would never walk again.

Rafe felt no remorse. Oliver Randall had cruelly and deliberately destroyed two people's lives for no other reason than jealousy. He had plotted and planned, lied and duped the entire town of London and especially Rafael. Now, in return, Oliver's own life had been destroyed.

"You reap what you sow," Rafe's father had said when

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Rafe was a boy. The late duke had been fair and just. He would have seen justice in the outcome of the duel.

Still, Oliver wasn't the only man at fault. In the days since the duel, Rafe had set out to mend some of the damage he, himself, had caused. He meant to clear Danielle's name of any wrongdoing in the scandal that had ended their betrothal, but he wanted to speak to Dani first.

In that regard, his efforts had failed.

Rafe swore softly. Frustrated and out of sorts, he was thinking of Danielle when a knock at the door drew his attention. His butler, Jonathan Wooster, silver-haired with a narrow face and watery blue eyes, stood in the doorway.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Your Grace, but Lord and Lady Belford are here to see you."

He had wondered when his friends would arrive. "Show them in." They were worried about him, he knew. He'd been holed up since the duel and hadn't left the house. Though justice had been served, he felt defeated. He hadn't left the house because he couldn't find the will.

Ethan ushered Grace into the room, a lovely young woman with heavy auburn hair and jewel-green eyes and dressed in a fashionable, high-waisted gown a paler shade of green. Grace and Rafe had long been friends, but never anything more. Rafe believed that Grace had been destined from the start to become Ethan's bride, the one person who could dispel the darkness his friend had carried inside him.

"How are you feeling?" Ethan asked, a worried look on his face. He was as tall as Rafe, leaner, darker, his features more sculpted, the sort of man women were drawn to. Even more so now that his demons were gone.

"The wound was never that serious." Rafe strode toward

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them across the room. "And the arm seems to be healing very well."

"That's very good news." Grace's pretty face lit with a smile. "Perhaps you feel well enough to accompany us to luncheon. It's such a lovely day."

Rafe glanced away. His body was mending, but his mind lingered in the past. The day after the duel, he had summoned Jonas McPhee to discover the whereabouts of Lady Wycombe and her niece, Danielle Duval. Since Rafe hadn't seen her since the afternoon tea and neither had his mother, he thought that perhaps she and her aunt had returned to Wycombe Park.

Instead, according to McPhee, Danielle and her aunt had left the country.

"I can tell by the grim look on your face that you have discovered Danielle is gone," Ethan said.

Rafe frowned. "How did you know?"

"Victoria told us," Grace said. "She seems to have an invisible connection to every servant in the city. She was looking for information about Danielle. I suppose she thought you would probably wish to see her."

Rafe bit back a sigh of frustration. "Unfortunately, Jonas McPhee informed me three days ago that Danielle and her aunt have sailed for America, gone off to the city of Philadelphia. I had hoped to speak to her, to apologize and somehow try to make amends. I don't suppose that is going to happen now."

"Certainly not right away," Ethan agreed.

Rafe looked at his friend. "Did Victoria also tell you that Danielle has accepted a proposal of marriage from an American name Richard Clemens?"

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"No. I don't think she knew."

Rafe stared past the couple, out the window into the garden. The sun was shining as it hadn't in days, and a pair of sparrows sat on the branch of a sycamore tree beside the house.

He turned back to his friends. "Danielle has given up her home, been forced to leave her own country to try to find some kind of happiness for herself. She has sailed thousands of miles to escape the terrible things that were said about her—none of which were true—and the fault is entirely mine."

Grace reached over and touched his arm. "That is not so. Your actions undoubtedly played a part, but Oliver Randall is the man responsible. He planned to end your betrothal to Danielle and destroy your feelings for each other—and he succeeded."

Rafe's hand unconsciously fisted. "Randall accomplished exactly what he set out to do. He destroyed any chance for happiness Danielle and I might have had. Unless, of course, she finds some measure of contentment with the man she intends to marry."

Grace's fingers pulled on the sleeve of his coat. "Are you willing to take that chance, Rafael?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Danielle's marriage might make her life even more unhappy than it's been for the past five years. Are you willing to take that risk?"

His chest tightened. The thought had occurred to him more than once in the past few days. He remembered the Dani he had fallen in love with, so sweet and innocent yet filled with such passionate fire.

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Who was this man she intended to marry? Did she love him? Would he take care of her, treat her the way she deserved?

Ethan's voice filled the silence that had fallen in the study. "Grace believes there is yet a chance for you and Danielle—if you are brave enough to take it. My wife believes that you are still in love with the woman. She is convinced that you've never stopped loving her. She believes you should go after her and bring her home."

Rafe cast a hard look at Grace. "I realize you have always been an incurable romantic, sweeting, but this time I think you may have gone completely over the mark. Dani is marrying another man. She is probably in love with him. And I... I am betrothed to Mary Rose."

"Are you still in love with Danielle?" Grace pressed.

Rafe took a steadying breath. Was he still in love with Dani? It was a question he had never allowed himself to ask. "It's been five years, Grace. I don't even know the lady anymore."

"You have to find out, Rafael. You have to go after her. You have to discover if you still love her—and if she still loves you."

Rafe snorted. "The woman loathes the very sight of me."

"Perhaps she does. Perhaps she only thinks she does. Once I convinced myself that I hated Ethan. I blamed him for everything that had happened to me. But the day he showed up on my doorstep, I realized that the feelings I once held for him were still there, hovering just below the surface. At the time, I wished it weren't so. Now..."

She turned, slid her arms around her husband's waist and leaned into his embrace. "Now I am only grateful that he

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came for me, grateful that he has come to love me the way I love him, grateful for the son he has given me."

Ethan bent his dark head and pressed his lips against his wife's auburn curls.

"What about Mary Rose?" Rafe asked. "We are betrothed, in case you have forgot."

"You don't love her," Ethan answered, surprising him. "And I don't believe she loves you. I don't think you want her to."

No, he didn't want Mary Rose to love him. Because he knew he could never return that love.

"Ask her to wait," Grace urged. "Surely a little more time before the wedding wouldn't be too much to ask."

Rafe made no reply. His chest was squeezing. The questions Grace posed had been hovering at the edge of his mind since McPhee had discovered the truth about that night. The list had only grown since the duel. They were questions that needed to be answered.

There were words that needed to be spoken, a past that needed to be resolved.

"I'll think about what you've both said. I want you and Ethan to know that no matter what happens, I appreciate your friendship. You will never know how much."

Grace's pretty eyes filled with tears. "We just want you to be happy."

Rafe only nodded. He had given up that hope five years ago. Now, hearing his best friend's words, the thought burned inside him again. Was it possible? He didn't know, but he knew he had to find out.

Tomorrow morning, he would book passage for himself on a ship bound for America.

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"If you decide to go," Ethan said as if he had read Rafe's mind, "Belford Shipping has a vessel sailing for America three days hence. The owner's cabin is yours. TheTriumph can sail you straight up the Delaware River to Philadelphia, and she's a fast ship, Rafael. With good weather, she'll cut at least a week off the time Danielle has ahead of you."

Rafe looked up at him. Inside his chest, his heart was squeezing as if it were locked in a fist.

"Make the arrangements" was all he said.

Six

Needing a moment alone, Danielle stood at the window, staring into the darkness of the city they had reached just two weeks ago. Tonight she and her aunt were attending a small house party being given by close friends of Richard's in honor of their engagement. It seemed there were always more people to meet, and though they were friendly, sometimes it was a bit overwhelming.

Dani gazed into the quiet outside the house. With its narrow cobbled streets and redbrick buildings, tall white church steeples and large, open green parks, Philadelphia was charming, if nothing at all like London.

Though America and England had once been connected, it was as if the American colonists had done everything in their power to carve out a new identity all their own. Their speech was less clipped, less formal. Their clothes followed English fashion, yet, with the distance between the two countries, even the most lavish costumes seemed slightly out of vogue.

Still, the people here had a strong, rugged independence

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that Danielle admired and respected. They were their own people, these Americans. She had never met anyone quite like them.

Danielle turned away from the window and walked over to join her aunt, who stood next to the cut-crystal punch bowl. During the two weeks since her arrival, Dani had settled comfortably into the narrow brick row house Aunt Flora had let for her stay in America. At present, Dani and Caro resided there with her in the charming, colonial-style home.

After Dani's wedding, three weeks hence, she and Caro would move into Richard's home on Society Hill, and once they were settled, Aunt Flora would return to England, accompanied by a companion she hired for the journey.

Dani would remain with her husband in Philadelphia, a completely new and different world. She was grateful Caro would be staying, as well.

She took a sip from the cup of punch Aunt Flora slid into her hand.

"Here comes Richard," her aunt whispered, smiling at the blond man who approached from across the parlor, what the Americans called a drawing room. "He is certainly a handsome man."

She cast Danielle a sideways glance, trying to read her emotions where Richard was concerned, but Dani kept her features carefully blank.

She liked Richard Clemens enough to accept his proposal, but she wasn't in love with him. And she didn't think Richard wasmore than moderately enamored of her. He was a successful, practical man who needed a wife to replace the one who had died in childbirth and a mother for his two children. Over time, Dani hoped, their affection would grow deeper.

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"Ah, Danielle—there you are." He smiled and she returned it.

"I saw you talking to Mr. Wentz," she said. "Since you and he both own textile manufacturing companies, I imagined the two of you were talking business."

He reached down and caught her hand, gave it a squeeze. "Very astute. I sensed that from our first meeting. A man with a wife who understands her role can be a tremendous asset to her husband's business."

Dani continued to smile. She wasn't exactly certain what role Richard expected her to play, but in time she supposed she would figure it out.

"Actually Jacob Wentz is in the dye manufacturing business. His plant is in Easton, not far from Clemens's Textiles." Richard turned for a moment to speak to Aunt Flora, and as the pair made polite conversation, Dani studied the man she was to wed.

Richard stood slightly above average in height, and he was attractive, his hair a deep golden blond and his eyes a mixture of brown and green, turning more one color than the other, depending upon his mood.

She had only begun to know him during his time in England. He'd been attentive and interesting, an intelligent man, successful in his business endeavors, a widower who seemed to find her attractive. Here he was different, more driven. Here, business always came first. At times it seemed to consume him.

"If you will excuse us for a moment, Lady Wycombe," Richard said, "there is a gentleman I would like Danielle to meet."

"Of course." Aunt Flora gave him a last warm smile,

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turned her attention to the matron standing next to her and they began to pleasantly chatter,

Dani let Richard guide her across the parlor, a well-designed room with molded ceilings, Aubusson carpets and Chippendale furniture. Even the furniture in the houses she had visited seemed decidedly American, mostly mahogany, with smooth lines and graceful curves, pretty lace doilies and high-backed Windsor chairs.

Richard covered her hand where it rested on the sleeve of his tailcoat as they wove their way among the guests, stopping for a greeting here and there. It was obvious by the way people deferred to him that her fiancé held a high place in Philadelphia society. In fact, there were times he seemed overly concerned with it, but perhaps she was mistaken.

He stopped in front of a tall, burly, gray-haired man with mutton-chop sideburns. "Senator Gaines, it's good to see you."

"You, as well, Richard."

"Senator, I'd like you to meet my fiancée, Danielle Duval."

Gaines made a very polite bow over her hand. "Miss Duval, you are every bit as lovely as Richard has said."

"Thank you, Senator."

"Senator Gaines was once ambassador to England," Richard told Dani. To the senator he said, "Danielle's father was the Viscount Drummond. Perhaps you met him while you were abroad."

One of the senator's thick gray eyebrows went up. "I'm afraid I never had the privilege." He tossed Richard a look "So you've caught yourself the daughter of a viscount. Quite a feather in your cap, old boy, if I do say so myself. Congratulations."

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Richard beamed. "Thank you, Senator."

"When's the wedding? I presume I'll be invited."

"Of course. We'd be very disappointed if you couldn't attend."

They spoke a moment more, then Richard said a polite farewell and so did Dani. She tried to ignore the uneasy feeling the conversation had stirred. Richard seemed so concerned with her background, so impressed that she was a member of the English aristocracy. It seemed to come up at every party they had attended since her arrival.

"Richard! Do bring your lovely bride-to-be over here for a moment. We've a guest tonight I would like the two of you to meet."

Dani recognized their rotund little host for the evening, Marcus Whitman, a wealthy farmer Richard had introduced her to at a musical affair they had attended last week. Since her arrival, her fiancé had insisted on attending one affair after another.

"I want you to have a chance to get acquainted with my friends," Richard had explained.

Dani had hoped they would have more time to themselves, a chance to get to know each other better before the wedding. So far, she had only met his children once and then only briefly.

"Good evening, Marcus." Richard smiled. "It's been a lovely party. Thank you so much for hosting the affair."

"My wife and I were pleased to do it. Before he died, your father and I were friends for nearly twenty years."

Richard politely nodded. His father was often mentioned at these events. Apparently he had been quite a respected man in the community. "You said there was someone you wanted us to meet?"

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"Yes, yes.. .indeed." He turned and touched the coat sleeve of a tall man standing behind him, drawing the man's attention.

"Richard, I would like to introduce you to an acquaintance from London, a friend of a friend, if you know what I mean. Rafael Saunders is the Duke of Sheffield. He's here in Philadelphia on business."

Shock ricocheted through Dani. She felt as if the floor had just tipped sideways. She could feel the blood slowly draining from her face.

Whitman continued the introduction. "Duke, meet Richard Clemens and his fiancée, Miss Duval. She's a countryman of yours. Perhaps the two of you are acquainted."

Dani stared into the bluest eyes she had ever seen, eyes she would never forget. Her chest tightened almost painfully.

"Mr. Clemens," Rafael said, making Richard a very formal bow. "Miss Duval." His eyes fixed on hers and for an instant she couldn't look away.

Dani couldn't talk, couldn't form a single word. She just kept staring, her hand trembling on Richard's sleeve. When he turned to look at her, he must have seen the pallor of her face.

"Darling, are you all right?"

Dani wet her lips, her mouth gone completely dry. "I am...I am happy to make your acquaintance," she said to Rafael, silently thanking God she had never told Richard the name of the man who had once been her betrothed. The man who had ruined her.

Rafe's eyes remained on hers. "The pleasure is mine, I assure you, Miss Duval."

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She dragged her gaze away, ignored the wild beating of her heart, and glanced frantically around the room in search of an avenue of escape. "I—I'm terribly sorry. I'm afraid I am feeling overly warm. I think I could use a breath of fresh air."

Richard slid an arm around her waist. "Here, let me escort you. A moment on the terrace and I'm sure you'll be right as rain." Guiding her toward the French doors leading out into the garden, Richard led her across the room. Several people glanced their way, but Dani barely saw them. Her mind was spinning, her stomach tied into a knot.

Rafael had followed her. She couldn't think of any other explanation. Why had he come? What did he want?

Did he hate her so much that he had come to ruin her chance for a new life with Richard?

Dani clamped down on a moment of fear and prayed there was some other reason Rafael had traveled all the way to America.

***************

Rafe watched Danielle leave the parlor and wished he had handled things differently. She looked so pale, so shaken. Then again, what had he expected?

Not that he'd had any choice.

Before he'd set sail, he had done his best to discover any information that might help him find her, but there simply wasn't enough time. He knew the name of her ship, theWyndham, and that she had sailed to Philadelphia, where her fiancé, a wealthy manufacturer, apparently had a home.

Beyond that, he didn't know exactly where to look for her. Instead, he had arrived in the city with letters of introduction engineered by Howard Pendleton, a close family

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friend. Letters from men of influence in London with friends in Philadelphia who might be able to help him find Danielle.

Howard Pendleton, an army colonel who worked in the British War Office, had helped Cord and Rafe bring Ethan home from France, where he had been imprisoned. Through Ethan, Pendleton had heard of Rafe's intended journey and come to him with an offer of assistance—but there was a favor he wanted in return.

"Rumors have been surfacing," the colonel had said, "whispers that a venture may be in the making between the Americans and the French. A deal that would be of great benefit to Napoléon. We need your help, Your Grace. If you agree, you won't be on your own. You'll have Max Bradley to assist you."

Rafe knew Bradley well, knew how good he was, and that he was a man to count on. England had been fighting the French for years. Thousands of British lives had been lost.

Rafe agreed to help in any way he could and received the colonel's assistance in return, which included the letters of introduction. When Rafe set sail aboard theTriumph, one of the newest ships in the Belford shipping fleet, Max Bradley sailed with him, a man who worked undercover for the War Office—a polite way of saying that Max was a British spy.

In the days since their arrival, Bradley had gone underground in search of information, and Rafe had used the letters to find someone who could lead him to Dani. He had been introduced to Marcus Whitman, a close friend of Richard Clemens, and secured an invitation to the house party Whitman was holding in honor of the bride and groom.

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Rafe stared off toward the terrace, his chest feeling heavy. In her gold brocade gown, with her glorious red hair swept up, Danielle looked even more beautiful tonight than she had the last time he had seen her.

Still, as he had watched her moving around the room on the arm of the man she was to marry, there wasn't a spark of joy in her lovely green eyes, not the least hint of passion. Perhaps, like himself, she had merely learned a greater degree of self-control.

As he watched her disappear out of sight into the garden, he wished he could have found a better way to proceed: But he had wanted to meet Richard Clemens, to discover as much about the man as he could, and with the wedding just three weeks away, there wasn't much time.

Rafe made conversation with Whitman and his dark-haired, likable little wife, all the while watching the terrace door, hoping for another glimpse of Dani.

"If it isn't His Grace, the duke." Flora Chamberlain appeared beside him, a round-faced little woman with keen blue eyes. "One never knows whom one might encounter, even all these miles from home." She studied him from beneath thick gray lashes, her gaze coolly assessing. "It never occurred to me that you might actually come."

Rafe's gaze met hers. "Did it not? You knew I would discover the truth when you gave Jonas McPhee that letter. Did you really believe I would let the matter rest without speaking to Danielle?"

"You could have discovered the truth five years ago if you had made the effort."

"I was younger then, and extremely hotheaded. I was insanely jealous of Dani. And I was a fool."

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"I see... You're older now, not so wildly passionate."

"Exactly. When I last saw Danielle and she continued to profess her innocence after all of these years, I decided to investigate the matter and discovered, to my everlasting regret, that I had wronged your niece."

"Quite a surprise, I'm sure. Still, it was a goodly distance to travel."

"I would have gone to any lengths to find her."

"I'll admit I hoped you might come. I believe Danielle deserves an apology from you—even if you had to sail nearly four thousand miles to make it."

"Is that the only reason?"

She glanced away, out toward the terrace. "For the present...yes."

"I need to speak to her, Lady Wycombe. When can that be arranged?"

The countess continued to stare off toward the garden, then she turned back to Rafe. "Come to my house tomorrow morning—221 Arch Street. Ten o'clock. Richard isn't due to arrive until noon."

Rafe reached down and captured the lady's white-gloved hand. He lifted her fingers to his lips. "Thank you, Lady Wycombe. You have ever been a good friend to Dani."

"Whatever you do, do not make me regret my involvement in this affair. Promise me you will do nothing more to hurt her."

Rafe looked down at the stout little gray-haired woman who had been far more loyal to Danielle than he ever had been. "I give you my solemn word."

***************

Wearing only her chemise and a light silk wrapper, since the night was warm even at this late hour, Danielle sat on a

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petit-point stool in front of the dressing table in her room. Caroline Loon sat on the edge of the four-poster canopied bed across from her.

"He was there at the party, Caro. I still can't believe it. He came all the way from England. What could he possibly want?"

"Perhaps it isn't what you think. Perhaps the man who introduced you is right and the duke is simply here on business. You told me the duke is quite wealthy. Perhaps he has financial concerns in America as well as England."

Dani felt a glimmer of hope. "Do you really think it's possible?"

"I think it's entirely possible."

"Perhaps he has come to see Richard, to warn him against the sort of woman he believes me to be."

"Your fiancé knows the truth. There is nothing the duke can tell him that you haven't already told him yourself. What Sheffield might say won't make any difference."

"I'm not so sure. Richard is extremely concerned with appearances. He might believe in my innocence, but he would be highly concerned should others hear the story."

Caro tapped the silver-backed hairbrush she held in one hand. "You said the duke pretended not to know you last night. Perhaps he will keep his silence."

Dani shook her head. "Rafael hates me. He ruined my life once before. How can I believe he will not try to do it again?"

"Maybe you should talk to him, find out what he is thinking."

An odd feeling stirred to life in Dani's chest. She couldn't imagine what it was. "Yes, perhaps I should. At least I will know where I stand."

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Caro got up from the bed, taller and thinner than Dani, wearing a mobcap over a thatch of pale blond curls. "It's getting late. Turn round and let me brush out your hair, then you should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow we can make some sort of plan."

Dani nodded. She turned on the stool and Caro deftly pulled the pins from her hair, letting the heavy strands fall loose down her back. The bristle brush followed, stroking through the thick mass of curls. Caro was right. Tomorrow she would make plans to confront Rafael.

Her stomach tightened.

In the meantime, it was highly unlikely that she would be able to sleep.

***************

Danielle was up early...at least by London standards. Americans didn't seem to enjoy the same ungodly hours as theton, whose members stayed out half the night, then wasted most of the next day in bed preparing to repeat then-indulgence again the next evening. The people in this country might enjoy a late night on occasion, but it didn't seem to be the norm. The Americans she had met were hard workers and extremely ambitious.

Richard was certainly one of them.

Still, today he had promised they would spend the afternoon with his children and share an intimate supper with his mother and a couple of family friends before he left for his factory in Easton, a small town fifty miles away where he would be working for the next few days.

"Dani! Dani!" Caro burst through the doorway, her blue eyes wide as saucers. "He's here! He's downstairs in the parlor!"

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"Slow down, Caro.Who is downstairs in the parlor?"

"The duke! He says he wishes to speak to you. He says it is a matter of extreme importance."

A wave of nausea hit her and her hands started to tremble. Dani took a calming breath and tried to slow her wildly beating heart.

This was what she wanted—wasn't it?

She needed to talk to him, discover his intentions.

Dani made a quick survey of her reflection in the tall, cheval glass mirror, turning to assess the back of her pale blue muslin day dress, straightening the slim skirt, adjusting the high-waisted bodice.

The gown looked presentable and Caro had pulled back her hair on the sides and fastened it with tortoiseshell combs, but a heavy mass of curls fell down her back.

"You look fine," Caro said, tugging her toward the door. "You wanted to talk to him. Now go find out why he is here."

Dani took another deep breath and raised her chin. She squeezed her hands together until they stopped shaking, then headed for the stairs. As she entered the parlor, a comfortable room done in shades of white and soft rose, she spotted Rafael's tall figure seated on the sofa. He came to his feet the instant she walked through the door.

"Thank you for seeing me," he said very gallantly.

"Did I really have a choice?" She knew Rafael. If he wanted to speak to her, aside from shooting him, there was no way to keep him away.

"No, I don't suppose you did." He motioned toward the sofa. "Join me?"

"I would prefer to stand, thank you."

Rafael released a breath. He was six years older than she,

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which meant he would be thirty-one by now. Fine lines crinkled beside those blue, blue eyes, and there was a weariness in his features that hadn't been there when he was younger. Still, he was handsome. One of the handsomest men she had ever seen.

She felt those intense blue eyes on her face. "I have traveled thousands of miles to see you, Danielle. I understand your animosity toward me—no one could understand it more—but I would appreciate it if you would sit down so that we might have this chance to speak."

Dani blew out a breath. Knowing it was useless to argue, she went over and sat down on the rose velvet sofa and Rafe walked over and closed the parlor doors. She was surprised when he settled himself beside her a barely respectable distance away.

"Shall I call for tea?" she asked. "Since we are suddenly being so civilized."

"Tea isn't necessary, only your attention. I came here to apologize, Danielle."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me correctly. I am here because everything you said was true. That night five years ago, I am the one who betrayed you, not the other way around."

She swallowed, suddenly feeling light-headed. She was glad she had agreed to sit down. "I'm afraid I don't.. .don't understand."

Rafe turned more fully toward her. "Oliver Randall lied about what happened that night—just as you always claimed. He engineered everything, right down to the note I received, which was the reason I went to your room that night."

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Rafe explained the events of the evening and the reason he had been so convinced she was having an affair with Oliver Randall. The story was so incredible that the words began swimming round in her head.

"Why...?" she asked softly. "Why would Oliver do such a thing? I tried to figure it out, but it never made any sense."

"He did it because he wanted you for himself. He was in love with you, Danielle, but he couldn't have you. And he was insanely jealous of me."

Dani leaned back on the sofa, her heart beating oddly, a tight feeling inside her chest. Rafe got up and walked over to the sideboard. Pouring a dollop of brandy into a crystal snifter, he returned to where she sat and pressed the brandy glass into her hand.

"Drink this. It'll make you feel better."

When she made no effort to raise the glass, he wrapped his fingers around hers and lifted the snifter to her lips. Dani took a tentative swallow, felt the warm burn, and took another. In truth, she did feel somewhat better.

She looked up at Rafael, still unable to believe he stood there in the parlor. "How did you find all of this out?"

"I hired an investigator, a Bow Street runner, a man I had used on a number of occasions before."

Danielle shook her head. "I still can't believe it."

"What is it you don't believe?"

"That you would travel thousands of miles simply to tell me you were wrong."

"And also to tell you that Oliver Randall paid the highest price for his treachery."

Dani came up off the sofa so swiftly brandy sloshed against the sides of her crystal glass. "You killed him?"

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Rafe took the snifter from her unsteady hands and set it down on the table. "I challenged him to a duel, as I did before, only this time I forced him to accept. My shot bounced off a rib and lodged in an area around his spine. Oliver Randall will never walk again."

She tried to feel something, tried to make herself abhor what Rafael had done. But she knew the code of honor a highborn Englishman lived by. Knew that if Rafe ever discovered the truth, he would make Oliver pay.

"I'm sorry," she said finally.

"For Randall? Don't be."

"For all of us. For the years we lost. For the damage that was done."

"Randall destroyed our lives, Danielle. Mine as well as yours. You might not believe it, but it's true."

"Well, now he has paid, so it's over. Thank you for telling me. I was afraid..."

"You were afraid of what, Danielle?"

Her chin went up. "I was afraid you had come to destroy my plans for the future. My chance of finding happiness with Richard."

"You believed I would go that far, that I hated you that much?"

"Didn't you?"

"I never spoke a word to anyone about that night. Not once in all of these years."

"But you never denied the rumors. You cried off two days after it happened. By breaking our betrothal that way, you made it clear that I was guilty."

Something moved across his features. She thought it might be regret. "There is no denying my role in what hap-

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pened. If I could change things...if I could do it over, I would."

"But we can't do that, can we, Rafael?"

"No. We can't undo the past."

Danielle rose from the sofa. "Goodbye, Rafael." She started walking toward the door, her heart still beating fiercely, fighting an urge to weep.

"Do you love him?" Rafe called suddenly.

Danielle just kept walking, out through the parlor doors into the entry. Lifting her skirt up out of the way, she concentrated on climbing the stairs, one by one, up to her room.

Seven

Rafe sat on the horsehair sofa in the parlor of his suite at the William Penn Hotel. Thinking of his meeting with Danielle, he propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands.

"That bad, was it?" Emerging from the bedroom, Max Bradley strolled up beside him as silent as a wraith. He always seemed to appear without warning. Rafe still wasn't used to it.

"Worse," he said, leaning back against the sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "I'll never forget the look on her face when I told her I had finally discovered her innocence in the affair. My God, if she hated me before, she loathes me completely now."

"Are you certain? Or do you just hate yourself?"

Rafe sighed, knowing it was true. "There's no denying the guilt I feel for not believing her that night. I wish there were something I could do to make it up to her."

Max walked over and poured himself a brandy. He was nearly as tall as Rafe, several years older, and thin to the

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point of gaunt. His face was weathered and hard, the deep lines hinting at the sort of life he led. Thick black hair, always a little too long, curled over the back of his plain brown tailcoat.

Max poured a glass of brandy for Rafe, walked over and handed him the drink. "You look like you could use this."

For the first time Rafe realized that Max was speaking with an American accent. In France, he'd spoken French like a countryman. He was a man who stayed mostly in shadow and he never slipped out of whatever role he played. In Max's line of work, such talents were invaluable.

Rafe took a swallow of brandy, grateful for its inner warmth. "Thank you."

"You said Danielle came here to be married."

"That's right."

"Have you met the man?"

"Briefly. From what I've been able to find out, he's a very successful businessman, a widower with a daughter and a son."

"Is your lady in love with him?"

One of Rafe's dark eyebrows went up. "Danielle is no longer my lady, and I have no idea. She wouldn't tell me."

"Interesting..." Max took a long draw on his brandy. "In that case, I suppose it's something you need to find out."

He scoffed. "Why? Lots of people marry for reasons other than love."

"You said you wished there was something you could do to make up for what happened in the past."

"I said that. As far as I can see there isn't a damn thing I can do."

"If the lady doesn't love the man she is going to wed,

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then you might consider wedding her yourself. She could return to England, to her aunt and her family. More important, marrying her would end the gossip, set the wagging tongues to rest and make your lady's innocence clear once and for all."

Rafe's chest squeezed. There was a time he had wanted to marry Danielle above all things. That time was long past—wasn't it?

Or had the thought been brewing in his head ever since he had found out the truth of her innocence? Was that the true reason he had gone to see the Earl of Throckmorton in regard to his betrothal to Mary Rose?

He had asked the earl that the wedding be postponed and was surprised—and secretly relieved—when the earl suggested the betrothal be ended completely.

"I believe I have made a mistake where my daughter is concerned," the earl had said. "Mary Rose is so young, so innocent. A worldly man like you.. .a man so much older. It's obvious you're a virile man of very strong appetites.. .to put it bluntly, Your Grace, my daughter is completely intimidated by you, and particularly frightened of sharing a bed with you. I don't believe, even over time, that is going to change."

Rafe could hardly believe his ears. The man was giving up the chance to wed his daughter to a duke. It simply did not happen in the world of theton.

"Are you certain ending the betrothal is what Mary Rose wants? I would be patient with her.. .give her a chance to get used to me."

"I'm certain you would, Rafael. I hope you understand I am doing what I believe is best for my daughter."

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It was surprising, and Rafe gave high marks to the earl. "I understand completely. And I respect you greatly for putting your daughter's best interests first. I'm grateful for your honesty and I wish Mary Rose every happiness."

Though he should have been depressed, should have been angry that his plans for the future had been ruined for the second time in his life, Rafe had left the house feeling as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He didn't understand it. He had imagined a future, a family, with Mary Rose.

He looked up at Max Bradley, sipping brandy in the parlor of his suite. "Though I admit the notion of marrying Danielle has merit, there is the small matter of her dislike of me. If I asked for her hand, she would most certainly refuse."

"I suppose that's for you to find out. And of course, there is the not so small matter of whether or not you still care for the girl."

Did he care? Today he had looked at Dani and seen her as he had five years ago, seen her without the taint of his hatred, a beautiful young woman, intelligent and caring. A woman innocent of the betrayal he had so ruthlessly accused her of committing.

"I want Danielle to be happy. I owe her that much and I am determined to see that it happens—one way or another."

Max clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, then, good luck, my friend. It sounds like you're going to need it." Max took a final sip of his brandy and set the glass down on the mahogany table in front of the sofa. "In the meantime, I've got a number of things to do. If my information proves correct, I may need your help."

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Rafe had told Colonel Pendleton he would help in any way he could. "Just let me know what you need me to do."

Max simply nodded. Seconds later he was gone from the room, disappearing as quietly as he had arrived, and Rate's thoughts returned to Danielle.

He owed her the chance at happiness that he had stolen from her. To do that, he needed to know more about the man she was to wed.

Rafe smiled grimly.

Rising from the sofa, he walked over to the silver salver sitting on the Sheraton table in the entry. He picked up the folded piece of paper he had received that morning, an invitation from Mrs. William Clemens to a small dinner party at her home that evening.

Sometimes it paid to be a duke.

Rafe had already sent word that he would be delighted to attend.

***************

The intimate supper with Richard's family, Danielle discovered, would be dinner with twenty people, all formally dressed, arriving in expensive carriages at Richard's mother's elegant brick residence in Society Hill.

Richard had his own, slightly smaller but no less elegant home just a few blocks away, as well as a cottage in Easton that he used whenever he was there working, which apparently happened quite often.

Dani had spent the afternoon with Richard's mother; Richard's son, William Jr.; and his daughter, Sophie—their first real time together. Richard had been with them for a while, but the children seemed to prey on his nerves and he made an excuse to leave.

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Dani almost didn't blame him. William and Sophie had argued and fought and thrown tantrums through most of the day. They were still arguing when Dani prepared to return to Aunt Flora's house on Arch Street so that she could change out of her day dress and into a more elaborate gown for the evening.

They were still at it when she and Aunt Flora returned at seven o'clock to join the first of the supper guests.

"Give me back my horse!" William Jr. was seven years old, Sophie only six. Both were blond, William with brown eyes and Sophie with green. Both looked a good deal like their father.

"It's my horse," Sophie argued. "You gave it to me."

"I didn't give it to you—I only let you play with it!"

"Children, please..." Dani hurried toward them, hoping she could stop this latest row before more of the guests arrived. Earlier in the day, their grandmother had tried to placate them with gifts, a toy horse for William, a new doll for Sophie, though the bedchamber they used when they came for a visit overflowed with toys she had given them before.

"Your grandmother's guests have begun to arrive. You don't want them thinking you are ill-mannered."

William whirled on her viciously. "We don't have to do anything you say! We don't like you!"

They didn't seem to like anyone, at least not anyone who tried to control them. Of course, neither Richard's mother nor Richard himself bothered to try.

Dani sighed. She couldn't help thinking of the little girl, Maida Ann, and the little boy, Terrance, from the orphanage. They were happy with the tiniest trinket, the least bit of affection. Terrance would have treasured the carved wooden horse Mrs. Clemens had given to William. Maida

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Ann would have loved the doll Sophie had tossed into a corner.

Dani looked down at the two blond heads in front of her. Getting the children to accept her as their mother was going to be a Herculean task. She would do it—even though she suspected that neither Richard nor his mother, or even the children themselves really cared if she succeeded.

Mrs. Clemens bustled toward her, a large woman as tall as Dani with blond hair going gray. "Richard's driver is here to pick up William and Sophie and take them home. Their nurse will be waiting when they get there."

Dani turned to the children, still bickering over the little carved horse. William tugged the toy from Sophie's small hands and she started to cry.

"It's all right, sweetheart," Dani said. She hurried over and retrieved Sophie's toy from where she had tossed it, then returned and knelt in front of the little girl. "Here's your new doll. You can take her home with you if you like."

Sophie took the doll and slammed the porcelain head against the wall, smashing it into a dozen pieces that rained down on the carpet. "I don't want a silly old doll. I want a horse!"

Mrs. Clemens took hold of Sophie's hand. "You mustn't fret, dear. Grandma will get you a horse the next time you come over." The look she cast Dani told her not to argue. Both mother and son seemed to believe that the way to make William and Sophie behave was to give them anything they wanted.

Dani hoped that in time she would be able to convince Richard that what he and his mother were doing was not in the children's best interest.

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She turned at the sound of her fiance's voice as he walked up behind her. "I'm sorry I had to leave, darling. In my business, sometimes these things happen."

He had said he had forgotten an important business meeting and had no choice but to leave, but Dani smelled the faint aroma of liquor on his breath. He had stopped by his house and changed into his evening clothes, dark blue breeches and a light gray tailcoat over a silver waistcoat, and as always, looked extremely handsome.

And the way he was looking at her, his hazel eyes moving over her high-waisted green silk gown, said he was pleased with her appearance, too.

He tipped his head toward William and Sophie, who were ignoring him as if he weren't there. "The trials of being a parent. It'll be such a comfort to know you'll be there to take care of the children."

"Will I, Richard? Will I actually be taking care of them, or will I simply be their nursemaid?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm just not sure we are going to agree on how much William and Sophie ought to be indulged."

Though the smile remained on his face, Richard's features subtly tightened. "I'm sure we can work something out—as long as you keep in mind that these aremy children. Where they are concerned, I am the one who will make the decisions."

Angry heat rushed into her cheeks. She'd been afraid that was the position Richard would take. She opened her mouth to argue, but guests had started pouring into the house and this was obviously not the time or place.

Richard's smile softened. "Let's not fight tonight, dar-

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ling. We'll discuss all of this tomorrow, work everything out. In the meantime, I've got a surprise for you."

He turned a little, revealing the presence of a tall man watching them from a few feet away. "When I told Mother you had a fellow countryman—a duke, no less—visiting here in the city, she invited him to join us." Richard stepped back, allowing her to see the man behind him, but Dani had already spotted Rafael.

Her chest constricted and her heart began a too-rapid beat. Dear God, why was Rafe torturing her this way? Surely he knew how uncomfortable his presence made her. She had loved him once. Didn't he know that looking at him now reminded her of times long past? Reminded her of what might have been?

"Miss Duval," Rafe said, capturing her gloved hand, making a formal bow as he brought her fingers to his lips. "A pleasure to see you again."

Dani ignored the little tremor that ran up her arm. She didn't know why he had come. She only wished he would leave.

It wasn't going to happen, she realized as he conversed with Richard, made polite conversation with Aunt Flora and Mrs. Clemens, then accompanied the group in to supper.

Rafael was seated at the head of the table, as he would have been back home, but Mrs. Clemens sat to his right and Jacob Wentz to his left. The remainder of the guests took their places.

Dani sat next to Richard, farther down the table, Aunt Flora across from them. Rafael made polite conversation with his hostess and spoke often to Richard and several of

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the other men, but even as Dani stumbled through the lavish meal, she could feel his eyes on her.

She did everything in her power not to look at him, but dear God, time and again her gaze searched for his and she seemed unable to look away. There was something in those intense blue eyes, something hot and fierce that shouldn't have been there. Something that stirred old memories of the way the two of them once had been.

She remembered the day nearly five years ago that they had walked together in the apple orchard behind Rafe's country estate, Sheffield Hall.

Laughing at something she said, he had lifted her into the swing that hung down from the branches, then bent his dark head and kissed her, softly at first, but with such barely leashed passion she could still recall the feel of his lips moving over hers, remember the masculine taste of him.

The kiss had grown hot and wild, and Dani hadn't stopped him when his hand found her breast. She remembered his soft caresses and the sensual tug of heat that flowed through her body, the way her nipples hardened beneath the bodice of her blue muslin gown.

The way they were hard even now.

Dani flushed.

"Darling, you weren't paying attention," Richard scolded. "Did you hear what I just said?"

Her face was burning. She prayed that in the flickering light of the candles in the silver candelabra on the table, Richard wouldn't be able to see the color creeping into her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. My mind must have wandered. What were you saying?"

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"I said that the duke has agreed to join our bird hunting party next week."

She managed to smile, but it wasn't easy. "That is.. .that is wonderful. I'm sure he'll enjoy himself."

"I was thinking that we would make a weekend of it. Jacob's country house is quite large and he has invited all of the ladies to join the men."

Her stomach squeezed into a knot. More time with Rafael. What in God's name did he want? "That sounds... very... pleasant."

Obviously pleased with himself, Richard turned back to the conversation he was having with the duke and the other men, and Dani concentrated on her food. Why was Rafael intruding in their lives this way?

Danielle didn't know, but she intended to find out.

***************

Rafael endured the seemingly endless evening, determined to discover as much as he could about the man Danielle intended to marry. It was midnight by the time he returned to his suite at the William Penn Hotel. When he got there, he found Max Bradley waiting.

Sitting in the darkness, Max rose as Rafe reached over to light one of the whale-oil lamps, and Rafe swore a soft curse.

"I wish you would stop doing that. It's extremely disconcerting."

Max chuckled. "Sorry. How was your evening?"

"Tedious."

"You spoke to Clemens?"

He nodded. "I'm doing my best to like the man, but so far I'm having a devil of a time. There is something about

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him.... I can't quite put my finger on it. I've managed an invitation to join Richard's hunting party." Rafe smiled faintly. "Danielle will be traveling to the country, as well."

"When is it?"

"The end of the week."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"What do mean?"

"I may be on to something. If I'm right, I may need your help."

Rafe moved across the room toward Max. "You've confirmed the Americans are making a deal with France?"

"It looks that way. So far I've only heard rumors.. .something to do with a schooner called a Baltimore Clipper."

"Indeed?"

"I've got a lead I need to follow up on. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone."

"You'll let me know if there is anything I can do." According to Max, a man of Rafe's social standing would be better able to move in upper-class circles, thereby gaining access to the men who were privy to the needed information.

"I'll let you know if I need you. In the meantime, you look like you could use some sleep."

Rafe nodded, more weary than he should have been. "Good luck, Max." Rafe headed for his bedroom, leaving Max to disappear as he usually did.

As Rafe undressed, his mind returned to the earlier hours of the evening and the unsettling events he had seen.

His arrival at Mrs. Clemens's home had been early enough to see Danielle with Richard's children. They were spoiled little wretches, raised without manners, and mostly

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left to run out of control. Worse yet, from what Richard had said to Dani, he didn't intend to allow her the slightest say in their upbringing.

Rafe believed the children would be far better off if Danielle took a hand. She had always been good with youngsters. They had planned to have a large family of their own. At the afternoon tea he had attended, he had watched her with several of the orphans, who seemed to adore her, as he could have guessed they would.

But Richard seemed too dictatorial to see the good she could do his offspring. It made Rafe wonder...what else would he be unbending about?

Rafe slid beneath the sheets trying to imagine what sort of future Dani would have with Richard Clemens.

Rafe wanted her to be happy.

He had to be certain marrying Richard Clemens would bring her the happiness she deserved.

Eight

Dani heard nothing from Rafael. Determined to discover the reason he continued to interfere in her life and hoping she could dissuade him from accompanying them to the country, she had sent a note to where he was staying at the William Penn Hotel. She had requested a meeting, but received no reply and wondered if perhaps he had gone out of town.

Dani hoped so.

As she awaited the arrival of Richard's carriage that Friday morning, she prayed Rafe had changed his mind and would not be joining them, now or any time in the future.

Aunt Flora had declined to make the trip, but a number of married women would be in attendance so there was no need for a chaperone, and Caro was accompanying her, acting as her lady's maid but actually there for support. Since Dani had only just met the other women and she barely knew Richard, it was good to have a friend along.

Richard's carriage finally arrived for the journey to Jacob Wentz's country house, nearly twenty miles away. The

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three-hour ride, Danielle hoped, would give her the chance for a bit of conversation with her fiancé.

Unfortunately, once they were on the road, Richard slept most of the way.

They reached the house in the early afternoon, a large stone residence surrounded by acres of rolling green fields and patches of dense green forest.

"It's lovely," she said, staring through the carriage window at the countryside that reminded her a little of home.

Richard smiled from the seat beside her. "We'll have to consider buying a place like this for ourselves. Would you like that, darling?"

She turned to look at him. "I've always loved the country."

"And it would be good for the children, as well."

"Yes, I think it might be." Anything to get them away from their overindulgent grandmother. Perhaps they would have the chance to be a family after all. The family she never thought to have.

Her spirits lifted. They went into the residence, a large house with low, beamed ceilings in the main rooms and plaster fireplaces tall enough for her to walk into. There were hooked rugs on the wood-planked floors, and each of the guest rooms had a lovely four-poster bed. When she went upstairs, she found Caro pulling a trundle out from beneath the bed in the room the two of them would share.

"It's very nice." Caro smiled as she glanced round the bedchamber. As she walked over to the open window, a breeze blew fine blond curls loose from their pins and fluffed them around her narrow face. "There's a lovely view of the garden and the hills at the edge of the valley."

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Dani walked over to see them. Instead, as she peered out the window, her gaze snagged on the tall man riding up the lane, mounted on a lean gray horse. She couldn't see his face, but she knew who it was, recognized the confident way he sat his mount, the width and straightness of his shoulders.

"Rafael is here," she said softly, drawing Caro's attention.

'The man on the dappled gray horse?"

She swallowed. "Yes."

Though Dani had told her friend a good deal about him, Caro had never seen Rafael. He drew closer, his face coming partially into view.

"Oh, my..."

"Exactly," Dani said. There wasn't a woman alive who wouldn't be impressed by Rafael. Aside from his dark good looks and impressive, broad-shouldered physique, there was simply something about him, the way he carried himself, the way he looked at a woman, giving her his complete attention as if she were the only female in the room. Dani watched him continue down the lane until he disappeared behind the high hedge surrounding the garden, riding toward the front of the house.

"Well, he is here," Caro said practically. "You will simply have to accept the fact." She turned away from the window and a bright smile bloomed on her face. "On the good side, you wished to speak to him, discover his intentions, whatever they may be. Perhaps you will now have the chance."

Dani dragged her gaze away from the window. "I suppose you are right. He has played the gentleman so far.

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Since my presence seems to have no effect on him, I shall simply behave the same way." Still, she wished he hadn't come, wished that he would turn round and go back to England where he belonged.

It was late in the afternoon. Danielle was wandering the pathways through the garden, meandering along, in no real hurry to get back to the house when she spotted the duke striding toward her, a determined look on his face. It deepened the faint cleft in his chin, made his eyes look a deeper shade of blue. Her heart stuttered, set up an erratic clatter.

"I apologize," he said, stopping on the path directly in front of her. "I'm afraid I didn't get your note until late last night. Apparently, the desk clerk put it into the wrong box."

"I thought that perhaps you were out of town on business."

Rafe's smile softened, lifting the edges of his full, sensuous mouth. It was the sort of smile she hadn't seen since before that awful night five years ago and it made her heart kick into a higher gear.

"I may have a matter to deal with while I am here, but that isn't the reason I came. The business I came for, Dani, is you."

The use of her nickname, said in that deep, resonant voice roughened with a hint of affection, made her tremble.

"If I am the reason you are here, you needn't remain. You've done what you came for. You've set matters straight, which is more than most men would have done. Go home, Rafael. I don't want you here. Surely you can understand why."

The smile slid from his face. "I want you to be happy, Danielle. I owe you that. Once I'm certain you will be, I promise to be on my way. Until then, I am staying."

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Her temper inched up. "You don't owe me anything. I'm marrying Richard Clemens. I don't need your approval—I don't care what you think. Leave me in peace, Rafael. Let me get on with my life."

She started to turn away, but Rafe caught her arm. "I asked you before—do you love him?" Her chin shot up. "That is none of your concern." "I'm making it my concern.Do you love him?" Jerking free of his hold, she ignored the fierce scowl on his face, turned and started walking, her temper still high. She was marrying Richard Clemens. Her decision had been made. Whatever Rafael thought was unimportant. Her own thoughts needed to focus on Richard, not Rafael.

But as she made her way out of the garden she could still see his tall image in the back of her mind, feel his intense blue eyes burning into her. She remembered the smoky look she had glimpsed in those eyes the instant before she had turned away, and keeping her thoughts on Richard wasn't all that easy to do.

***************

Rafael joined the men for the hunt the following morning, riding out on horseback, Rafe on the saddle horse he had hired in town, an exceptionally fine gray mount that belonged to the man who owned the stable. The well-trained gelding was well worth the extra money he had paid for its use, he thought as they rode across the open fields.

The countryside was beautiful, rolling hills crisscrossed with low rock walls, interspersed with forested knolls, bisected with occasional rippling streams. Meadows sprinkled with white-and-yellow daisies stretched across the landscape in front of them.

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They reached their destination and dismounted, leaving the horses to graze on the lush grass sprouting up between their legs. There were five men in the hunting party: Richard Clemens, Jacob Wentz, a wealthy merchant named Edmund Steigler, Judge Otto Bookman and Rafael, along with a pack of blue-speckled and rusty-red hunting hounds, brought to search out woodcock and quail.

As the dogs fanned out with the young man who was their handler, Richard Clemens walked next to Rafe across the field, a smoothbore long gun with a silver-engraved flintlock gripped in one hand.

"Nice-looking piece," Rafe said, the long gun Richard had loaned him resting comfortably in the crook of his arm.

"My father's," Richard said proudly. "It's English, extremely well crafted." Richard held the gun out for Rafe to examine more closely.

Pausing for a moment, he leaned his own weapon against the trunk of a tree and took the gun from Richard's hand. He snapped the piece up against his shoulder, lowered it and turned it over to look at the maker's initials.

"I know the gunsmith, Peter Wells. Wells is still making very fine weapons."

Clemens beamed. "My father was always proud of this gun."

"He had reason to be."

They talked a little longer, building a sort of camaraderie, though Rafe yet remained wary. He wasn't quite sure why.

"So how are you enjoying our country so far?" Richard asked. "Had the chance to meet anyone interesting?"

"I've enjoyed meeting you and your friends, of course." Rafe looked up at him. "Are you talking about a woman?"

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Richard shrugged. "You've been here for several weeks. A man has needs. I thought perhaps I might be of help, if you're interested."

"Then you're suggesting an evening of pleasure."

"There's a place in the city I enjoy on occasion. I think you might find it entertaining."

"And you would accompany me?"

He smiled. "I have a lady friend there.. .a very talented lady friend. We're quite well acquainted."

"You're getting married in less than two weeks."

Richard just smiled. "Getting married hardly precludes a man from taking his pleasure. I don't imagine it is any different in your country."

Rafe couldn't argue with that. In fact, had he wed Mary Rose, he would surely have turned to the company of other women. "A number of married men keep mistresses or pay an occasional visit to a brothel such as the one you mentioned."

But it wouldn't have been so with Dani, and the thought of her new husband intending to live such a life made his stomach start to churn.

"Your fiancée," he said, "seems to be a very lovely young woman. Perhaps her attentions will be enough."

Richard just laughed. "I'm definitely looking forward to the marriage bed, but with my factory in Easton, I'm gone from the city quite often. I keep a mistress in the country. I don't intend for that to change."

Rafe said nothing more. He had vowed to see Danielle happy. She would never be happy with a man who planned from the start to be unfaithful.

"Look there!" Richard pointed toward a ditch running

100     Kat Martin

along the side of the field. "The dogs have flushed up a covey of quail!"

Richard and the other men swung their guns into position. Rafe slammed the stock of his flintlock against his shoulder and pulled the trigger. A pair of birds went down. If the rest of the day went as well, they would be having quail for supper.

Unfortunately, Rafe's mind was no longer on the hunt. He was thinking of Danielle. He had the answers he had been seeking, but he couldn't break a confidence and tell her.

The question arose, what should he do?

Nine

Caroline Loon sat at a long wooden table in the basement kitchen of the Wentz house, talking to the serving women and sipping a cup of tea. It was one of the advantages of being a lady's maid. She could cross without a problem from the world above stairs into the one below.

"How 'bout a nice slice o' pie, dear, to go with your tea?" The buxom cook, Emma Wyatt, waddled toward her, a warm smile on her face. "It's just out of the oven. Picked the apples meself—right off the tree outside the back door."

"It looks delicious, Emma, but I'm not really hungry."

"Are ye sure? A girl needs to eat."

"I'm fine."

The sound of footsteps rang on the stone floor behind her. Caro turned to see the shadowy figure of a man appear in the open doorway.

"You had better do as Emma says. You look like you could use a little meat on your bones." His gaze ran over her. "Though they are very lovely bones, indeed."

Caro blinked at the sudden commotion in the kitchen—

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one of the kitchen maids giggling, Mrs. Wyatt grinning like a schoolgirl.

"Leave her be, Robert." Emma waved her spatula in his direction. "Ye'll embarrass the poor lass." The cook turned to Caro. "Pay him no mind, dear. Robert's a terrible flirt. Why, the man could charm the sparrows right out of the trees."

He just smiled. Setting the knee-high black leather boots he carried down beside the door, he walked over to the long wooden table and sat down on the bench across from her. The visitor, a man in his thirties with thick brown hair and a very nice smile, was handsome as sin, and a wicked glint appeared for a moment in his warm brown eyes. They assessed her from top to bottom, paused for a moment on her not particularly substantial breasts, then returned to her face.

"I'll have a piece of that pie, Emma." He winked at Caro. "If you've never tasted Emma's pie, you don't know what you're missing. By the way, my name is Robert McKay. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss...?"

"Loon. Caroline Loon. I work for Miss Duval. She's one of Mr. Wentz's houseguests."

"Ah, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"You're from England. I haven't heard those particular speech patterns for quite some time."

He was referring to her polished manner of speaking. Regardless of her family's lack of finances, Caro had received a solid education and spoke with the crisp, clipped tones of the British upper classes.

It occurred to her that Robert's resonant speech held the same upper-class intonations. "But you're English, as well."

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"I was. I'm American now, though not exactly by choice."

Emma set a large piece of pie down in front of Robert McKay and the delicious aroma made Caro's stomach growl.

"I knew it!" Robert grinned. "Emma—bring a slice of this marvelous pie for Miss Loon."

Emma laughed and waddled over a few minutes later with a slightly smaller piece of pie, which she set down in front of Caro along with a fork for each of them.

Robert waited politely for her to begin, then attacked his food like a man who hadn't eaten in a week, which, with his well-muscled frame, Caro highly doubted.

As he had promised, the pie was delicious, the apple-cinnamon aroma filling every square inch of the overly warm, low-ceilinged kitchen, yet with the handsome man seated across from her it was difficult to concentrate on her food.

"Do you work for Mr. Wentz?" she asked, interrupting his last bite of pie.

McKay shook his head and swallowed. "I'm here with Edmund Steigler. I'm hismanservant." He said the word with such repugnance Caro's blond eyebrows went up. "At least I will be for the next four years."

"You don't like your work?"

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I'm indentured to Steigler. He bought seven years of my life. I've only paid back three."

"I see." But she didn't really see at all. Why would an educated man, as McKay appeared to be, sell himself into the service of another man?

"Why?" she asked, the word popping out before she could stop it.

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McKay studied her with renewed interest. "You're the first person who's ever asked me that."

She glanced down at her half-empty plate, wishing she had kept silent. "You don't have to answer. It's really none of my business." She looked up at him. "I just.. .you seem an independent sort of man, not the kind to sell yourself into bondage."

McKay studied her a moment more, then glanced around the kitchen. Emma was busy kneading bread, her helper determinedly scrubbing pots and pans.

"If you want to know the truth, the constables were after me. They were trying to arrest me for a crime I didn't commit. I had to leave the country in a hurry. I hadn't the money to book passage on a ship. I saw an ad in the LondonChronicle advertising for indentured servants to travel to America. The advertisement was placed by a man named Edmund Steigler and his ship was set to sail the following morning. I went to see him. He didn't ask questions. I signed the papers and Steigler brought me here."

Caro knew her blue eyes must be round as saucers. "You're not afraid to be telling me this?"

Robert shrugged. He was taller than average, but not overly so, with shoulders that filled out his full-sleeved homespun shirt. "What would you do? Tell Steigler? He would hardly be concerned. Besides, I'm wanted in England, not America."

"But if you are innocent, you must go back. You must find a way to clear your name."

McKay's laugh was harsh. "You are certainly a dreamer, love. I still haven't got the money. And I owe Steigler four more years." At the troubled look on her face, he reached

The Handmaiden's Necklace          105

out and touched her cheek. "I think you must be a very nice person, Caroline Loon. I believe I like you."

Caro didn't tell him that she liked him, too. Or that she believed his story. She was a very good judge of people and she knew instinctively that Robert McKay was telling the truth.

He shoved his empty pie plate away and came up from the bench. "It was nice meeting you, Miss Loon."

"You as well, Mr. McKay."

He started walking toward the door. Caro noticed the muscles in his legs and the trim fit of his breeches, and a hint of warmth rose in her cheeks.

At the door, McKay stopped and turned. "Do you like horses, Miss Loon?"

"I'm afraid I am a dismal rider, but I like horses very much."

"In that case, there's a new foal you might enjoy seeing. Perhaps you could meet me in the stable after supper."

Caro smiled. It wasn't the foal she was interested in; it was Robert McKay. "I would like that very much."

His easy smile returned. "Good, then I'll see you later this evening."

She nodded, watched him walk away. She shouldn't have agreed. He was a very handsome man and if she slipped away to meet him, he might think he could take liberties. Still, she was a grown woman and she could take care of herself.

"Robert's a good man," Emma said as if she read her thoughts. "And ye needn't worry. Ye'll be safe as a lamb with him."

"Thank you, Emma, I'm sure I will be." Beginning to tire

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of the heat in the kitchen, Caro took her pie plate over to the dry sink, washed it in a bucket of sudsy water, rinsed and dried it, then headed for the door.

As she walked out into the sunshine, she smiled, intrigued by the notion of spending an evening with Robert McKay.

***************

The men went hunting again the next morning, and to keep the ladies entertained, the Wentzes planned a party that night. Along with their houseguests, a number of local residents had also been invited.

For much of the day, the women helped with the preparations, bringing flowers in from the garden and arranging them in cut-crystal vases, covering the tables with pretty lace tablecloths, helping the servants push the furniture back to allow for dancing.

The members of a three-piece orchestra arrived and set up at the end of the parlor. The guests, mostly local farmers and their wives, began to arrive, and Richard and Jacob Wentz made introductions.

As the evening progressed, Danielle danced with Richard, then with the merchant, Edmund Steigler, a lean man with black hair and thin features—rather enigmatic, Dani thought. She conversed with Sara Bookman, the judge's wife, who was interesting and funny and easy to like. Their hostess, Greta Wentz, was a sweet, kindly woman with a heavy German accent who wasn't afraid of hard work.

Dani thought that in time, she could become good friends with some of the ladies she had met in America. She liked the women's rugged spirit, the optimism with which they approached their lives.

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Across the parlor, she caught a glimpse of Richard in conversation with Edmund Steigler and wondered if she would ever be able to form a true and lasting friendship with the man she was to wed. Several times during the evening she had gone in search of him, but he was always busy with one of his friends.

Or conversing with Rafael.

She saw Rafe just then and a little tremor went through her. Though she tried her best to ignore him, to pretend he wasn't there, time and again her unruly gaze went in search of him. More than once, she found him watching her, a troubled look on bis face.

She wished she knew what he was thinking, wanted to ask him when he planned to return to England, but the right moment never seemed to come. As the evening wore on, she looked up to see him approaching from across the room, his long strides bearing down on her with purpose.

"I need to speak to you," he said simply. "I hoped to find a better time, but we'll all be leaving in the morning. It's important, Danielle."

"I don't know.... I don't think it's a good idea for us to—"

"I'll wait for you in the gazebo at the rear of the garden." He left her there in the parlor, halfway through the protest she had been about to make.

Angry that he'd left her no choice and more curious than she wanted to admit, she returned her attention momentarily to the guests. She danced again with Richard, then slipped quietly away when he began a conversation with Jacob Wentz about the high price of southern cotton, making her way outside into the garden.

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Though several torches burned along the gravel paths, they were not well lit. Winding her way between the shadows, passing clusters of yellow pansies and tall purple iris, she headed for the gazebo, whose ornate spire marked its location some distance away at the back of the garden, near a bubbling brook.

She knew it was dangerous, this meeting with Rafael. Her reputation had been compromised once before. How would she explain her presence out here in the darkness with the handsome Duke of Sheffield? What would Richard's friends think if the two of them were found together?

A shiver of unease rippled through her. She would never forget the agony she had suffered that night five years ago, or the pain of the terrible weeks that followed. She'd been ostracized and humiliated. Worse yet, she had suffered the heartbreak of losing the man she loved.

She wasn't in love with Richard, as she had once been with Rafael, but the thought of enduring that sort of rebuke made her stomach roll with nausea.

Her eyes searched the darkness as she hurried along the path. Rafael must have recognized the danger and yet he had insisted on the meeting. She knew if she didn't appear, he would simply seek her out, perhaps under less private circumstances.

The gazebo loomed ahead, octagonal in design with ornate white-painted moldings, open sides and wooden seats that lined the raised interior. As she drew near, she could see the shadowy outline of Rafe's tall figure leaning against the railing inside. Glancing around to be certain no one was near, she lifted the hem of her sapphire silk gown up out of the way and took the first of three steep stairs.

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Rafe caught her hand, helping her ascend to the platform beside him. "I was afraid you might not come."

She wouldn't have, if he had really given her a choice. "You said it was important."

"So I did."

He led her over to the bench along the rail and she sat down, though Rafe remained standing. He paced a moment, as if he searched for what to say, then turned to face her. In the dim light of a distant torch, she could see the blue of his eyes, read the uncertainty there. It was so out of character for Rafe, her heart set up a nervous clatter.

"What is it, Rafael?"

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I'm not quite sure how to begin. I told you I had discovered the truth of what happened that night five years ago."

"Yes..."

"I told you I wanted you to be happy, that I owed you that much."

"You said that, but—"

"I don't believe you will be happy with Richard Clemens."

She shot up off the bench. "It doesn't matter what you believe, Rafael. Richard and I will be married the end of next week."

"I've asked you twice if you loved him. This time I want an answer."

She squared her shoulders. "I'll give you the answer I gave you before. It's none of your business."

"You've never been one to mince words, Dani. If you loved him, you would say so. Therefore, I must assume that you do not. Since that is the case, I'm asking you to call off the wedding."

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"Are you insane? I've crossed an entire ocean to marry Richard Clemens, and that is exactly what I intend to do."

Rafe gently caught her shoulders. "I realize things have changed between us...that you no longer hold me in the same regard you did before."

"I loved you once. Not anymore. Is that what you mean?"

"You may not love me, Danielle, but neither do you love Richard Clemens." He searched her face. "And I believe there is a difference."

"What difference is that?"

"When you look at me, there is something in your eyes, a spark of fire that isn't there when you look at Richard."

"You're mad."

"Am I? Why don't we see?"

Dani's breath caught as Rafe hauled her into his arms and his mouth came down over hers. For an instant, she fought him, pressing her hands against his chest, trying to push him away. But the heat was there, burning into her, the fire that should have died long ago. It was searing in its intensity, scorching through flesh and bone, turning her body soft and pliant.

Rafe deepened the kiss and her palms slid over the lapels of his coat, up, up, until her arms encircled his neck. For an instant, she was back in the apple orchard, kissing him with all her heart, with all of the love she felt for him.

Then her eyes filled with tears. This wasn't the apple orchard and she was no longer in love.

Danielle jerked away, trembling all over, loathing herself for what she'd let happen.

"I had to know," he said softly.

Dani backed away, trying to ignore the taste of him that

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lingered on her lips. "It meant nothing. Your kiss stirred old memories. It was nothing more than that."

"Perhaps."

"It's getting late. I have to go back in." She started to turn, but Rafe caught her arm.

"Listen to me, Danielle. There is still time to cancel the wedding. Instead of marrying Richard, I want you to marry me."

She just stood there, staring in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"I am completely serious."

"That night at the ball.. .I saw you dancing with your betrothed, the Earl of Throckmorton's daughter."

"It was clear we didn't suit. I spoke to her father before I left England. He asked that the betrothal be ended."

Dani shook her head. "This can't happen, Rafael. Whatever existed between us is over. It ended five years ago."

"It isn't over, not until the record is set straight. Marry me and return to England as my duchess. All of London— all of England—will know it was I who wronged you, not the other way around."

"I don't care what people think—not anymore."

"You can go back to your home, return to your family and friends."

"I have very little family and even fewer friends. In time I'll have friends and family here."

Rafe's jaw hardened. In the flickering torchlight, his eyes appeared a deeper shade of blue. She knew that look, knew the determination it revealed, and a thread of uncertainty filtered through her.

"I had hoped I wouldn't have to resort to coercion to see this matter done, but you're leaving me no choice."

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The color drained from her face. "What are you saying? Are you.. .are you threatening me?"

Rafael reached out and touched her cheek. "I'm trying to do what is right. I believe I can make you happy. I don't believe Richard Clemens ever will. Accept my offer of marriage."

Her gaze locked with his. "Or you'll do what, Rafael?"

He straightened to his full height, making him look even taller than he usually did. "I'll let word escape of The Scandal. People here will believe it's true, Richard's mother, his friends. You won't be able to prove your innocence here any more than you could in England."

She started shaking. "I told Richard about The Scandal before he ever proposed. Unlike you, he believed I was telling the truth."

"I was wrong. It doesn't change what needs to happen."

A lump began to thicken in her throat. "I can't believe you would do something like this, that you would hurt me this way again. I can't believe you would stoop so low." Tears welled in her eyes and she glanced away, refusing to let him see.

Rafe reached out and caught her chin, gently turning her to face him. "I'll make you happy, Danielle. I swear I will."

The tears in her eyes spilled over onto her cheeks. "If you force me to do this, I'll never forgive you, Rafael."

He brought her trembling hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss against the back. All the while his gaze remained on her face.

"That is a chance I have to take."

Ten

Danielle broke her engagement to Richard Clemens the day after she and Caro returned from the country, five days before her wedding. She had no choice, she told herself. She didn't doubt for a moment that Rafael would do exactly as he vowed. If she refused his offer of marriage, he would ruin her, just as he had before.

Dani loathed him for it

And she didn't understand. Why was Rafe so insistent? Was his guilt so strong, his code of honor such that he believed marrying her was the only way he could redeem himself?

It was certainly possible.

At the news there would be no wedding, Richard had ranted and raved, begged and pleaded, tried every way he knew how to convince her to change her mind.

"What have I done, Danielle? Just tell me and I promise I'll make it up to you."

"It's nothing you've done, Richard. It is simply that we aren't.. .aren't well suited. I didn't realize that until now."

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"We've made plans, Danielle. We were going to share a future."

"I'm sorry, Richard, truly I am, but that is simply the way it is, the way it has to be."

His temper inched up. "You can't just walk away. What about my mother? She's spent a fortune on the wedding. What about my children...my friends? What will I say to them, how will I explain?"

"You would never have let me be a real mother to your children, and if they truly are your friends, they'll understand that sometimes these things happen."

Richard's face turned crimson. "Well, they don't happen to me!" He stomped out of the house and Danielle watched through the window as he stormed down the front porch steps, climbed into his carriage and slammed the door.

Her eyes burned, but the pain she'd expected to feel did not come. Turning away from the window, she sighed into the silence his departure had left in the parlor. Hoping to spare Richard's pride, she hadn't mentioned the duke, hadn't told Richard that she would be marrying another man, that she would be returning to England to become the Duchess of Sheffield.

She didn't tell him that Rafael was blackmailing her, that she had no choice but to break her engagement.

She felt like crying but couldn't seem to summon the tears. It bothered her that she wasn't more upset, that mostly she was angry—and afraid. What sort of future would she have with a rumless man like Rafael, a man she no longer knew and did not trust?

It bothered her even more that it was only when she

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thought of Rafe that her emotions seemed to spin out of control.

Dear God, how had her life become so confused?

***************

A warm August sun beat through the wavy glass panes two days later. After luncheon, she and Aunt Flora were going shopping, anything to get out of the house and away from her troubled thoughts, at least for a while.

Unfortunately, before it was time to leave, Rafe appeared on her doorstep, hat in hand, looking far too handsome to suit her.

"I received your note," he said as she led him into the parlor and closed the sliding doors. "I'm glad you acted so swiftly."

Dani cast him a glance. She had sent him a message telling him that she had broken her engagement. She hoped he could read the bitterness between the lines. "You gave me no choice. I acted swiftly, hoping to make things less painful for Richard."

Danielle sat down in a high-backed Windsor chair and Rafe sat down on the rose velvet sofa in front of the hearth.

"TheNimble will be sailing for England the end of next week. I've booked passage for the two of us, as well as your aunt and your lady's maid, Miss Loon. I would like us to be married before we leave."

"What!" She practically leapt from her chair. "That's impossible! Why are you in such a hurry? Why can't we wait until we get back to England?"

She could tell by the stiffness that settled in his shoulders how greatly he was striving for control.

"We've waited five years already, Danielle. I want this

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matter settled once and for all, settled as it should have been then. Now that the decision has been made, I would see us wed, and soon. With your aunt's permission, I shall make arrangements for a small ceremony to take place here in the garden the day before we sail. We'll celebrate our marriage in a more proper manner once we're returned to London."

"But.. .but that is.. .is less than a week away. You can't possibly expect me to.. .to..."

'To what, Danielle?"

She took a deep breath, fighting to maintain her composure. "Our lives have changed. I don't know you anymore, Rafael. I need time to get used to the idea of.. .of sharing a bed with you. I can't just.. .just.

The corner of his mouth edged up. "There was a time you were looking forward to sharing a bed with me."

Her cheeks went warm. She remembered that time all too well, remembered it even more clearly since the night he had kissed her in the garden. Still, she wasn't ready to take the steps that would lead to that kind of intimacy, wasn't ready to give him even more control over her than he had taken already.

She lifted her chin. "So far you've made all sorts of demands to which I have unwillingly agreed. Now I am asking for something in return. I want time, Rafael. Time to accept the fact that you are to be my husband."

There was something in his face. For an instant, he glanced away. "All right, that seems a fair-enough request. You want time. I am willing to give it to you. I won't make any husbandly demands on you until we are returned to England."

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Fortified by the battle she had just won, she grew braver. "Perhaps it would be best if we kept it a marriage of convenience. We could both lead our own separate lives and—"

"Like bloody hell!" Rafe took a breath and clamped down on his temper. "You are smart enough to know that isn't going to happen. I've wanted you since the day I met you, Danielle. That is one thing that hasn't changed. I hope that in time, you may again feel that same desire for me."

Danielle didn't say more. Rafael Saunders was a strong, virile, potently attractive man. As a girl, she had lain awake at night wondering what it might be like for him to make love to her. As much as she wished it weren't so, part of her still did.

"Then I take it that we are agreed," she said.

"Though I shall regret it every day for the length of the voyage, we are agreed."

***************

Caroline Loon stood in the alley behind the house on Arch Street. "Robert!"

He strode up to her, leaned over and gave her a swift kiss on the cheek. "My sweet Caroline."

Caro blushed. They had been back in the city for most of a week, seen each other every day since their return. Caro had been surprised to discover that the merchant, Edmund Steigler, lived right there in Philadelphia. Which meant Robert McKay lived there, too.

The night she had met him in the stable had been magical. When she had first arrived, he had guided her out to an open field next to the barn and pointed out a lovely little bay foal, cavorting next to its mother.

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"His name is Dandy. Wentz's eldest daughter named him for the dandelions he loves to eat."

Caro laughed. "He's marvelous." They spent time with the horses, Robert showing her Jacob Wentz's blooded mares and stallions, showing a surprising knowledge of horses and obviously enjoying himself.

"One of my mother's cousins has an estate in the country and my mother often took me there to visit."

"What about your father?"

Robert shook his head. "I never knew him. He died before I was born."

As darkness fell, Robert led her up on a knoll overlooking the valley, guiding her over to the trunk of a fallen tree, where they each took a seat.

"The valley is lovely," she said, looking out over the rolling hills outlined by rays of silver moonlight. "Perhaps once we are settled in Mr. Clemens's house, I shall have a chance to draw it."

"You like to draw?"

"I paint watercolor landscapes, but only for fun. I am only mildly proficient."

"I'll wager you are a very good painter." He reached down and picked up a twig, twirled it absently in his hand. "I like to carve things. It helps to pass the time."

She looked at him in the moonlight, admiring the strong line of his jaw, thinking how handsome he was. "What sort of things do you carve?"

"Toys, mostly. Wooden horses, toy soldiers, miniature carriages, things like that." He smiled. "Perhaps someday we'll be able to make a trade—one of my wooden horses for one of your paintings."

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Caro smiled back at him. "I would like that. I shall consider that we have struck a bargain."

She and Robert sat on the knoll in the moonlight, talking till well past midnight. Time seemed to fly as they laughed and talked, Caro speaking with an ease she had never felt with a man before.

She smiled to think of the days they'd spent since their return to the city, of the amazing number of things they had found in common. They both loved opera and poetry, both loved to read, both loved animals and children—Robert hoped to have a large family one day.

She told him about her childhood and how her family had been poor but so very happy. She told him about the summer five years ago when her parents had died and how she had grieved for them. All the while, Robert had held her hand and simply listened, truly listened.

And during those days, Caro had discovered a good deal about Robert McKay. Though the next four years of his life belonged to another man, Robert laughed often and sincerely. He seemed to keep a cheerful attitude no matter the circumstances.

No matter the abuse he took from the man who owned him.

"I'm his manservant," Robert once told her. "He could have given me any of a dozen different jobs, but he wanted me in service to him, personally. The man thrives on lording over others."

"How do you mean?"

"Steigler takes great pride in the fact I graduated from Cambridge and still have to scrape mud off his boots. I speak the King's English better than he does, and I'm far

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better read, but I still have to prepare his bath and mend his socks and shirts."

"Oh, Robert."

He smiled thinly. "He took a horse whip to me once in front of a group of his friends for correcting him about a Shakespearean play."

"Dear God, Robert—and you never tried to escape?"

He shrugged his wide shoulders, moving the fabric of his full-sleeved shirt. "Steigler's a powerful man in this country. He's made it clear he would have me hunted down. And the debt I owe him is real. I made a bargain with the devil. I have to live with it for the next four years."

Robert didn't seem to mind his circumstances, but Caro could hardly bear it.

In the short time since she had met him, Caro had fallen in love with Robert McKay.

***************

At the sound of voices in the hallway, Danielle looked up from the book she was reading, Defoe'sRobinson Crusoe, a novel she had brought with her from England. Framed in the doorway, Caro stood next to a handsome brown-haired man Danielle knew must be Robert McKay.

Since their return from the country, Caro had mentioned him a dozen times a day. It was obvious she was enamored of McKay, though Robert was an indentured servant. Danielle worried the man might try to take advantage of a sweet, naive young woman like her friend.

Now that she saw how attractive he was, she was even more concerned.

Though Caro was a year older than Dani, she had little experience with men. Dani just hoped Caro's common sense

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and innate ability to judge people's character would be enough to guide her in matters of the heart.

"I am sorry to bother you, Danielle, but Robert stopped by for a moment and I was hoping you might have time to meet him."

"Of course I have time." Dani had been wanting to do just that since the first time Caro had mentioned him. She set her book down on the sofa beside her and came to her feet. "Please.. .both of you come in."

The couple walked into the parlor together, Robert's hand resting lightly on Caro's slim waist. They didn't really know each other well enough for that, but somehow, looking at them, it seemed perfectly natural.

"Danielle, I'd like you to meet my friend, Robert McKay, the man I've been telling you about."

Dani smiled. "Mr. McKay.. .it's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Duval." He bowed over her hand as if he were a member of the nobility instead of an indentured servant and Dani cast him an assessing glance.

"You've quite impressed my friend Caro," she said.

Robert's smile widened. "As she has impressed me, Miss Duval." His gaze went to Caro and there was something so warm in his expression that some of Danielle's uncertainty eased.

They talked a while, about the weather, about the city, then Robert asked Danielle if she was enjoying the novel she was reading.

She arched a burnished brow. "You've read it?"

"Actually, I have. It's been some time ago, but I enjoyed it very much."

Aunt Flora walked in just then, ready to leave for their

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planned shopping excursion, only mildly surprised to see a handsome man standing in the parlor.

Another round of introductions were made, Aunt Flora seemingly unconcerned that she, a countess, was being introduced to a servant. But then, this was America. There was no royalty here and no one had a title. They were all growing used to the notion that here, men were treated, for the most part, as equals.

Still, it was clearly evident that Robert McKay was more than merely a servant.

"My lady," he said in his perfect, high-born English, bowing elaborately over Aunt Flora's hand.

"So this is the man who has been wooing our friend away from the house," Flora said, eyeing McKay from head to foot.

"Guilty, my lady, as charged. And I assure you, Miss Loon is extremely delightful company."

More polite conversation followed, McKay not the least intimidated by the fact that Flora Chamberlain was a high-ranking member of the aristocracy. Aunt Flora glanced shrewdly at Caro then back to their guest. "Perhaps you have time to join us for tea, Mr. McKay."

Robert seemed sincerely regretful. "I'm afraid I must decline. I've duties to fulfill and I've stayed longer than I should have already. Perhaps another time, my lady."

Aunt Flora smiled, pleased at the soft look he cast in Caro's direction. Robert bade them a pleasant farewell and Caro walked him to the door.

"You are lucky to have such friends," he said, still within earshot of Dani.

"I'm very lucky," Caro said.

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Fabric rustled as he leaned closer, perhaps kissed her cheek. "I'm glad I met you, Caroline Loon."

Dani heard the door close behind him, then Caro walked back into the parlor, an expectant look on her face.

"Well... what did you think?"

"He's a handsome devil," Aunt Flora said. "Well educated and utterly charming." She shook her head, jiggling one of her several chins. "Why on earth is a man like that working as a servant?"

"It's a long story, Lady Wycombe."

She waved a blunt hand. "Yes, and none of my business. Still.. .it worries me."

"Well, I liked him very much," Dani said brightly. "And I believe he is as taken with you as you are with him."

A soft blush crept into Caro's cheeks. "Robert traded one of his carved wooden horses for a pair of tickets to a play. It's a comedy calledLife and he has asked me to accompany him. He says Mr. Steigler has a business meeting and won't be home until late."

From the gossip Dani had heard, that was probably a polite way of saying Steigler was spending the night with his mistress.

Caro gazed out the window, watching Robert walk off down the street. As he disappeared round the corner, the smile on her face slid away. Caro had believed she would be staying in America. Now Dani was returning to England with Rafael. Aunt Flora would go with them and Caro would be forced to go, as well.

She knew no one in America. And even if Robert's intentions were honorable, he couldn't ask her to marry him for at least four more years.

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Dani watched her friend leave the room and her heart ached for her. If only Rafael had stayed in London, in time Caro might have found a future with Robert. Dani didn't think it was going to happen now.

Another misfortune she blamed on Rafael.

Eleven

Rafe paced the floor of his suite at the William Penn Hotel, his mind on Danielle and his upcoming wedding. It was actually going to happen. He was going to marry Danielle Duval. He could still hardly believe it.

He paused for a moment in front of the window, looked down at the lantern burning next to the sign on the front of the hotel, then turned at the sound of a firm knock on his door.

Rafe walked over and pulled it open, only mildly surprised to see Max Bradley standing in the hall instead of appearing in the suite without warning as he usually did.

"Max! Come in. I thought, perhaps, you had gone back to England."

"Not yet. Though if things go the way I plan, I should be leaving very soon."

As they walked into the parlor and closed the door, Rafe noticed the worry lines digging into Max's forehead. His black hair was mussed, as if he had run his fingers through it.

"What is it, Max? What have you found out?"

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"Not as much as I'd like. I came to ask for your help."

"Of course. Whatever you need." He had promised Colonel Pendleton his aid and he intended to keep his word.

Max nodded. "I know you're getting married. I believe we can get this bit of business finished and be back in plenty of time for your wedding."

"How did you know about... ? Never mind. You ought to start some sort of information service. You could make a fortune."

Max almost smiled. "I need you to go with me to Baltimore. If we press hard, we can make the journey in a couple of days, three at most. That'll give us time for the meeting I've arranged and you'll still be back in time to get married."

Rafe hoped Max was right. Though Danielle might prefer he didn't show up at all, being late for his own wedding certainly wouldn't be the best way to begin their future.

"When do we leave?" Rafe asked, thinking of the note he would need to send Danielle explaining his disappearance and that he would be back very soon.

"Early in the morning. The sooner we get there the sooner we can return."

And Rafe still had plenty to do once he got back. He was about to become a married man. He wondered why he wasn't the least bit worried by the thought.

***************

Baltimore was a town of a little more than twenty thousand people, Rafe discovered, a bustling seaport that traded with England, the Caribbean and South America, a city that seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds.

As usual, Max Bradley had done his job. He had engi-

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neered a meeting with a wealthy shipbuilder named Phineas Brand. The story Max concocted was that the Duke of Sheffield was considering a venture with the Marquess of Belford, owner of the Belford Enterprises shipping fleet, and several other wealthy Englishmen. The duke had heard of the fabulous new schooner called a Baltimore Clipper that Brand's company was building and thought the vessel might be suitable for hauling goods into smaller, less accessible ports.

Or at least that was their story.

The meeting was set to take place in the inner office of the Maryland Shipbuilding Company on the lower floor of a large brick warehouse near the harbor. As the discussion progressed, Phineas Brand rose from his chair, a short man with curly gray hair, patches of which were missing, and wooly gray sideburns. Small silver spectacles sat on his prominent nose.

"TheWindlass has just been completed," Brand said, smiling proudly as they left the building and headed for the dock where the ship was moored. "Wait till you see her. She's unparalleled for speed and maneuverability, the fastest ship of her kind ever built."

Rafe made no comment, but he was anxious to see the ship for himself, to discover if such a vessel actually posed a threat to England.

"Of course, if you're seriously interested," Brand continued, "you'll have to act swiftly." He cast Rafe a glance. "As I told your man, Bradley, there are other interested parties. It's first come, first serve around here."

"We're talking about twenty ships, is that correct?"

Brand nodded. "Since each ship takes a great deal of time

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to build, it's a five-year project to completion. You understand the highest bidder will get the deal."

Rafe nodded. "Mr. Bradley informed me."

"Of course, you can always wait until the first fleet has been built."

"I don't think that's an option."

They reached the spot where theWindlass rocked softly against the dock, her lines creaking in the breeze. Rafe paused to study the low, sleek, graceful lines of the hull, the twin masts tilting slightly toward the stern. He had never seen such a design before, but he could imagine how it might increase the schooner's speed.

The hull itself was also unique, and he thought that, indeed, the builder had created a craft that would be nearly impossible to duplicate without the designer's plans.

Brand invited him aboard for a demonstration and Rafe accepted. The day was sunny and warm, with just enough wind to fill the unusual, triangular-shaped sails, which again were unlike any Rafe had seen. Though the boat wasn't designed to carry much cargo, she was fast—amazingly so, and incredibly easy to maneuver.

Should the ship be armed with men and cannon, she would be a force to be reckoned with against slower, larger, less maneuverable war ships, which could easily fall prey to such a vessel.

As the wind whipped the sails and the sleek craft sliced through the water, Rafe believed the rumors could very well be true, that Napoléon was, indeed, interested in purchasing a fleet of these clippers to use against English warships, vessels that had defeated him so soundly at Trafalgar last year.

"I'm having a little get-together tonight, duke," Brand

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said as they returned to the dock. "We'd love to have you join us."

Rafe's smile felt wolfish. He needed to gather as much information as he could, particularly about a trader named Bartel Schrader whom Max believed was the man behind the deal with the French. Phineas Brand had just provided the perfect opportunity.

"I would be delighted, Mr. Brand."

***************

It was late, well into the evening when Rafe arrived at Phineas Brand's three-story stone mansion on Front Street. He had come late on purpose. He didn't want Brand to guess how anxious he was to prevent a fleet of Baltimore Clippers from being sold to the French.

He wasn't sure if England would be willing to make a higher bid for the fleet, but he was certain that if the ships went to Napoléon, it was going to cost a lot of British sailors their lives.

Lights blazed through the windows of the house as he climbed the wide front porch steps. A liveried servant stood on each side of the carved wooden door to welcome guests, and he was quickly ushered inside.

Two hours later, he was headed back out the door.

The evening had progressed even better than he had hoped and he was anxious to be on his way. He had the information he had come for. Now all he had to do was get that information back to Max.

***************

"How did it go?" Max stood up from his chair near the unlit hearth in Rafe's room, one of two he and Bradley had

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taken at the Seafarer's Inn, downtown near the harbor. He hadn't seen Max since early that morning.

"Pendleton was right to be concerned," Rafe said, shrugging out of his tailcoat and tossing it over the back of a chair.

"Yes.. .I followed you down to the harbor this afternoon. I saw her.. .theWindlass." Max walked over to me dresser and poured them both a glass of brandy from the bottle that rested on top. "An amazing bit of craftsmanship." He handed a glass to Rafe. "Armed, she could be deadly."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Was Schrader at me party?"

"He was there." Max had filled him in on the international trader they called the Dutchman. Schrader made large sums of money by finding buyers and putting them together with sellers. The merchandise might vary, but if me deal went through, Schrader got paid a percentage for his efforts. According to Max, mere was a very good chance he was working for the French.

"Sandy hair?" Max confirmed. "Blue-gray eyes? Perhaps late thirties?"

"That's him." Rafe took a sip of his drink, grateful for the ease it gave the muscles in his shoulders, flunking of the brief conversation he'd had with the man Phineas Brand had introduced him to at me house party.

"Your Grace," Schrader had said with only the slightest accent. He was Dutch, after all, and obviously a man of the world.

"A pleasure, Mr. Schrader."

"Our host tells me you enjoyed a brief sail aboard theWindlass today," the Dutchman said. "Quite a vessel, isn't she?"

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"Indeed, she is."

"I've heard you may have an interest beyond that of simple curiosity."

"Have you? I've heard the same of you."

That seemed to surprise him. "Really? So I'll assume my information is correct."

"The ship is intriguing in some ways, but hardly designed for cargo. Which means its uses are limited."

'True enough."

"What about you, Mr. Schrader? What use might your client have for such a fleet?"

The Dutchman just smiled. "I'm really not at liberty to say. My job is simply to broker the sale, should my client decide he is ready to make the purchase."

Phineas Brand returned just then, putting an end to the conversation. But Rafe had already discovered what he wanted to know and now it was time to find Max.

Or more aptly, wait for Max to find him.

"Schrader has elegant tastes," Rafe continued. "He dresses in expensive clothes, wears shoes of fine Spanish leather." Schrader's black stock, Rafe recalled, was perfectly tied, his sandy hair immaculately groomed.

"That's the Dutchman, all right. He makes a lot of money and spends most of it on himself."

Rafe relayed their conversation, knowing Max would want to hear every word.

Bradley swirled the brandy in his glass, then took a drink. "I presume you assured Mr. Brand of your continued interest in buying his fleet."

"He's rubbing his hands together at the prospect of a higher bid."

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"Then our job here is finished. We can leave for Philadelphia first thing in the morning."

Rafe felt a sweep of relief. They were going back and in plenty of time for the wedding.

"Once we get there," Bradley continued, "I'll take the first ship bound for England. I need to inform the necessary parties what we've learned." Max smiled, not a common occurrence. "And in the meantime, you, my friend, can get yourself properly leg shackled."

Rafe just nodded. As he watched Max leave the room, an image of Danielle appeared in his mind, her flame-red hair swept up, her smooth skin glowing like pearls in the flickering light of the candles.

His groin tightened. He rarely allowed himself to feel the desire she could arouse with the slightest glance. In the past, a ripple of laughter could bring him fully erect, or a single soft smile. Now as he loosened his stock and shrugged out of his waistcoat, just the memory of her face made him hard.

He remembered the exact shape of her breasts, the ripe feel of them in his hands that day in the apple orchard behind Sheffield Hall, the small nipples that stiffened into tight little buds beneath his palms.

He shouldn't have taken liberties, but their wedding was so near, and soon she would be his wife. He remembered how badly he had wanted her back then and realized he wanted her even more now.

His erection pulsed and he went achingly hard. He wanted her and soon she would be his.

As he stripped off his shirt and prepared himself for bed, Rafe suddenly felt uneasy at how eager he was for that to happen.

The Handmaiden's Necklace  133

***************

It was Thursday, the day before the wedding. TheNimble was set to sail early Saturday morning for the lengthy voyage back to England.

In the bedroom of her aunt's rented row house, Dani sat on a tapestry stool in front of her dresser, cursing Rafael, trying to think of a means of untangling herself from the awful web Rafe had dragged her unwillingly into.

She was only half-dressed, sitting there in a thin lawn chemise that barely came down mid-thigh, her hair not yet combed, when Aunt Flora knocked, then walked hurriedly into the bedchamber.

"Oh, dear, you are not yet dressed. The duke is here, my dear. He is just arrived downstairs."

"The duke? What does he want?"

'To discuss the wedding, I imagine. His Grace says all is set for tomorrow. You must hurry. He is waiting for you in the parlor."

"Let him wait," Dani said stubbornly. "He can wait till the devil sprouts a halo for all I care."

Aunt Flora nervously smoothed the skirt of her high-waisted morning dress, a soft pearl gray trimmed with rows of black lace beneath her substantial bosom. "I know this is not what you planned, but the duke came all the way to America to set matters straight between you. Perhaps marrying him is the right thing to do."

Dani got up from the stool, paced over to the window, then returned and sank down on the edge of the canopied bed. The white eyelet ruffle on top danced over her head.

"How can I marry a man I don't trust, Aunt Flora? He ruined me before. He would have done it again if I hadn't

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ended my engagement to Richard. Rafael will do anything to get what he wants, no matter who gets hurt."

"Perhaps he wants only what is best for you. If you marry him, you will be living in England, instead of thousands of miles away. It may be selfish, but I cannot be sorry."

Dani looked at her aunt, saw the gleam of tears in the older woman's eyes. She stood up from the bed and the women embraced.

"You're right," Dani said, "that is something. At least we can be together." She sighed as she eased away, her gaze returning to the window. In the garden below, Caro had set up her watercolor easel and was painting a row of bright purple iris. She was such a sweet young woman. There was something about Caro Loon, a subtle elegance that most people didn't seem to see.

Dani turned away from the window. "With Richard, I would have had children," she said wistfully.

"Those two never would have been truly yours, no matter how hard you tried to make it so. Richard and his mother wouldn't have allowed it."

Danielle turned away from the window to look at her aunt. 'There is always a chance Rafael will find out about the accident. What will happen then?"

Aunt Flora merely grunted. "Sheffield wronged you and he owes you his name. You were meant to be a duchess. Now you will be."

She hadn't told Rafe about the riding accident she had suffered during her years of banishment at Wycombe Park. Aunt Flora was convinced it didn't matter, that Rafe owed Danielle the protection of his name.

Dani wandered toward the dresser, catching a glimpse of

The Handmaiden's Necklace          135

herself in the mirror. Her hair was still slightly tousled and she wore only her chemise, stockings and garters. "I came here to marry Richard."

"It was a marriage of convenience. Be honest enough with yourself to admit it."

"At least it was my decision—not Rafael's."

Aunt Flora walked over and caught her hand. "Give it some time, dearest. Things have a way of working out." She turned toward the door. "I'll tell the duke you will be down as soon as you are ready."

Dani crossed her arms and stubbornly sat back down on the stool in front of the dresser. As far as she was concerned, Rafael could wait forever.

Rafe got up from the sofa in the parlor and began to pace back and forth across the rug. A grandfather clock in the corner marked the time, which seemed to be standing still.

After twenty minutes, he pulled his gold watch fob out of the pocket of his white piqué waistcoat, flipped open the lid of his watch and checked to be sure the big clock was working properly. Grumbling, he snapped the timepiece firmly closed and returned it to his pocket.

After thirty minutes, his temper began to heat. She knew he was here. She was avoiding him on purpose!

Forty-five minutes from the time of his arrival, he turned and walked out of the parlor. As he crossed the wide plank floors in the entry, he spotted Dani's friend, Caroline Loon, coming out of a bedchamber upstairs. Halfway down the staircase, she squeaked in surprise as she saw him coming up.

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"Danielle is not yet dressed, Your Grace."

"That is her problem. I have given her plenty of time to do so." He climbed the next several stairs.

"Wait! You.. .you cannot just walk in there!"

Rafe gave her a wolfish smile. "Can't I?" Brushing past her, he continued toward the top of the staircase, Miss Loon's wide-eyed blue gaze following his every step. When he reached the landing, he strode down the hall, paused at the door he had seen Miss Loon come out of, knocked brusquely, opened the door and walked in.

"Rafael!" Danielle jumped up from the tapestry stool she perched on in front of her dresser. The book she had been reading tumbled to the floor at her feet.

Lovely feet, he noticed, encased in a pair of sheer white stockings; slender, feminine feet, gracefully arched. Her ankles were lovely, too, trim and elegant. The stockings fit over nicely shaped calves, held in place by pretty lace garters.

"How dare you come barging in here!"

His gaze moved up to her breasts, which had always been full,plump, he recalled, in his hand. Desire hit him like a fist and his groin tightened.

"You refused to come down," he said reasonably. "I had no choice but to come up."

She grabbed a green silk wrapper off the padded bench at the foot of the bed and pulled it on over her chemise. Lifting her long, softly curling red hair out of the way, she snugged the sash of the robe around her waist. "What is it you want?"

"I came to be certain you had not run away like a scared rabbit—or secretly married that idiot, Richard Clemens."

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"How dare you!"

"I believe you've already said that. Be assured, sweeting, I will dare far more if you do not live up to our bargain."

She made a low, growling sound in her throat. "You are...insufferable. You're...domineering and...and obstinate...and...and..."

"Determined?" he supplied, one of his dark eyebrows arching up.

"Yes...maddeningly so."

"And you, my dear Danielle, are quite fetching, even when you're in a temper. I had forgotten what a terror you could be when you're angry." He smiled. "At least being married to you will not be dull."

Dani crossed her arms over her breasts, but it did nothing to erase the memory of small, pert nipples pressing against her thin chemise, nothing to ease the persistent throbbing in his groin. Now that he knew the truth of her innocence that night, knew she would soon belong to him as she should have before, he wanted her with a need that bordered on pain.

"I came to tell you that all is in readiness for tomorrow. I've arranged for a minister to perform the ceremony. He'll arrive at one o'clock tomorrow afternoon. As soon as we're married, we'll collect our things and board the ship. TheNimble sails with the tide first thing Saturday morning."

Max had already sailed. He'd sent a note relaying his regret that he would have to miss the wedding, then left aboard the first ship out of the harbor bound for England. Rafe hoped Max would be able to convince the prime minister that the threat posed by the Baltimore Clippers should not be ignored.

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Danielle still stood there, her arms crossed over her very lovely breasts. She cast him a glance, eyeing him from beneath a row of thick burnished lashes. "I don't believe I remember you being quite so dictatorial."

His mouth faintly curved. "Perhaps there wasn't a need."

"Or perhaps you were merely younger, not so set in your ways."

"Undoubtedly." He moved toward her, just to see if she would move away. He thought of Mary Rose and imagined her trembling.

Dani stood her ground, looking up at him with fire in her pretty green eyes. "May I remind you, sir, we are not yet wed?"

"And even if we were, I would be forbidden by my vow to do what I am thinking about right now." He stood directly in front of her, so close he could smell her perfume, sweetly floral, stirring a memory of apple blossoms. He remembered she had worn it that night in the gazebo when he had kissed her.

His shaft filled, turned thick and heavy, pressed uncomfortably against the front of his breeches.

"You gave me your word."

"And I intend to keep it. But there are things I am not forbidden to do." He lifted a deep red curl off her shoulder, bent and pressed his mouth against the spot where the heavy coil had lain, heard her swift intake of breath. Beneath her silk robe, he saw that her nipples had tightened.

"There is hope for us, I think," he said softly, for he didn't believe she had ever responded to Richard Clemens as she did to him.

Danielle stepped away. "You needn't fear. Our bargain is struck. I won't run away."

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"I suppose, deep down, I knew that you would not. I once doubted your word, but I have never doubted your courage."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a red satin pouch. "I brought you something. It's a wedding gift." He still couldn't believe he had brought the necklace with him all the way to America, wouldn't have, except that Grace had insisted. Perhaps she knew even before he did that he would give the lovely pearl-and-diamond necklace to Danielle.

He took the necklace from the pouch and moved behind her, the pearls cool and smooth in his palm. Draping the ancient necklace around her slender throat, he fastened the diamond clasp. "It would please me if you wore these tomorrow."

Danielle's fingers came up to the necklace, testing the weight and shape of each perfect pearl. Between each one, a single diamond glittered in the sunlight slanting in through the window.

She gazed in the mirror at her reflection. "They're beautiful. They're the most beautiful pearls I've ever seen."

"It's called the Bride's Necklace. It's extremely old, thirteenth century, a gift from Lord Fallon to his future bride, Lady Ariana of Merrick. There is a legend about it. I'll tell you sometime."

But there wasn't time today. He looked up to see Lady Wycombe standing very solidly in the doorway.

"This is highly inappropriate, Your Grace. You are not yet Danielle's husband."

Rafe made her an extravagant bow. "I beg your pardon, my lady. I was just leaving." He moved away from Danielle toward the door, walked past her aunt and stepped out into

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the hallway. "I look forward to seeing you both tomorrow afternoon."

His eyes found Dani's one last time. Her gaze looked troubled, as they hadn't until he'd walked in.

His faint smile slid away. He told himself he would make things right between them, win at least her affection if not her love.

But something deep inside him warned it would not be easy.

Twelve

It was her wedding day. After the awful scandal five years ago, Danielle had never thought to marry. In the past two weeks, she had twice been engaged.

Today Rafael Saunders would become her husband, the last man on earth she wished to wed.

Danielle sighed as she moved restlessly around the bedchamber. Her wedding gown, pale topaz silk trimmed with bands of forest-green satin, lay on the bed. Caro had woven the same dark green ribbon into the heavy red curls she had pinned atop Dani's head. Matching kid slippers sat on the floor next to the bed, waiting to be slid on over her cream silk stockings.

Dani told herself it was time to finish dressing, to summon her courage and accept the future fate had forced upon her. Instead, she gazed out the window into the garden, watching the birds wind their way through the leaves on the sycamore, feeling lethargic and utterly depressed.

She barely heard the sound of the door opening behind her, the light footsteps that signaled Caro had come into the room.

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For a moment Caro said nothing. Then she sighed. "I knew I shouldn't have left you. Dear Lord, you have not yet finished getting dressed."

But Dani had needed some time alone, time to come to grips with a future as Rafael's wife.

"Everyone is waiting," Caro said. "You know what the duke did the last time you refused to come downstairs."

Dani's head came up. Rafe would haul her down in her chemise if she didn't obey his dictates. When had he become so demanding? How difficult would it be to live with such a man? And why did the thought of becoming his wife make her heart squeeze oddly inside her?

"All right, you win. Help me put this on."

She was ready, except for her gown and slippers. It didn't take long to do up the small pearl buttons at the back of the dress and slide her stockinged feet into her shoes. She took a last look at herself in the mirror, tried to smooth the worry lines from between her russet eyebrows, then turned toward the door.

"Wait! Your necklace!" Caro raced for the jewelry box on the bureau and pulled out the beautiful pearl-and-diamond necklace that had been Rafe's wedding gift. She held the necklace up to examine it in the sunlight. "It is so very lovely... I've never seen anything quite like it."

"Rafe says it's very old. He says there is a legend about it."

"A legend? I wonder what it is." Caro urged her down on the stool in front of the mirror, and Dani sat while Caro settled the pearls around her neck and fastened the diamond clasp.

"You should see the way the light glints on the diamonds," Caro said. "It is almost as if they are lit from within."

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Dani's fingers ran over the multifaceted stones. "I know what you mean. There is something very special about it.. .something.. .I can't exactly figure out what it is. I wonder where he got it."

"Why don't you ask him...after the wedding!" Caro hauled her up from the stool and tugged her toward the door. "I've got to go to the parlor and take my seat." She glanced up. "Remember, if you don't come down—"

"You needn't worry. I've finally accepted my fate." Though she resented Rafe for it. She had wanted to choose her own life, her own future, not have it forced upon her.

Caro leaned over and gave her a sympathetic hug. "You loved him once. Perhaps you can learn to love him again."

Unexpected tears sprang into Dani's eyes. "I won't let that happen—not ever. As long as I don't love him, he can't hurt me again."

Caro's eyes misted. Her gaze held a trace of pity. "Everything is going to be all right. I know it in here." Caro placed a hand over her heart. Then she turned and hurried out of the bedchamber.

With a slow, steadying breath, Dani turned to face the door and her uncertain future. She prayed with all her heart that Caro's words would prove true.

But thinking of the man Rafe had become, a hard man determined to get his way no matter the cost, she didn't really believe it.

***************

Hoping his nervousness didn't show, Rafe waited at the bottom of the staircase, his legs braced a little apart, hands crossed in front of him.

The wedding guests were few, just Lady Wycombe and

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Caroline Loon; the minister, Reverend Dobbs, andhis wife, Mary Ann. Danielle deserved far more than the simple ceremony that would make them man and wife. Rate vowed that once they reached London, he would see that she got the finest wedding money could provide.

He looked toward the top of the staircase, saw Caroline Loon descending the stairs in a flutter of pale blue skirts. She was Danielle's lady's maid and yet he had learned she was far more than that.

Lady Wycombe had explained the girl's circumstances, that she was the daughter of a vicar and his wife, a gently reared young woman left orphaned and penniless when her parents suddenly died. Lady Wycombe had hired her to work as Dani's maid, but soon the two had become fast friends. Caro had helped Danielle through the most difficult ordeal of her life— the scandal Rate had unwittingly brought down upon her.

And for Caro's unflagging loyalty to Dani, she had won Rafe's lifelong gratitude.

"Miss Loon," he said, making her a bow as she reached the bottom of the staircase.

She looked anxiously back toward the top. "There's no need for you to go up, Your Grace. Danielle will be right down."

He almost smiled. She would be down, all right. She knew he would haul her down over his shoulder if he had to. Glancing up at the landing, he saw her bedchamber door open a second time, and Danielle stepped into the hall.

Rafe's pulse quickened. She was wearing a topaz silk gown banded with dark green satin, her flame-red hair laced with ribbons of the same dark green. She looked pale and fragile, and as lovely as he had ever seen her.

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She descended the stairs, head held high, every inch the duchess that she would soon become, and her eyes caught his. He could read the turbulence there and his chest squeezed. Soon she would be his, as fate seemed to have decreed, and yet he wondered if she ever truly would be. If she could ever trust him again, ever come to care for him again.

He watched her walking toward him and wondered at the future he had forced upon her, wondered if he could find a way through the coil of events that had brought them to this place and time.

He met her at the bottom of the stairs, took her gloved hand and brought it to his lips. "You look beautiful," he said, and thought how inadequate the words. She was utterly enchanting, achingly lovely, completely divine.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Rafael," he softly corrected, wishing she had said his name, said something that would ease his troubled mind.

He couldn't miss the worry in her eyes, the faint traces of uncertainty that must have kept her awake long into the night. He wished he'd had more time, a chance to woo her instead of coerce her into the marriage. Still, he was convinced that as a husband for Danielle, he was far better suited than Richard Clemens.

He took her hand, placed it on the sleeve of his dark blue tailcoat and felt her tremble. He wished he knew how to reassure her, but only time could do that. He owed her his name and he meant to see it done, but he wanted more than simply to right a wrong. He wanted to make her happy.

Time,he told himself.

Patience,his mind whispered, and he prayed that with patience, in time he would succeed.

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"You wore the necklace," he said, feeling oddly pleased. "It suits you."

"You asked me to wear it."

His mouth edged up. "I told you there was a legend."

A hint of curiosity entered her expression. "Yes..."

"The legend says that whoever shall own the necklace shall know great happiness or great tragedy, depending upon whether or not his heart is pure."

She looked up at him, the green of her eyes enhanced by the dark green ribbons in her hair. "And you believe my heart is pure?"

"I doubted it once. I never will again."

She glanced away.

In the silence that fell, Lady Wycombe bustled nervously up to where they stood. "The minister is waiting. Is everything all right?"

Rafe looked at Dani and prayed that it was. "Everything is fine."

"Come, then," Lady Wycombe said. "It is time to begin the ceremony."

Danielle had no father to escort her down the aisle, no close male friend to do the honors. Instead, she walked beside Rafe, out into the garden, her hand trembling on the sleeve of his coat. They paused beneath a white-painted arch covered with alabaster roses that had been set at one endof the terrace.

Reverend Dobbs stood behind a pedestal draped with a cloth of white satin, a Bible sitting open on top. A few feet away, his petite wife stood next to Lady Wycombe and Caroline Loon, who each held a small floral nosegay.

"If you are ready," the minister said, a stout little man

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with a shock of gray hair and spectacles, "we may proceed."

Rafe looked at Dani and hoped she could read the care in his eyes, the determination to make their marriage work. "Are you ready, love?"

Moisture collected in her eyes. She wasn't ready at all, he thought, but it made him no less determined. Dani took a deep breath and nodded, ready to face whatever lay ahead. Caroline Loon hurried forward and placed a nosegay of white roses laced with green ribbon into her hands, then returned to her place next to Lady Wycombe.

"You may begin, Reverend Dobbs," Rafe said, wishing, for Dani's sake, the ceremony was already over.

The minister surveyed the small group standing in the garden. "Dearly beloved...we are gathered here today to join in holy matrimony this man, Rafael Saunders, and this woman, Danielle Duval. If there is anyone here who can show cause why this man and woman should not be joined, let him speak now or forever hold his peace."

For an instant, Rate's heart slowed to a dull rhythm that pulsed almost painfully inside his chest. When no one spoke up, when no other man dared to claim her, Rafe began, for the very first time, to believe that Danielle would finally become his wife.

***************

The ceremony continued, though Dani barely heard the words. She thought that she responded in the appropriate places and prayed it would soon be over. Her mind kept wandering. She forced herself to concentrate.

The minister spoke to the groom. "Do you, Rafael, take this woman, Danielle, to be your lawful wedded wife? Do

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you promise to love her in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better or for worse and forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Rate said strongly.

Reverend Dobbs asked the question of Danielle.

"I...do," she said softly.

"Do you have the ring?" the minister asked Rafe, and for a wild instant, Dani thought that surely there hadn't been time for him to buy one, and without a ring perhaps the ceremony could not go on.

But Rafe reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a glittering gold band inset with diamonds.

The minister spoke the vow and Rafe repeated the words.

"With this ring, I thee wed." Reaching out, he caught her trembling hand and slipped the ring on her finger. Rafe captured her fingers with his and gave them a gentle squeeze.

With the ceremony over at last, Reverend Dobbs relaxed and a warm smile lit his face. "By the authority vested in me by the State of Pennsylvania, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride," Dobbs said to Rafael.

Danielle closed her eyes as his arm slid around her waist, easing her closer. If she had expected a sweet, gentlemanly kiss, she was surprised to find herself swept solidly against his chest and kissed very soundly, indeed.

His lips took firm possession, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was his. Her heart stuttered, began a galloping rhythm, and for an instant she gave in to the kiss. She could feel his hunger, his barely leashed control, and desire stirred inside her.

For the span of several heartbeats, she kissed him back, her lips parting under his, beginning to tremble as she

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breathed him in. Rafe ended the kiss and both of them broke away.

He looked down at her, his eyes so incredibly blue, and she saw the heat there, the white-hot, scorching desire. Then his gaze grew shuttered and he glanced away, leaving her light-headed, fighting the wild urge to run from the room. His hand remained possessively at the small of her back, lending her support, and for once she was grateful.

Dear God, how could she have forgotten the power he exuded? The heady rush of desire he could stir with a single glance? Had she really believed her dislike of him would protect her from the magnetic attraction she had always felt when he was near?

Trembling once more, she let him guide her over to a linen-draped table where bottles of champagne sat chilling in silver buckets. Servants scurried about, filling crystal goblets and delivering them on silver trays, others arriving with platters overflowing with an array of mouthwatering foods: roasted goose, beefsteak, creamed peas and buttered carrots, cold meats and pasties, candied fruits and custards, which were set down on the table.

Apparently Rafael and Aunt Flora had conspired to make a celebration feast for the small group of wedding guests. Dani forced herself to smile and accept congratulations, prepared to eat at least some small portion of the food, though she feared her stomach might rebel.

Once she had yearned to become Rafe's wife. Now falling once more under his spell was the last thing Dani wanted.

She was a different woman than she had been before, an independent woman who knew the risks of loving a man like

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Rafael, a man who could destroy a life with the snap of his fingers. She vowed she would never let it happen again.

He bent down, spoke softly in her ear. "Soon it will be time to leave. I've asked Miss Loon to see to your final packing. Perhaps you should go up and change into something more serviceable for boarding the ship."

She nodded, eager for the chance to escape. "Yes, I believe that is a very good idea." Making her way out of the garden back inside the house, she headed for the stairs in the entry and hurried up to her room.

Caro was waiting when she walked in. "Here... Let me help you."

Dani turned so Caro could unfasten the buttons at the back of her topaz gown, then stepped out of the garment and kicked off her slippers. She sat down on the stool and let Caro pull the pretty green ribbons from her hair.

"Perhaps we should braid it," Caro suggested.

"Yes, I think that would be best." The pins came out one by one. In minutes her long red curls were gathered into plaits and pinned once more on top of her head.

"Can you unfasten the necklace?" Dani asked.

In the mirror, Dani caught Caro's stiff nod. There was something in her face, something dark and troubled that Danielle hadn't noticed before. As the diamond clasp came undone and the pearls fell into Caro's palm, Danielle turned on the stool and looked up at her.

"What is it, dearest? I can see that something is wrong. Tell me what it is."

Caro simply shook her head, moving the tight blond curls beside her ears. She pressed the pearls into Dani's hand, looking even more desolate than she had before.

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"Dear God, Caro, tell me what has happened."

Her friend's blue eyes welled with tears. "It's Robert."

"Robert? What about Robert?"

More tears welled, began to roll down her cheeks. "Last night he came to see me. Robert told me he loved me, Dani. He said he has never met a woman like me.A woman like me, Danielle. As if I were someone special, someone worthy of his love. But Robert can't speak of marriage—not until he is free."

Dani caught Caro's shaking hands in both of her own. She knew the story of Robert's indenture, how he'd been accused of a crime he didn't commit and been forced to flee his homeland.

"Listen to me, dearest, there is no need to cry. I'll speak to Rafael, convince him to purchase Robert's indenture papers."

Caro pulled her hands away and more tears washed down her cheeks. "Edmund Steigler won't sell them, and even if he would there isn't time."

"We shall make time. We'll delay our journey until Rafael can speak to Mr. Steigler, then go home on a later ship."

Caro wiped her eyes. "You don't understand."

"Then you must tell me, make me understand."

Caro dragged in a shaky breath. "Just before the wedding, Robert came to see me. He had received a letter from his cousin in England, a man named Stephen Lawrence. According to the letter, Stephen has discovered the identity of the man who murdered Nigel Truman...that is the man Robert was falsely accused of killing."

"Go on."

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"I have never seen Robert this way." Caro stared off toward the window, as if she were there again with Robert McKay. "I think until now he didn't believe he would ever find a way to prove his innocence. Now he is desperate to return to England and clear his name. He means to escape, Danielle."

"Dear God."

"He says once he proves his innocence, he'll find a way to send Steigler the money for his contract. I want to help him, but there is nothing I can do." Caro stared down at the necklace Dani held in her hand. "I actually thought of stealing it." The tears returned to her eyes. "I thought that I would give the necklace to Robert and you wouldn't find out until after we had sailed."

Caro looked at Danielle and began to weep. "I couldn't do it. I could never steal from you—not even for Robert— not after everything you've done for me." She cried harder, her slender body shaking with sobs. "I'm sorry, Danielle. I just.. .I love him so much."

Dani eased her friend into her arms. "It's all right, dearest. Somehow we'll figure this out. Everything is going to be all right."

Danielle mentally went over what Caro had told her and her mind raced. She trusted her best friend's instincts and her own opinion of Robert McKay, and she believed Robert had told the truth, that he was innocent of any wrongdoing. She knew what it was like to be accused of a crime you didn't commit, and her heart went out to both of them.

Caro pulled away from her and walked over to the window. She stared down into the garden, her narrow shoulders

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shaking with silent sobs, while Dani tried desperately to think what to do.

She could speak to Rafael, but she wasn't sure he would help. She didn't know the man he had become, and she didn't trust him. What if he went to Steigler, betrayed Robert's intentions to his master?

Rafe could be ruthless. She knew that firsthand.

She looked down at the necklace still clutched in her hand. She had very little money. Both her parents were dead. She had only the small monthly stipend her father had left her, not enough to help Robert find a way to clear his name. Until she married, she was mostly dependent upon her aunt and she refused to ask Aunt Flora to involve herself in what would surely be a crime.

The necklace felt warm in her palm, oddly comforting, as if it tried to soothe her, perhaps lend her strength. Walking over to where Caro stood, Dani took her friend's hand and draped the strand of pearls across her palm.

"Take it. Give it to Robert. Tell him to use it to save himself, to return to England and clear his name."

Caro gazed up at her, a look of disbelief on her face. "You would do that for Robert?"

A lump rose in Dani's throat. "I would do it foryou,Caro. You are the sister I never had, my best friend in the world." She folded Caro's slim fingers around the pearls. "Take the necklace to Robert. Do it now. Rafael will begin to wonder where we are. There isn't much time."

Caro's throat moved up and down. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I'll find a way to repay you—I swear it. I don't know how, but—"

"You've repaid me with your friendship a thousand times

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over." Dani hugged her. Turning, she walked over to the dresser and took the red satin pouch out of her jewelry box. Reaching for the pearls, she slipped them into the pouch and handed it back to her friend. "Now go."

Caro hugged her one last time. Tucking the pouch into the pocket of her gown, Caro hurried out the door. As she headed off down the hall, Dani took a steadying breath.

Sooner or later Rafael would discover what she had done. He would be angry. Furious, she knew. She shivered, remembering the fury on his face when he had walked into her bedchamber and found Oliver Randall in her bed, thinking of the way he had destroyed her life.

Dani steeled herself. She would deal with Rafael when the time came. Until then, she prayed that Robert would be able to safely escape.

Thirteen

Rafe escorted the ladies up the gangway, onto the deck of theNimble, a big, square-rigged, triple-masted sailing ship that carried a total of a hundred-seventy passengers in steerage, first and second classes; thirty-five hundred barrels of cargo and a thirty-six-man crew.

Though there were fewer people traveling from Philadelphia to England than the large number of emigrants who traveled to America in search of a new home, the vessel hummed with activity.

The captain, Hugo Burns, a great bearded bear of an Englishman with black hair and dark eyes, greeted them as they departed the gangway and stepped onto the deck.

"Welcome aboard theNimble," he said, "one of the finest ships ever to sail the Atlantic. She be four-hundred tons, one-hundred-eighteen feet long, twenty-eight feet in the beam, and she'll carry ye safely back ta England."

Rafe had been lucky to find a British ship and crew ready to make their return trip home. TheNimble wasn't one of Ethan's ships, but from what Rafe could discover,

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Captain Burns was one of the most respected seamen around.

Lady Wycombe smiled up at the big, burly man. "I'm sure we will be safe in your very capable hands, Captain Burns."

"Aye, that ye will be, Lady Wycombe."

The first mate, a lanky sailor named Pike with a tanned, weathered complexion and wearing a dark blue uniform jacket showed them to their quarters, the best accommodations Rafe could purchase aboard the vessel.

Pike led the small group to a ladder midship that led down to the first-class passengers' quarters on the upper deck. Cabin 6A would be shared by Lady Wycombe and Caroline Loon. Pike assured the women that a crewman would deliver their baggage, then waited while the ladies made their way inside the cabin and began to settle in.

The first mate continued down the passage, leading Rafe and Danielle farther along the corridor to their quarters in the stern, the largest first-class cabin aboard theNimble. As Pike unlocked the door and stepped back out of the way, Danielle paused nervously outside, peering in with a frown on her face.

"Thank you, Mr. Pike," Rafe said, "that will be all."

She looked up at him as the first mate disappeared down the passage. "But surely you don't intend that the two of us should share the same cabin?"

His jaw firmed. "That is exactly what I intend."

"I remind you, sir, we had an agreement. You said—"

"I know what I said. I said I wouldn't make love to you until we reached England. That doesn't change the fact that we are wed." He shoved the door farther open. "We'll not only be sharing this cabin, but also this bed."

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Color washed into Danielle's cheeks. He wasn't sure if it was anger or embarrassment or perhaps a little of both.

Lifting her chin, she walked past him into the cabin, staring at the wide single berth as if it might swallow her whole. "Caro and Aunt Flora have berths—one atop the other."