

**The 11** th **Commandment**

A Serial Regency Romance

in

Ten Parts

by

Jaimey Grant

The 11th Commandment

A Serial Regency Romance

By Jaimey Grant

© 2012-2013 Laura J Miller

All Rights Reserved.

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

First published in InD'Tale Magazine

www.indtale.com

Compilation published by TreasureLine Publishing

www.treasurelinebooks.com

Cover design by Laura J Miller

www.anauthorsart.com

The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.

Smashwords Edition License

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

For Tammy, Linda, and Rachel.

Author's Note

_The 11_ th _Commandment_ originally appeared as a serial romance in InD'Tale Magazine, starting in the July/August 2012 issue. Over the course of a year, all ten parts were published in this new periodical catering to readers and writers of independently published romantic fiction. These installments are compiled here, with permission from TJ MacKay, the editor of InD'Tale, for the readers who would like to have the story in one place, conveniently on their e-reading devices.

I'd like to thank each and every reader of InD'Tale Magazine. You are the reason for its success.

Other titles by Jaimey Grant

Full-Length Regency Romances

~chronological order~

Honor

Betrayal

Deception

Entangled (Spellbound)

Heartless

Redemption

Short Stories and Novellas

My Lady Coward: An Episodic Regency Romance

The 11th Commandment: A Serial Regency Romance

_Assassin's Keeper_ / _Survival_ in Unlocked: Ten "Key" Tales

_Eliza's Epiphany_ in Whispered Beginnings

The Dragon's Birth (fantasy)

Table of Contents

Part I ~ The Return

Part II ~ The Will

Part III ~ The Confession

Part IV ~ The Pact

Part V ~ The Insult

Part VI ~ The Invitation

Part VII ~ The Escape

Part VIII ~ The Proposal

Part IX ~ The Truth

Part X ~ The Finale

Death Becomes Her Excerpt

About the Author

Part I

The Return

Lady Katherine Henschel carried a stigma. As the daughter of an earl and the wife of a duke, she knew exactly where she stood in Society. She was anathema to them, evidence that one of their own was fallible.

The carriage hit a rut, jostling her with enough force to start a violent drumming behind her eyes. As if that wasn't enough, a cramp started in her leg from her position in the mail-coach. It was the last time she'd ever travel with the mail just to get to London from Edinburgh in less than two days. And all for what? Further humiliation, no doubt.

Katherine earned Society's censure when she was caught in the arms of her lover. Had she been more discreet, more aware of the possibility of discovery, she'd have been spared the loss of her friends, family, and acquaintances. She'd never have lost her vouchers to Almack's weekly assemblies and she never would have had to endure the whispers behind fans, the lowered eyes, or the snubs from those she'd once considered her closest friends.

The other mail-coach passengers ignored her, but being ignored was something she'd long grown used to. When she stretched out her leg in an effort to relieve some of the pain, the woman beside her turned her head just a touch, shooting a glare from the corner of her washed-out blue eye.

"Pardon me," Katherine murmured, tucking her leg back under her and stifling the pinch of agony that shot up the abused limb.

The sensation was nothing compared to what she'd endured at her husband's own hand. When she failed to produce the coveted male heir, he berated her, as if she alone were to blame. It took three failed pregnancies in five years to finally convince him she wouldn't breed. He bemoaned fate for saddling him with such a flawed wife, his diatribes becoming more violent and hurtful with each passing day. For five long years she'd watched her husband's love fade to resentment, bitterness, and abuse.

Injured feelings, minor bruises on her otherwise flawless skin, and the sympathy of one she'd long considered her friend led to her downfall. It wasn't planned, far from it. Never had she considered playing her husband false. It was the trait she most abhorred in Society wives.

But she faltered. Anger, resentment, and Simon's sudden arrival just when Jarvis was out of Town left her vulnerable. Then Katherine broke the most important of all the commandments, the one Society held above all others. The unspoken one. The eleventh.

Thou shalt not get caught.

Simon Delacourt was everything her husband was not. He lacked Jarvis's charm and blond good looks. He eschewed Society and their hypocrisies, spending little time in London and never in the ballrooms. He lacked a title and possessed only a modest income.

Katherine had known Simon as long as she'd known Jarvis. But Jarvis was the man she loved and as a wealthy duke, he presented far more security than a plain mister. So she married the Duke of Jarvis.

Hours passed, the creaking from the carriage all that broke the heavy silence. In time, they entered London's West End. Katherine paid little attention to her surroundings. She only wanted to get to the posting house, hire a chaise, and get to her destination. She wanted this day over, wanted an end, finally, to the misery she'd caused. And perhaps, just perhaps, she'd be able to finally leave Simon in her past, forgotten, and forgive herself.

Jarvis had chosen that morning of all mornings to enter her chamber unannounced. There was a certain tragic comedy to the way she scrambled to cover herself and the way Simon barely noticed her actions. The laughter she released at the time mocked both men but really she mocked herself.

It was the worst thing she could have done. Simon's head snapped toward her, his dark eyes blazing. "You scheming slut! This" —encompassing the bed and their naked bodies in a sweeping gesture— "was nothing more than a means of _revenge_?"

Shock froze Katherine's tongue. Before her mind could form a denial, Simon surged from the bed, anger radiating from every inch of his muscular form. He scooped his clothes from the floor and turned to leave. As he passed Jarvis, Simon paused as if to say something, but he must have thought better of it. He gave the slightest of bows in the duke's direction. Katherine's dressing room door slammed as Simon made good his exit.

"Well, darling, it looks as though the betting books were correct," Jarvis said, staring at the door. He cast her a sidelong glance, a smug little smile tipping the corners of his lips. "Your choice of lover concerns me—such an uncouth lout—but your infidelity is all I need to petition Parliament for a divorce."

Parliament denied Jarvis's petition but it was enough scandal to blacken her name for all time. Even Simon disappeared, saying nothing, as if she alone were to blame.

And now, years after Society turned their collective backs on her, she returned to England.

After a brief rest at the posting house to freshen her appearance and consume a bit of sustenance, Katherine resumed her journey in the slightly greater comfort and privacy of a post chaise.

Her fingers tightened on her reticule, twisting the delicate fabric into a wrinkled mess. The carriage bumped along, driving her ever closer to the site of her humiliation. Part of her wanted to turn around, flee again, forget all that London represented. But the logical part of her knew she could no longer hide. Jarvis was dead and the lawyer awaited her arrival. Unfaithful wife or not, she was still his wife and as such, must present herself for the reading of the will.

Regret sucked the air from her lungs. The news of her husband's passing gave her some relief but nothing could touch the guilt. She'd tried so hard to be a good wife, hostess, and lady, tried to be the perfect Duchess of Jarvis. She acknowledged it was her actions that caused the permanent rift in her marriage, though Jarvis was in no way innocent either.

A footman assisted her from the carriage, carefully avoiding her eyes as he did so. He accepted her one portmanteau and ushered her into the marbled foyer. After setting her bag down, he handed her over to the butler, Carlisle, and stepped back to his usual post beside the front door.

Carlisle looked down his great beak of a nose at her with little regard for the fact that she was still his mistress, at least until the new duke and duchess took up residence. Katherine maintained an icy silence, only deigning to say a word when she handed over her redingote, bonnet, and reticule.

"Thank you," she murmured. As she stepped toward the study where the lawyer and the family waited, she paused, turned back to the silent footman, and said, "I would like to express my deepest sorrow over the loss of your mother, Joseph."

The footman started, his handsome face turning toward her, wide eyes meeting hers. "Th-thank you, madam."

Katherine nodded, offering him a smile tinged with sadness. "I will join the others now, Carlisle."

"Certainly, madam," the butler intoned, a fraction of his hauteur melting as he glanced from the footman to Katherine.

Katherine ignored the man, all her concentration taken up with maintaining her composure. She was only feet away from the room, only feet from what would, hopefully, be the final humiliation of her life. At long last, she could move on, go back to Scotland if she desired, maybe even remarry. Unless...

Jarvis paid all her bills. Servants, dressmaker, grocer, all hired and paid for by her husband. It was unlikely the new duke would continue footing her bills.

Before she'd managed to complete that horrific thought, or managed to restore her shattered composure, Carlisle stepped forward and opened the study door. Her fingers clenched upon themselves. Taking a deep breath, she entered the book-lined chamber.

The requisite number of family sat in chairs near the desk, servants of many years loyalty hovering at the back. The gentlemen rose at her entrance, though she noticed the new duke had to be prompted by his scowling wife. It no doubt appalled him to have to show any sign of respect to the woman who cuckolded his uncle.

Stifling the snort of bitter laughter that threatened, she advanced, greeting the lawyer and then turning to offer a token greeting to the room in general. As she opened her mouth, her eyes locked with those of another attendee. The words she'd been about to say choked in her throat.

Unable to form any other thought, unable to see anyone else in the room, she could do nothing but stutter his name.

Part II

The Will

"S-Simon?"

Simon Delacourt's heart leapt into his throat. Lady Katherine, Duchess of Jarvis, wife of the late Duke of Jarvis, once again stood in the same room with him, only a few paces away. Her ebony hair gleamed, caught up at her nape in a ruthless knot. The sight conjured the memory of all those silken strands loosened from their confinement, sliding over his hands and falling over their naked flesh.

The bittersweet recollection sent a thrill coursing his spine even as shame pooled in his middle. Jarvis had been his friend, confidante, closest companion for many years. But while Jarvis was his friend, Katherine was his curse, the devil's own daughter sent to tempt him. He'd wanted her forever with a desire that made all other women—whores and ladies alike—pale in comparison. It was no wonder he'd stumbled so weakly into her arms at the mere crook of a finger.

That shame leapt quickly into anger, anger at her, anger at himself, and anger at Jarvis. They were all to blame, he knew it and Jarvis knew it. He was pretty sure Katherine, with her wide astonished eyes, had no idea just how much Jarvis was to blame.

Her astonishment at Simon's presence at the reading of her husband's will, however, was out of proportion to the situation. It was apparent she'd forgotten his relationship to the late duke, forgotten they were cousins.

He would have said something wholly inappropriate, anger overcoming sense, but a snicker beside him—courtesy of the new Duke of Jarvis—brought him back to the present. Offering the slightest of bows, he murmured, "Lady Jarvis," and jabbed an elbow into the new duke's ribs. That young man's gasp returned sense to the room.

Katherine sailed forward, chin high, pride radiating from every inch of her dark blue muslin covered body.

She didn't wear mourning. But Simon would have been more surprised had she done so. It was not a secret that she didn't mourn the late duke. How could she after all she'd been through? Years of an uneasy, unhappy, unsatisfactory alliance filled with distrust and culminating in betrayal, even if the betrayal was hers, was hardly conducive to mourning the loss of the man responsible for such unhappiness and dissatisfaction. One would have expected her to at least act as though she mourned the man, for the sake of appearances, if for no other reason.

"Please forgive me for my lack of mourning attire," she directed at the room in general, as if reading Simon's mind. "Time did not allow for the commission of new gowns."

Everyone seemed satisfied with her excuse though no one really thawed toward her. Simon was not surprised. She was, after all, the woman who cuckolded the Duke of Jarvis...and got caught.

Her apology delivered, Katherine's eyes swept the room. One chair in the room sat empty.

He saw Katherine look at it, her beautiful gray eyes narrowing. She'd have to sit next to him for however many hours the repellent lawyer, Silas Finkel, decided to linger over the legal document. Simon wasn't anymore pleased than she was. There was little they could do, however, so he offered to seat her as a proper gentleman should.

Her fingers came to rest on his arm as he led her to the chair. Bolts of white hot energy streaked over his flesh, resurrecting memories of the same sensations he'd experienced with her years ago. She jerked her hand away, seating herself with a flourish of skirts that deftly hid her own upset. Simon wasn't fooled. The same willful, ill-advised passion that burned between them years ago burned still, hotter than before it seemed.

Giving himself a mental shake, he sat down, careful to avoid touching her again. He didn't need to remember the way her hands slid along his arms, over his shoulders, her fingers slipping through his hair as he explored her mouth, her neck and every exposed inch of skin he could reach. The image would not leave his head. He cursed his own weakness and shifted in his chair, attempting to put a little more distance between his body and hers.

The other men sat and the solicitor's voice took over.

"I will start by offering my deepest sympathies to the family of the late Duke of Jarvis. His grace was a good man and will be missed." His eyes rested on Katherine, narrowing in obvious dislike. He sniffed, chin raising a notch as he returned his attention to the document before him.

"I have the Last Will and Testament of his grace, the fifth Duke of Jarvis."

Finkel's voice droned on, outlining the various bequests to family, loyal servants and the like, in as dull a tone as Simon had ever heard. He was reminded of a professor at university whose lectures often sent the students off to sleep. The dull drone removed any inappropriate thoughts from his head, a decided relief even if it threatened to send Simon off to sleep as well. He fought the urge, knowing deep in his gut that his cousin had a nasty surprise waiting for them all.

The principle estate, its holdings, and a generous portion of the duke's wealth went to his heir, a natural occurrence that everyone expected though his heir seemed a little less than pleased that he didn't receive all the money and properties.

"...to my wife, Lady Katherine Eleanor Henschel, I leave an income of £1000 per annum." Finkel's voice cracked, face suffusing red. Strange when he'd have known for some time of the stipulation.

Katherine's fingers clenched in her lap. It was the only indication of agitation she revealed, her spine straight and face devoid of all emotion. Simon watched her from the corner of his eye, intrigued by her control and lack of emotion in the face of such unexpected munificence from her husband. It was certainly understandable had she believed Jarvis would disregard his responsibility toward her.

While Finkel attempted to gather himself and his thoughts after his upset, Simon watched Katherine, as he knew others in the room watched her. Katherine's lips pursed, tension shivering along her shoulders. Simon studied her face, finally turning in his chair and not bothering to hide his inspection. His leg brushed hers and she slid hers away. She wouldn't meet his eye. But he knew she was aware of his steady regard. Her cheek twitched and she straightened her spine until Simon was sure she'd snap in half. Her husband proved he wasn't quite as unforgiving as he'd seemed and Katherine was trying very hard to contain her emotions.

She'd loved Jarvis once. Simon knew that when he seduced her. But he also believed Jarvis, the rotter. And perhaps, just perhaps, Jarvis had loved her too, in his own strange way. It was generous indeed for the man to leave such an income to the woman who'd held him up as an object of mockery, the woman he'd tried, unsuccessfully, to divorce.

Murmurs became grumbles as the solicitor paused to regain control of his emotions. Simon heard the complaints—everything from Katherine's having bewitched the late duke to Jarvis's wits having gone begging when he added that particular bit to his will and so it couldn't be expected to be legal. Someone even whispered the possibility of taking the issue to the courts.

Simon decided enough was enough. He passed his glance over the room, meeting every pair of eyes with a silent threat of his own. Those who noticed shut their mouths, nudging their neighbors, starting a chain that eventually silenced the room. Just as William, the new duke, opened his mouth to utter what would no doubt be something insulting, Finkel continued.

"...to my cousin, Mister Simon James Laurent Delacourt, I leave the rest of my fortune and properties..."

The collective gasps were expected, though Simon felt the breath leave his own lungs in a shocked whoosh. He'd known, as he'd spent much time with his cousin in his final days. He knew there would be an outcry at the contents of the will, had told Jarvis not to do such a fool thing, but the man had never listened to anyone. He'd merely laughed, saying, "I'll likely change it long before I die."

Who could have known he'd die only months later?

Katherine watched him. He felt her eyes on him the same way he'd watched her before, but unlike her, he turned his head and met her gaze straight on. Disbelief shimmered in the gray depths, disbelief and a sliver of anger. Her lips parted, drawing his gaze. She wanted to berate him, the words shivering on her tongue. Simon read the desire in her face, features no longer frozen with complacency. And some ill-advised part of him wanted to see another kind of desire on her face, wanted her lips to part for another reason.

"...except..."

The room drew in one collective breath, Simon and Katherine dragging their gazes away from each other and bracing themselves just as every person there. An ugly, sneaking premonition curled over his skin. His muscles tensed, waiting for the sword of Damocles to fall.

"Moor Hall, its lands, and farms shall go to my daughter, Josephine Marie, held in trust for her by my cousin, Mister Simon James Laurent Delacourt, and my wife, Lady Katherine Eleanor Henschel."

All eyes, Simon's included, turned again to Lady Katherine. She didn't move, nor acknowledge the whispers. Her tense features revealed nothing to anyone, but Simon saw something glisten in her eye that told him all he needed to know. Lady Katherine's best kept secret, her one surviving child, had been known to her husband all along.

As for Simon, he shared the shock of everyone in the room. Katherine had borne a child, the one thing she couldn't give Jarvis, the one flaw in Lady Katherine that caused the rift that eventually destroyed their marriage. Jarvis played his part in that rift, Katherine played hers and Simon had played his. Then Katherine left England, banished to Scotland by her husband in his frustrated rage at Parliament for denying his petition for divorce. She carried all the blame, all the shame of an act that took two people—three, if one included Jarvis's role in the matter. Carrying all that, she'd left, and when she left, she was carrying a child—

Jarvis had not seen fit to tell Simon about Josephine and there was only one reason Simon could think of for such secrecy. He opened his mouth before common sense stopped him.

"Is she mine?"

Part III

The Confession

Is she mine?

The question reverberated through Lady Katherine's mind. How could Simon ask her such a thing in front of Jarvis's repellent solicitor, Jarvis's heir, Jarvis's servants, and Jarvis's family? Was it not enough that she had to endure the ridicule, the embarrassment, the shame of having been caught in another man's arms? But no, Simon had to make sure her only child, her sweet daughter, was tarred with the same reprehensible brush, a bastard child.

"What an indelicate question, Mr. Delacourt," she murmured, fingers curling into tight fists in her lap. "What would make you think such a thing?"

She practically dared him to answer and she knew it. His jaw clenched, a faint tinge of red climbing his stubbled cheeks. A man who blushed was a rare thing and Katherine almost smiled in the face of this particular man's discomfort.

"I apologize, my lady," he said, embarrassment tensing his broad shoulders. "I know not what came over me."

They fell silent, both facing the solicitor, Silas Finkel. That man's disgust radiated from his hunched form. Katherine stared him down, unwilling to allow the man to make her feel any worse for her past mistake. She could do that all on her own.

"Is there some reason to believe the child is not the issue of your late husband?" he asked, a certain malicious light entering his black eyes. He leaned forward, body tense with eager anticipation of Katherine's further humiliation. He'd never cared for her and she considered him little better than a beetle. It was no surprise that he enjoyed Simon's bad mannered display.

She prepared to deny the accusation but Simon's heated response snapped her mouth shut.

"Does it matter?" he demanded. "Jarvis was certainly aware of what you're insinuating and he saw no reason to deprive the child of a secure future. What business is it of yours?"

Katherine had not expected such a defense from Simon Delacourt. He was partly to blame for her shame, her one and only mistake that resulted in a lifetime of shame and embarrassment, but he had never taken responsibility, nor even indicated that he shared the blame. Now, he defended her child. Was it because he believed little Josephine to be his?

She cast him a sidelong glance, her eyes roving over his features. He hadn't changed in the two years since she'd seen him last. His eyes still held that sardonic light, that willingness to believe the worst of everyone. New lines feathered his eyes, though, as if he'd acquired some new burden. His lips tightened as she watched him, conjuring memories of those lips trailing kisses along her neck and over her breasts.

Damming that particular line of thought, she removed her eyes from him, refusing to think of her fingers slipping through his short black hair, sliding over his taut muscles, wrapping around—

"Does it matter?" William, the new Duke of Jarvis, sneered. " _Does it matter!?_ Of course it matters, Delacourt! Moor Hall should be mine. I won't let it go to a little bas—"

His diatribe was cut ruthlessly short. Simon dammed William's vitriol with the simple expedient of a hand around the younger man's throat. He barely shifted in his chair to do so and expended very little effort.

"There are ladies present, William," Simon warned, a low growl underlying the words. "I suggest you consider your words carefully, choose them wisely, and refrain from slandering a child." He released him but his harsh features maintained the threat, causing William to shift back in his chair, closer to his wife who sat on his other side.

Katherine's eyes widened, chills crawling over her skin at the calm violence of Simon's actions. She'd known him all her life but never had she seen him react with such assertive ruthlessness, such unthinking control. He defended her child—while wondering if the child was his—but he'd said nothing in her or his defense when her husband caught them together. He said nothing when Jarvis told Society of her perfidy. And he said nothing when Jarvis dragged all their names through the courts, petitioning Parliament for a divorce that they refused to grant.

He'd said nothing. He was the late duke's cousin, a man he spent more time with than any other, and when he surely could have said something, anything to Jarvis to halt the nightmare, he said nothing.

Why now?

Finkel cleared his throat, a harsh sound that grated on Katherine's nerves. Her fingers tried to clench but she forced calm over her body, forced her mind to ease, and forced back the sudden desire she had to throttle Simon the way he'd tried to throttle William.

"If there are no more interruptions, we shall proceed."

Katherine allowed her mind to wander, the solicitor's droning voice washing over her. Simon sat stiffly beside her, rigid in his funereal black, blue eyes frosty as he stared at Finkel. What would he do if Josephine was his daughter? Would he try to take her? It would be his right, under the law, to do so, and there would be nothing Katherine could do about it.

_If_ Katherine admitted Josephine was Simon's. Otherwise, it was his word against hers. She was sure the general consensus would damn the child as a bastard but Katherine would fight them to her dying breath. She would never allow her baby to suffer just because Society felt the need to persecute the illegitimate child in an effort to punish the unfaithful wife.

Finkel finished reading the will, no one really paying much attention to the details, and rose to his feet. Katherine paid no attention to those around, rising and moving away from Simon's disturbing presence. She approached Finkel, signed all the necessary documents, and excused herself to the family. All she wanted was to escape, return to Scotland and Josephine, forget all this and get on with her life.

She wanted to forget Jarvis. And Simon.

She left the room, her steps brisk but unhurried. Josephine needed her and it had almost killed Katherine to leave her behind. But she couldn't let her daughter suffer, couldn't let even the suspicion of illegitimacy touch her. The reading was over, thus her part in the farce of a marriage was over. Her new life beckoned. Her husband's munificence—£1000 per annum and Moor Hall for her daughter—relieved her of her immediate worries. She'd not have to wonder where their next meal would come from or how she'd clothe Josephine after the child's next growth spurt.

As she accepted her things from the butler, Carlisle, he bowed, an unexpected glimmer of respect in his aging eyes that vanished a second later. Simon exited the study, his strides bringing him to her side.

"A word, if you please, my lady," Simon said through clenched teeth. He shot a glare at the butler, whose wooden expression stiffened as he turned on his heel and went to tend to the other guests.

Taking her arm, Simon ushered Katherine into a small morning room, just two doors from the study. Katherine remembered the room as one she'd loved. Many mornings had found her in this very room, the calm blue and green papered walls and thick Aubusson carpets giving her a sense of peace even when nothing in her life was peaceful.

Little had changed. Except her favorite chair was missing. She already knew that, though, as it had arrived a few months after she relocated to Moor Hall.

The day remained etched in her brain, the rain pouring down, streaking the windows. A servant informed her of the delivery and she'd allowed them to place the chair in her sitting room. Her emotions at that moment overcame her, sending her into tears. The guilt, sorrow, and heartache seemed focused in that one gift from her husband. Had Jarvis meant it as a token of apology, knowing how she loved to sit and read or sew in the morning room? Or was it just another twist of the knife, another way to make her feel the shame she'd heaped on all their heads?

The door clicked shut, startling Katherine from her bittersweet memories. She turned to face Simon, tense, unsure what to expect from this man she'd never managed to forget.

His eyes burned into hers, blue flames of anger and something else. Her heart stuttered, breath catching as she tried to inhale. She knew that look, knew that as those blue flames slid over her gowned form, he was seeing the naked flesh beneath, reliving the passion.

"No, Simon, I will not have this discussion with you. Not now. Not ever," she insisted, hoping to snuff the flames.

He approached, stopping only when a mere foot separated them. Katherine struggled for a breath, her heart pounding erratically. She should step away, force herself to increase the distance between their bodies. But her feet remained rooted to the floor.

He glanced at her lips. Katherine couldn't swallow, her mouth going dry in the face of such coiled tension, such restrained desire. Even when they were together there wasn't this tension, this white hot passion threatening to consume them. What about this situation brought it out in Simon now?

Simon leaned close, his breath fanning her face. Part of her wanted to lean in, erase the distance between their lips, taste him just once to see if the pleasure she remembered was real or imagined. And part of her warned that nothing was so simple. Kissing Simon was never simple.

She turned her head away, not willing to kiss him, not here, not now, in her husband's house, with him barely cold in the ground.

"Is Josephine my child?" he asked.

Ice water flooded her veins. Of course. How could she forget? Simon had no interest in her anymore. Only in the information she could provide.

One step, then two, and she could breathe easier. Meeting her companion's eyes, she answered in the only way she possibly could.

"No."

Simon exhaled, the sound rushing from him with such force that she realized he'd been holding it, awaiting—dreading—her reply.

"I could not have borne the shame—"

Blood red rage took over, held back by the merest thread of good breeding. "What, Mr. Delacourt? The shame of fathering a bastard on your cousin's wife?" Her words emerged clipped, anger sending heat through her limbs and into her throat. Fingers clenching, she itched to choke the self-righteous life out of him.

"That's not what I meant," he snapped, reaching for her. He grasped her upper arms, pulling her back to him. "I could not have borne the shame of abandoning my own child."

"You were only too willing to abandon me to the shame, Simon! Our mistake! Our shame! Where were you then?"

"I had to leave!"

"Why? You could have stopped him. You could have made it all go away. He listened to you!"

They were shouting and Katherine couldn't stop, couldn't calm her anger, lower her voice. Any thoughts for the unladylike nature of her behavior remained trapped behind her rage. Tears started to her eyes, clinging to her lashes and distorting her vision. All the years of helpless rage, loneliness and misplaced affection rose to torture her.

He said nothing for a moment, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. Then, fury dripping from every word, he informed her, "I promised!"

The words exploded from his lips, agitation clenching his fingers on her arms. Katherine winced at the pain, knowing she'd bear bruises for some time. She searched his eyes, looking for a shred of the man she once knew, but all she could see was a man plagued by demons much like her own. And she felt pity for him, knowing just how painful it was to bear such shame and regret.

"My silence was required. I could say nothing to anyone except to admit to what I—we—did. I made a promise to Jarvis, vowed to assist him—" He broke off, releasing her and stepping away.

His words stilled her heart, her pity disappearing like so much mist. "Vowed to assist him," she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself as dread formed a sickening knot in her stomach. "To assist him....how?"

"I promised to help him secure a divorce!"

Part IV

The Pact

He'd not meant to reveal the truth. At least, not in so blunt a manner.

As Katherine's shock turned to horror and finally contempt, each change registering in her gray eyes, Simon Delacourt knew his error might be what prevented Katherine, Lady Jarvis, widow of the fifth Duke of Jarvis, from ever forgiving him for the part he played in her ruin.

She backed away. Simon watched her lithe form tense, each part of her slowly consumed with her contempt. His heart sank. The pain could never be salved.

"Kat," he begged, employing the pet name he and Jarvis used so long ago, "say something."

"You promised to help Jarvis secure a divorce," she said, repeating what he'd told her, disbelief apparent in the way she sucked in a breath, slowly releasing it as the truth of his confession registered. "You promised to— How could you, how could Jarvis do that to me?" Her words, forced as they were through clenched teeth, came out like the hiss of an angry cat. She spun away, her dark skirts swinging out like a bell around her ankles, hands clenched at her sides.

Simon watched her upset, observed the way her shoulders rose and fell with each angry breath. Part of him longed to approach her, wrap his arms around her and soothe her anger away.

But part of Simon objected and it was this part that dominated. "You were there too, Kat. Don't act as though you took no part in your own ruin."

She turned on him, eyes blazing. She held nothing back as she marched to stand before him, waving her fist in his face. "You seduced me so my husband could secure a divorce. You ruined me!"

He reacted without thought, grasping her arms and pulling her close until she stood nose-to-nose with him—a difficult feat for a woman who stood a head shorter. "You wanted him jealous," he accused, beside himself with anger and guilt. "You wanted him jealous, he wanted a divorce, and you both saw me as a means to an end. Do not play the victim with me, madam!"

Giving her a disgusted shake, he released her. He wasn't sure who he despised more in that moment: her, Jarvis, or himself.

But that wasn't true. While he was angry with her and her late husband, his disgust was reserved for himself and himself alone. He was a gentleman and a gentleman simply did not make his cousin a cuckold. And if he did, he didn't get caught.

But that was never part of the plan. Jarvis planned from the start to catch them, planned from the start to petition for a divorce. He'd approached Simon because he knew Simon's weakness.

Women, one woman in particular.

"I have a proposition for you," Jarvis had said, a frown marring his pale features.

Simon listened, wondering what had his cousin in such a brown study.

"I want to divorce Katherine," he blurted. A moment later he wiped a hand over his face.

Simon straightened in his chair, his heart slamming into his ribs. Was it true? Did Jarvis really wish for his freedom?

"You no longer want Katherine for your wife?" he asked, forcing his clenched fingers to open. "What has that to do with me?"

The duke picked up a quill, turning it around and around in his long fingers. His actions spoke of unease, a certain distraction of mind that made his declaration suspect.

"I want you to seduce her."

Where Simon's heart hammered before, now it stopped. A small ungentlemanly part of him rejoiced, conjuring all kinds of inappropriate thoughts about his cousin's wife. A smaller, gentlemanly part objected, horrified by the suggestion.

But where Katherine, Duchess of Jarvis was concerned, Simon's weaknesses would dominate, his weakness for beauty, grace, and a strong spirit.

And there sat Jarvis, blond godlike features creased with doubt, serving her up on a silver platter.

Simon leaned forward, placing his hands carefully on the duke's desk, wanting to throttle Jarvis but knowing what little purpose such action would serve. "You want me to seduce your wife?" A nod from Jarvis. "You want me to seduce Katherine so you can stand up in court, point at her and me and accuse us of adultery?" Another nod. "Why would I do that to her? A scandal like that would follow her until you died."

Jarvis met his eye, a steely light in the azure depths. "You will do this, Delacourt, or I will tell the _ton_ what I know about your father and how he settled his gambling debts."

Rage and panic tore through Simon. His father sold military secrets to the French while Napoleon cut a bloody swath through Europe. Granted, he'd not gleaned secrets of any great importance, nor had he earned more than enough to pay his debts before he shot himself, but treason was treason. It was a brush with which Simon did not wish to be tarred.

"How did you know?" Simon bit off.

"I am the Duke of Jarvis. It is my business to know everything about the family, even cousins."

Did Simon detect a hint of warning in his cousin's steady tone? No, it wasn't possible. There was no way Jarvis could know...

"You've always wanted Katherine, Simon," Jarvis confirmed, smirking. "The way you fawn over her and watch her when you think no one is looking; only a blind man could miss your adoration and even he might hear it in your voice. Such a pity Katherine loved me instead." He stood, gazing down at Simon, hard determination emanating from his whole being. "Here's your only chance to have her. Once the divorce is granted you can take her away. If Parliament denies me you can never see her again. I can't have Society calling me a cuckold because you and she remain in each other's company."

Disbelief and rage warred with the tiny bit of lascivious anticipation that Simon couldn't help but feel. "And what will you do when they grant the divorce?" he asked, almost confident of Jarvis's success.

"Petition for the right to remarry, of course. I need an heir and Katherine is barren."

"You're doing this all because you want an heir?"

Jarvis's brows rose. "Of course. As much as I admire Katherine, love her even, the title comes first. I need an heir, someone I can groom for the responsibilities he will face."

"What of your nephew?"

"William? That puppy is unfit for the title. He is weak. That wife of his leads him around by his—"

Simon held up a hand, shaking his head. "You would destroy Katherine, and blackmail me, for a title." It wasn't a question so much as a realization.

"I would," Jarvis confirmed, all traces of his earlier uncertainty vanished. "I will pay you handsomely, as well," he assured, as if he hadn't just added insult to injury.

"No," Simon rose, bringing himself to eye level with his cousin. "I will do this but not for money. I will do this because killing you would only promise my execution." _And because Katherine belongs to me and it's time she and everyone else knew it_ , he added silently, refusing to examine the disloyal thought.

"Wise choice, cousin, but don't try to convince me that you aren't eager to bed her."

He stuck out his hand. Simon gazed at the appendage as though it were a species of repellent insect. A moment later he grasped it firmly, knowing without a doubt that he'd made a pact with the devil.

"You dare claim to be the victim?"

Katherine's voice contained disbelief, jarring Simon from his anger. If she only knew the extent of his innocence in the matter. But that was something he could never tell her. He could never reveal his father's foolishness, his family's shame.

Three steps moved him from her reach, brought a bit of sanity to his disordered brain. "I would never take that from you, Katherine. You play the victim so well." His words mocked her but it was all for himself.

She drew back as though slapped. "How dare you!" she breathed, gloved hands fisting at her sides. "How dare you mock me, Simon Delacourt! It was through your actions that all was made worse than it needed to be. You said my downfall was planned."

"There was no need for my seduction, was there, Kat?" he snarled, his feet returning him to where he towered over her moments prior. "You were waiting for me with open arms, open le—"

His head snapped back with the force of her slap. Her gray eyes blazed in her pale face. "You disgusting creature!"

Working his jaw back and forth, he could hardly believe what came over him, what made him say such hateful things. Anger with himself and Jarvis was no excuse to lash out at Katherine.

"Katherine, I'm—"

Drawing herself up, she stopped him. "Do not, Mr. Delacourt." Ice coated every word as dignity shrouded her. "I have no interest in your apologies."

"And I have no interest in tendering any," he admitted.

He paced away from her, forcing calm over himself, forcing his tense muscles to relax. He needed to think calmly, rationally. Trading insults with Katherine would solve none of their current problems.

"I wish only to quit this house and your presence forever." Thus saying, she turned, making her way to the door.

The finality of her statement sent an icy chill through Simon's veins. His muscles tightened against the shiver that threatened. As her fingers closed over the door handle, Simon warned, "We can never part, Katherine."

She paused but didn't turn, saying nothing, fingers whitening where they curled around the door handle. Simon stared at her rigid back, eyes sweeping the dark cloth that covered her delicate form. He wanted to touch her, reassure her, promise to leave her to herself and never interfere in her life.

But he also wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and promise to love her the way Jarvis should have.

"Jarvis made sure we could never part. He linked us forever. Together we own your home, Katherine."

She turned, slowly. "So we do. What can I expect from you, Mr. Delacourt? Shall you reside with us and turn our lives upside down? Or will you remain in London and manage us from afar?"

He studied her for a long moment, watching the emotions, the fear flicker through her eyes. She feared he would do just that, swoop in on them and turn their lives into chaos. A sigh started in his lungs that threatened to emerge, a sigh he repressed. He just wanted to love her. But after all he'd revealed there was little chance of that.

"I have not decided what I shall do," he admitted, unwilling to make a promise he could not keep.

They studied each other. Simon didn't know what she hoped to find in his expression or his bearing and he didn't know how well he hid what he felt. His need for her shivered in his blood, his desire for her sending lightning streaks across his flesh. He still wanted her. He would never stop. Could she see how he felt? Or was he successful in hiding that, at least?

"Why, Simon? Why did Jarvis want you to ruin me? Why did he wish to divorce? What did I do to lose his love?"

Her question caught him off guard, whispered as it was in a halting voice thick with grief. He strode to her side, taking her face in his hands. "Jarvis loved you, in his way," he assured her, not sure why he defended his blackguard cousin. "He loved you but..."

Her shimmering eyes lifted, meeting his. "I could not give him children."

Simon's mouth opened but the words didn't come. How could Josephine be Jarvis's daughter if Katherine couldn't give him children? Why had Jarvis believed she was barren, even after the child's birth? Why had he allowed her to remain in Scotland, alone with the child, instead of ordering her back to her rightful place at his side, in his bed, attempting to produce another child, an heir to the title? Why had Jarvis wasted all those years?

"Why seduction, Simon?"

Her voice wrapped around him, soft, a slight huskiness to her tone that could have indicated anything from confusion to incipient tears.

"Parliament does not easily grant divorces," he remarked, unsure what she really wanted to know.

"Why not lie? If Jarvis accused us and you supported his lie, would it not have had the same result?"

Her fingers twisted in her skirts, an uncharacteristic action for her. The anxious movement brought their bodies closer, her skirts brushing his legs. He fought the urge to soothe her, to stroke her soft, pale skin that even now burned his fingertips. He forced his mind to the situation at hand.

"Considering Jarvis's claim was denied, yes, it would have been the same result," he confirmed, grimacing.

"Why, Simon?"

He had no answer for her, not one he was willing to give. He dropped his hands and shrugged, not moving away but remaining silent, watching her every movement, his heart seeming to beat out each passing second with the mantle clock.

"Why?"

The one word lashed him, coated as it was in accusation, anger, and resentment. A headache blossomed in his temples, the pounding rhythm surging behind his eyes and into his tensed jaw. He jerked away from her but she wouldn't let him. Her fingers closed over his, pulling him closer.

"Tell me why you seduced me, Simon."

It was nothing more than a whisper but the impact was powerful. Simon's eyes met hers and he responded before wisdom could take the upper hand.

"You were supposed to be mine."

Part V

The Insult

What rubbish!

Katherine dropped Simon's hands as if burned, resisting the urge to slap him, though he surely deserved it for the lie he'd just uttered. She was supposed to be his, indeed! What archaic notion had gotten into Simon's head?

"Very funny, Mr. Delacourt," she sneered, so angry she barely recognized herself. "Very funny indeed. You have convinced me there are no gentlemen left in the world and so I will take my leave of you. Do not dare try to accompany me to Scotland and do not dare follow me there. I will inform my servants you are not welcome."

She marched past him, refusing to glance into his blue eyes. How she loved his eyes! She'd been lost in them once and she swore that would never happen again. The man could charm a nun from her habit with nothing more than a look!

"Kat—"

She stopped but wouldn't turn, still wouldn't look at him. Raising her chin a notch, she interrupted, "What, Mr. Delacourt?"

She could hear the scowl in his reply. "Your servants will only obey you until they learn of our connection. I am your daughter's guardian, as much as you. You cannot keep me away, should I choose to follow."

That was the final straw! She spun around, rage choking her. "What is wrong with you, Simon? You had no right— have no right to say the things you've said. You have no rights over me or my daughter. None of this concerns you!"

"I loved him too," Simon whispered, the words almost lost amidst the turbulent emotions in Katherine's breast.

"What?"

"You heard me," he snapped. "Jarvis was my closest companion since we were in short coats. But then you came along with your beauty and grace and for the first time, I hated him. I hated that he saw you first, that you saw him first, that our uncle changed his mind and steered you away from me."

The information was just too much to take in all at once. "Uncle?"

"Your husband's uncle had the keeping of both of us since our fathers died. You know that. He thought you'd make me a fine wife. But when he saw the way Jarvis looked at you, he changed his mind. He thought you would settle him down, give him a family, make him stop thinking the title was all that mattered." He paused, his eyes sweeping over Katherine's frozen features. "But not even you could do that, could you, Katherine?"

Pain, sharp and unrelenting, sent tears prickling behind Katherine's eyes. She dammed them, her nails digging into her palms. "And it all comes back to my inability to bear him an heir?" Would she never be allowed to move past that?

"It was always about an heir, Katherine. He wanted a wife to bear him sons and you failed to do that. You failed to bear him a child at all, didn't you?"

"That is the last insult I will allow, Mr. Delacourt. I bid you good day."

But Katherine was not allowed to leave his presence. Before she could step away, Simon grasped her hand, pulling her into his arms. She sucked in a breath as their bodies aligned, memories of his lovemaking sending a delicious skitter down her spine. They'd fit together then, almost as if they belonged together. It was a memory she didn't want—couldn't endure in that moment.

She tensed her muscles, intent on pushing him away just as she pushed away the memories.

"I meant no insult," he said, his dark eyes probing hers, "though this might not convince you."

Katherine's protest was swallowed in a kiss that threatened to steal much more than her breath. Passion, simmering just below the surface since seeing him, flared to pulsating life, sending white-hot streaks of lightning through her veins. For a moment, she met his demand and demanded more, pressing her body as close as clothing would allow, wanting to feel all of him against all of her. His hands speared her hair, pins cascading to the floor. Her hands moved over his back, slipping over the rough cloth of his coat, remembering the hardness of the muscular form beneath. His fingers drifted over the buttons of her high-necked gown. Her fingers slid over his chest, working their way to his cravat. And when a breath of air touched the tops of her breasts in the same moment that the morning room door clicked open, reality set in with a vengeance, passion turning to ice.

She pulled away, turning her back to the door in the same moment that Simon shielded her with his body. Returning her gown to its proper appearance was little work but her hair was another matter entirely. Several pins had fallen, allowing thick tendrils of midnight hair to escape and lay against her neck.

Glancing over her shoulder she saw the butler, his wooden features staring at the corner of the room. "The carriage is waiting, your grace," he intoned.

Any respect Katherine might have earned with the butler earlier that day was lost in the face of her wanton behavior. That was what came of servants' loyalty outliving their master, she thought with a rare streak of cynicism.

"Thank you, Carlisle," she said, voice strong despite her humiliating situation. The man bowed and left.

She didn't dare glance at Simon. How could she behave in such a manner, in her husband's house, beneath the very noses of his friends and family, and with him barely cold in the ground? Of all the disgraceful, wanton—

"Katherine."

She spun about, his sudden nearness sending a shock through her. He stood just a bit away from her, her retrieved hair pins in his outstretched hand. Katherine reached for them but he jerked his hand away. She scowled.

"You will now hold my pins hostage, Mr. Delacourt? Very well, keep them. I've faced worse than the disapproving stares I shall receive upon leaving this room with my appearance in such disarray. I survived scandal that lasted years and I shall survive this."

He closed the distance between them, taking her hand none to gently and forcing her clenched fingers open. Dumping the pins into her palm, he snapped, "I was not holding them hostage, you termagant. I was going to offer to straighten your hair for you, but I will now keep my distance!"

Embarrassment lodged in her throat, an apology perched on her tongue and suppressed by sheer will. "Thank you," was all she'd say to the maddening man as he distanced himself.

"What are your plans for this evening?" he asked, his voice coming from the other side of the small chamber.

She heard the clink of glass behind her as she wound her hair into a simple knot. With just the slightest twist of her body she could see her companion. He was helping himself to the sherry, the sherry she always kept in this room. After Jarvis spent less time with her and more with whatever pursuits he preferred, Katherine had taken to spending her time in that room, ordering the servants to keep sherry there, available for the rare times she felt the need for its calming effect. That it remained either meant Jarvis had never known, or had never minded.

"I plan to return to Moor Hall," she reminded him.

"Surely not tonight!" He turned toward her, his glass raised halfway to his lips.

"Why not? The mail-coach leaves this evening and I can be back in Scotland in less than two days."

He laughed in genuine amusement, the sound curling along her skin, sending a pleasurable thrill up her spine. He tossed back the remainder of his drink and said, "You cannot possibly be thinking to return so soon! I know you miss your daughter and want to return to her side posthaste, but you just arrived. With all that's happened, you must be close to dropping."

She was more tired than she could ever remember being, her desire to return to her comfortable existence at Moor Hall all that kept her from fainting with exhaustion. And just the mention now brought up visions of a comfortable feather ticking, soft pillows, and a warm coverlet.

But she would admit none of that to him.

She fought the desire for sleep, forcing a smile instead. "My carriage is waiting," she reminded him.

"To take you to your London residence, I assume." He paused, brow furrowing as he stared at her. "Where are you staying, Kat?"

How she wished he'd stop using that name! Every time she heard it, she remembered the way he whispered it against her skin when he made love to her so long ago. Such thoughts were not productive in her current situation, however, and only flooded her with guilt, so she dammed them.

"I just told you I am leaving for Scotland tonight." She folded her hands in front of her, unsure what to do with them. She tried so hard to hide her nervous traits but there were times she couldn't help but twist her fingers, clench her hands, or tear her handkerchief to shreds. This was one of those times, and she couldn't begin to understand why.

"So you did. Forgive me for not believing you. Where are you staying?"

The laughter in his deep voice was not lost on Katherine. She ignored it. "I do not know. Limmer's, I suppose," she said, naming the first hotel that came to mind.

"Not the place for a proper lady, I dare say," he murmured, eyeing her shrewdly. "Full of bachelors and students down from University, anyone of the Corinthian set really."

"Then where do you suggest I spend the night?"

She regretted her poor choice of words as soon as they left her mouth. Simon's body tensed, head cocked, his brows lifting in silent inquiry. She knew the response that trembled on his lips and a small traitorous part longed to agree, to tell him she'd stay with him, relive the one night of passion they'd shared years ago. She was no longer married and as a widow had more freedom than a young virgin.

But a liaison would only add to her problems, add to her guilt. How could she even consider taking a lover with her husband recently buried?

He shook his head. "I would never suggest such a thing, Katherine," he remonstrated, as though reading her mind. "I would suggest you stay here. The new duke and his wife have yet to take up residence and certainly wouldn't begrudge you one night of rest before you return to your home."

"Would they not?" she couldn't help asking. "I believe William would turn me out into the street at the first opportunity."

Something flickered in Simon's eyes. "Perhaps he would but his wife is more conscious of appearances than anyone I've ever met. She would never allow the Dowager Duchess of Jarvis to stay elsewhere when a room is empty here."

"Elizabeth does not care for me, and well you know it," Katherine scoffed. How could Simon be so obtuse as to think the duchess would condone her presence in any of the family residences?

"Liking has little bearing on the matter," a new voice offered, soft but firm. Simon tipped his head at the door behind Katherine.

She turned, face flaming. The current Duchess of Jarvis stood just inside the room, face passive, hands folded calmly before her.

Part VI

The Invitation

Simon knew his actions would damn him further in Katherine's eyes. But with all he'd revealed, how much more could she possibly detest him? And if her response to his kiss was any indication, she wasn't as vexed with him as he might think.

But the glare she turned on him now, in the wake of his lack of warning about Elizabeth's presence at an awkward moment, threatened to slice him to ribbons. He smiled, unable to help it, though mirth wasn't the emotion he felt in that moment. He admitted, to himself if no one else, that Katherine made him nervous in the worst sort of way. He could never predict her reaction.

"Katherine is in need of lodgings for the night, Elizabeth," he told the current Duchess of Jarvis, further digging his own grave, "if you can find it in your heart to put her up, she'd appreciate it, I'm sure."

Katherine's mouth fell open. His mind, naturally, went to the kiss they'd shared only minutes prior, rather than focusing on the task at hand: keep Katherine in London long enough to prove his love to her. All he wanted in that moment was to shove Elizabeth from the room, lock the door, and make love to Katherine until neither one of them could move.

"Mr. Delacourt?"

Startled more by the laughter in Katherine's voice than the fact that she again addressed him so formally, he stuttered, "K-Katherine?"

And then he saw the strangest sight. Katherine and Elizabeth glanced at each other, a shared look of understanding passing between two women he'd have assumed hated each other for no reason other than the fact that they felt they should. What fresh mystery was this?

"Katherine has agreed to stay, graciously accepting the duke's hospitality," Elizabeth informed him.

Simon nodded. "As well she should." When had they started using each other's given names?

"And now, Katherine, I shall take you to your room personally."

The ladies left the room, twin nods of acknowledgment directed in his general direction. All he could do was stand there, confused, wondering what he'd missed while lost in his own inappropriate daydream. Shrugging, reaching deep inside for the cynical aplomb that had—until now—served him well, he followed them out.

Simon entered the billiard room. Inside he found William, the current Duke of Jarvis, in his shirtsleeves, leaning over the billiard table as he lined up his shot.

He glanced up at Simon. "Delacourt. What brings you here?"

"The need to escape the gentler sex. You?"

The younger man grunted. "The same. I thought you'd already made your adieus," he stated, glancing away long enough to take his shot. The ball flew across the table and smacked into the side hard enough to jump over the edge. It thwacked the floor and rolled under a settee.

Simon watched this while shrugging out of his coat. "Still angry?" he asked, knowing full well William was. "He didn't leave her much, you know, if you consider how much he owned." He laid his coat over the settee's arm and stooped down to fish the ball from under the thing.

William's cue slapped the billiard table. "I care not what he left her, whore that she is!" he declared, his vehemence at odds with his claim. "I wonder at his leaving so much of it to you!"

"Do you?" Simon mused, holding the retrieved ball in one hand and resisting the urge to fling it in William's face. "And why is that, puppy? What is roiling around that fertile imagination of yours?" He dropped the ball onto the table, watching with interest as William's hand tightened on his cue, his knuckles turning white. "You should think very carefully before doing whatever it is you plan to do with that stick. I'm very hard to kill and your treatment of Katherine tempts me to teach you a much-needed lesson."

William visibly relaxed, his fingers flexing around the cue. Simon chose a cue for himself, preparing to start the game over. He glanced at William, noting the curious look in his brown eyes.

"Who does get the money if you die?" William asked casually.

Simon laughed. "Not you, whelp, so don't even think of killing me to get your hands on it."

William's smile was as sincere as it was sudden. "Ah, well, you can hardly blame a man for considering it, can you?"

The duke and duchess invited Simon to dine with them. He couldn't begin to comprehend their reason for doing so. As he sat across from Katherine, watching her eat, he wondered more at his own unhesitating acceptance. Was he so starved for Katherine's company that he would leap at any and every chance?

Yes, he would. Disgust rose up to choke him. At least, he thought it was disgust. The blame might lie with the truly awful wine Carlisle kept pouring into his glass. Since when had Jarvis House ever boasted cheap wine?

It was of little matter now, as William was the new master and the biggest miser Simon had the privilege to know. If he thought Jarvis's standing wine order with Berry Bros. was an unneeded expense, he would suspend it with little care for that establishment's reputation for only selling to the elite of Society.

The scowl on his lady wife's face, however, revealed her distaste for the sour wine. When she shot that look at William, Simon laughed.

All eyes turned to him. Katherine's penetrating gaze speared him, nothing but gray shadows in the flickering candlelight. She'd changed her gown for a lavender creation, a color suitable for half-mourning. She may not have had time to commission mourning gowns or dye some of her own, but she did her best. Dark colors, half-mourning, ruthlessly pinned hair, and her somber expression all gave the impression that she did indeed mourn. Simon knew she mourned, no matter what others wanted to believe about her.

He raised his glass to her, saying nothing. Katherine's lips tightened but she nodded, raising her glass as well. They both drank, watching each other. Katherine broke eye contact first, her gaze fastening to her plate as if she'd never look away.

William's voice cut into the silence. "What are your plans, Dowager?"

Katherine's fork clattered to her plate. "Plans?"

William nodded. "For Moor Park."

She frowned, the gentle creasing of her brow revealing her genuine confusion. "I plan to return, of course, on the next mail-coach."

"Perhaps you should sell it, find a smaller residence."

"Katherine cannot sell it, William, and well you know it," Simon inserted, setting his wineglass aside and signaling the butler. "Fetch the brandy from the duke's study," he instructed Carlisle. The man glanced at William, who nodded and scowled as he did so.

Once the butler was gone, Simon took up where he left off. "Katherine can no more sell her property than you or I. It's held in trust for Josephine, as Jarvis requested."

At the mention of Katherine's daughter William glared, his fingers tightening on the stem of his glass. His wife frowned and stared somewhere near her lap, her expression slipping into melancholy.

Ah, so that was it, Simon thought, intrigued. Elizabeth had yet to produce a child. Perhaps the men in the duke's family were not so fruitful as they could wish. His gaze slid to Katherine. It was never her fault, not that Simon had ever blamed her. He'd rejoiced every year that passed with no sign of a child. And he didn't care to ponder his reasons for that.

But how to make Katherine fall in love with him, that was the conundrum plaguing him now. Simon had waited seven long years for her, waiting for the day she could be his without guilt. He stared at her, willing her to meet his gaze, caring little what William and Elizabeth thought of his rudeness.

Katherine finally glanced up and quickly away. But as Simon suspected, she couldn't ignore him. Her gaze slid back, candlelight adding a sultry glow to her complexion. Her lips parted and Simon couldn't stop the grin that quirked his mouth. Her face flushed, her eyes darting away again. But once again she was drawn to him, her gray eyes flashing, shoulders tensing, breath catching in her throat.

In that moment, Simon realized that there was only one reason Katherine would have welcomed him in her bed, only one reason she'd have played her husband false.

Katherine had a weakness. Her weakness was Simon Delacourt.

Part VII

The Escape

She had to escape. Her very sanity depended on her swift removal from the premises. If she stayed, she knew—KNEW—she would do the unthinkable. She would seek him out, welcome him into her arms and her bed.

Again.

Katherine stifled a scream, her hands fisted at her sides. How could this be happening again? She'd returned to England to bury her husband, not take back the lover she'd taken years ago, the lover who'd ruined what little remained of her marriage.

Angry, frustrated steps took her first one direction, then the other, pacing a line in the soft carpet covering her chamber floor. She'd yet to disrobe, her assertion that she had to leave sending her immediately into nervous pacing. Three handkerchiefs lay in melancholy shreds on the floor, littered at her feet as she moved.

Her mind focused on one thing and one thing alone: Simon would ruin her again.

And she would enjoy every second of it!

Therein lay the problem. She would cheerfully go to her own ruin. She knew herself better than she used to and that meant knowing her own weaknesses. And if she knew Simon at all, he would be making his way to her room—

The knock barely sounded before she spoke, "Go away, Simon."

Silence lay so thick Katherine wondered if she'd imagined the thunk on the door. Then, "I promise I won't touch you," rumbled through the thick wood.

"It is not proper," she insisted, holding her breath, a traitorous part of her urging her to let him in.

"You are a widow, Katherine. To hell with propriety." She'd annoyed him, his rough words grating to her ears. She said nothing for a long moment. Just as she opened her mouth to tell him to take his gutter language straight to the very place he mentioned, he added softly, "Forgive me."

Something in his tone struck Katherine. She touched the door, the smooth wood cool against her palm. Did he simply apologize for his language? Or more?

The middle of the night, in the middle of her late husband's home, the soon-to-be home of the new duke, was not the time for Katherine to have such a conversation with her former lover. If she was intelligent, she'd walk away, pretend she'd never heard his whispered plea.

If she was intelligent and not the woman who'd once tasted heaven in this man's arms. Latent desire curled its way through her limbs, a weakness in her knees tempting her to lean against the door, grasp the latch, and allow him entrance. But thoughts of her daughter and the example she must set for her firmed her determination to resist the temptation of Simon's embrace.

Straightening, Katherine took a deep breath and decided. She walked away.

A silent house greeted Katherine the following morning. The early hour was to blame, so early that only a few servants had risen to attend to their duties. Darkness still lay over London though dawn's glow had begun to streak the skies.

Dressing took little effort, as Katherine had long ago given up the latest fashions in favor of more serviceable garments. Frocks of dark fabrics that buttoned up the front or side, underpinnings designed for a woman who could ill afford a servant to assist her, and simple accessories. Though her finances were far from meagerly, Katherine saw no reason to live in the way to which she'd once been accustomed. What use had she for fashionable fripperies in Edinburgh while her husband disported himself about London?

She paused in the midst of fastening her boot, the dark laces hanging morosely from her fingers. Thoughts of Jarvis's activities in London sent an embarrassed flush up her cheeks. She'd heard tales, courtesy of his servants at her home, Moor Park. She knew her late husband well enough to realize the calculated effort he put forth in his liaisons, the trouble he went to in order to make sure she heard. And she knew just how accurate the tales were. He'd done so much to hurt her after she'd made a mull of everything.

Shaking her head at the futility of it all, she quickly did up the laces on her boot and shook her skirt out. There was no reason to dwell on what was past. She'd made her peace with it. There was nothing she could change, so what possible benefit was there in recriminations?

Checking her appearance one last time in the mirror, she tucked a rebellious strand of ebony hair back into the severe knot at her nape. She snatched up her bonnet and affixed it to her head, tying the ribbons with as much calculation as was her wont. The dark fabric was the only thing about the bonnet that suggested the wearer was of a serious nature. It boasted shimmery ribbon and frothy lace, the slim design barely covering her hair.

Her small trunk sat by the door, packed and waiting. She took it up, the weight an odd pressure against her leg as she left the chamber.

She traversed the corridors on silent feet, her mind far from where she strode. Part of her longed to stay, to determine just where she stood with Simon Delacourt. But the rational part of her mind knew how insane that idea was, how close she stood to the precipice of ruin.

The butler stepped forward, accepting her small trunk. "Thank you, Carlisle," she murmured, her gaze settling on the servant's face.

He bowed. "It is my pleasure, madam."

So many emotions flickered across his aging features that Katherine could barely pinpoint just one. The one that caught her interest was a certain softness around his eyes. Dare she call it affection? He'd held her in affection once, his loyalty to her husband extending to her.

Setting foot in this house again years after her indiscretion, she'd thought that affection long gone. Her heart swelled at the thought that despite her mistake, the servants she'd once considered her own still cared for her.

She laid one hand on his arm, her touch startling him to the point that he almost dropped her trunk. "You served my husband well. Serve his heir with the same loyalty."

He said nothing but his eyes glistened suspiciously. Katherine dropped her hand back to her side and turned to the door. A footman leapt forward, opening the front door with far more fervor than normal.

Katherine smiled, the first truly amused smile she'd displayed since learning of her husband's death. "Thank you, Joseph."

The footman bowed, his lips stretching into a huge return smile. "Yes, madam. My pleasure, madam."

His enthusiasm earned him a chuckle from Katherine. She said nothing more, realizing her behavior with the servants was bordering on improper. Instead, she stepped out and crossed to the hackney waiting out front, the butler and the footman trailing behind.

She ordered the driver to Cheapside as Joseph loaded her trunk into the boot. She thanked the handsome young footman, who bowed in return and retreated to the front stoop.

Glancing up at her former home's red brick facade, she couldn't help a pang of regret. This was the life she'd chosen, the one she thought would be hers for all time. And through another choice, she'd thrown it all away.

But if Simon was to be believed, he and Jarvis each played their part in her downfall. She shook that thought away. Surely Simon had lied! But why?

To make her despise her dead husband, of course. But in revealing that her husband somehow coerced Simon into taking part in her downfall, he'd also opened himself up to her contempt. Had Jarvis really desired his freedom so much that he'd have done such a despicable thing?

Dawn's early morning tendrils of light became full blown sunshine. Katherine shook herself from her brown study. With a little smile for Carlisle she allowed him to hand her up into the hackney carriage.

Settling herself as best she could against the uncomfortable squabs, she was not at first aware of the other presence in the coach. Her heart shot into her throat as a strong hand closed over her arm.

"Do not scream, Kat."

The deep voice swirled up her spine. She calmed her racing heart and shifted to face her companion in the dim carriage.

"What are you doing here, Simon?" she demanded. "Have you not done enough damage already?" Her hand clenched on her reticule. The temptation to swing it in his direction nearly overwhelmed her. She forced the desire back. She was a lady, and even if her past actions caused some doubt as to that affiliation she would not lower herself now to the status of a common trollop.

His fingers fell away from her arm as he pushed himself further into other end of the hackney. The conveyance started moving, the rocking motion doing little for Katherine's nerves and appearing to give Simon quite the challenge in keeping to the far end of the seat.

"I needed to speak with you."

"And you thought frightening me was the way to do that?"

He chuckled, the sound wrapping around her in the dim light from the hackney windows. "I assumed you would flee in the night. Imagine my surprise when I realized you'd actually slept after I left your door."

"You should not have been at my door. It was most improper." She cringed. Did her voice sound as pompous to him as it did to her?

"Was it, Kat? Do tell," he murmured.

Katherine wished she could see him better. She hated the dim recesses of the coach, despised the mocking tone in his voice. "It was. It may be your belief, sir, that I am nothing more than a wanton, thanks to you, but that is far from the truth."

"What is the truth, Kat?"

Why did he insist on using that despised appellation? She turned away, her gaze sliding to the window. Should she tell him the truth? Bare her soul to the man who would not allow her a moment of peace since her husband's passing?

But what was the truth? Katherine wasn't sure she even knew anymore.

A sigh crept up from the deepest recesses of her being.

"Kat?"

She spun on him, rage replacing her indecision. "Enough, Simon! I will not speak of this any longer."

The carriage jerked to a stop. Katherine thanked God for the respite and climbed down before Simon had the chance to offer a hand.

"Katherine."

Katherine closed her eyes, praying for a touch of serenity to get through this new trial in her life.

Spinning, she forced a smile to her lips. But the sight that met her eyes robbed her of breath. Simon Delacourt, hatless, black hair rustling softly in the warm breeze, eyes trained on hers.

Kneeling.

"What are you doing?" she asked, unsure what to think and horrified by the first thought in her head. "You are kneeling in the dirt, ruining a perfectly good pair of unmentionables." Cocking her head to one side, she found herself asking, "How have you managed to kneel in such an indecently snug garment?"

His ignored her question, though his lips twitched. Katherine's brows rose. What new mischief did her former lover conjure now?

"Katherine, I can't bear to see you like this." His hand swept out, encompassing her and all of Cheapside, the deserted shop fronts bearing silent witness to what Katherine believed was turning into a nightmare. She saw her trunk next to him, the hackney long since departed.

"See me... like what?"

"Alone." He took her hand, his clasp warm and firm. "I know what Jarvis meant to you. I know the part I played in taking all that away from you, the respect of your peers, the alienation of your friends and family. I would make all that right."

He wanted to make things right? Resisting the urge to tear her hand from his, she forced a few words past stiff lips. "What are you saying, Mr. Delacourt?"

"Lady Katherine Henschel, will you marry me?"

Part VIII

The Proposal

Simon could not read Katherine's thoughts, though the stiffness of her body suggested she was most displeased with his proposal. He was a trifle unsure what to think of it himself. What had possessed him to kneel in the street and propose marriage? It was the furthest from a romantic moment one could possibly get. And her less than encouraging speech up to that particular instant in time was not the type of talk to lead a rational man to propose. His actions of late had veered so far from the norm that he was tempted to suggest he'd lost his mind.

She jerked her hand free, snatched up her trunk from where it sat by his kneeling form, and marched away, her back ramrod straight, dark skirts twitching as she moved with unladylike speed. He pushed to his feet, watching her leave. He could hardly blame her. It was not his best moment. There wasn't a girl in England who would have accepted a proposal like that.

He couldn't help but admire her dramatic exit. Glancing around, he saw the shops were coming alive and he was no longer alone on the street. A curious child stood in front of a drapers' shop, a broom in one hand as she glanced from Katherine's retreating form to Simon's still one, a wide smile on her plump features. Simon dipped a mocking bow to the urchin and waved down a hackney.

To the devil with females of all sizes!

The new Duke of Jarvis lifted his head as Simon entered the bookroom, but Simon barely looked his way. His gaze was not drawn to the leather-encased tomes lining two walls, nor did he glance at the set of globes in one corner. He marched straight to the little side table that posed morosely next to a wing back chair, and poured himself a drink.

"Problems, Delacourt?" William inquired, though his tone was far from interested in his cousin's actions.

"Your uncle was a damned fool," Simon muttered.

"In what way?" William went back to the papers on his desk. "His accounts are in order so there's nothing to complain about there." His eyes met Simon's. "Can I assume you refer to Uncle's wife?"

Simon grunted. "A pox on all women," he grumbled. "Can you believe she refused my proposal just now?"

William's eyes widened. "I'm not sure I do believe it, but if so it's the one admirable thing she's done since I met her." He leaned his elbows on the desk, a smirk stretching his thin lips. "What were you thinking to propose with her husband barely cold in the ground? Have you no shame?"

"I wasn't thinking." Simon quaffed the amber liquid in his glass, savoring the burn of the whiskey as it scoured his throat. "And keep your jaw-me-dead to yourself." He lifted the decanter preparatory to refilling his glass. Pausing just before the liquor slid over the precipice, he added, "Why do you care what I do with Katherine?" His eyes speared the younger man. "Seems you'd like to see less of her and marrying me would certainly put her far from you."

William snorted. "And let her get her hands on all Uncle's money through marriage to you? I think not."

"If that interested her, would she not have accepted me?"

William shrugged. "Perhaps she plays a deeper game."

"What game would that be?" Simon scoffed, deciding against a third glass. He had no desire to get completely cast away so early in the morning, but the need for something after what he just went through... "Marrying me would give her everything she lost, including her reputation."

"Her reputation was never much," William remarked, returning his attention to the accounts. "Uncle once mentioned that he was obliged to marry her to save her from some scandal or other."

Simon stared at William, arrested by the idea that Katherine had a past checkered with scandal. "How could I not have known that?"

"Why would you? It was no concern of yours."

No concern of his? Simon could barely comprehend such a thing. Ever since first laying eyes on her, he'd known they were meant to be together. His uncle implied from the beginning that Katherine would be the perfect bride for Simon, that her status and dowry would do him well. Had her past been of concern, Uncle would never have considered Katherine a proper match for Simon and especially not for Jarvis.

"There are no scandals in Kat's past. Kindly refrain from sullying her name further."

"I have no need to sully her name. She is quite accomplished in that herself."

Simon's fingers clenched, reminding him that he still held the heavy glass. He set it down, carefully, determined not to hurl it at William's head. With his luck, the thing would bounce off, maiming William not at all but giving Simon a knock to the brainbox.

He observed William as that young man continued perusing the accounts book, as if he hadn't just dropped a cannonball into the conversation. What if the blighter didn't lie? What if there was something in Kat's past, something even before her marriage, that put her beyond the pale? How had his uncle missed that? Why had Jarvis chosen to ignore it?

"What trifling _faux pas_ did Kat commit?" he finally queried, despising himself for even caring.

"Trifling?" William snorted, not even bothering to lift his eyes. "Losing her maidenhead before marriage is hardly a trifling matter."

Simon's heart dropped into his stomach. How could he have not known? "Why did Jarvis never mention such a thing?" He took a threatening step closer to the new duke, hand clenching into a fist at his side. "And a better question: why would he tell you?"

"Uncle told me naught," William clarified, finally glancing up. "I overheard him accuse her of lying with any willing man just as she did before they married."

"That can't be true."

William shrugged, his eyes passing over Simon's angry form before he determinedly returned his attention to his work. "Believe what you will. It won't change what she is."

Another hasty step forward brought William's head snapping up. Hands raised in a natural gesture of defense, he said, "Do not punish the messenger, cousin. I was willing to let the matter drop. You asked. I answered."

Simon backed off, finally turning his back to the younger man. It took everything in him to resist turning back when William added, "Marriage is really too good for one of her ilk."

Thoughts Simon couldn't like intruded upon the rest of his day. He prowled about London, looking for something, anything, to take his mind off Katherine and the possibility that she was no better than she should be. And why he felt so betrayed by that knowledge.

How much did Society know of her behavior? Surely Jarvis would never have allowed such a thing to become common knowledge.

Simon stopped. Unbidden, a memory surfaced. Jarvis, face mottled with rage, declaring to a judge that his wife's unfaithfulness spanned years, that he'd held his tongue out of embarrassment. At the time, Simon had assumed Jarvis twisted the truth, adding to the claims he already laid against Katherine, wanting more pity for himself in an attempt to acquire the divorce he so longed for. What a shame it had all come to naught, Simon thought in derision.

A hackney driver shouted at him. Simon shook the cobwebs from his brain and looked around. He stood in the middle of Cheapside with no knowledge of how he'd gotten there. Several carriages sat waiting for him to move out of the way. Many had already gone around him, but he'd taken no note of them, so trapped was he in his bitter ruminations.

He stepped aside, removing himself to the buildings lining the far side of the street. And who should he see but Katherine herself leaving the building he'd left her before just that morning.

Before thought could intrude, he leapt forward, catching her up before she could escape into a coach. "My lady! Katherine!"

She paused, turning. The brim of her sensible bonnet shadowed her face a great deal, but Simon could see in the way she tipped her head that she was displeased with his sudden presence.

"Mr. Delacourt." Her greeting lacked warmth, further indicating her displeasure.

"I have something to say to you," was out of his mouth before he thought.

"Here?"

"Of course not. We cannot discuss this in the street."

"Why not? Surely anything more you have to say to me cannot be more embarrassing than what occurred this very morning?"

Katherine's fingers tightened on her reticule. Simon caught the slight movement from the corner of his eye. "My proposal of marriage was embarrassing?" he asked, stepping so close that a mere foot separated them. His position forced her head up, allowing the sun to illuminate her features. "Why would it embarrass you so? It was an honest proposal."

"Of that I have no doubt, sir. I merely object to your reason for proposing."

"And what reason it that?"

Her gaze swept their surroundings, pausing on a gawking milliner whose nose nearly pressed to the window in his desire to know their business. Without taking her eyes from the importuning man, she said, "This is not the place for this discussion."

Simon searched her face, his eyes sweeping down her form. She wore one of her usual gowns, an older style missing the current fashion for numerous flounces and yards of lace. The dark color wasn't quite suitable for just having lost her husband but it was dark enough to not raise too many eyebrows. White kid gloves encased her slender fingers, a lace reticule hanging from her wrist.

His gaze swept back to her face. "And where are you bound?" She was dressed for visiting.

She hesitated, her gaze again straying over the watching haberdasher but not lingering there. With a sigh, she capitulated, "I am to call on Lily."

"Lady Markham? Indeed. I did not know you'd kept in touch after—"

Her glare stopped him. Turning about, she hailed a hackney. "It is none of your concern, Simon."

"Nonsense, my dear. Everything about you is of concern to me."

She snorted, but made no comment as she climbed into the waiting coach. Simon climbed in right after her, leaning his head out of the window to direct the driver to Grosvenor Square.

"I did not invite you to join me."

Her annoyed tone was becoming a common sound to his ear. He ignored it, settling in beside her. She stiffened but did not go so far as to pull further away. But where could she go in the close confines of the coach?

"Why did Jarvis claim you have a propensity for infidelity?"

Her body jerked. "What did you say?"

"You were there, Kat, standing before the court as he accused us of adultery in his bid for divorce. He claimed you'd been unfaithful for years. I assumed he lied but I've since learned you aren't the innocent you always pretended to be."

She struck out, but Simon dodged the blow. Her hand glanced off his shoulder, resulting in little injury to either one of them.

He should have expected that response. It was the logical reaction to the insult he'd just offered.

"Jarvis lied, Mr. Delacourt, and I do not know where you came by your other information, but it is a lie, as well." Her voice trembled on the words but Simon wasn't sure if it was incipient tears or rage.

"Jarvis made a habit of lying, did he? Why did he really think he could divorce you, Kat?"

She sighed. "Many a peer would like to set aside a barren wife, Simon. We've had this conversation before. Let us not have it again."

She turned back to the window, intently watching London pass by. Her upper body shook, something he would have attributed to her anger, but when she stuffed her fist to her mouth, he realized what a boor he'd been.

"Kat, I—"

She raised her hand. "Don't."

He closed his mouth and leaned back. Eyes never leaving her rigid form, he didn't miss her struggle to maintain a semblance of control. Digging through her reticule, she pulled out a handkerchief in order to dab at her eyes. When she'd managed to reestablish her calm, she turned back.

The coach halted. Simon waited but Katherine said nothing. With a gesture to the door, she asked, "May I alight? I have appointments to keep."

He opened the door and climbed down, extending a hand to help her down. She hesitated touching him but finally laid her gloved fingers in his.

When her feet touched the cobbles, he refused to release her hand. "I am sorry, Kat, for all the pain I've caused you." Taking a deep breath, hardly believing what he was about to do, he added, "I will importune you no more. I wish you safe journey back to Scotland." He bowed over her hand and released her. "Servant, ma'am."

As he stepped away, she asked, "Do you desire the real reason Jarvis wanted to divorce?"

He paused, his back to her, considering what she asked. He wanted to know but at the same time he wasn't sure he did. If cutting her out of his life was to be successful, he'd need to start now.

Without turning, he responded, "No, Kat, I don't." He took another step before her next words halted him again.

"I am not a lady, Simon."

Part IX

The Truth

"Have you nothing to say?"

Simon started, as if shaken from a daydream. "What can one say, Kat? You tell me you are not a lady. What response would you like?"

Katherine's mouth opened but no words came.

"Darlings! How delightful to see you!"

As one, Katherine and Simon glanced up. Lady Markham beamed at them from the top step, her welcoming smile for them both. As one, they drew a breath, returning her smile.

"Lily," Katherine greeted, unusually relieved at her friend's acknowledgment. This was the one person in Society who'd stayed at her side through all the scandal, the one who'd defied her husband to protect Katherine from the worst of the gossip. Lily was her very best friend and in repayment for that loyalty, Katherine had run and never looked back. But it was for Lily's own good, for the sake of her marriage, that Katherine had done so. Or so she told herself.

Simon bowed, offering Katherine an arm as a proper gentleman would do— which she took, as a proper lady would do— and escorted her up the steps. Lily scowled at him.

"The street is no place for serious matters, my lovelies, and well you know that!" she remonstrated. "Anyone could have seen or heard you. Shame!" This last was directed at Simon, as if Lily held him personally responsible for any resultant scandal. Based on the past, she would indeed blame Simon.

"You are correct, my lady," Simon conceded with every appearance of remorse. "It was ill-done of me." Stopping in the foyer, he released Katherine and bowed again. "I will bid you ladies good day."

Katherine, against her better judgment, laid a hand on his arm, squeezing gently to stop his retreat. "Wait. Please."

Simon's eyes fastened on her hand. "You have more to say?" He glanced up, his dark eyes as dead as before. But, just as Katherine decided her confession had given him a proper disgust of her, something flashed, some deep emotion she didn't understand.

"So much." Katherine hardly recognized the tone in her own voice, the odd desperation coating each word. Where was the woman determined on her freedom, her life without a man, without Simon? Where was the mother who had to be strong for herself and her daughter— the precocious almost two-year-old whose energy ran nursery maids ragged?

"Ah," Lily breathed, her smile growing impossibly wide. She nodded to the footman who stood off to the side, awaiting her orders. He bowed and departed. Returning her attention to her guests, she added, "Please follow me." Her smile faltered not at all and she darted pleased little glances at them as they followed her up the stairs.

The three soon stood in a lovely antechamber. Katherine barely noticed the soothing shades of rose, so caught up was she in the strange emotion she'd glimpsed fleetingly in her former lover's eyes. What mad thoughts raged behind the darkness? What concerns weighed upon his mind? Did her confession disgust him or encourage him to extend some other, less flattering offer?

A large figure filled the door aperture behind them. Katherine inwardly groaned. Lily's husband never cared for Katherine socially and she very much doubted that had changed.

"Delacourt! What brings you by?" Lord Markham's effusive greeting to Simon was at odds with the coldness in his pale eyes. He turned those eyes on Katherine, nodded, and went back to Simon. If she was completely honest even that minuscule acknowledgment surprised her.

"I have no business here," Simon assured him, coldness settling in his own gaze though his lips curved up at the corners. He didn't drop Katherine's hand, instead pulling it through to rest on his arm. "Merely escorting Lady Jarvis on a social call to your charming wife."

The other man's frown deepened. "You know how I feel about that, Delacourt." His gaze slid to Katherine and back to Simon. "She is not welcome here."

"Then I am not welcome here," Simon concluded, tightening his hold on Katherine's hand where it gripped his arm. She couldn't have pulled away if she'd wanted to. "Katherine is to be my bride and I will brook no insult to her or her good name."

Katherine's lungs refused to draw breath. She blinked, wanted to gaze at Simon with all the shock she felt, but his warning pressure on her hand stopped her. She held her breath, then realized she needed to appear unmoved by Simon's declaration. Forcing her lungs to ease, she twisted her lips into what she hoped would at least pass for a smile.

Meanwhile, her mind raced. What could Simon mean? She'd refused his proposal once. What made him think she'd accept it now?

His words practically dared Markham to deny them. The other man merely stared at Simon, glanced once at Katherine with his hard, icy eyes, then stated, "Very well. If you choose to give her your name, who am I to judge?"

Who, indeed, Katherine thought cynically. What right had he ever had to judge another? He carried on with half the courtesans and widows in London if even some of the rumors were to be believed. Just after her fall from grace he propositioned her. It was all for Lily that Katherine fled England. If her profound relief upon fleeing had more to do with leaving everything behind rather than protecting her friend, she refused to acknowledge it.

Markham departed without much fanfare, leaving almost as suddenly as he'd appeared. The footman returned with a maid and a tea tray.

Lady Markham blushed but her bubbly nature soon reasserted itself. "Well, my dears, shall we have tea?"

Moments later they had their tea and the servants were dismissed. Katherine tried not to watch Simon, tried not to notice the way he still took his tea with no milk or sugar, the way he absentmindedly sipped as he listened to his hostess, or the way he surreptitiously glanced her way time after time, trying to appear as though he wasn't watching her as much as she watched him.

And all the while, she couldn't stop her mind from thinking of Simon's words and the very real betrothal she now found herself in. He'd told Markham and that lord would lose little time spreading the lie. Katherine becoming engaged to her former lover so soon after her husband's death would no doubt be the _on dit_ of the season. And Lord Markham would be keen to turn any eyes from his own various scandals. How Lily endured such behavior and maintained such an open, friendly nature was a mystery to Katherine.

She tipped her cup against her lips but found she'd already drained it. She stared into the dregs. When had that occurred? Raising her eyes, she saw her companions staring back at her, faintly questioning expressions on their faces.

"Please forgive me. I'm afraid I was wool-gathering," she murmured.

Lily grinned, sending a shaft of wonder through Katherine. Truly, how could she remain so open in her situation? It would send Katherine into a rage if Simon took lover after lover right under her nose.

Simon? Katherine's cup trembled in her hand. Where had that thought come from? Simon was free to do as he wished. She certainly had no claim on his time or attention. That particular privilege was not one she desired, she told herself firmly. With careful movements she settled her cup and saucer on the table beside her.

"Simon has been telling me of your engagement. I cannot tell you how pleased I am!" Lily beamed at them both. "I know it's a secret for now, out of respect for your poor late husband, and I assure you I shan't breathe a word!"

Enough was enough! Katherine shot to her feet. Simon rose as well with a little more grace. "There is no engagement," she stated. Her hand swung out to encompass the room, London, and everything else causing her annoyance. "I want only to return to Scotland and my child, resume the life I left there and forget all of this ever happened!"

Lily's pale brows rose with each word until she finally held up a hand. "Indeed? One must wonder why you bothered to make calls at all. Why not return to Scotland and be done with it?"

Shock held Katherine immobile, silent. Her sweet friend who never had a negative word for another stared at her with accusing eyes.

"I wanted to see you," Katherine finally offered, her tone sounding rather unconvincing to her own ears.

"But why? You'd moved on with your life, made a home for yourself and your daughter. Why return beyond the reading of the will? Why spend a day longer here than you have to?"

Katherine shot a glance at Simon, unsure what Lily wanted her to say, but she found no help from that corner. Shrugging, she said, "I wanted to apologize to you for turning my back on you when all you wanted to do was help me."

Lily gazed at her for some time, sipping her tea and giving no indication of her thoughts. Setting aside her cup, she folded her hands and gestured to Katherine's vacated seat. "Then sit, darling, and do so."

Katherine sat. Simon followed suit. She could feel his eyes on her but she refused to glance his way. She kept her gaze on Lily's attentive, slightly narrowed blue eyes. "It was wrong of me to flee, Lily. I didn't deserve your friendship then and I don't deserve it now."

Lily snorted. "That was— and is— for me to decide, love. No apology is necessary but I do hope tendering it has brought you some relief."

It did. Guilt had been Katherine's constant companion for years, guilt over her infidelity and guilt over her treatment of her dearest friend. The relief was small but significant.

She dared a glance at Simon. He watched her, as he always did, his dark eyes missing nothing. His gaze revealed none of his thoughts, just a quiet watchfulness.

A young maid burst into the room. "Oh, milady, Harding bid me fetch you right quickly. Chef be in a temper again! Says he will quit, see if he doesn't!"

Lily shot to her feet so fast she upset the teapot. "Oh, bother! I can't— I have to— Damnation!"

Katherine and Simon rose as well. There was no way to describe the amount of surprise that filled Katherine at the sight of her friend's upset. Why become so exercised over the possible loss of a servant? True, it was difficult to find good kitchen help, especially a French chef with the talent of Lily's, but Lily's reaction was positively absurd.

Simon smirked at their hostess, an action Katherine might have missed had she not glanced his way. The expression disappeared almost immediately and Katherine chose to ignore it.

Returning her eyes to Lily's face, she said, "I will right things here. You go soothe your chef."

Simon snorted, trying to cover the sound with a low cough. Katherine resisted the urge to look at him, keeping her eyes trained on her friend.

As Lily thanked her profusely and made her escape, Katherine stooped down to reset the teapot, mopping up the spill with a napkin. The mundane task allowed her temper to settle a bit. Simon snatched up another napkin and crouched on the other side of the table, sponging as much of the mess as he could from the rich carpet.

With one last swipe of the cloth, she asked, "What was that all about?" The wet napkin plopped onto the tea tray, where it knocked into a cup and set it to rattling against a saucer. Katherine settled it with a gentle touch, pleased she'd managed to settle her emotions just as easily.

"Lady Markham? Surely you know?" Simon chuckled, tossing his napkin onto the tray beside Katherine's. "Have you never wondered why she tolerates Markham's amours? Why she gazes about with a well-satisfied smile all the time? Lily is well-versed in Society's strictures, Kat."

Katherine frowned at him. "I do not know what you are hinting at! Lily and I have not been in touch for some time, as you know."

Simon's voice lowered. He drew so close his breath brushed her face. "Lily is not so innocent, Kat. Have you met her chef?" Katherine shook her head, unable to speak with him so near, memories of him making it difficult for her to focus on his words instead of his lips. "He is a good-looking man, arrogant but charming. Many a dissatisfied wife would take advantage of his... talents."

Katherine's head, which had begun drifting toward Simon with each softly spoken word, snapped back. "No! Lily would never!" she whispered fiercely. She shook a finger in Simon's face. "She would never behave so improperly!"

Simon's answering smile didn't reach his eyes. They held a tinge of pity as he regarded her. "Not all in Society have your morals, Kat. That little rule we broke, the one about being discreet, most are better at heeding it than we were. And many commit such sins without shame, without guilt."

Her fingers twisted in her lap, anger and frustration washing over her. "But Lily—"

"Is human," Simon pressed. He reached out, wrapping his long fingers over Katherine's tight fists. "Guilt might find her later or it might not." He squeezed her hands, meeting her eyes with an intensity that almost frightened her. "It is not for you to make her feel or not feel and it is nothing you can change about her or Society. You have to let this all go."

A sigh climbed Katherine's throat as she glanced away. She had nothing to say, though she did offer a slight nod of acceptance.

"You knew about Markham, though, didn't you, Kat?"

A shudder racked Katherine's small frame, the memory of Markham's advances still horrifyingly fresh even years later. "I did. He made it very clear he was interested in certain... things... from me."

Simon's body tensed, his fingers squeezing her hands hard enough to send a shaft of pain through her arm. She winced but didn't pull away. "Indeed?" His glance shot to the closed drawing room door and back to her. He gentled his touch, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "So you ran. From Jarvis, from Markham." He paused, tilting his head to the side as he considered her. "From me."

"I had to, Simon. There was no future for us, and Jarvis didn't deserve what we did to him."

"And that's where you're wrong," Simon snapped, the press of his hands increasing again, though not painfully this time. "He deserved it and more for what he did to you. For what he did to me."

Katherine jerked her hands away, rising to her feet in a rush. She turned away in a flurry of dark silk. "No one deserves that. No one!" She turned back, raising a hand to her breast. "I was very fortunate to have made such an advantageous marriage, Simon. Very fortunate! In my position I was fortunate to marry at all!"

"Did Langley tell you that?"

Katherine nodded, the movement jerky. "He did not lie. How often does an illegitimate daughter find herself in the enviable position of marrying a duke?" There. She'd said it. Let him judge her now, turn his back on her the way all of Society would have had they known a bastard lingered in their midst, pretending to be one of them.

Simon rose as well, his gaze steady on hers, saying nothing until she finished. Then anger flashed through his eyes.

"How often does an illegitimate daughter find herself accepted by the man Society supposes to be her father, raised as if she is his issue, and provided for as if she is of his seed?" Simon released an exasperated breath, reaching for her shoulders and grasping them with more force than was necessary, bringing their eyes level. If Katherine had thought his expression before was intense, it was nothing compared to what she faced now. "And how many times a day must she hear how damned grateful she should be that she wasn't tossed in the street? When will you realize, Kat, that it wasn't love that prompted your _father's_ actions but rather his desire that Society not find out his wife was cuckolding him?"

Part X

The Finale

Simon was never one to give up easily. Faced with Katherine's stunned expression, he increased his grip on her shoulders. Katherine would be his bride. Even if he had to whisk her away to Gretna Green, they would marry.

"You knew?" Her dark brows shot up. "Then why did you seem so surprised?"

He shrugged. "I did not expect you to declare something like that in a public street."

She shook her head at him. "But how did you know?" she asked, her face so distressed that he longed to slide his hands down her back and pull her close. But that would only cause other desires to surface, ones he needed to stifle at the present moment.

"I always knew, Kat. Your father—" He broke off, sucking in a breath to calm the anger that turned his blood molten at the mere thought of the man Society thought of as Katherine's father. " _Langley_ couldn't hold his silence when in his cups and he spent much time in my undemanding company. It slipped out one night."

Katherine's body shuddered once. She drew in a shaky breath, her thick eyelashes fluttering over her eyes for but a moment before she regained control. "And you said nothing."

"Of course not. Had Society learned such a thing, that the Earl of Langley's daughter wasn't his daughter at all, you'd have been—" He fought the flush of shame and anger that tried to climb his neck.

"I'd have been ostracized," she finished for him. Pulling away, ice coating every word, she added, "One must wonder, Simon, why that would bother you so much. Why care what Society says about my birth and then ruin me in a way that will make them talk for years?"

Inside he punched himself, but outwardly Simon maintained his calm façade. "Adultery carries but a short stain, the arrival of another scandal blotting it out. Illegitimacy would haunt you forevermore." He winced at a statement that was as insensitive as it was true.

"Oh, Simon, how chivalrous of you," Katherine sneered.

Her anger filled the room, encompassing him like a shroud. He began to have doubts as to his ability to convince her to marry him. Those doubts included whether or not he even deserved her.

"Had you cared as much as you claim, you'd never have—"

Lady Markham returned. She breezed into the drawing room, cheeks flushed and lips smiling her traditional smile. If they were a bit bruised, a bit swollen, Simon chose not to notice. What Lily did with her chef was her business, not his. He had enough to contemplate with Katherine and her stubborn refusal to admit she loved him. Though, to give her credit, she was correct in blaming him for what had happened between them all those years ago.

Katherine flushed crimson, however, opening her mouth, then closing it, as if she wanted to say something but didn't know how. Simon stepped to her side, grasping her hand and squeezing gently. She released a pent-up breath and eased her stance, squeezing his hand back in what he suspected was an unconscious gesture. Stepping away, he released her.

"I hope you have entertained yourselves, my lovelies," Lily said, her smile firmly in place though less ecstatic now.

"I trust all is well with your chef?" Simon called up every ounce of gentlemanly behavior he could, fighting the smirk that threatened to twist his lips.

Lily blushed though it was apparent she tried to stifle it. "Oh yes, Philippe was most understanding. He is willing to spend more time in my employ."

Simon didn't doubt such a claim. Lily was beautiful in a pale, china-doll sort of way with her blond hair, blue eyes, and dimpled elbows.

But Simon found her beauty rather ordinary. China-dolls were easy to come by, at least a handful making an appearance every Season.

Katherine's beauty was not so ordinary, at least not to Simon. Her black hair and olive complexion gave her a Mediterranean look though he was fairly certain she had no family who could lay claim to such a heritage. Gray eyes filled with whatever emotion she felt and a willowy form he still dreamed about in his weakest moments.

"We were just leaving, Lady Markham," Simon informed her.

She frowned, turning her pouting expression on Katherine. "Truly? We've had only moments to chat."

Katherine's smile faltered on the edges. "I am afraid Mr. Delacourt is correct, Lily. I must catch the mail to Edinburgh tomorrow and must conclude all my business this afternoon." Her voice trembled, her fingers twisting for but a moment in her skirt before she forced her hands to loosen. "I have to return to my daughter. She has never been away from me before."

Lily cooed in commiseration, gliding forward to enfold Katherine in a comforting hug. Katherine returned the embrace, but Simon saw the disappointment crease her brow. She was finding it very difficult to dismiss her friend's infidelity as unimportant. Simon understood her frustration, but if she allowed all of Society's hypocrisies to eat at her she would lose her mind.

"Come, Katherine. I shall escort you to your next destination." He held out his hand, hoping, praying she would accept it, allow him to explain, plead his case. She hesitated, her eyes trained on his hand as though she was unsure what it was, what he offered in the simple gesture. Then, smiling at Lily and whispering her farewells, she slid her fingers into his.

They retrieved their hats and coats. Simon watched Katherine tie the ribbons on her bonnet, his mind racing for an solution, searching for a way to tell her— _show_ her how much he loved her and only her.

And that he was more than sorry for giving in to Jarvis's blackmail.

Simon escorted Katherine out, hailed a hackney, and assisted her inside. He sat beside her, barely touching her but feeling her presence in the deepest part of his being. He wanted to turn to her, caress her silken cheek, offer her his heart on a platter, but this was not the time. Or was it?

"Kat—"

She held up one slim, glove-encased hand. "Don't, Simon, please. I cannot speak of Lily to you, of all people. I have tried so hard to forgive myself, to forgive you, that I cannot speak of Lily's infidelity. How can she behave so?"

Simon wasn't sure if he should smile or frown. Clearly, she needed to speak of her friend's unfaithfulness but at the same time—

"I rank so low in your estimation?"

Katherine turned her head toward him. "How can you not? I accept that I am as much to blame for what we did as you but you conspired with my husband to ruin me. You _planned_ to ruin me. I— How can I forgive that?" She lifted a hand, swiping at her cheek. Did she cry? What brought on her tears now?

He took her hand, drawing her a bit closer. "Did you not plan your ruin as well? I know what you sought. I know it wasn't me you hoped to gain with our joining. You wanted Jarvis to see that you were desirable, that you could gain the attention of a man if he was inclined to dismiss you for your barren state."

Katherine's free hand fisted in her lap. She lifted it to her lips, stifling a sob. "I was a willful, sinful woman. How could I do that? How could any of us behave so?"

"It was a mistake, Kat. A mistake. We are human, we are flawed. We made a mistake, one that will haunt us longer than anyone else."

"Mayhap the mistake was in marrying Jarvis," she whispered to the carriage door.

"What did you say?"

She turned to him, her bonnet brim throwing a shadow over her face. She didn't repeat her words, merely turning away again with a small shake of her head.

The carriage lurched, sending her nearly into his lap. He didn't push her away, but pulled her closer, offering her an embrace in friendship, in comfort. He may have desired more but she only had so much to give at the moment. He would take what she offered and give her the same.

Her bonnet threatened to put out his eye so he reached under her chin and untied the ribbons, pulling the thing from her head and tossing it aside. She settled her cheek against his shoulder, sniffling into his cravat. He didn't mind, though he knew his valet would be struck with apoplexy when he saw.

"If you continue to berate yourself for the past, you will never find happiness," he whispered into her hair.

"Do I deserve happiness?"

"Do you deserve misery? Does Josephine?" Her whole body stiffened at the mention of her daughter, but she didn't pull away.

She whispered something, her voice breaking as she said it. He couldn't be sure what she said and what he suspected she murmured nearly stopped his heart. He couldn't have heard her correctly! "What did you say?"

Her next inhalation trembled. He shoved his handkerchief under her nose and she took it, leaning away to wipe at her streaming eyes and blow her nose. She wadded the fabric into a ball and repeated her words, clearly, so he wouldn't misunderstand.

"Josephine is your daughter, Simon."

He shouldn't have been surprised, but she'd maintained since her arrival that the child was Jarvis's. Perhaps it was because of the will, the solicitor, and the family. Perhaps it was her anger toward him that made her remain silent on the matter. Whatever it was, he was shocked she would keep it a secret, especially from him.

"Are you sure?"

She should have slapped him but she just glanced into his face, a sad little smile tipping her lips. "I am sure. Jarvis and I were not—we had not—" She sighed. "Jarvis had not made love to me in some time, Simon. It was never a mystery who Josephine's father was."

"But Jarvis left Moor Hall to Josephine, his daughter. He accepted her, acknowledged her. He did just as—"

"My father did," Katherine finished for him. "Can you not see why I cannot forgive myself for what happened? Jarvis could have rejected her, told the world she was not his, but he didn't. And he did not mind telling the world what I did so why did he choose to acknowledge her?"

Understanding dawned on Simon. "Because allowing the world to believe he couldn't father a child was much worse than acknowledging a child that was not his. As long as Society believed her to be his, then he could believe he was more of a _man_ than he truly was."

Katherine's sharp intake of breath told him she'd not considered such a thing. When she pulled farther away, Simon wondered if in seeking to remove Jarvis from the the pedestal she'd placed him on he'd actually managed to bring himself further down in her estimation instead.

"Kat, I am not saying what we did was not reprehensible. I am not saying seducing you wasn't the most dishonorable thing I've ever done. I should not have let Jarvis coerce me into it. I should have let him do his worst. I should have told him to go to the _ton_ with what he knew. I should have realized that he would never do that, as it would put unwelcome attention on the whole family, not just my father."

"Your father?"

Simon faltered. He should tell her, but he didn't want her to turn from him even more. His father was a traitor, one who wasn't caught, one who died and took his secrets with him. Or so Simon believed. "Jarvis knew things about my father that he threatened to reveal. I convinced myself that he would do just as he threatened if I didn't seduce you."

The silence stretched but Katherine didn't speak, her eyes trained on Simon as he watched her for signs of contempt. When he saw nothing of the sort, rather a sad weariness that seemed to come from deep within her, he continued.

"I admit, seducing you was something I had contemplated before. Jarvis knew my weakness and knew I would give in eventually."

Was he trying to drive her away? What more could he admit that would give her a proper disgust, solidify her determination to go her own way, leave him forever? He nearly groaned at his own stupidity.

Her hand slid into his, squeezing gently. "We both made mistakes, Simon. We all did. Jarvis wasn't the gentleman he pretended to be. Perhaps we committed the worst sin." She bit her lip. "Perhaps the past does belong in the past. It is time, I think." Giving his hand one final squeeze, she added, hesitantly, "But that does not mean we should marry, Simon. What would people think?"

"Kat, does it matter anymore? They will gossip where they wish, about what they wish."

"It matters when an innocent little girl is caught in the middle."

He gave that some thought. Was she truly only worried for the child? Or did it go deeper? The child wouldn't care and when she reached a marriageable age the gossips would focus on something else entirely. And they would live in Scotland, naturally, in the home they owned for the child. Katherine's reasoning had nothing at all to do with the child.

"You do not believe that I love you."

She colored up at his accusation. "Love has nothing to do with this."

"Does it not? The scandal of our marriage will blow over sooner than the scandal of our infidelity. In fact, they won't even compare. Our marriage will be a nine days' wonder, even if we marry immediately, before the year of mourning is over." He paused, letting that bit sink in. Sliding his arm behind her, he implored, "Tell me true, Katherine, what prevents you from accepting my proposal?"

"You do not love me, and I don't know how you can prove otherwise."

Her whisper cut through him. There was too much conviction there. Could he overcome it?

The carriage swayed. Katherine glanced outside and back at Simon. "Where do we go? I did not tell you my next stop, did I?"

"No. I asked the man to drive until I indicated otherwise. He is taking us in a circle."

She nodded, seeming to accept his decision. But when she settled her gaze on her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, he realized her thoughts were already back to their discussion. She loved him, but she'd loved Jarvis, and she no longer trusted the emotion.

He leaned close, dragging his arm down to pull her body against his. It was improper, especially in light of her recent loss, but he needed to feel her against him, needed her to feel his words, his love. She had to believe, even if she still couldn't accept his proposal of marriage.

"Did you never wonder why I remained unmarried, Kat? You have known me many years and yet I never even pretended to court a lady." She lifted her head to look in his face, her eyes wide at his revelation.

"Could you not support a wife?" she asked, hitting on the most logical reason for his bachelor state.

"I may not be a rich man but I can certainly take care of a wife." He caressed her face, his fingers brushing over her silken skin, sending electric awareness through his whole being.

"Then you enjoyed your freedom too much?"

He laughed and drew her closer. "I suppose it makes sense to assume such, but no, Kat, I did not enjoy my freedom. In fact, I hated it."

She settled in closer to him, her eyes wide, lips parted just a bit in surprise. He wondered if kissing her now would make her pull away or the opposite. "Why?" she finally asked.

"You, Kat. You were always there, reminding me of what I really desired and no woman could match you. For eight years I've pined for you, telling myself what a fool I was. You seemed happy with Jarvis and yet I couldn't walk away, couldn't just pretend my feelings meant nothing."

"All that time?" Katherine mused. "Even before I married?"

"Yes. I approached uncle about changing his mind again, allowing you to be mine as he'd once planned but he'd hear none of it. You were the perfect lady and would make the perfect duchess, he said. Such manners, grace, and beauty would be wasted on a plain mister such as myself."

Katherine reached up and cupped his cheek. His eyes slid shut at her comforting touch.

"It was as though I was the lead in a grand play," she said, a tremor in her voice. Simon's eyes opened. "I behaved the best I could so as not to bring shame upon my family. I was too busy playing my role to notice you watching me."

"I didn't mention watching you, love." The endearment rolled off his tongue as if he'd been saying it for years.

Her expression shifted from sadness to awe, a teasing smile curving her lips. "No, you didn't, but I knew. I knew your eyes spent more time on me than on your books. I ignored you. I had to."

"Why?"

"I thought of you, far too often, though I was married to another man. I thought of you, when I was supposed to be thinking of him. I dreamed of you, holding me, making love to me"—her voice trembled on the words—"even before we..."

Simon stared at her, stunned by her admission. "You loved Jarvis. I know you did. I saw the way you looked at him."

"I did. But there was something about you, the way you looked at me, as if...as if you couldn't help yourself."

Simon feathered a kiss over her lips, unable to help himself now just as he couldn't then. She breathed deeply, then leaned into the caress, her hands sliding around his neck. He dragged her fully into his lap, ignoring the jostling of the hackney. She kissed him with complete trust and dawning awareness, as if hardly daring to believe what was happening.

The coach drove round and round as the kiss went on and on. Finally, breathlessly, Simon pulled away long enough to ask, "Can I assume then, that you have changed your mind?"

Katherine smiled, her fingers tracing a path down his cheek. "What do you want me to say, Simon? That I loved you then despite my marriage, Society, and my father?"

He was shaking his head before the final word left her smiling lips, though her admission filled him with elation. "The past doesn't matter. I want to know how you feel now. I want to know if you can leave the past in the past. I want to know if you can accept my heart and my name."

Her breath caught, her beautiful features lighting from within. Then she took one deep breath and smiled.

"Yes."

The End

Page forward for a sneak peek of

Death Becomes Her

Jaimey Grant's

latest serial Regency romance

for **InD'tale Magazine**
Part One

Sisters in Death

Darkness clung to her like a lover. Melly took no notice of the lack of visibility. She lived in darkness, slumbering most of the afternoon until night's cloak fell over London. Then she would venture out with her little pony and cart, her sisters packed in the wagon with her, off to earn the money that kept them alive and off the streets.

A shovelful of dirt slid to the ground beside the hole forming before her. Her actions were swift as she removed scoop after scoop of freshly turned earth. Nothing stirred in the night, nothing disturbing the rhythmic slide of metal against dirt.

The smell of moist, warm soil wound itself around Melly's body, nearly masking the less than appealing smell that clung to her hair and skin. Refuse, decay, and rancid odors from the the River Thames assaulted her senses. Death was in the air.

Melly paused, dragging a dirt-smudged palm over her sweaty brow. Her shovel nudged something pliant, a soft object that gave a little but didn't allow the metal to slide through as the dirt did. She'd found them, finally, the latest poor souls to find their way into hell.

Doubling her efforts she uncovered the grave, signaling to her younger sisters to help her.

"Melly, I don't like it out here," fourteen-year-old Olivia whined, dutifully hunching down to get her hands under the top body, blond braid swinging as she moved.

"Patience, dear," Melly soothed, understanding her sister's reticence. Several months had passed since the last time they'd stolen bodies and Olivia had gotten used to the safety of staying out of the graveyards. "Doctor Billings pays good coin for these specimens, more if we can get them to him as soon as possible. This grave is but a few hours old so we shall receive more coin than usual."

"Do be quiet, Livy," seventeen-year-old Ashlin scolded, shoving her dark hair behind her ears as she stooped to help. "Were it not for Melly and Doctor Billings we'd all be earning our coin flat on our backs. I far prefer dead men to live ones."

The first body pulled from the mass grave thumped to the ground beside their feet. One of the older girls bent to the task of removing the clothing, tossing each piece back into the grave. They couldn't risk being transported as thieves for stealing the clothes from the bodies. Besides, the doctor didn't need clothed specimens.

Melly grimaced at her sister's summation of their situation, stooping down to lift the next body from the grave. It was true there were very few options for a poor woman, even fewer when those poor women spoke like their betters and tried to behave as them, making it plain they wanted to _be_ like their betters. A few discarded primers and a determination to better herself made Melly an apt pupil who used what she'd learned to teach her younger sisters. They would not take men to their beds just to survive. They didn't have to.

Their father taught the older girls the trade, though it was unusual for women. Stealing the bodies of the forgotten, the unimportant and unloved vagrants who'd had the misfortune to die in the vast city, meant food and lodging and a little more to put by for their futures. When the schools weren't in session, they took in sewing, more to keep them in food and busy than any other reason. But sewing barely kept them fed and there was nothing left over for the future.

And Melly was determined there would be a bright future for each of them, complete with husbands and families. They'd have to change their names and move away to some small country village, find decent men who had no idea they used to earn their living as body-snatchers.

"Melly, I heard something," fifteen-year-old Belinda whispered, her gaze settling somewhere beyond them, deeper into the graveyard. She clenched her small hands in the folds of her cloak, wisps of black hair hiding her features.

"You did not," accused twenty-year-old Sadie. She straightened from her task of disrobing the dead woman at her feet, placing her hands on her generous hips in disbelief. "You're just trying to scare Livy."

"It's working," Olivia whispered, sidling closer to her oldest sister.

Melly smiled into the darkness, her sight adjusted enough in the faint moonlight to see her sisters. She was used to their complaints. As the oldest, she'd had the raising of them since Olivia's mother died birthing the child. Though only fourteen at the time, Melly had been a mother to all the girls, girls who were barely related but considered each other sisters.

"Work, girls!" Melly ordered. All five girls bent to their assigned tasks, ranging from hefting the bodies from the grave to disrobing them to tossing them into the waiting wagon that would convey them to the doctor's doorstep. One sister stood off to the side, her hands caressing an ancient blunderbuss with the confidence of one who knew the weapon well and who wasn't afraid to use it. Her twin sister held the pony and cart steady.

A collective breath released as the girls hefted the fifth and final body from the ground, freed it from its threadbare garments, and heaved it into the wagon. "Time to bury the site, girls," Melly reminded them. The sixteen-year-old twins, Ruby and Emerald, didn't move from their posts, standing as though made of stone. Olivia and Belinda climbed into the wagon to wait, taking the reins from Emerald so she could retrieve their other weapon, a rusty old dueling pistol. Stealing bodies was a dangerous business and the girls took every precaution they could within their means.

Melly, Sadie, and Ashlin each took up a shovel and buried the grave faster than they'd uncovered it. They could not hide the fact that it had been disturbed but they'd found burying the site delayed the authorities, should the authorities choose to investigate. For mass graves filled with unloved unknowns, they often didn't.

A bridle jangled in the night. The girls froze, their shovels in mid-throw, breath coming in staccato bursts. No one moved, not even when the rider they heard passed by no more than ten feet from where they all waited.

Melly's eyes strained through the darkness, focused on the gentleman riding the black as midnight horse. Even in the faint moonlight she could tell he wore clothing of the first stare, sitting straight and tall in the saddle as if born to it. He gazed straight ahead, as if his mind was far away from his surroundings. What brought him to the graveyard at night?

He was gone moments later, his gaze never having passed their way once in his trek. Melly signaled her sisters to continue, urging them to hurry. If they lingered any longer they might not be found out by the authorities but by other resurrectionists in search of their own bodies to sell. Melly's father had told them many stories of what the body-snatchers were willing to do for an easy take. To this point, she and her sisters were most fortunate.

With the shovels tucked into the wagon and a moth-eaten blanket thrown atop the bodies, the remaining five girls piled in atop the blanket. None of them grimaced at where they sat or what they did to survive. They were long used to it.

An hour later Belinda stopped the pony before their small residence. The girls alighted, filing into the home without a backwards glance. Melly alone crawled up to the wagon seat, taking the reins from Belinda.

She offered her sister a smile, squeezing her hand over the reins. "I will return posthaste. Be sure the girls are in their beds and asleep by the time I return."

Belinda kissed her cheek. "Never worry over us, dear." Reaching down behind the seat, she grasped the pistol and laid it on the seat beside Melly. "Take care. We need you."

Melly's answering shiver had nothing to do with the chill in the air. She knew how her sisters depended on her but she also knew how resourceful they could be.

The moon hid as she guided her little pony through London's back alleys. All was dark, she noted as she neared her destination, a curious circumstance when one window should have shone with a bright light. Doctor Billings should be waiting.

Moments later she stood at the rear entrance of Doctor Billings' place of work. It was also where he taught and he lived in the rooms above. One short knock, a pause, and three more short knocks alerted the good doctor of her arrival.

It was some time before a light appeared in the window. The door swung wide, a tall figure blocking the light. It wasn't the short, rotund Doctor Billings, then, but Melly smiled all the same. "I have five good specimens for your classes, sir, various sizes and ages, two male and three female."

The man stepped out, the light spilling out from behind him. She couldn't see him well but he towered over her, at least six feet tall. He wore clothing of the first stare, indecently fitted to his muscular form. His head was bare, though she couldn't determine the exact color of his dark hair.

As dread filled her, the partial moon slid out from behind a cloud, spilling its meager light over her companion. A thunderous expression drew his heavy brows down, masking his eyes.

"What in hell are you talking about?"

Read the rest in the June 2013 issue of InD'Tale Magazine!

**Subscribe at** www.indtale.com **!**

**About the Author**

Jaimey Grant, a pseudonym for Laura Miller, was born in Michigan in 1979. After a fun-filled childhood interlaced with moments of emotional trauma and an insatiable curiosity about the reasons people act the way they do, she became a writer.

Primarily a Regency romance author, Jaimey has also dabbled in fantasy of a non-romance variety. A comprehensive list of works and where to find them can be found on her website, www.jaimeygrant.com. There are more Regencies and fantasies in the works.

She currently lives in Michigan with her husband and two children.

To learn more about Jaimey and her work, visit any of the links below.

Website: http://www.jaimeygrant.com

Blog: http://jaimeygrant.blogspot.com

Facebook: <http://www.facebook.com/jaimeygrantauthor>

Email: jaimeygrant@yahoo.com
