 
# My Favorite Major

## Ava Stone
Copyright © 2012 by Ava Stone

Cover by Covers By Lily

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-4660-6080-7

  Created with Vellum

# Dedication

For Terry ~ You truly are one of the dearest men of my acquaintance. You are a wonderful friend who always has the best, most sound advice. I cannot thank you enough for talking me off the ledge more than once over the last few years and your legal expertise has been a godsend. I don't know what I would have done without you. I wish you and Kendall all the best and many, many happy years. I only wish I was able to see you more often. I love you dearly.

~ Ava

### Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

PREVIEW - The English Lieutenant's Lady

Chapter 1

About Ava Stone

Also by Ava Stone

Ava Stone's New Adult Romance

# Chapter 1

Clayworth House, Mayfair – October 1815

The only thing worse than a Peninsular battlefield was a London ballroom, at least to Major Philip Moore's way of thinking. Though the two locations did have striking similarities with enemy camps and cross purposes. And, of course, Philip had never reveled in being in either place.

"Must you look so sour?" His oldest friend, Captain Russell Avery clapped a hand to Philip's back. "We are heroes, but you're still managing to frighten away all the pretty girls."

Russell could have every pretty girl in London for all Philip cared. As he couldn't have _his_ girl, the only girl he'd ever loved, Philip didn't particularly care about any of the others who flitted past him. "I thought you were betrothed to the Greywood chit."

"She didn't write me as often as she promised." His friend shrugged.

Philip snorted. "At least she didn't marry some blackguard in your absence."

"True," Russell conceded. "But I'm not married to her yet, and as she didn't correspond as much as I'd expected, I think I shall act the role of a scout this evening and try to determine which young lady is the best kisser in attendance."

"Then won't you be busy? Or leg-shackled to some other chit you barely know and ruin Miss Greywood's prospects in the meantime."

Russell touched a hand to his heart. "You do wound me, Moore. Do you have so little faith in my scouting abilities?"

Philip had seen Russell seduce Flemish beauties, Spanish señoritas, Scottish lasses, and Portuguese _meninas_. "No. I just think you're forgetting that we're home...in England."

Russell laughed. "Oh, I am quite well aware of the fact, _mon ami_. But the luster of a hero-returned is bound to dull eventually. Best to make the most of our situation now, while we can."

Philip wasn't quite certain when Russell had become so opportunistic. "What am I even doing here with you?"

Again, his friend laughed and gestured across the room to his sister, Cordelia, the Countess of Clayworth. "I believe Cordie browbeat you into attending, did she not?"

Russell was most certainly correct on that score. Cordie Clayworth had begged and pleaded with Philip to attend her ball. He'd only agreed after she promised him that Olivia and her disreputable husband wouldn't be among the numbers. It was one thing knowing Olivia had married another while he was away, and another to have to see the happy couple paraded before him at every turn. "Cordie need not feel guilty on Olivia's behalf. I certainly don't hold her responsible for the situation."

Russell sighed as though the topic had grown tedious. In all honesty, they had discussed the situation at length more than once. "She just wants you to find the blinding happiness she has found herself. So humor her, will you? Find some chit you can tolerate to stand up with at least once. Otherwise Cordie will plague you, on that you can be certain."

Philip tapped his injured leg with his cane. "She could be Cleopatra returned, and I wouldn't dance with her on this leg."

"You just insist on being maudlin, don't you?" Russell grumbled. "If not dancing, then find some girl with whom you could enjoy a nice conversation. Or better yet, one who might actually bring a smile to your face, though I'm not sure if Cordie knows any miracle workers."

Like a good soldier following orders, but mostly to appease his friend, Philip's eyes swept across the throng of happy guests. No. Not one girl caught his eye. Perhaps it was still too soon. Or perhaps it would always be too soon. And then he spotted a blonde a few feet away and, if Philip wasn't mistaken, she was laughing at _him._ Her light eyes twinkled with undisguised mirth.

Perhaps there was something humorous behind him. Philip glanced over each of his shoulders, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He looked back at the blonde, only to find her laughing even harder. She didn't even try to conceal her amusement behind her fan.

"Do I have something on my face?" Philip muttered, touching his cheek as he spoke.

Russell shook his head. "Just your nose."

Philip scowled at his friend. "Amusing as always." Then he gestured towards the giggling chit with his head. "I think that girl over there is laughing at me."

Russell chuckled. "Must not know you. Nothing remotely funny about you."

"I am starting to wonder why we're friends."

"Friends?" Russell feigned a shocked expression. "I think of you more as a brother." Then he turned his attention to the girl in question. "Ah, Miss Amelia Pritchard. Don't waste your time with that one, Moore."

"I wasn't planning on it," Philip replied gravely. He wouldn't have even noticed the girl if she hadn't been laughing at him, which certainly did not recommend her.

"Brilliant decision. Substandard kisser," Russell informed him and turned his attention back to the dancers. "Now Miss Dewhurst, on the other hand..."

Philip snorted. "Good God, Russ! How many of these girls _have_ you kissed?"

His friend shrugged. "And you doubted my scouting abilities." Then Russell straightened. "Don't look now, but my sister is headed this direction."

Philip did look to his right to find that Cordie Clayworth was indeed headed in their direction. He smiled at his childhood friend who had become a beauty when he wasn't paying attention. "My lady," he said in way of greeting the countess and nodded his head. "You are more lovely every time I see you, Cordie."

At his side, Russell scoffed. "There's no need to flatter _her_."

Cordie playfully rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Philip. I was plagued with three of the most awful brothers." She smiled graciously at him. "How refreshing to spend time with a true gentleman."

"Watch yourself, Cordie," Russell warned. "Or you'll have Clayworth making a dawn appointment with Moore."

Philip glared at his friend for even broaching the subject, which was still a sore one where the two of them were concerned. "Well, if he does, I'll be certain to get myself a much better second than the one I had the last time."

Russell snorted. "You'll thank me for that eventually."

"Don't hold your breath." Philip realized Cordie was frowning at the two of them, and he feigned a smile for her benefit. "Apologies, Lady Clayworth. Not the best ballroom conversation, is it?"

"Just reminds me once again that the two of you are _men_." She said the word as though it were a vile curse.

Russell chuckled. "Don't know how you need to be reminded of that fact, love." Then he gestured with his head to the other side of the ballroom. "Why did you invite Amelia Pritchard, by the way?"

Cordie stared at her brother as though he'd sprouted an extra nose. "Because she's staying with Clayworth and me here in London, as you well know. I couldn't very well _not_ invite her, not that I would even want to do so. She's a sweet girl. What is the matter with you, Russell?"

Her brother shrugged. "She's been _laughing_ at Philip. Can you believe it? Quite ill-mannered, if you ask me, especially as he's not amusing in the least. Perhaps they don't have the same manners in Wales. Isn't that where she's from?"

Cordie's green eyes narrowed on her brother. "You know exactly where she's from. Have you been imbibing, Russell Avery?"

"No. But perhaps Miss Pritchard has been. That might explain her proclivity to laughter. You should go see if you smell spirits on her breath. I'd hate for her antics to embarrass you or Clayworth."

"If you want me to leave—" Cordie tipped her nose in the air "—you need only ask." Then she turned on her heel and made her way around the perimeter of the ballroom, finally stopping at the strange Miss Pritchard's side.

Hmm. Was Russell correct? Was it possible the chit was foxed? That might explain her absurd behavior.

Amelia Pritchard squeezed her new cousin's hand. "Your ball is delightful, Cordie."

The countess leaned close and kissed Amelia's cheek in greeting. "Thank you, Amelia. Please tell me you're enjoying yourself."

"Oh, indeed. I had no idea so many people would be in Town this time of year."

"There are always some who never leave." Cordie glanced across the ballroom where her brother and the very serious Major Moore still stood in conversation. She frowned briefly before returning her attention to Amelia. "Tell me, are you acquainted with my dear friend Major Moore?"

"Only by reputation," Amelia replied honestly. After all, Captain Avery might as well have given her a written report on the officer, not that she could admit as much to the countess. The captain had been very adamant on that point.

Cordie shook her head as though trying to remove a nonsensical idea from her mind. "I know this will sound ridiculous. But you weren't, by chance, laughing at him, were you?"

"Laughing at him?" Amelia couldn't contain her grin. She hadn't expected Cordie to just come out and ask her that question. Then Amelia blinked, what she hoped was her most innocent blink, at the countess. "I don't see anything amusing about the man. He looks too serious by half. Is he laughed at often?"

Cordie's eyes narrowed on Amelia, which made her think that perhaps her innocent blink hadn't been innocent enough. "Are you up to something, Amelia Pritchard?"

Amelia blinked again. "What could I possibly be up to?" How had Cordie figured her out so swiftly? Captain Avery wouldn't be happy with this turn of events.

"Indeed, that is the question at hand. You and Russell were thick as thieves yesterday."

One would think the countess would have been too busy with her doting husband and adorable son to notice anything else going on at Clayworth House. Apparently, she wasn't. "Thieves?" Amelia echoed, laying a hand on her chest with mock indignation. "I somehow think I've just been insulted."

"Mmm." Cordie's eyes flashed back across the room to land on Captain Avery. "More likely I know my brother better than you. And I imagine I have a part to play in this little game, too. Am I to offer an introduction to the esteemed major?"

The countess was clever. Captain Avery had warned Amelia about that. But as that _was_ the part Cordie was to play, Amelia nodded her head. "Would you mind terribly?"

"Not at all...if you would be so good as to tell me what game it is we are playing."

Amelia leaned closer to her new cousin and replied, "Captain Avery asked if I would help bring the major out of his shell a bit. He said his friend has been gloomy ever since returning from the continent, and he thought I could help put a smile on his face."

Cordie sighed. "That certainly isn't why he's been gloomy." Her green eyes seemed to stare right through Amelia. "Philip is a dear man, a wonderful friend, and I won't see him hurt again, Amelia. I'll introduce you if you wish, but you must promise to disregard anything my derelict brother has said thus far."

"I beg your pardon?"

Cordie smiled like a woman quickly spinning a plan. "He hasn't the mind for such things. I, on the other hand, do. And though I would like to see Philip smile again, there's a right way to go about this, and then there's whatever way Russell thought up."

Amelia couldn't help but laugh. "It wasn't all that complicated, Cordie. I was just to charm him and make him laugh a little."

"Easier said than done." She shrugged. "But I believe together we can accomplish the job at hand. Do you think you're up for the challenge?"

Now Amelia wasn't certain. When it was the simple scheme Captain Avery had approached her with, she was just supposed to flirt with the major, coax him into being the tiniest bit social. But the way Cordie looked at her made Amelia think the countess had something else entirely up her dainty sleeve. "W-well, I-I..."

But before she could offer a protest, Cordie linked her arm with Amelia's and began to tow her in the direction of the officers. "First of all, don't laugh at him again. That will only raise his hackles. One would think Russell would realize that after knowing the man his whole life. What a complete dolt my brother is."

# Chapter 2

"Major Philip Moore." Cordie then gestured to the girl at her side. "Clayworth's cousin—Miss Amelia Pritchard. Amelia, this is my dear, dear friend Major Moore. We grew up together in Papplewick."

Philip stared down at the tiny blonde who'd found such amusement at his expense earlier. Now, standing before him, she seemed to have lost some of the color in her cheeks as though she was terrified. Well, she _should_ be terrified. Dignified young ladies shouldn't go around laughing at army officers for no reason if they didn't want to be reprimanded. "Miss Pritchard," he clipped out and curtly dipped his head in her direction, which was more than she deserved. But she was Clayworth's cousin, and Cordie seemed enamored of the chit.

"It's an honor, sir." Miss Pritchard's voice came out as little more than a whisper. Strange she didn't seem at all like the brazen creature he'd spotted across the room a little while ago.

"Well, Miss Pritchard!" Russell gushed. "It is so lovely to see you again."

Philip cast a sidelong glance at his friend. Why should Russell be happy to see the girl? Hadn't he declared her a substandard kisser mere moments earlier? Philip looked again at the blonde. What pretty lips she had. Full and pink. What a shame she didn't know what to do with them. Interesting Russell hadn't taken it upon himself to teach her, as that seemed to be one of his friend's most favorite endeavors. Perhaps there was something else peculiar about the chit, but if that was the case, why did Russell seem enthralled to see her now?

"Thank you, Captain Avery." Miss Pritchard's soft Welsh accent had a slight musical quality. She smiled at Russell, and her light eyes twinkled with joy. "It's always a delight to see you."

Always? How well did Russell know Miss Pritchard?

"Charming girl." Russell bowed before her. "I've always said so."

Again, _always_? Philip was most definitely missing something.

"Oh, yes, _delightful_ is just the word I use to describe my brother whenever the subject of him arises." Cordie's scowl belied her words. "Russell, might I have a word with you?"

The captain smirked at his sister. "We are having words now, Cordie. Do go on, don't let me stop you."

"A _private_ word," the countess stressed.

"Now?" Russell sighed as though he was plagued with the trials of Job. Though in truth, if anyone was plagued, it was most assuredly the countess.

"Yes, now." Cordie's glower darkened.

"Very well." After another sigh, Russell offered his arm to his sister. "Where would you like to have this private word, Cordie?"

"I think Clayworth's study will do perfectly," she muttered, half-dragging him from the ballroom in her haste to have that word.

Philip gaped after the pair. He'd nearly forgotten Miss Pritchard was there until she asked, "What do you suppose that was about?"

He shrugged. "With the two of them, one can never tell." It had been like that all their lives. The Averys had always been close, yet they could bicker and berate each other like no one else. Philip refocused his attention on the curious blonde before him. "So you're Clayworth's cousin, are you?"

Miss Pritchard nodded. "Second cousins," she clarified. "His lordship was quite generous to invite me to Town."

"Odd time of year to come to Town." But then so much about Miss Pritchard had been odd thus far.

She looked away from him, out towards the dancing couples a few feet away. "Yes, well, a change of scenery was needed."

Change of scenery? Philip would be happy to spend the rest of his days in Nottinghamshire and never step foot in London again. Of course, he'd also seen more of the world than he cared to remember, the ugly parts of the world – the death and carnage of battle, men and women at their very worst. At home in Papplewick, life was quiet and orderly and...Philip would give just about anything to be there now. "I imagine even at this time of year, London would be a drastic change from Wales."

Miss Pritchard glanced back him, surprise alighting her face. "Is my accent that pronounced?"

The youthful spirit reflecting in her eyes nearly stole Philip's breath. How absurd. He was obviously losing his mind. Hadn't he been thinking how odd Miss Pritchard was? It would be just his luck to have his breath stolen by some strange chit. "I – um – that is, Captain Avery mentioned Wales."

"Did he?"

Philip nodded, wondering why he felt so awkward all of a sudden. It was almost as though he'd never spoken to a woman before. The sooner he returned to Papplewick, the better.

"You were in the 45th Foot with Captain Avery?"

Philip nodded again, for lack anything coherent to say.

"My brother was in the 69th Foot."

"Indeed?" He tilted his head to the side, as though he could somehow understand her better if he peered at her from a different angle. "And how is he finding civilian life?"

Miss Pritchard smiled weakly. "I'm afraid Alan did not return to us." Then she turned her attention once again to the dance floor.

What a bloody fool he was. Philip wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. What an awful thing to say to the girl. He'd seen so much death around him the last few years, how had he not considered the possibility her brother was among those forever lost? "I am sorry," he offered.

But she merely shook her head. "It's certainly not your fault, Major Moore."

And suddenly, the idea that London was a change of scenery for her made complete sense to Philip. She must have been close to her brother, or in the very least missed him dearly. It put into perspective his loss of Olivia. He'd always love Olivia, but if she was happy even married to that bastard husband of hers, at least she was still alive. He'd never wish her ill. "I am sorry, all the same."

She flashed him a grin and Philip's heart lifted just a bit. "You are kind, sir." And then the color that remained on her face completely drained away. "Heavens!" she whispered in horror.

What in the world was Geoffrey Mason doing _here_ of all places? Amelia slid behind Major Moore, hoping to use him as a shield while she plotted an escape. Plotting was deucedly difficult however, when one's head was spinning. Dash it all! Geoffrey must be looking for her. There wouldn't be any other reason for the blackguard to be in London.

"Are you all right, Miss Pritchard?" The major turned on his spot to face her, a frown marring his handsome face.

Amelia stared up at him. What she wouldn't give for Captain Avery to be standing before her instead. The jovial captain could be trusted to help her out of this predicament, or at least she thought so. But Major Moore, who was so stoic and serious? Probably not. Amelia bit her bottom lip as she peered tentatively around the major to see if her perfidious former fiancé had spotted her.

"Miss Pritchard!" the major said again.

"Shh!" Amelia hissed at him. The last thing she needed was for the blackguard to hear her name over the din.

"What is going on?" Major Moore demanded.

She breathed a sigh of relief, as Geoffrey Mason glanced across the ballroom in the opposite direction. He must not have seen her or his eyes would have been glued to her position. But it wouldn't take long for him to find her, especially if Major Moore kept muttering her name. "Please don't make a scene."

"Make a scene?" Thankfully, he lowered his voice. "I think you'd better tell me what is going on, Miss Pritchard."

Amelia glanced back up at the striking major and almost found herself lost in his dark, honest eyes. But telling him about her unfortunate situation with Mr. Mason was not the best idea. Honestly, telling anyone was not the best idea, not even the jovial Captain Avery, had she been fortunate enough to be standing with him instead. "Thank you for your concern, but I can take care of myself, sir. Just please don't say my name."

"Now see here..." the major whispered, but Amelia didn't hear anything else.

Someone, thankfully, caught Mason's attention on the other side of the room and as soon as her one-time fiancé began walking in that direction, Amelia knew it might be her only chance to avoid the fiend. "Excuse me," she muttered. Then Amelia lifted the hem of her skirts and dashed for the closest exit, right outside into the Clayworths' small garden.

She breathed a sigh of relief to have escaped the ballroom but cursed her bad luck for ending up outside in the process. How could she possibly get back inside without catching anyone's attention? Things could have been worse, however. Mason could have seen her and caused an unfortunate scene, which he would most certainly have done. She truly should focus on the fact that she had escaped the blackguard, at least for the moment.

Blast! What was he doing here? Certainly he didn't think she would change her mind? He had to know her better than that. He had, after all, known her all her life. Of course the same could be said for Amelia. She'd thought she'd known Geoffrey Mason all of her life, thought she knew what sort of man he was. But it had all been a façade.

How had he found her? Had Papa told him she'd come to London? Possibly. After all, Papa hadn't been happy with Amelia's decision to cry-off, but he'd said he would support her nonetheless. Had he changed his mind on the matter? Was he still being duped by Mason, just as she had been for so many years?

Well, it made no difference. Even if Papa _had_ changed his mind, Amelia would never change hers. She'd sooner hop a frigate to America and live with the native savages than marry Geoffrey Mason. She'd rather stow away to India or even sail to China than marry the black-hearted, contemptible, scurrilous Geoffrey Mason.

Still, it would be easier not to have to see him. She _had_ , after all, loved him once. No. Amelia shook the thought away. She'd loved the man she'd thought he was until she'd realized the truth about his nature.

# Chapter 3

Philip stared after Miss Pritchard's departing form, his mouth agape. Damn it, she made no sense to him whatsoever. Was there a more unusual chit in all of London? He somehow doubted it.

Then he noticed a gentleman, out of the corner of his eye, darting in his direction, towards the garden door Miss Pritchard had just vanished through. Was she running from this fellow? Her drastic change in demeanor certainly suggested the possibility.

Philip lifted the tip of his cane off the ground and, at the last moment, thrust it in the man's path, sending the fellow sprawling across the floor. A few people nearby gasped, but for the most part the _accident_ went unnoticed in the crowd.

"I am so terribly sorry," Philip said as the man picked himself up from the floor. He waved his cane back and forth. "I'm afraid I'm still getting used to this. Are you all right?"

The fellow dusted his hands on his trousers and grimaced. "I've taken worse spills before. No harm done."

As the man's Welsh accent reached Philip's ears, he knew his estimation must be correct. Miss Pritchard was most definitely hiding from this man, whoever he was. The look of horror on her face flashed in his mind, and Philip decided in that very moment to help her evade the fellow, at least for the time being.

He offered his hand to the Welshman in greeting. "Major Moore. Again, I am terribly sorry."

The man shook Philip's outstretched hand. "Geoffrey Mason. Think nothing of it, Major. Accidents happen." Then he looked towards the garden door. "The woman you were speaking with, did she go outside to get a breath of air?"

"Miss Danvers?" Philip asked.

"Danvers?" Mr. Mason echoed, his eyes returning to Philip.

" _Olivia_ Danvers," Philip clarified. Damn it, he was no good at subterfuge. Even in this, Olivia's name was the first one to pop in his mind. At least he hadn't said Olivia Danbury. Who knew what Kelfield would do if he blackened his wife's name? "Do you know her?" he asked, hoping his light tone would distract the Welshman from his purpose.

Mr. Mason shook his head. "No. I thought she was someone else."

Philip chuckled. "She does get that a lot. So many blondes in London these days. Quite the fashion, from what I hear."

"I see." Mason's eyes strayed back to the garden door. "Well, I think _I_ need a breath of fresh air. Quite stuffy in here. Do excuse me."

Philip placed his cane in Mason's path. "I wouldn't go out there if I were you."

The Welshman frowned at Philip, his eyes suddenly flashing with irritation. "I don't believe I need your permission, Major."

Philip shrugged. "A friend of mine was outdoors awaiting Miss Danvers. If you interrupt their _tête-à-tête_ , he'll find himself leg-shackled to the chit, and he won't be very happy with me for letting you past."

Mason's frown deepened. "Did you trip me on purpose, Major Moore?"

Philip dipped his head. "I had to stop you somehow, and I don't move as quickly as I once did. I do hope I didn't hurt you."

"You're certain it was Miss _Danvers_ who escaped into the garden?"

"Of course," Philip lied. "Known her all my life."

"I'll take you at your word then." Mason sighed, looking at once forlorn.

Philip hoped his fabrication was for a good cause. He didn't make a habit of prevaricating on a regular basis, but some madness had urged him to do so this time. And he would make certain Miss Pritchard explained in great detail what exactly was going on with Mason.

"Do you happen to know Miss Amelia Pritchard?" the Welshman asked.

"I believe she is a cousin of the Earl of Clayworth, is she not?"

"That is my understanding."

Philip glanced across the sea of people in the ballroom. "Well, if she's here, I haven't seen her this evening."

"So many blondes in London these days." Mason smiled tightly.

"Indeed," Philip agreed.

The Welshman tipped his head in farewell and then walked the perimeter of the ballroom once more, his eyes darting from guest to guest in his apparent search for Miss Pritchard. As soon as Mason made his exit, Philip watched the doorway to make certain the man wouldn't return a half second later. When he felt the coast was relatively safe, he vanished through the garden door as quickly as his bad leg would allow, using his cane for support.

He found Amelia Pritchard sitting on a small bench, gazing up at the stars, shivering slightly in the cool evening air.

"Cold?" he asked, making her nearly jump from her skin.

"Oh!" she gasped, placing a hand over her heart. "You just took a decade off my life, Major."

"Didn't mean to startle you." Philip nodded to the bench. "Mind if I sit with you?"

Miss Pritchard slid over, making room for him. "I am sorry for disappearing like that. You must think me most peculiar."

Philip dropped onto the bench beside her. "I thought you most peculiar before I ever met you."

"Hardly a charming thing to say." Her light blue eyes twinkled beneath the stars.

"Well, you _were_ laughing at me, Miss Pritchard. And I have it on the highest authority that I'm not amusing in the least."

A delightful grin spread across her face, making him smile right along with her. "You just looked so serious," she explained. "Everyone else in there was having a lovely time and you were scowling at them. You didn't seem to fit there at all."

"In the future, you might want to refrain from laughing at someone wearing a scowl. We're hardly agreeable chaps, those of us who are prone to scowling."

"I will try to keep that in mind." Her hands slid up and down her arms as though she was freezing.

"Would you like my jacket?" Philip offered.

Miss Pritchard shook her head. "I'd like to return to the ballroom, but..."

"Mr. Mason has left, if that's what you're worried about."

Her face instantly flushed pink and her gaze dropped to her lap. "You spoke with him?"

"I kept him from following you out here."

She wrung her hands in her lap. "Why?"

Why? Because she was clearly running from the man. Wasn't she? "Did you _want_ him to follow you?" Was it possible he had misinterpreted her actions? Understanding women was apparently not his forte. Had he blundered terribly in this regard?

"No." Her eyes shot back to his, and the pain he saw reflected there squeezed his heart. "I don't want to ever see him again. I just don't understand why you helped me. I mean, I _did_ laugh at you, and you don't know me at all."

True on both counts. "I'm not sure why," he replied. "But something told me to do so. Why are you hiding from Mason, Miss Pritchard?" And why did she look as though she might cry?

"Have you ever felt like the biggest fool who ever lived?"

Had she just asked _him_ that __ question? Philip somehow kept from snorting. After all, he'd lived with that very feeling for over a year now. "Only everyday I wake up."

"You don't seem foolish to me at all." Her light eyes scanned his face.

"Just serious?"

She smiled again, and the light from the moon made her appear more ethereal. He had the urge to tuck one of her flaxen locks behind her ear, but he kept his hands on his knees.

"Very few fools are so serious in my experience," she said softly.

"And have you more experience with fools or with serious, scowling fellows?"

Miss Pritchard bit her bottom lip as though she was truly contemplating his question. "Sadly, I think I have had more experiences with scoundrels, now that I think about it."

Scoundrels? Did she mean Mason? The fellow hadn't seemed to be a scoundrel to Philip, just doggedly determined. Had he done something to Miss Pritchard? "Not the best variety of man."

"On that we most certainly agree, Major."

Warm light and lively music spilled into the garden, brighter and louder than they had been moments earlier. Philip glanced towards the house to find Cordie Clayworth standing in the doorway. "There you are, Amelia! I was worried."

Captain Avery bowed low before Amelia and then swept her into his arms as the musicians began playing a waltz. His eyes settled on hers and he frowned like a chastened man. "I am sorry to have dragged you into this, Amelia."

She shook her head. "Was Cordie very angry with you?"

He chuckled as he led her into a turn. "My sister is always angry with me. If it wasn't about this, it would have been about something else. I'm accustomed to her haranguing me, but I don't want her to be angry with _you._ "

Amelia didn't think Cordie was angry with her. The countess hadn't seemed it, in any event. "I'm sure all will be fine, Captain. And I can see why you wanted to bring your friend out of the doldrums. Major Moore seems like a wonderful man."

"Better than myself and both my brothers all combined," he agreed. "But Philip's too noble by half. Quite infuriating at times."

As Amelia had dealt with a man who wasn't noble in the least, she didn't quite agree with Captain Avery's estimation. But his words did make her more curious than ever about the very serious major. "Cordie said it wasn't his returning from the continent that's had made him gloomy."

The captain's eyes flashed over her shoulder towards his sister, and he winced a bit. "And she says _I'm_ a tactless, interfering lout."

"I beg your pardon?"

Captain Avery shook his head. "She shouldn't have said such a thing."

And Amelia shouldn't ask her next question, but she couldn't help herself. "Why _is_ he gloomy, Captain?"

"A variety of reasons," he hedged.

And he thought Major Moore was infuriating. "Such as...?" she prodded.

"It's really not my place to say. In fact, I've said too much bringing you into this mess to begin with. I relinquish you from your promise, Amelia. Do try to enjoy your stay in London, and don't worry about either Philip or me."

But she couldn't help thinking about Major Moore. He _had_ kept Mason from finding her this evening, and all of Captain Avery's evasive answers made wondering about Major Moore that much more interesting. Besides, keeping her thoughts occupied with questions about the very serious and noble major would prevent worries about her own predicament from creeping into her mind. At least she thought it would.

"I've piqued your interest, haven't I?" Captain Avery moaned.

Amelia tried her innocent blink one more time. It hadn't worked with Cordie, but perhaps it would with Russell Avery. "I don't know what you mean, Captain."

"Uh-huh." He spun her once again. "I know women, Amelia Pritchard. And I know that when they get a look in their eyes, like the one you have now, that their interest has been piqued."

"I have a look in my eyes?"

"Hmm. So let me warn you as a friend: Philip Moore is the best man I know, but he's more damaged than the whole of the 45th put together. Forget I ever brought you into this, for your own good."

"Your concern does me such honor, sir."

He groaned aloud. "Cordie was right. I should have kept my nose out of Philip's affairs. I do hate it when she's right. Makes her unbearable."

# Chapter 4

Philip couldn't help but watch the ease with which Russell spun Miss Pritchard around the Clayworths' ballroom. Whether it was in his mind or the pain was authentic, Philip's leg pulsed a bit as he stood there alone, leaning heavily on his cane. He had never begrudged Russell anything in his life, but a pang of resentment did settle in his stomach as the pair moved in rhythm together, Russell's undamaged legs hidden in Miss Pritchard's skirts.

Scoundrels. She said she was more familiar with scoundrels, hadn't she? Well, one certainly held her in his arms at the moment. Philip shook the ungenerous thought from his mind. Oh, Russell could most certainly be described as a scoundrel, but he was like a brother to Philip. Still, the captain would break Miss Pritchard's heart if she gave it to him, Philip had no doubt. After all, he'd seen his friend do that very thing to girl after pretty girl over the years.

Substandard kisser. Russell's earlier words echoed once again in Philip's ears. With the way Russell gazed at the chit's mouth, Philip doubted his friend had been entirely honest about that. Though why the thought of Russell kissing Miss Pritchard should make Philip want to remove his best friend's head made no sense at all. Who Russell kissed, or whom Miss Pritchard kissed for that matter, was none of his concern. Not really. But it was hard to get her earlier expression of horror out of his mind. If Mason, the suspected scoundrel, had hurt Miss Pritchard, wasn't it his duty to ensure Russell didn't do the same?

No, it wasn't. He'd just met the girl, after all. He might never see her again. Why should her lackluster choice in men be his concern at all? The answer to that question made his stomach roil just a bit. He hadn't been here to save Olivia, and he'd hate for Miss Pritchard to endure the same fate, not if he could save her from it.

A hand clapped Philip's back, and he looked over his shoulder at Brendan Reese, the Earl of Clayworth, who was apparently making his rounds as far as greeting his guests. "Moore, so good of you to come."

"Thank you, my lord. I don't believe I had much of a choice, however. Your wife was quite adamant that I attend."

Clayworth winked at Philip. "That will teach you to let her know you've got your eye on some horseflesh at Tattersall's. You could have made your purchase and been merrily on your way back to Notthinghamshire without her ever having been the wiser."

Philip smiled at the earl, a man he'd genuinely admired ever since they'd met. "I suppose I don't mind. Not really." He glanced back out at the sea of people on the dance floor. "I met your enchanting cousin this evening."

"Amelia? Cordie isn't playing matchmaker, is she?"

Philip shook his head. "I don't believe so." If she was, she was doing an awful job of it. She hadn't pressured Philip into taking to the dance floor. She hadn't winked secretly at him or surreptitiously gestured to Miss Pritchard behind the girl's back.

"Good." Clayworth breathed a sigh of relief. "She has been in Caroline Staveley's pocket the last little while, and though I adore the viscountess, I'd rather not have the lady's proclivity for interfering in other's lives rub off on my wife."

Philip chuckled. He couldn't help it. Didn't the man know his wife at all? "I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Clayworth, but Cordie has always had that proclivity."

"Don't I know it? But Lady Staveley is much worse, Major. You may take my word for it. No one I've ever met can go toe-to-toe with her, and I'd rather not have the lady tutoring Cordie in that regard. I can't imagine living through the turmoil Caroline has put poor Staveley through over the years."

Philip didn't give one whit about Lady Staveley or her beleaguered husband, but the pretty blonde, laughing at whatever inanity Russell had just uttered, was an entirely different matter. "How long will Miss Pritchard be in Town?"

The earl looked out across the crowded ballroom and frowned when his eyes settled on his cousin. "As long as she needs to, I suppose."

As long as she needs to? What was that supposed to mean? Philip was just about to ask when Cordie approached the pair, grinning like the cat who ate the cream.

"Well, if it isn't my two favorite gentlemen in all of London."

Clayworth laughed. "You'd better hope your brothers don't hear you say that."

She rolled her eyes. "As Tristan didn't even bother to show up this evening and Russell is...well, _Russell,_ I don't really care if either of them hears me at all."

"Well, I won't tell Gregory you said it either when I head home." Philip smiled at her.

Cordie scoffed. "As though he'd care. He never comes to Town as it is, so he could never be one of my favorite gentlemen _in_ Town, now could he?"

"I hadn't thought of it that way. You do have a point," Philip agreed.

"Don't encourage her," Clayworth muttered, though the grin he flashed his wife belied his words. "Besides, you should only have _one_ favorite gentleman, Cordelia, _in_ Town or otherwise. I don't know where you got the idea it was all right to have two of them."

Love and complete adoration radiated from Cordie as she gazed at her husband. "I think you should be quite unfashionable, Brendan."

"Unfashionable?" Clayworth frowned.

"Hmm. I think you should actually dance with your wife for the next set."

"What a wonderful idea, _mon minoche._ " He lifted his hand out to her. "Will you do me the honors, Lady Clayworth?"

"It will be my greatest pleasure, Lord Clayworth."

Somehow Philip managed not to gag. No matter how much he adored both Cordie and her husband individually, they could turn a man's stomach when they were together.

At that moment, the waltz ended and Clayworth began to lead his wife towards the dance floor. "Oh, Philip," Cordie said over her shoulder, "we are headed to Drury Lane tomorrow night. Will you still be in Town?"

He shouldn't be here now. He _should_ have already started for Papplewick, but he caught sight of Russell and Miss Pritchard headed in his direction. "Drury Lane?"

"Henry V," Cordie replied, waiting for his answer.

Wonderful! An entire play about the Battle of Agincourt. Philip grimaced. He'd seen enough war to fill a hundred lifetimes.

With Miss Pritchard on his arm, Russell grinned from just a few feet away. "You aren't attending the theatre, are you, Moore?"

"Are _you_?" Philip returned.

His friend nodded. "Of course. I've always loved the Bard." Then he smirked at Miss Pritchard. "Just wait 'til you see Clayworth's box, Amelia. Best seats in the house."

_Amelia?_ Since when had the pair become so intimate they were using the other's first name? Philip's eyes sought out Miss Pritchard's light blue ones. She looked as innocent as a lamb headed to slaughter, which was precisely what Russell would do if given the chance.

Philip heaved a sigh. "I'm certain we'll have a grand time."

Russell's brow rose in surprise. "I thought Leverton Park awaited you."

"One more night in London won't kill me."

His friend laughed. "First time I've ever heard you say that."

Indeed, it was the first time Philip had ever muttered such a thing.

Just then, a fellow Philip didn't know approached the trio and dipped his head in Miss Pritchard's direction. "I believe this is my dance."

"Yes, of course, my lord." She smiled as she stepped towards him and accepted the man's proffered hand. Then they started for the dance floor.

"Who is that?" Philip asked under his breath.

"Clifton." Russell grimaced.

Philip didn't even know the name. Why was Russell scowling at the man? Was it jealousy? He'd never seen Russell jealous of anyone. Was such a thing even possible? "She's a substandard kisser, huh?"

Russell scoffed as he glanced across the room. "Speaking of kissing, I really should claim Miss Dewhurst. My name is on her card for this set."

And within the blink of an eye, Philip was all alone on the edge of the ballroom, leaning on his cane for support. His eyes strayed back to Miss Pritchard and Lord Clifton, whoever the devil he was, dancing a lively quadrille. A pretty pink colored her cheeks as she giggled, making her seem full of life, and Philip couldn't help but sigh. Even before his injury, he'd never been one for dancing, but watching Miss Pritchard twirl on Clifton's arm made him think that dancing with her might actually be enjoyable. Well, for someone who was capable of dancing, anyway.

# Chapter 5

"Cordelia darling!" gushed a lady with golden brown hair, who could only be Lady Staveley, as they had just entered the viscountess' blue parlor.

Though Amelia had never met the widely esteemed Lady Staveley, she had heard quite a bit about the woman ever since her arrival in London. The mere mention of her ladyship's name made grown men cower in fear. What a wonderful trait to possess.

Lady Staveley kissed both of Cordie's cheeks, then she turned her hazel gaze on Amelia. "You must be Miss Pritchard."

"Caroline Staveley, Amelia Pritchard," Cordie introduced.

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Lady Staveley." Amelia curtseyed.

Lady Staveley smiled in response and gestured to one of the settees in her parlor. "Please do make yourselves at home. Merton will have refreshments to us in no time."

Amelia wasn't quite certain that was true. Not if Merton was the aged butler who had showed them into Staveley House. She wasn't sure how the old man was able to support his own weight as he walked, let alone carry a tea tray. Still, saying such a thing would be highly improper, so she did as she was bade and took a spot on a sapphire brocade settee.

Cordie and Lady Staveley followed at a slower pace, their heads tilted together as though they were sharing a secret. The viscountess took a spot beside Amelia while Cordie sat in a high-back chair, just a few feet away. "Tell me, Miss Pritchard, how are you enjoying London?"

"I am enjoying it rather well, my lady, thank you."

Cordie shook her head. "You will never guess what my brother put Amelia up to, Caroline."

"I might guess. Which brother are we talking about? Not the level-headed Lieutenant Avery, surely."

"No, the foolish and pig-headed _Captain_ Avery," Cordie clarified. "Russell thought to draw Major Moore out of his shell with Amelia's help."

At this pronouncement, Lady Staveley sat up straight and turned her attention back to Amelia. "Oh? And how did you find the good major?"

Amelia blinked, for lack of anything else to do. How was she supposed to answer that question? "Serious," she finally muttered, a bit anxious under Lady Staveley's scrutiny.

The viscountess nodded in agreement. "He is that. I do hate that my cousin broke his heart. That was never Livvie's intent. Unfortunately, it couldn't be helped under the circumstances."

Amelia's ears perked up. Major Moore was heartbroken? Was that what Captain Avery had refused to divulge the previous evening? "I didn't realize he was suffering a broken heart. Captain Avery said he'd been morose since returning from the continent."

"See what I mean?" Cordie said. "Russell didn't even tell her what he was getting her into."

"I-I don't think I'm _in_ anything," Amelia protested.

"Of course not, darling." Lady Staveley patted Amelia's hands. "Besides, you wouldn't want to find yourself saddled with a serious man like Philip Moore. You seem much too lighthearted to endure such a fellow."

Amelia was certain her cheeks were ablaze. "That's not what I meant at all," she sputtered. "I-I, that is, Captain Avery just wanted me to flirt with the major a bit, see if I could get him to smile." Besides, Amelia wasn't ready to be saddled with anyone at the moment, not after learning of Geoffrey's duplicity. She might never want to be saddled with anyone.

"And did he?" Lady Staveley's hazel eyes bored into Amelia's, breaking her from her reverie. "Smile, that is?"

He _had_ smiled. Amelia hadn't thought about that until this moment, but Major Moore had smiled when they were in the garden. "Is it truly that rare for him to smile?"

"It didn't used to be," Cordie hastened to explain. "Well, he was always a bit more staid than any of my brothers, but then almost anyone would be." She shook her head. "But Philip... Well, Philip was always the most noble of the group, yet he was lighthearted in those days."

"Until the broken heart?" The question flew out of Amelia's mouth before she could stop it. Truly, none of this was her concern.

Cordie sighed and Lady Staveley squeezed Amelia's hands. "My cousin Olivia, now the Duchess of Kelfield, was betrothed to Major Moore when he left for the continent."

"Childhood sweethearts," Cordie added. "We all grew up together."

"But in his absence, Olivia met Kelfield and the two fell deeply in love."

"Philip didn't take the news well." Cordie frowned. "And then there was the war and his injury, and... Honestly, Amelia, I never thought to see him smile again. A real smile I mean, not the feigned one he forces to his face as though he's trying to appease me, the one that falls away the instant he thinks I'm not looking."

"Perhaps he just needs time," Amelia offered. After all, wasn't that why she'd come to London? For a little space and time to heal.

Cordie scoffed. "Hardly. Trust me, Amelia, I've known Philip Moore my entire life. Given his own predispositions, he'll return to Leverton Park, sit in his study, and never come up for air. And that is what worries me about him. I hate to see him shut himself off from the rest of the world. More than anything, I'd like to see my friend truly happy again."

He certainly hadn't seemed happy the previous evening, though stoic might have been a better word than unhappy. But since the major had prevented Geoffrey from finding her, Amelia did owe him a debt. If she could make him smile, as everyone seemed to want for him, she would give it her best effort. Besides, she did like him, his serious façade notwithstanding. And she did understand what it felt like to possess a broken heart.

"What exactly do you know about Amelia Pritchard?" Philip demanded as he strode into Avery House's yellow parlor, glaring at Russell who was sprawled across a divan, reading that morning's Times. "And I don't want to hear you utter the words _substandard kisser_."

Russell lowered his feet to the ground and dropped the paper to his lap. "Oh? Why is that? Do you happen to know otherwise?"

Philip narrowed his eyes on his oldest friend. "How the devil would I know otherwise?"

Russell shrugged. "Well, you were in Clayworth's garden with the chit. If it had been me..."

"If it had been you, you would have defiled the girl in some way."

"Which, of course, the oh-so-noble Major Philip Moore would never do. What _is_ the matter with you today? Cravat tied too tightly?"

Philip wasn't certain at that moment _why_ Russell Avery was his oldest friend. They were, and always had been, as different as night and day. Proximity in growing up together was the only answer that sprung to mind. "No, my cravat isn't tied too tightly, you louse," he ground out. "But I want you to leave Miss Pritchard alone."

Russell smirked and rose to his feet. "I beg your pardon?"

Philip shook his head. "I get the impression she's running from something, or hiding from something, and the last thing she needs is _your_ false intentions."

"And who—" Russell looked mildly affronted, "—is to say my intentions are false?"

With his injured leg throbbing, Philip leaned heavily on his cane. "Well, I would think Miss Phoebe Greywood would say so, for one. Or have you told her you don't intend to pursue her any longer?"

"I already told you she didn't write me as often as she promised."

Philip snorted. "And that is enough for you to wash your hands of the chit and turn your attention to Miss Pritchard? Not enough letters in your satchel?"

"A fellow does want to feel like he's missed," Russell explained. "Besides whether or not my intentions are false as far as Miss Pritchard is concerned is really no business of yours."

And that was the truth of it. Philip didn't have a right to intervene on Miss Pritchard's behalf. He didn't even know the girl. Not really. "Leave her be, Russell."

"Just why are you so concerned about the chit?"

"Because I've seen the trail of broken hearts you've left in every country we've traveled together, and I don't want her to join their ranks."

"Indeed?" His friend's brow rose in question. "Or is it you want the girl for yourself, but don't think you can win her if you have any competition?"

"That is so far off the mark, I don't even know where to begin." In fact, it was the most ludicrous thing Philip had ever heard.

Russell heaved a sigh. "Is it? I'm not so sure."

"I will always love Olivia, as you well know. I would never chase after a girl, if I couldn't give her my whole heart. To do so would make me the worst sort of blackguard."

"Like your father."

Just like his father, and Philip was determined to never be compared to the late Jonathan Moore if it killed him. "He is precisely why I would never do such a thing." He'd watched his mother die a little more every day, devastated that no matter what she did, she would never be the woman her husband loved.

Russell dropped back on the divan and shook his head. "To what end, Philip? So you can live the rest of your life alone? I know you'll always love Olivia, but she is out of reach, and forgive me for saying so – happily there, by all accounts."

"I am relieved that Kelfield treats her well." No matter that the duke was the exact wrong sort for Olivia. There was nothing to be done about the situation now.

"You know she wants you to be happy as well."

Of course she did. Olivia always wanted the best for everyone. It was her nature and one of the reasons Philip still loved her, despite her defection. "I didn't come here to talk about me, Russ." He dropped into a chair across from his friend and leaned his cane against his injured leg. "I wanted to find out what you know about Miss Pritchard. I do think she's running from something."

"And you're determined to play the hero?" His friend smiled sadly. "I suppose some habits are hard to break." Russell scratched his jaw. "Amelia arrived in Town a sennight ago, and Clayworth and Cordie welcomed her with open arms. If she is running from something, I have no knowledge of it."

Philip nodded his head. "I hope you're right."

"I'm always right." Russell quirked a cheeky grin at him.

"How could I forget?" Philip straightened in his seat. "Promise you'll stay away from the girl?"

Russell tossed back his head and chuckled. "Hardly. If for no other reason than to watch _you_ squirm."

"Perfect," Philip muttered. Now Russell viewed Miss Pritchard as a game, which was the last thing he wanted for the girl.

"Besides," his friend continued, "she is quite stunning and I wouldn't mind waking up next to her some morning in the near future."

Philip clutched his cane in his hand. Damn Russell for still being the same reprobate he'd always been.

# Chapter 6

Theatre-goers bustled past Philip into the Theatre Royal, but he held his position, leaning on his cane, facing Catherine Street. In the distance he spotted a coach emblazoned with the Clayworth crest and patiently waited for the carriage to stop near the entrance. A few moments later, the earl's coach halted and the driver leapt to the ground to open the door.

Russell bounded out first, and he offered his hand to Miss Pritchard, who stepped onto the cobblestones looking even lovelier than she had the night before. Flaxen curls framed her face and her daring _décolletage_ drew Philip's eyes downward. Dear God, she was a pretty bundle.

"Major Moore," she said in greeting, bringing his attention back to her face.

"Miss Pritchard," he replied, "so nice to see you again." And it was, especially as her blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight, filled with merriment. It would be nicer, however, if Russell wasn't wearing a lascivious grin as he, too, gazed at the chit. "Avery," Philip grumbled. Poor girl was in over her head with the roguish captain, she just didn't realize it.

"I can't imagine why the two of you are glaring daggers at each other." Cordie alighted from the coach on her husband's arm. "Do behave this evening. I won't have Amelia reporting home that I subjected her to cretins while visiting us."

"I have never been referred to as a cretin." Russell touched a hand to his heart.

"Not while you were within earshot anyway," Cordie countered. "Now let us do go in."

The foursome of Russell, Miss Pritchard, Cordie, and Lord Clayworth started up the steps and into the theatre's doors, while Philip followed at a slower pace. Amelia Pritchard looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled, and Philip's heart lightened just a bit.

As the couples disappeared from his view, he pushed his way through the crowd and up the staircase. He nodded a greeting to a couple of old acquaintances and then started towards Clayworth's box, until he noticed Mr. Mason just a few feet away in the corridor. Philip couldn't help but frown. Just the sight of the man who'd made Miss Pritchard hide in terror made Philip want to smash his cane over the man's head.

Unfortunately, Mason met Philip's eyes, smiled in greeting, and started towards him. "Good evening, Major."

"Mr. Mason." Philip nodded. "Have you had any luck locating your blonde?"

The Welshman frowned. "No. However, I heard a rumor the girl might be in attendance this evening."

A rumor? How could the man have heard such a thing? Had Mason taken to bribing a Clayworth servant to gather information on Miss Pritchard? "Well, best of luck to you in your search then."

"Thank you. Do enjoy the performance."

Philip nodded curtly and then navigated his way through the lively crowd until he reached Clayworth's box.

Miss Pritchard giggled at something Russell said, which only brought a scowl to Philip's face. The girl attracted scoundrels to her like a bees to a flower.

She noticed his presence, and the smile faded from her face. "Are you all right, Major?"

"Might I have a word with you, Miss Pritchard?"

"Of course."

As she hastened to his side, Philip ignored the amused look Russell cast in his direction, almost that of a challenge. Philip shook his head. He didn't have any time for Russell's foolishness. He tugged Miss Pritchard to the far corner of the box and whispered, "Your Mr. Mason is here, looking for you."

Horror flashed in her pretty eyes, and Philip couldn't help but frown. Whatever Mason had done to warrant such a reaction in the lady must be reprehensible, indeed. He'd do just about anything to keep her from ever having to wear that expression again.

* * *

Coldness washed over Amelia. Geoffrey was here! "Where?" she squeaked out.

"I bumped into him out there." Major Moore gestured towards the corridor with a tilt of his head. "Said he'd heard a rumor you'd be here tonight."

Blast it all. Why was Geoffrey so intent on finding her in public?

If he was so set on seeing her, why wouldn't he just call on her like a regular gentleman would do? Of course he wasn't a regular gentleman. He was a duplicitous blackguard who hid behind the label of gentleman. But still, why seek her out in public? Why the ball last night? Why the theatre tonight? Did he mean to embarrass her before all the world? "I can't stay here," she muttered to herself.

But Major Moore must have heard her because he lowered his head and said quietly, "I left my horse in the mews."

Amelia's eyes flashed to the major's. Was he serious? "You'll help me escape?"

He nodded once. "For a price."

A price? How much did he want? She hadn't come to London with much. Amelia blinked up at him. "I only have my pin money, sir, but you're welcome to it." Especially if he helped her escape from Geoffrey, he could have every farthing she would ever possess.

His frown darkened. "I don't want your money, Miss Pritchard. I want the truth. I want to know what Mason's done that so terrifies you."

Heavens! She hadn't even told Papa why she'd jilted Geoffrey. She'd never breathed a word to anyone. No one would believe her, anyway. So Amelia smiled sadly and told him the exact same thing she'd told her parents. "We don't suit," she said. "I didn't realize it until he'd returned from the continent. Unfortunately, he didn't take the news well."

A look of disbelief settled on his face. Major Moore retrieved her hand and placed it on his sleeve. " _You_ are a terrible liar," he whispered. Then he cleared his throat and glanced at her cousin. "It appears Miss Pritchard isn't feeling her best this evening, Clayworth."

Cordie stepped forward. "I'm so sorry, Amelia. Is there something I can do?"

How exactly was she to feign illness? And what illness should she feign? Amelia covered a cough with her hand. "I-I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning," said quietly, hoping she sounded the tiniest bit ill.

"How strange," Captain Avery remarked. "She seemed perfectly fine just moments ago."

"Then perhaps it was her exposure to _you_." Cordie stared pointedly at her brother.

"In any event," Major Moore began, before the siblings could snipe at each other, "I promised to escort her back to Clayworth House."

"Take our carriage," Cordie offered.

But the major shook his head. "I have my horse."

Cordie blanched. "Horse? I can't imagine that would help her condition, whatever it is."

"Perhaps we should all just abandon the play," Clayworth remarked, "and return another time. I'll go retrieve the coach."

Major Moore stopped the earl with a hand on his arm. "I'm certain Miss Pritchard would hate to ruin your evening. I'm happy to see her home."

Cordie sucked in a breath of air. "Oh!" she said most delightedly. "I think that's a wonderful suggestion, Philip. Just take Clayworth's coach and send it back for us, will you?"

"Cordie." Her husband frowned. "That's hardly an appropriate suggestion."

"Posh." She waved him off with a sweep of her hand. "Philip is the most upstanding gentleman of my acquaintance—"

"Is that so?" the earl asked.

The countess rolled her eyes. "With the exception of you, my love. You know Philip as well as I do. Can you see him making improper advances towards Amelia?"

Amelia flushed at the suggestion at the same moment Major Moore poked his head back out into the corridor, ostensibly to check for Geoffrey. Thank heavens he seemed preoccupied with securing a safe escape and wasn't paying particular attention to the countess' words.

"That's hardly the point," the earl continued.

Heavens! All Amelia wanted was to flee the theatre before Geoffrey could find her and devise a plan to avoid him in the future. Right now, escaping with Major Moore made the most sense. Two of them leaving was less conspicuous than five of them departing before the curtain was even pulled. "It's just a short distance, my lord. I don't want to interfere with your evening." And truly, she didn't.

"You are my cousin," Clayworth objected. "You couldn't possibly interfere—"

"Brendan!" his wife snapped. "It's _Philip_!"

"Very well," the earl conceded with a sigh. "But _only_ because it's Moore."

"Thank you, my lord," Amelia muttered. Then she turned her attention to the major. "I do appreciate your willingness to assist me, sir. Truly."

"It's my honor, Miss Pritchard." Then he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm once again, wished their companions a wonderful evening, and directed Amelia back into the corridor.

"I don't know how to thank you," she said quietly.

"With the truth," he grumbled, limping slightly with his cane, "just as soon as we're in Clayworth's conveyance."

Amelia allowed him to tow her down the crowded corridor, wishing Clayworth's box was closer to the exit. She was just about to insist that she _had_ told him the truth when Geoffrey Mason appeared before them.

Amelia's heart sank and her stomach roiled.

"My dear Miss Pritchard, I feared I might never see you again," her one-time fiancé said smoothly. Then he nodded towards the major. "Thank you for finding her for me, Moore. I do appreciate your assistance."

Assistance? Amelia's heart sank as she looked up at her very own Judas Iscariot.

# Chapter 7

Philip hated the look of betrayal that flashed on Miss Pritchard's face, especially as he hadn't betrayed her. Not on purpose, anyway. He'd been just as surprised as she was when Mason appeared out of nowhere.

When he sensed she might bolt, Philip relinquished the hold he had on his cane, which clattered to the floor, in order to secure her hand to his arm. "Do excuse us, Mason. The lady isn't feeling well."

The Welshman nodded towards Miss Pritchard, his eyes boring into hers, it seemed. "My poor Amelia, let me see you home."

"Thank you for your concern, but I have everything well under control," Philip replied.

Finally Mason raised his gaze from Miss Pritchard to settle on Philip. "As she is my fiancée, I would be remiss in not seeing to her comfort."

_Fiancée_? The lady had certainly been remiss in not revealing that important tidbit. She'd said they didn't suit, but she hadn't mentioned an engagement. An image of Olivia flashed in Philip's mind, but he pushed it away. Whether or not Olivia had abandoned _him_ because they didn't suit any longer or for some other reason mattered very little at this point.

"We're no longer betrothed," Miss Pritchard bit out. "Perhaps you'll recall." And though there was a steeliness to her voice, her small frame shook slightly, which belied her bravado. Whatever reason she'd had for ending her association with Mason went well beyond whether or not they suited. Philip would have wagered she was terrified of the man.

"I don't recall any such thing," the Welshman insisted.

"She's my fiancée now." The words flew from Philip's lips before he could stop them. He wasn't even sure where they'd come from, but there was nothing for it now. Once they had dealt with Mason, Miss Pritchard could break off her _betrothal_ to Philip and they could both go their separate ways. "So I'll see to her comfort from here on out," he continued.

Miss Pritchard's blue eyes rounded in surprise, and Mr. Mason's mouth dropped open as his face took on a purplish tint. "I beg your pardon?" the Welshman stuttered.

Miss Pritchard inhaled deeply as though she was steadying herself. "Yes, I – um – I've accepted Major Moore's offer of marriage." She tightened her grip on Philip's arm.

"You wouldn't dare," Mason growled.

"Please, Geoffrey," she whispered, "if you ever held any affection for Alan or for me, you'll head home and leave me be."

Philip's mind replayed the scene once again when he'd learned Olivia had married while he was away. That heartache and devastation washed over him anew as he heard Miss Pritchard's words. It was a miracle he remained standing, since his cane still lay on the floor at his feet.

Mason stepped closer to the pair, his face a mask of rage, and he jabbed Philip's shoulder. "I'll meet _you_ at dawn."

Miss Pritchard gasped, clutching Philip even tighter. "No!" Panic sounded in her voice.

Women never did understand these things. Olivia hadn't, and the fact that Miss Pritchard didn't either wasn't a surprise. Philip glanced down at her briefly, hoping he offered a bit of comfort, then he turned his attention back again to her one-time fiancé. "I understand your distress, Mason. So I'll allow you to reconsider your threat. There's no need for us to meet on a field of honor. I've done you no wrong."

The Welshman snorted. "Afraid of me? You should be."

Philip simply shook his head. "On the contrary, I have no desire to harm you. Leave the lady alone and we'll go our separate ways."

"Harm me?" Mason chortled without mirth. "I'm hardly concerned about my chances against a cripple."

A hush went through the crowd that Philip just now noticed had begun to circle around them. He lowered his voice as he said, "Only my second's ineptitude in making the arrangements saved the last blackguard I met on a field of honor from certain death. I won't make the same mistake in my choice of representative a second time, Mason. This is your last chance to reconsider."

"Major, please," Miss Pritchard begged. "Not on my behalf."

But there was no other way. Whatever had gone on between the pair, Miss Pritchard had asked Mason to leave her be and the man had in turn refused. If she truly was Philip's fiancée, he would stand his ground just as he was doing now. "You may have the day to think about it," he said to the Welshman. "Should you choose to continue down this path, you may send your second in search of mine. Lieutenant Tristan Avery." Then with his good leg, he kicked his cane into the air and caught it, hoping the pain shooting through his bad leg didn't register on his face. "Come along, Amelia. We'll get you that fresh air now."

Amelia couldn't even find her voice as Major Moore tugged her through the crowd and down the steps outside the theatre where he signaled Clayworth's driver. Finally, she dug her heels in, refusing to go another step towards the carriage until they had this out. He had clearly lost his mind.

"You can't duel with him, Major."

His dark eyes settled on her, and Amelia could only blink. Heaven help anyone who crossed this man. "That is none of your concern, my dear."

But he didn't understand, and she wouldn't see him dead because of her. "Of course it's my concern. You wouldn't have ever even met him if you weren't trying to protect me. I won't have your death on my conscience, sir."

At that, Major Moore tipped back his head and laughed, a rich sound that would have normally filled Amelia with warmth and pride to have engendered such a response from him. But not now, not considering what he was laughing about.

"I hardly find this amusing."

"Of course not. You ladies simply don't understand these things. And if you did, I'm not sure even then that you'd see the humor in them." He opened Clayworth's coach door and gestured to the interior with a tilt of his head. "Climb in, Amelia, we have much to discuss."

They did. Starting with his insane notion that he needed to put himself in front of Geoffrey Mason's pistol. The villain had already killed enough people. But Catherine Street was hardly the place for such a discussion, so Amelia stepped inside the coach and settled on one of the benches.

Less than a moment later, Major Moore joined her on her bench and tapped on the roof with his cane. As the coach lurched forward, he placed a steadying hand on her arm and said, "Now I'll have that truth, Amelia. I want to know what Mason has done that so terrifies you."

How had he known Geoffrey terrified her? Amelia stared at the Major and said the only thing she thought would distract him from his questions. "I didn't give you leave to use my Christian name." In fact, it wasn't until this moment she realized he'd been calling her that for some time.

The Major heaved a sigh. "We hardly have time for such formalities. Now, I am waiting on your answer. What did Mason do, Amelia?"

"That's neither here nor there." Besides, she didn't have any proof, and she'd sound like an idiot if she blurted out her suspicions. "You can't fight a duel with the man. Go back and smooth things over."

"You're hardly the first lady to tell me I can't fight in a duel, I didn't pay the last one any attention either."

"And is that how you got injured?" Amelia blurted before she thought the better of it.

But Major Moore shook his head. "My leg took a French ball in Waterloo and a rather nasty jab from a bayonet. The surgeons were able to fish the fragments out, but I'll never walk the same again."

"I am sorry," she said, and meant it. What a horrible thing to mention, as all he was really trying to do was help her. Still, she didn't want the next bullet fired at him to do even more damage. "Please don't engage Mr. Mason in this foolishness."

Major Moore scrubbed a hand down his face. "I am confident in my abilities, Amelia. Now tell me what Mason has done that so frightens you."

She shook her head. "I don't want to you get hurt on my behalf. You didn't ask for any of this."

"Tell me," he commanded, leaning forwards until his nose almost touched hers. His dark eyes were so beseeching Amelia could drown in them. He was, as Captain Avery had told her on more than one occasion, too noble by half.

"I _did_ tell you," she stressed. "Mr. Mason returned from the continent. My brother Alan did not. And though I grieved for Alan, I was relieved the war had not taken both of them from me. But Geoffrey...er...Mr. Mason wasn't the same as I remembered him, or perhaps I changed in his absence, or perhaps I never really knew him to begin with. In any event, we no longer suited, so I ended our betrothal."

He shook his head. "There's more to it than that. I can see it in your eyes."

Amelia heaved a sigh. He was more stubborn than a bull. "Why did you name your second as Lieutenant Avery and not Captain Avery?"

A ghost of a smile settled on the major's lips. "Your distractions won't work, Amelia. I am waiting for the whole truth."

But she had to try. "I thought Captain Avery was your closest friend." The captain had said so from the very beginning, after all.

Major Moore chuckled softly. "Very well. I will make you a deal. When you tell me the whole truth about Mr. Mason, I will tell you why Lieutenant Avery is a much better choice for a second than my dear friend the captain."

"But I've already told you everything," she insisted.

The major responded by shaking his head once more. "You've not told me everything, and we both know it."

If she'd been standing, Amelia would have stomped her foot in frustration. "And what makes you so certain? You're barely acquainted with me. I _have_ told you everything."

He smoothed a hand over her cheek, nearly stealing Amelia of her breath. "It doesn't matter how long I've known you, Amelia. I know you're holding back."

"But—" she began to protest.

But he spoke over her. "Last night you fled the ballroom in your attempt to escape him. This evening you couldn't stop shaking – do you even realize that, I wonder?"

Had she been shaking?

"It's true," he said, confirming her unvoiced question. "Upon seeing Mason, your whole body quaked with fear. I've been in battle with men who were terrified, and you had the same look about you, my dear. And the story you've told me thus far would not create such a reaction in you. I know there's something you're not telling me. And we had a deal. I helped you escape him, and now I want the truth."

"Very well." Amelia sighed as she dropped her eyes to her lap. "I think he killed my brother," she whispered so softly, she barely heard the words herself.

# Chapter 8

Philip wasn't certain he heard her correctly. He tipped her chin up with one crooked finger so she had to meet his eyes. "You think he killed your brother?"

"I knew you wouldn't believe me." She tried to slide away from him, but Philip grasped her shoulder to keep her still.

"That is quite the accusation, Amelia. I thought you said your brother died in the war."

She nodded. "At Quatre Bras, along with several other underage boys. I know it sounds ridiculous, as I wasn't there. And I don't have any proof. None for my father and none for you. But I know it as sure as I know my own name. Geoffrey killed Alan, and he did it for my inheritance, or what would be mine if my brother was no longer living. And what would be his after we were married."

Philip wasn't certain what he'd thought she would reveal, but murder certainly wasn't it. "Did you tell your father this?"

Amelia shook her head. "He's always thought of Geoffrey as a son. I started to broach the subject, but it was clear Papa wouldn't have believed me, and he was already mourning Alan's loss. So I begged him to let me cry off instead."

"Is it possible your grief over your brother's death has clouded your judgment on this? That you blame Mason somehow for not saving your brother on the field?"

She shook her head once more. "No. And I don't expect you to believe me. I don't expect anyone to believe me." Then she clutched his jacket in her hands and pulled him closer to her, bringing Philip's face within a hairsbreadth of her own. "I can't have your death on my conscience, Major. Please go back and smooth things over. Tell him I'm not really your fiancée. Tell him anything you like, but don't duel over me. I beg you."

He couldn't remember the last time a lady was concerned about him. Caught up in the moment, Philip dipped his head incrementally lower until his lips brushed hers. She gasped slightly in surprise, then her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned closer to him, actually kissing him back. Her soft lips were like heaven, a balm for his soul, and Philip caressed the apple of her cheek with his finger.

He hadn't meant to kiss her, at least he didn't think so. He wasn't even sure what had come over him, but holding her close, her lilac scent enveloping him, Philip was lost. He deepened his kiss and swept his tongue into her mouth. Dear God, she tasted as good as she smelled. He hadn't kissed a woman since Oliv—

What the devil had come over him? Philip pulled back from the kiss and stared at Amelia. "I'm so terribly sorry."

She slid away from him on the bench, wedging herself against the wall of the coach. "No, I-I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

She wasn't alone in that. Philip never lost control. Never. But now it was difficult to even put two rational thoughts together. Still, he struggled to do so. "Well—um—you asked why I would choose Lieutenant Avery over his brother as my second," he began, theorizing that if he spoke on another topic, it would clear his brain and keep the awkwardness of their current situation from becoming worse. "Well, I made the mistake of having Russell be my second once before, you see."

"You said something to that affect back at the theatre. How many times have you dueled, Major? The last time I checked, such honorable acts were illegal."

Philip bit back a smile at her censure. "I've only participated in _one_ duel. Unfortunately the fellows responsible for making the arrangements agreed on ending it at first blood drawn. I won, but the win was hardly satisfactory."

Amelia slid closer to him again, disbelief in her pretty blue eyes. "Did you want to kill the other man?"

Only every day since Philip learned Kelfield had stolen Olivia from him. Still, Amelia looked aghast at the suggestion. And after kissing her, he hated the idea of her thinking him awful. So he'd have to make her understand, or try to. "He compromised and then married my betrothed while I was with my regiment. I'd have done anything to save her from a life with the villain. Nicking him with my rapier hardly assuaged my pride. But more importantly, my failure to free her from the man has doomed her to a life with him."

"You still love her?"

Philip shrugged. What did it matter if he did or didn't? Olivia was lost to him. "Do you still love Mason?" he asked instead of answering, truly wanting to know the answer.

Amelia shook her head emphatically. "No. I'm not sure I ever really did. I mean I thought I loved him. But he isn't who I thought he was, so I don't think that love was ever real. Does that make sense?"

"Your feelings most certainly were or are real, even if the man is as duplicitous as you seem to believe. If you learned you were wrong about him, if you had proof that your brother died an honorable death on the field of battle, would you find your feelings of love for Mason return to you?"

"But he did kill Alan."

"You didn't answer my question."

"And you didn't answer mine. Do you still love the woman you fought your duel over?"

Philip heaved a sigh and turned his gaze to the darkness of London outside the window. "I will always love her, for all the good it does either of us."

Amelia's heart ached for Major Moore. She wanted to reach a hand out to him, to soothe his broken heart; but considering how she'd just kissed the man, it didn't seem the best idea. So, she sat in her corner of the carriage, quietly wishing, as his friends did, that happiness would find the major once more.

"So," he finally said, breaking the awkward silence that had encompassed them, "tomorrow morning, news of our betrothal will have spread across London. I hadn't realized we'd gathered a crowd this evening until it was too late."

Their betrothal. How laughable that seemed at the moment. "I was going to ask how you thought we were going to get out of that particular predicament."

He shifted on the bench, turning his dark gaze once again on Amelia. "For now, it should offer you a bit of safety. I'm sorry if it keeps legitimate suitors at bay."

But Amelia didn't want legitimate suitors. She wanted the all-encompassing, euphoric feeling that had washed over her when Major Moore had kissed her, which was ridiculous. He hadn't felt the same. In fact, he was still nursing a broken heart that'd had more than a year to heal. "So when it's safe, I'll break our betrothal?"

The major nodded.

"And what if it's never safe? Surely you wouldn't go so far as to marry me in order to help me keep Mason away."

His eyes darkened in the dimmed light, though Amelia wasn't certain how that was even possible. "I would never subject you to that life, Amelia. We'll find another solution to your situation.

After riding around London for hours with his mind awash with the evening's events, Philip finally climbed the steps to his borrowed chambers that the Averys were kind enough to lend him whenever he was in Town. The ride hadn't done him a bit of good. No solution had presented itself. Was it possible Amelia was right and Mason had killed her brother? And if so, how would one go about proving such a thing?

Who was he kidding?

Every time he tried to focus on the situation at hand, his mind flashed with the image of Amelia in his arms, of Amelia kissing him. Dear God, just the memory made him hard anew. What was he to do about her, his pretend fiancée?

"Congratulations," drawled Lieutenant Tristan Avery as he leaned against the doorjamb that lead to his own set of chambers.

"I beg your pardon?" Philip tried to shake the fuzziness from his mind.

"I was at the theatre this evening. Saw your whole little display. Who is the lucky chit, by the way?"

"You were at the theatre? Why weren't you with Cordie and Russell?"

"Not really in the mood to socialize with Russ these days." Tristan shrugged. "So are you going to tell me who the lady is? Or do you want me to guess?"

Philip gestured Tristan into his own room, to avoid a conversation in the corridor that could easily be overheard by anyone else in the house, especially as there was the likelihood that Mason's second would be seeking Tristan out the next day anyway. "I would have thought you'd already be acquainted with Miss Pritchard," he finally said after closing Tristan's door behind them.

Tristan heaved a sigh as he dropped into a high-back chair and pointed at its twin for Philip. "Ah, so she's the chit Cordie's been raving about?"

"Cordie's been raving about her?" Philip asked as he took his own seat.

Tristan nodded. "Clayworth's cousin or something. I haven't met her. I've...been a little preoccupied these days."

"Avoiding Russ?"

"Among other things."

"Such as...?"

Tristan cringed a bit, but only shook his head. "Nothing much, nothing like you, apparently. Cordie must make fast work if she's already got you betrothed. I would've thought you'd have been the last of us."

"I'd really rather not discuss Miss Pritchard, if you don't mind."

"If that fellow's second finds me, I won't make it to first blood drawn. Is that what you wanted to discuss?"

"Saw all of that, did you?"

"Just surprised you didn't see me."

So was Philip. How had he missed seeing his old friend in the crowd? His mind hadn't even been jumbled from Amelia's kiss yet. "I—um—must have been preoccupied myself."

"She's a pretty girl."

"She's delightful," Philip agreed.

"Worth dying over?"

"So little faith in my abilities?" Philip asked. "Forgotten already how I saved _your_ life?"

Tristan scoffed. "As though you or Russ would ever let me forget it." Then he shook his head. "Do you know who that fellow was, your new enemy?"

"Mr. Geoffrey Mason from Wales."

"He's an excellent shot. He was part of the 69th Foot. One of the few they had."

Philip's mouth fell open. "You know him?"

"I remember him well enough. Bit of a bad temper, if you ask me."

A bad temper? Philip frowned at his friend. "Why don't I remember him?"

Tristan gestured to Philip's leg. "You had other worries that day."

Other worries. What a euphemism. Philip had never suffered such pain as he had at Waterloo. He remembered very little after he was shot. "He was betrothed to Miss Pritchard until after returning from the war."

Tristan's eyes grew round at hearing that. "Your intended was _betrothed_ to him?"

How strange to hear Amelia be referred to as his intended. "Said he came back from the war a different man."

"Happened to a lot of fellows. But he seems the same man I remember from Belgium. Irritable and belligerent. Barking about needing to get on one of the first transports home. In a big rush to sell his commission." Tristan shook his head. "Strange fellow. You really going through with this?"

"The marriage or the duel?"

Tristan chuckled. "Both."

"The duel depends on whether or not Mr. Mason sends a fellow to meet with you tomorrow."

"And the marriage?" Tristan pressed.

"Any man would be lucky to have Amelia. Even Russell said as much."

At the mention of his brother, Tristan scowled.

"All right, what is it between the two of you?"

Tristan raked a hand though his dark hair. "I don't like the way he's treating Miss Greywood is all."

"You don't even like Miss Greywood."

"That's beside the point. Russ has been toying with her affections, and no matter that I think she's a silly little chit, she does deserve better than my brother's false intentions."

With which Philip agreed wholeheartedly. "I've said as much to him."

"Well, I thank you for that, and I'm sure Miss Greywood would as well. Miss Pritchard is lucky to have you, too."

But Philip couldn't bring himself to agree. In the first place, Miss Pritchard didn't really have him, but if she did, he hardly thought she'd find herself lucky. So he simply nodded instead.

"This has all happened rather fast, hasn't it?"

"I suppose," Philip replied, not wanting to lie to his friend, but not willing to share the truth either.

"And here I'd thought you'd barricade yourself up in Leverton Park and mourn Olivia's loss the rest of your days."

Which was still the plan, but Philip shrugged. "Ah, but the rest of one's days seems endless when thought of in such terms." And they did, but that was neither here nor there. Then he rose from his spot, said good night to his friend, and made his way to his own chambers.

# Chapter 9

A knock sounded at Amelia's door. She glanced down at her nearly sheer nightrail and grabbed her wrapper from the bed. She slid her arms in through the sleeves and cinched the ribbon around her waist. "Come in," she called.

Cordie stepped over the threshold, still in her theatre gown; a look of concern marred her brow. "Are you feeling better?"

Not really, but Amelia nodded in the affirmative anyway.

"I was afraid you might be abed."

"Just about to climb in, actually."

Cordie closed the door behind her, then turned to face Amelia once more. "I heard the most curious bit of _on dit_ tonight."

Amelia gulped. "Did you?"

"Engaged?" Cordie asked, stepping closer to Amelia. "I thought he was simply bringing you home. How in the world did you manage to get yourself engaged in such a short period of time? And to Philip of all people?"

Heavens. Major Moore hadn't mentioned how she was to handle his friends, her family in all of this. "I—um..." But nothing came to her, so she simply bit her lip instead.

"Though I am thrilled for you and for Philip, Clayworth is not at all happy about this turn of events."

Amelia's mouth dropped open. "But you said he held Major Moore in the highest esteem."

Cordie nodded in agreement. "Of course he does. But Philip should have asked Clayworth, at the very least. What are we to tell your parents?"

What indeed? Amelia could just imagine how furious her father would be if she were to break another engagement when all of this was over. "Must we tell them anything right now? I mean, it's all so very new."

"And, of course, there's the matter of this foolish duel," Cordie added matter-of-factly. "You were barely out of my sight five minutes, Amelia, before you got yourself in all sorts of trouble."

Amelia sighed and dropped onto the edge of her four poster. "You heard about that, too?"

Cordie sat beside her and clasped Amelia's hands in her own. "How did all of this happen?"

Amelia wasn't certain at all what to say. She couldn't tell Cordie all of it, so the general brushstrokes would have to do. "I was betrothed to Mr. Mason, the other fellow, and he followed me to London."

The countess' hazel eyes widened. "Your father did mention a broken betrothal."

Amelia wasn't surprised. Papa wasn't at all happy about her decision. "Yet you took me in anyway?"

Cordie smiled. "I had a broken betrothal of my own before Clayworth. I'm the very last person who would pass judgment, Amelia. And you are family."

Distant though it was. Still, Amelia was grateful for the Clayworths' hospitality, so she thought the better of saying as much. "He arrived so suddenly and he challenged Major Moore right in the middle of the theatre. It still seems a blur."

The countess nodded. "Yes, my brother told me everything. Tristan," she added, "not Russell."

The elusive Lieutenant Avery whom Amelia had yet to meet. Wonderful. Major Moore was right. By morning, everyone would know of their betrothal and of the duel. "Can't you talk some sense into the major? I couldn't stand it if he was hurt or worse because of me."

Cordie squeezed Amelia's hand. "I'm not sure I can fix this one, but I'll speak to Russell..."

"No—" Amelia shook her head "—he said he wouldn't make the captain his second. He named Lieutenant Avery."

"Did he indeed?" Cordie scowled. "Tristan was remiss in mentioning that. Do you know who your Mr. Mason would choose as his second?"

No one in London that Amelia knew. She shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know as much about Mr. Mason as I thought."

"Then I suppose it is best you broke your engagement. I know I made the right decision when I broke mine." Then she slid her arm around Amelia's shoulders. "Chin up. Get some sleep, and we'll sort everything out in the morning."

Amelia hugged the countess back. "Thank you."

"Just make him happy, Amelia. That's all the thanks I could ever ask for."

Guilt swamped Amelia. The countess, the captain, everyone wanted Major Moore to be happy, but she couldn't give anyone that. "It's not real," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Cordie pulled out of their embrace to stare at her. "What's not real?"

"The betrothal," Amelia whispered. "He only said he was my betrothed to protect me from Mr. Mason. It's not real."

A sad smile settled on the countess' face. "A hero to the very last, isn't he?" She smoothed a hand across Amelia's hair.

"He is," Amelia agreed as she sat up a little straighter. "And I wish I could bring him the happiness that everyone wishes for him, but I can't. He still loves your friend. He told me so this very evening."

"I know he does," Cordie sighed. "It nearly breaks my heart."

"He said we'd find a solution that didn't involve a marriage between us. But the only option is for me to cry off. So when all of this is over, what am I going to do, Cordie? If Papa finds out I've jilted another fiancé, he'll be furious. I'll have a terrible reputation. And—"

"Shh." The countess placed her finger over Amelia's lip. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Then she heaved another sigh. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"You said you wished you could bring him happiness?"

Amelia nodded. "I truly do."

"And why is that? You've not known him very long."

The question nearly knocked Amelia from the bed. Why, indeed? She wasn't sure. "He seems a wonderful man, an honorable one." And there were too few of those in the world, in Amelia's opinion.

"Is that all?"

Amelia blinked at Cordie. "I don't think I understand what you're asking me."

"You haven't fallen for him, have you?"

A nervous laugh escaped Amelia as the memory of their kiss flashed in her mind. "Fallen for him?" What a mistake that would be, since he openly admitted to still loving his former fiancée. "As you said, I haven't known him all that long."

"Sometimes it only takes one meeting."

Amelia shook her head. "He is the sort of man I want to fall for – honest and honorable. But more than anything I want what you and Clayworth have, Cordie. I want a husband who is all those things, but one who is capable of loving me."

"But if he could..."

"You know as well as I do that he can't."

Finally, Cordie agreed with a nod of her head. "Try to get some sleep and we'll reconvene in the morning." The countess started for the door, then turned back and smiled one last time at Amelia. "I think you're the sort for him, too, if that makes you feel any better."

How could it, when a death sentence had been placed on his head because of her? "I can't have his death on my conscience, Cordie. We have to do something."

Her friend nodded in understanding. "Men and their foolishness. I thought I'd pulled off a miracle the last time, but Philip seems bound and determined to see a blasted duel all the way through."

Amelia's mouth fell open. "A miracle? Did you have something to do with the previous outcome?"

An instant blush stained Cordie's cheeks and she shook her head. "I should never have said that. Russell and Lord Haversham would both kill me if word about that got out."

"Lord Haversham?" Amelia scrambled off the bed and rushed to the countess' side. Was he someone who could help?

"The Duke of Kelfield's second," Cordie explained. "Fortunately I happened to be on friendly terms with Haversham, and Russell can be manipulated."

The first ray of hope had sprung in Amelia's heart. "What did you do, Cordie? Please tell me." If the countess' previous actions could be duplicated...

Cordie's brow furrowed. "It doesn't matter what I did before. The same thing wouldn't work again. Philip will ensure any arrangement Tristan makes will be to the death. And we don't have any idea who your Mr. Mason would choose as his second. The two would have to be in agreement. I don't see that happening this time."

Neither did Amelia. So she'd have to figure something else out, and without the luxury of a lot of time. "Do you employ someone you think could locate Mr. Mason for me?"

Cordie nodded. "I do have a reliable footman or two."

Amelia heaved a sigh. "I think I should get word to him. Maybe I can convince him to give up this foolishness. Major Moore did allow him the day to reconsider."

"Do you think that wise?"

Amelia shrugged. "What other choice do I have?"

Philip dropped into a seat at the breakfast table and rested his cane against the arm of his chair. A footman poured a bit of black coffee in his cup and placed a slice of toast in front of Philip. Even though his stomach rumbled a bit from hunger, the idea of actually eating was not a welcome one. What the devil had he done the night before?

Betrothed. Dear God.

His sudden plan had seemed like such a good idea at the time. But after tossing and turning all night long, replaying Amelia's kiss in his mind, Philip was seriously judging his own sanity.

"Scowling so early in the morning?" Russell bounded through the door and dropped into the seat across from Philip. Then he nodded for the footman to pour him a cup of coffee. "I would think—" he turned his attention back to Philip"—that a fellow in your spot should be wearing a grin."

Damn Russell and his cheerful morning disposition. "My spot?" Philip grumbled.

"Newly betrothed," his friend clarified with a grin of his own.

Bloody hell. Everyone did already know. "A very sudden thing," he muttered.

"I'll say. No wonder you were so adamant about escorting her home last night."

Philip glared at his old friend instead of actually replying, but doing so only made Russell's smile grow even wider.

"I'll have to have a talk with her today. A newly betrothed man shouldn't be so surly. Girl must be doing something wrong. Perhaps a few pointers..."

"So help me God, if you mutter the words substandard kisser I'll remove your head from your shoulders." Besides, it wasn't even true. Her kiss was delightful and sensual and... Damn it all to hell. The last thing Philip needed was to think about that kiss again.

"Ah," Tristan grumbled from the doorway. "You're both here, I see."

"Good morning, little brother."

Tristan ignored Russell's greeting and nodded at Philip. "We have been summoned to Clayworth House this morning." He waved a note in the air.

Philip somehow kept from groaning. What would he say to Clayworth? To Cordie? To Amelia? Oh, Amelia. Her image flashed in his mind, and his heart squeezed a bit. How was she handling all the questions that must be buzzing around her at Clayworth House? Cordie was most likely making a nuisance of herself, begging for details of the non-existent courtship. The faster he got there to rescue Amelia, the better.

His chair scraped against the floor as he pushed back to stand up. His leg throbbed, and he reached for his cane. "I was just headed there."

"You haven't had even a crumb to eat," Russell complained.

"Have you given any thought to resigning your commission and becoming a nursemaid?" Philip scowled.

Russell shook his head. "I can't imagine I'd meet too many ladies in that line of work. No, I think I'll hang on to my uniform a bit longer, thank you."

"You can tell my sister I'll be around shortly," Tristan grumbled as he turned tail and stalked from the room.

Russell looked after his brother in confusion. "Two of you in rotten moods in the morning. It's like Toulouse all over again."

"Perhaps he's just tired of _you_ ," Philip remarked as he started for the threshold, leaning heavily on his cane.

Russell chuckled from his spot at the table. "I hardly think that's the case."

# Chapter 10

After taking a steadying breath, Philip stepped over the threshold into Cordie Clayworth's green parlor.

The countess looked up from a note she was perusing and folded it quickly when she spotted him. She rose from the settee and greeted him with a smile. "So good of you to come so early, Philip."

"Tristan made it sound urgent." He glanced around the room, ensuring they were alone. "Is Ame—I mean, is Miss Pritchard all right?"

Cordie reclaimed her seat and patted the space beside her. "Sit, we should talk."

Which was the very last thing Philip wanted, but he did so to appease her. "You didn't answer my question. Is Miss Pritchard—"

"You may drop the act, Philip Moore," she scolded.

Philip shook his head. "Act?" he echoed. "I truly am concerned about the girl."

"Indeed?" She narrowed her green eyes on him. "Is that why you're marrying her? Concern, I mean?"

Philip gulped. "I should have spoken to Clayworth first, I—"

"Yes, you should have," she agreed. "You are the last man I would ever think would take marriage so cavalierly."

An image of Philip's mother flashed in his mind. The memory stung his heart. "You know I don't."

"Do I?" she scoffed. "For the last year, I've heard of nothing but your lamenting over Olivia. And then—" she snapped her fingers together "—just like that, you ask a girl living under my roof to marry you without a word to Clayworth or her father or to _me_."

He didn't have an honorable answer. He couldn't reveal the truth, as it would only lead to questions about Amelia, and those were her secrets to tell, not Philip's. "I would have thought you, of all people, would have been happy for me," he hedged. "Haven't you been telling me all along that Olivia is happy with her lot, that I should get on with my life?"

"Since when do you listen to me?"

He couldn't help but smile at that. "I always _listen_ to you, I just don't always do what you say."

She rolled her eyes. "More fool you then. I often know more than I let on and—"

"Higgins said you wanted to see me." Amelia burst into the room, wearing a blue traveling gown and cape, but stopped in her tracks when her eyes landed on Philip. She sucked in a breath and her hand fluttered to her chest. "What are you doing here?"

The better question was, "Are you headed somewhere?" he asked, stumbling back to his feet. After all, she looked as though she was prepared for quite the journey.

Amelia's eyes flashed to Cordie. "Did you call him here?"

The countess shook her head. "I told you I wouldn't."

What the devil was going on? "Would someone like to tell me...?"

"But since he _is_ here," Cordie began, "perhaps the two of you should talk." She rose from the settee.

Amelia narrowed her eyes on the countess. "You did have a hand in this, I'm certain."

But Cordie shook her head innocently. "I don't know what you mean, Amelia dear. Major Moore simply wanted to call on his intended. Isn't that right, Philip?"

That wasn't technically true, but Philip found himself nodding anyway. "I didn't think to find you leaving Clayworth House so early," he said, still trying to sort out why she looked as though she was headed for travel.

Cordie strode towards the doorway and once she reached Amelia, she grasped her hand. "I am glad he's here, however. You _should_ talk to him." Then the countess escaped into the corridor and shut the door behind her, leaving Amelia and Philip staring at one another.

"Are you running out on me?" Philip asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Amelia shrugged. "We'd have to truly be engaged for that to be the case, wouldn't it?"

So she was leaving. A pang of regret twisted Philip's heart at the thought of not seeing her again. "Where are you planning on going?"

She sighed and stepped further into the room. "Home. I never should have come here in the first place. If I hadn't, you wouldn't find yourself wrapped up in all of this, and I could never live with myself if you were hurt because of me."

Leaning on his cane for balance, Philip crossed the room to stand before her. "Don't say such things, Amelia. If you hadn't come to London, I would have never met you and..."

"And you would never have felt honor-bound to help me." She shook her head. "I hardly think you're better off for having met me."

Despite her words, a smile tugged at Philip's lips. If she hadn't come to Town, he'd never have kissed her. And though he wasn't quite certain what to do about that, the fact that he'd felt compelled to kiss her the previous night and the fact that he'd like to do so again, had to mean something, didn't it? That perhaps he wasn't as dead inside as he'd thought for the last year? "I am quite happy for our acquaintance. Truly, I am."

Her blue gaze dropped to the floor and she nervously bit her lip. "Thank you, but..."

She was so adorable to worry about him. How very charming she was. "Don't go home, Amelia. Stay here. How will I face society if word gets out I've been jilted once again?" he teased.

She choked on a laugh. " _You_ should have thought about that before you announced to all the world that we were betrothed. What will people say when they learn I've jilted yet another fiancé? I'll be thought the ficklest woman in all of Britain."

And yet, in this moment, he didn't want to take it back. He tilted her chin up with his crooked finger so she had to meet his gaze. "Then don't jilt me, at least not yet."

She frowned at him. "And let Mr. Mason shoot you instead? I can't live with that, Major."

Philip couldn't help but chuckle. "So little faith in my abilities? I am quite the decorated officer, I'll have you know. Besides, Mason may come to his senses before the day is out."

Amelia sighed. "I told him I'd return home and reconsider his offer of marriage if he would let this foolishness go."

Philip's mouth dropped open in surprise, and fury built in his chest. "I beg your pardon?"

"None of this is your concern, Major Moore. I never meant to drag you into all of this."

But he'd jumped in with both feet, and he had no regrets about doing so. In fact, he'd do so all over again. "You told the man you think murdered your brother that you'd consider marrying him if he dropped his challenge to me?" he growled.

"I had to do something, and it was my only option."

Hardly her only option. Philip scoffed. "And you think I would let you marry such a villain? To sacrifice yourself for me in such a way?"

"You don't really have a say in it. Besides, I'm nothing to you, not really. Which is why I can't allow you to throw yourself on your sword for me."

"I will throw myself on my sword for whomever I choose and whenever I choose to do so." He wasn't certain what he was more angry about – the fact that she might actually marry Mason or the fact that she had thought to put herself in such danger because of Philip, when he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and always had been.

"Cordie said you'd react this way, but..."

"Cordie was right."

They simply stared at each other for the longest while. Amelia's chest lifted with indignation and Philip felt his irritation drain away. How could he stay angry with her when she seemed only to be concerned for his safety, even at the risk of her own? "I like you, Amelia." It might even be more than that or possibly could be, if given time. He couldn't let her just leave before they explored this a bit more.

"I like you, too."

Thank God. He smiled at her as he caressed her jaw. "Then don't leave." He gazed into her blue eyes, beckoning her to stay.

"But..."

"I've thought of nothing but you since we parted," he admitted, not even sure why he was doing so. "I'm not certain what there is between us, but I'd like the opportunity to find out."

"And if Mr. Mason...?"

"Trust me to take are of that situation, my dear. I am less worried about Mason than I am about losing you."

Her eyes rounded in surprise. "He's not to be trusted."

"Which is why you cannot consider marriage to the fiend."

She simply blinked at him.

"Give me the day, Amelia. Let us see what today brings before you make any rash decisions."

"I don't know—" she began.

Philip dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers, hoping to bring her around to his way of thinking. But instead he found himself lost in all of the sensations that were Amelia Pritchard.

His lips trailed down her neck and warmth encompassed his being. Dear God, she smelled like heaven. And she tasted just as good. He unlatched her traveling cloak, which slid to the floor at their feet, and he nibbled on her shoulder, pulling her closer to him all the while. If he could just get the tiniest bit closer, it might assuage the ache building in his loins.

Amelia moaned softly by his ear, and her breathy little sounds nearly drove Philip wild with lust. He slid one finger along the base of her _décolletage_ and then swept beneath the material of her gown. The softness of her breast beneath his touch was like a flame to a taper. His hand slid further until he discovered her nipple. Philip lightly squeezed her, eliciting more sounds of pleasure from her lips.

He kissed her once more, inhaling her scent and essence as his tongue swept into her mouth. "God, Amelia," he breathed as his free hand caressed her bottom.

At the sound of her name, Amelia took a step away from Philip, and he felt the loss instantly. He reached a hand out to her, but she simply stared at him in utter surprise.

Damn it all to hell. What was he doing? He was supposed to be helping her, not seducing her. But he wanted to seduce her like nothing he'd ever wanted in his life. And that realization was more than astounding. He wanted to seduce Amelia Pritchard. He wanted to feel her slender body beneath his as he filled her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let go.

"I think—" his voice came out all husky "—perhaps our betrothal should be in earnest." Especially as he didn't trust himself in her presence otherwise.

She gulped in response.

"Promise me you'll stay."

Apparently lost for words, she nodded her agreement. At least he wasn't the only one affected between them.

# Chapter 11

Cordie grinned to herself. Oh, she knew it wasn't polite to listen at doors, but she'd never quite outgrown the habit. Besides, how was she to know what was going on under her own roof if she didn't listen in from time to time? And this was the best possible outcome she could have imagined.

Philip would never suggest a true betrothal unless he felt something for Amelia. He was too noble to do so. And that was the most wonderful news she'd learned in quite a while. How strange to think that Russell, of all people, should actually be commended for seeing possibility in the match. Her brother might be more capable than she'd ever thought before. That was more than surprising.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat and she turned to find her butler, Higgins, just a few feet away holding a calling card in his hand. "For you, milady."

Cordie reached for the card and frowned at the name emblazoned on the velum. "Lord Haversham?" Heavens, it had been forever since she'd seen the marquess, and even then she had been quite adamant that Clayworth would not be happy with his one-time rival calling on her in the future.

"Said it was urgent, milady."

Cordie tapped the card in her free hand. "Where is my husband?"

"I believe he is visiting Lord Astwick this morning."

Yes, that was it. Clayworth had mentioned a planned meeting with his old friend the night before. She sighed. "Very well. Show the marquess into his lordship's study then, Higgins. I'll meet with him in there."

She strode immediately down the corridor and around the corner, into her husband's private domain. It was as formal a setting as she could think of. Just as she settled behind Clayworth's desk, Marcus Gray, the Marquess of Haversham, appeared and leaned his large frame against the doorjamb.

"Radiant as ever, Cordie," he drawled.

She scowled at him. "I can't imagine what you are doing here, my lord."

He bit back a grin and stepped over the threshold. "You used to be much warmer in your greetings, Cordelia. I am wounded." He touched a theatrical hand to his heart.

"Oh, I have no doubt," she replied drolly and gestured to a chair in front of her husband's desk. "You may sit, if you like."

"No, I won't be long. I just thought you might like to know that someone has been asking quite a lot of questions about your friend Major Moore."

Cordie sat up straight. "What sort of questions?"

Haversham shrugged. "The sort Kelfield would not be happy about."

Cordie's belly twisted. "Something about Olivia, then?" Rumors about his wife would get His Grace's ire up faster than anything else.

"In a roundabout way, I suppose."

"Marc!" He always had been one of the most exasperating men of her acquaintance. "Pray tell me what you've come to say and stop making me jump through hoops."

"You should have picked me, Cordie. Clayworth can't be nearly as exciting."

She was certain he could hear her teeth grind together even from the distance between them. "Marc!"

"All right, all right." His light eyes danced with mirth. "Last night, a fellow found me at a Hazard table and wanted to know every last detail about Kelfield's duel with the good major."

Amelia's jilted fiancé. It had to be. Who else would be asking such questions? And especially now? "What did you say?" Cordie rose from her spot.

The marquess grinned. "That Kelfield is the most gifted swordsman of my acquaintance, my old friend would be quite put out if I said otherwise, but that Major Moore was even better. And that rumor has it, the fellow's an even better marksman."

"And what did the man say?"

"Not much, as everyone else at the table chimed in with tales of Moore's bravery and valor on the battlefield." Then he shrugged. "One would think a man so decorated would have been awarded a title for his efforts."

Cordie sighed. "The man challenged Philip last night."

"I figured as much, and I also figured you'd be unhappy about such turn of events. So I added that anyone who faced Moore might as well dig his own grave. The fellow lost a little of his color after hearing everything I had to say."

For as much as Haversham pretended otherwise, he really was a very decent man. "I could kiss you for that."

"So that Clayworth would call me out?" He chuckled. "And I thought you still liked me a little. I've already taken one bullet for you."

He had, and she'd always love him for it. "I adore you, as you well know."

"I am glad to hear it." He winked at her, then turned to leave. "Give Caroline Staveley my regards when you see her next?"

Cordie shook her head, though she couldn't hide her smile. "So Caroline will call _me_ out?" she teased him. "She doesn't like discussing you."

"Pity." He nodded in farewell, then sauntered from the study. "Until next time, my dear," he tossed over his shoulder.

Until next time, indeed. Cordie sank back down into her husband's chair and closed her eyes. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Haversham had actually frightened this Mr. Mason into withdrawing his challenge? And with Philip asking Amelia to make their betrothal one in reality, her old friend just might get the happily-ever-after he so deserved.

She should go and check on Amelia and Philip. Happily-ever-after notwithstanding, they really shouldn't be alone for such a long period of time. At least not until after their marriage, which Cordie had no doubt would be sooner rather than later.

She left her husband's study and returned to her green parlor only to find that Philip had already taken his leave, honorable man that he was. Amelia, however, paced the floor as though she couldn't sit still.

"All alone?" Cordie asked.

Amelia frowned at her. "Major Moore just left a moment ago."

Cordie glanced at Amelia's traveling cloak, lying in a puddle in the middle of the floor. "Am I to take it you'll be staying in London after all, then?"

"I—"

A loud shot rang out, interrupting whatever Amelia was going to say.

"Heavens!" Cordie started for the corridor. "What was that?"

Higgins appeared in the hallway the same moment. "I believe it came from outside, milady."

Cordie, with both Amelia and Higgins in her wake, bolted for the front door. She turned the knob and stepped outside and nearly stumbled down the steps at the sight that met her. Philip lying lifeless, facedown in the middle of Hertford Street.

Amelia screamed and then rushed past Cordie, dropping to her knees beside the fallen major.

Tears stung Amelia's eyes as she collapsed beside Major Moore. Dear God, he wasn't moving. She touched his back and her heart clenched when her fingers found a patch of sticky wetness. Blood. A lot of it.

Behind her, she heard Cordie order someone to call for a Doctor Watts and to get help, but it was all a blur, as though she was watching it from somewhere above herself. And in the pit of her soul, Amelia knew this was all her fault. Major Moore was dying in her arms, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

"Move!" barked a gentleman who'd come out of nowhere.

Amelia somehow scrambled out of his way and numbly watched as the finely dressed man helped a footman carry the major inside Clayworth House.

"Marc," Cordie ordered, "take him to the first room at the top of the stairs."

Amelia glanced down at her blood-covered hands, still in a daze, not quite believing what had transpired.

Just moments earlier he'd touched her, kissed her, held her close. And now—she stared towards her cousin's home—he was dying.

"Amelia!" Cordie's voice broke through her thoughts. "Come along."

# Chapter 12

Numbness had set in, but Amelia refused to leave Major Moore's bedside. She wasn't certain how he was still clinging on to life and neither was Doctor Watts, who had rushed to Clayworth House to attend the fallen officer. The doctor had stripped the major's jacket and shirt from his body. He'd extracted a bullet from the officer's back. Then he'd cleaned and dressed the wound. Amelia had assisted in the entire process. There'd been so much blood, and though she'd felt faint more than once, she'd persevered and kept her focus on helping in any way she could.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Amelia knew that if she left him, the major would take his final breath. So she'd done everything Doctor Watts had asked so he would allow her stay. Now she sat in a wooden chair beside her pretend fiancé and waited.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat in the threshold. Amelia glanced over her shoulder to find Clayworth frowning from his spot just inside the room. "Cordie says you're refusing to eat."

She shrugged and turned her attention back to the bed. "I'm not refusing. I'm just not hungry."

"Sitting vigil in a sick room is hardly conducive to your health, Amelia."

"I won't leave him. I can't."

The earl sighed and stepped further into the room, squeezing her shoulder in silent support. "A fellow from Bow Street would like to speak with you. I've already told him everything, but he'd like to hear it from you too."

"Will he attend me in here?"

"Yes, of course. I'll stay with you as well. He's not a bad sort. You can trust me on that."

Amelia nodded, though she barely heard him. All of her attention was focused on Philip Moore, willing him to wake.

The earl departed, only to return a moment later with a rather stoic man in an unfashionable brown jacket. Clayworth gestured to his companion with a tilt of his head. "Amelia, this is Mr. Blackaby from Bow Street. Blackaby, my cousin Miss Pritchard."

"Mr. Blackaby," she mumbled.

The runner nodded in greeting. "Sorry to meet you under such circumstance, Miss Pritchard."

Clayworth walked the length of the chamber and settled against the window frame. "Cordie and I met Mr. Blackaby last year after we found ourselves in an unfortunate situation."

"Lord Haversham was involved with that incident too," the runner remarked. "You don't think someone was aiming for him again?"

Amelia didn't even know who Lord Haversham was. Or did she? Was he the gentleman who had helped carry Major Moore back inside Clayworth House?

"Anything is possible." Clayworth shrugged. "The man has enough enemies, but as I said below, I don't believe so. Haversham stopped by to warn my wife about a fellow who was asking questions about Major Moore."

Someone had been asking questions about the major? Amelia blinked at her cousin. "What sort of questions?"

"Questions about Moore's ability on a field of honor."

Amelia's heart constricted. This was all her fault. "Mr. Mason," she said quietly. Both men's eyes were on her and she sat up straighter. "Geoffrey Mason challenged Major Moore last night at the theatre."

Clayworth nodded to the Runner. "Lieutenant Avery witnessed the exchange. Then the fellow began inquiring about the major's abilities. At least I assume it was the same fellow. I can't imagine he liked his chances after everything he heard."

Amelia felt faint once more, and she gripped the arm of her chair. "So he shot him in the back instead of facing him." Alan had been shot in the back as well. Her poor brother never had a chance, and neither had Major Moore. Tears welled up in her eyes and she tried to blink them back, but they trailed down her cheeks anyway.

"I am sorry," Mr. Blackaby said as he offered her a handkerchief. "I understand you're the major's betrothed."

Amelia nodded as she dabbed at her eyes.

"Do you know why this Mr. Mason challenged your fiancé?"

She nodded again and her tears came faster. "Because of me."

"Amelia was engaged to Mason previously," Clayworth added.

"Ah, so jealousy, then?" The runner frowned.

"It looks that way to me." The earl nodded.

"But to shoot down a man in Mayfair in the middle of the day. Brazen fellow, this Mason."

Clayworth heaved a sigh. "I'm worried for Amelia's safety, so I'm taking precautionary measures."

"No taking the law into your own hands again, my lord," the Runner warned.

"I didn't take the law into my hands the last time, Blackaby."

The Runner narrowed his eyes on the earl. "I suppose I should be having this conversation with Lord Haversham then."

Clayworth shrugged. "He only shot Brookfield in self defense, as your final report showed. But, by all means, you should talk to him anyway. See if he can identify the fellow who was asking about the major last night."

Mr. Blackaby turned his attention back to Amelia. "Lady Clayworth said she heard the shot and then discovered the major in the street. You were with her?"

Amelia nodded.

"And did you see anything, anyone? This Mr. Mason of yours, by chance?"

Amelia winced. She hadn't noticed a thing. Not one thing. "When I saw the major on the ground, I ran to him. There was so much blood. I could barely breathe. Everything was a blur..."

The Runner glanced to the bed and sighed. "I'm sure it was frightening. But if you remember anything at all, send for me."

"Thank you." Clayworth gestured Blackaby towards the corridor, then he turned back to Amelia. "I'm sending up a tray, and I want you to eat."

She nodded instead of arguing.

Amelia lifted her head from the edge of the major's bed to find the beeswax candle on the nearby table was half the size she remembered before closing her eyes. She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep, but her back ached from her awkward position in the chair. She must have been out for quite some time.

Major Moore's chest rose and fell with each breath he took and she smiled at him. Thank heavens he was too stubborn to die. Now if only he'd wake up. She touched a hand to his brow and drew it back quickly. Dear God, he was burning alive!

"Oh, Major!" she breathed in alarm.

Amelia rushed to the far corner of the room and tugged the bell pull for a maid. Then she quickly crossed the floor to the injured major and drew back his bedclothes. He'd need another poultice to combat infection.

"Yes, miss?" a maid called from the doorway.

"Cold water and a fresh poultice, please."

The maid rushed back down the corridor and Amelia smoothed a hand across the major's cheek. "Don't stop being stubborn. Please keep fighting. Please."

He groaned, which was the first sound she'd heard from him all day.

"Philip," she whispered, relieved to have heard something from him. "I'm going to cool you off and tend to your wound."

But he didn't make another sound, not when a footman helped her roll him to his stomach, not when she applied the fresh poultice, not when she smoothed a cool rag across his face. But he _had_ made the one sound, hadn't he?

Exhausted, Amelia dropped back into her chair and rested her chin on the palm of her hand as she stared at the major. Even in sleep and in his pain, he was beyond handsome. Her mind replayed the memory of his kisses, the memory of his touch, and she swiped at fresh tears. "Please," she whispered, brushing her wet fingers across his cheek, "wake up."

"You're Miss Pritchard," a soft voice came from the doorway.

Amelia looked up to find an auburn-haired beauty standing just inside the major's room. She nodded her answer.

The woman stepped closer to the bed, a strained expression upon her face. "Cordie sent for me. I'm the Duchess of Kelfield."

The air whooshed out of Amelia's lungs. She'd never considered that this particular lady might call. "You're Olivia."

The duchess agreed with a nod. "Has there been any change?"

Not in nearly seventy-two hours. "No." Amelia stumbled to her feet, protectively guarding her major from the woman. "He's moaned a bit, but he's much the same."

"Cordie says you've refused to leave him."

"I'm afraid to do so."

"Well, don't worry. I won't ask you to," the duchess said. "But do you mind if I join you for a while?"

Amelia gestured to the chair on the other side of the bed. And though she would rather not share the major's sick room with the duchess, she also knew he'd rather have Her Grace attend him than have Amelia's company. "Of course."

The duchess walked around the foot of the bed and then dropped into the empty seat. Her hazel gaze fell to Major Moore, and she brushed a tear from her eye. "I never thought to see him like this."

Neither had Amelia. "He was trying to protect me," she muttered more to herself than to the duchess.

But Her Grace heard her, because her eyes flashed back to Amelia, kindness reflected in their depths. "You blame yourself, but it's not your fault, Miss Pritchard."

"If I'd never come to London..."

"Then you'd have never met Philip, and you'd have never made him smile." The duchess smiled through her tears to make her point. "And by all accounts, you did bring a smile to his face, Miss Pritchard, a much needed smile, and for that you will always have my gratitude."

"You still love him?" Amelia knew the answer without asking; she could see the affection in the duchess' eyes as she gazed at the ailing major.

"I will always love him," the lady confirmed. "I've known him my entire life. A more honorable man doesn't exist. But if you're asking if I am in love with him... No, Miss Pritchard." She shook her head. "I am desperately _in_ love with my husband, and I am sorry to the depths of my soul for any pain and heartache I've inflicted on poor Philip. That was never my intent."

Amelia wasn't certain what to say to that, so she simply sighed and returned her gaze to Major Moore's handsome face.

After a moment of silence, the duchess sat forwards in her seat and claimed one of the major's hands. "You need to wake up, Philip. Miss Pritchard is going to worry herself into an early grave if you don't open your eyes."

Amelia gaped at the duchess. Was she trying to lay guilt on a dying man? That was hardly a charitable thing to do.

Her Grace winked at Amelia. "Anything to break through to him," she explained. "I'll use any trick necessary. Cordie says he is quite taken with you. You might be the only one he will wake up for."

But if he was going to do that, wouldn't he have done so already? Amelia blinked back more tears. "He loves _you_. If he'll wake for one of us, it'll be for you." And though it hurt her heart to admit as much, she also knew it was true. She rose from her spot and started for the corridor, the first time she'd left the room since the major had been brought inside Clayworth House. "Excuse me."

"S-s-s," came from the major's bed.

The duchess gasped and leaned over the bed. "Did you hear that?"

Amelia had heard it and she rushed back to the major's bedside. His eyes were still closed, but he had most definitely made a sound. There was no question about it. There was even a witness this time.

"S-stay," he whispered so softly, she wasn't sure it was even real.

Her Grace grinned and swiped at more tears that trailed down her cheeks. "He wants you to stay. He spoke. Did you hear him? He wants you to stay. Don't you dare go anywhere."

But were his words for her or for the duchess? Amelia didn't even care. He _had_ spoken. Her heart lifted a hundred fold as she sat on the edge of the bed beside him. "Major?"

"Stay," he said a little louder and his eyelids slowly lifted.

# Chapter 13

Philip's mouth was as dry as parchment and his eyes hurt. But clearly he was dreaming. There was no other reason why both Amelia and Olivia would be together by his bedside. What a very strange dream. Why was Amelia still trying to leave him? Hadn't he talked her out of that nonsense?

He lifted his hand out to her, though doing so made a spasm shoot down his arm and his back radiate with pain. He closed his eyes in agony and couldn't help the groan that escaped him.

"Major!" Amelia cried. Then her cool hands were touching his face. "Oh, Major, please don't move."

Why was she calling him that? She'd called him Philip in his dreams, hadn't she? "Philip," he breathed out.

"What?" Her sweet breath blew across his face. Had she been nibbling on mint? Where was her usual lilac scent?

"Philip," he rasped again, a bit louder this time.

"Yes, you're Philip," she replied, panic laced her words. "Has he forgotten who he is?"

"I think—" Olivia's voice found his ears, twinged with a mix of humor and relief "—he wants you to call him Philip."

Philip opened his eyes once more to find Amelia hovering over him. Her blue eyes met his, and she looked so weary, as though she hadn't slept in a week. Even still, she was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. "So pretty," he breathed out. She looked almost like an angel, like his angel.

Beside his bed, he couldn't tell whether Olivia was laughing or crying. She rose to her feet and said, "I'll send for Doctor Watts." And then she was gone.

But Amelia was still there, still hovering right above Philip like an angelic protector. "Water, Amelia," he whispered. "Please."

Her blue eyes widened in surprise and she scrambled to a nearby pitcher and poured him a goblet. Then she was back at his side, tilting the water to his lips, helping him drink. Oh, what glorious water. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

"Do you remember what happened?" Amelia asked after he finished with the goblet.

But before he could answer, the chamber was suddenly flooded with people. Clayworth and Cordie. Tristan and Russell. Maids he didn't recognize. And Olivia and _Kelfield_? This was most definitely the strangest dream he'd ever had. Why the devil should Kelfield be here?

"Good God!" Russell heaved a sigh. "You took ten years off my life, Philip Moore."

"I did?" How? What had he done?

His old friend smiled. "I'll see that you pay it back, don't you worry."

"Russell," Cordie complained. "The last thing he needs is your blathering." Then she closed in on Philip, frowning most peculiarly as she touched his brow. "Is the pain awful? Doctor Watts left some laudanum."

"Laudanum?" He hated the stuff. They'd kept his dosage so high in Belgium, he hardly remembered returning home.

"I'll get it." Cordie turned on her heel.

"No!" Philip barked. Then he tried to push up on his elbows, but the searing pain in his back returned in a blinding flash. God, what had happened to him?

The whole room gasped in unison as he dropped back to the bed.

Philip closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to recede. "No laudanum," he hissed. He needed his mind clear, not jumbled. "Amelia, no laudanum."

She squeezed his hand. "Not if you don't want it," she promised.

"Where am I?"

"Returned from the brink of death," Russell muttered, but Philip heard him clearly.

"Russ!" Tristan growled.

"Death?" Philip echoed, opening his eyes once more. "What do you mean death?"

The pressure from Amelia's hand tightened and she sat beside him on the edge of his bed. "You don't remember?"

What did he remember? He remembered Amelia. He remembered kissing her. He remembered some breathy little sounds she made as he caressed her and the softness of her breasts. He'd never forget one second of any of that. But then...what had happened? He'd left Clayworth House after securing her promise to stay in London. He'd needed to talk with Tristan about arrangements for the duel...

The duel. Was that what he couldn't remember? "Did I lose the duel?"

A few feet away, the Duke of Kelfield snorted, though he was quickly elbowed in the stomach by his wife for doing so. "Alex!" Olivia grumbled.

"Sorry," the duke apologized, and he actually did look contrite. Who would have thought Kelfield owned such an expression?

Amelia leaned closer to him, her hand still holding his. "You'd just left me and we heard the shot."

Philip frowned at her. "The shot?"

Amelia nodded. "The authorities are searching for Mr. Mason, but they haven't found him yet."

Mason? Fury pulsed through Philip's veins. "He shot me in the back?" What sort of coward did such a thing? Then he looked closer at Amelia, searching for signs of distress. "He didn't hurt you?"

She shook her head. "I didn't even see him. I only saw you and..."

"She hasn't left your bedside since that moment," Russell said quietly. "Most men would be happy to have a wife half as attentive."

All those dreams. But they hadn't been dreams, had they? She really had been with him all that time. Philip gazed at Amelia, and his heart lifted a bit. "You didn't leave me?"

"You made me promise I'd stay. Do you remember, before you left that day? You made me promise."

He did remember. He'd meant London, at the time. He wanted her to stay in London while they figured out what was between them. But she'd honored those words to the letter. And now with the pain pulsing in his back and with all his friends and even the damned Duke of Kelfield watching on, Philip didn't need to figure out anything more. Everything was perfectly clear.

"Promise me something else," he whispered.

"Of course." She slid closer to him. "What do you need, Philip?"

"You." He squeezed her hand this time. "Promise you won't jilt me."

A smile lit her face. "You are delirious."

He nodded in agreement. "I am. But I want to spend forever with you, and that won't change."

Cordie started to sniffle, but Philip only had eyes for Amelia, who stared back at him with her mouth agape.

"Come along," Tristan called to the room at large. "Clearly, he'll survive. Let's give them a few moments."

And then the room emptied of everyone except for Philip and Amelia, who still clutched his hand in hers. "Are you mad?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "Completely sane. Well, unless you really do jilt me. I'd probably go mad then. And you—" he grinned even though he was in pain "—what would people say if you jilted a man who took a bullet for you? No, it's most definitely in your best interest to marry me, Amelia. Think of your reputation."

She grinned in return. "My reputation, hmm?"

"Well, that and I'm fairly certain you like my kisses. I'll kiss you everyday for the rest of our lives. Just say 'yes'."

A blush stained her cheeks. "You do drive a hard bargain, Major Moore."

"Philip," he stressed. "You called me Philip when I was unconscious, didn't you?"

"Did I?"

He nodded. "I heard you, I think. And I like the sound of my name on your lips."

"Philip Moore, you do not resemble the very serious major I met that first night. Do you know that?"

"Well, I have been shot and I haven't bathed in days."

She giggled.

"But you're still laughing at me, even if I'm not so serious anymore." He released his grip on her hand, but trailed his fingers lightly over her knuckles. "Kiss me, Amelia."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You can ravish me when I've got my strength up. I just need a kiss for now."

Amelia leaned forward, her blue eyes peering into his, but they fluttered closed when her lips brushed his with the softest of kisses.

"Marry me?" he whispered across her lips.

She opened her eyes and smiled. "I don't think I have a choice. There's my reputation to consider, after all."

# Chapter 14

Philip wasn't sure how he'd been so fortunate as to have Amelia stumble into his life, but he wasn't about to question the gods who, thus far, hadn't smiled in his particular direction. She fretted about his chamber, plumped his pillow, offered him water, and kissed him whenever he asked. "You are perfect," he said as she drew his drapes closed.

Amelia dropped the drapery sash and shook her head. "Hardly. If it wasn't for me, you would have never been shot."

He smiled what he hoped was his most charming smile. "Small price to pay for your affection, Amelia."

At that, she rolled her eyes. Then she glanced towards the doorway and stood a little taller. "Captain, Lieutenant."

Philip tilted his head to the other side to find the Avery brothers standing just inside the threshold. It was about time they showed their faces. He couldn't, after all, go in search of them. "Amelia, I need a few moments with my old friends."

"Of course." She bustled across the room. "But remember what Doctor Watts said. You need to rest."

Philip heaved a sigh and gestured to himself still lying in bed. "It's not as though I have much of a choice, love."

She grinned at his endearment. "Do you want me to ring for tea?"

"No." Philip shook his head. "We won't be long."

Amelia brushed past the two officers on her way out of Philip's sick room, then she shut the door behind her.

"I thought she'd _never_ leave." Russell grinned and dropped into the chair from which Amelia had kept her vigil at Philip's bedside for days on end.

"Your mother would approve of her." Tristan cocked his head towards the now closed door as he walked further into the room.

And he was right. Philip's late mother would have liked Amelia very much, or at least he thought she would have. And that thought did ease his soul just a bit, but only a bit, because the girl was still in danger and there wasn't a damn thing Philip could do to protect her from his cursed bed.

Russell kicked his boots up and rested them at the edge of Philip's bed. "I think the chit must actually like _you_ , surprising as that is. Best not let her get away."

Philip heaved a sigh. "Can you be serious?"

Russell's grin widened. "I can try, but I don't think I'll ever be as successful as you, my friend."

From the window, Tristan grunted. "For the love of God, Russ," he complained. "He did summon us here. Clearly, he has something to say."

Thank God for Tristan's level head. Philip pushed up on his forearms to sit higher on the bed, but his back stung so badly, he gave up the fight and closed his eyes, hoping for the pain to recede. "I need your help," he said through gritted teeth.

"Of course," the Avery brothers said in unison, which didn't surprise Philip in the least. They had been to Hell and back together, the three of them.

He opened his eyes to find both of his friends had come closer to him on either side of the bed. How nice to have dutiful friends he could count on, since he couldn't count on himself. "I need you to help me find Mason."

"The authorities are looking for him," Tristan said. "Clayworth has seen to it."

But that wasn't good enough, not by a long shot. "To Hell with the authorities."

Russell agreed with a nod and did, all of a sudden, look serious. "I've been searching too, Philip. I'll find the bastard one way or another."

Which was a relief. When Russell set his mind on something, he was more determined than all of Wellington's forces combined. "I won't be a sitting duck for another attack from him, and I won't let him hurt Amelia."

"Of course not," Russell growled. "Damned coward. What sort of man shoots another in the back? You're damned lucky to still be breathing."

"I am well aware of my luck." Then he tilted his head towards Tristan. "You've seen Mason. You know what he looks like."

Tristan nodded.

"I've sacrificed everything I had for England. Olivia, my future, years spent making certain the French never invaded our shores. And for what? To be shot in the back in my own bloody country by some spineless Welshman?" He pushed up on his arms once again, ignoring the pain until he was sitting up and staring Tristan Avery in the eyes. "I won't stand for it. If I have to hobble from this bed to put a bullet in his skull, I will. But I need you to find him."

The blood drained from the lieutenant's face. "I'm fairly certain Amelia will be unhappy to find you sitting up."

"We'll find him," Russell promised. "But when we're through with him, there might not be anything left of the bastard for you to seek out your revenge."

Philip nodded. "Thank you. You know I would do the same for you."

Russell smiled tightly. "I do indeed."

"And don't mention this to Amelia."

"God forbid." Russell snorted. "We won't mention it to Cordie either."

A faint smile tilted Tristan's mouth. "God no, she'd want to tag along like she did when we were children."

He was probably right. Cordie would want to be involved, which could not be allowed. It was bad enough that Amelia was in danger every day Mason inhaled a breath of fresh air. The fewer people involved in tracking down the villain, the better.

Russell chuckled. "Cordie is too distracted with acquiring a special license for you and Amelia. She's beyond worried people will learn how attentive the chit's been to you." Then he laughed harder. "Such a hypocrite, our sister of Scottish wedding fame."

A special license? The idea brought a smile to Philip's face. Could he truly be married as soon as all that? "Does Amelia know?"

Tristan shook his head. "I doubt it. Her attention has been solely focused on you and your expedient recovery."

Good. Then he'd get to tell her himself. "When you leave, will you send her back to me?"

Russell laughed once more. "Indeed? Have you become accustomed to being doted upon?"

A man could get used to her ministrations. Not that Philip would ever admit as much to anyone, and certainly not to Russell Avery. "Go on with you." He gestured towards the door. "Send her to me and find that bastard, will you?"

Amelia bounded up the stairs, her heart nearly in her throat. She brushed past a maid in the corridor and bolted into Philip's chamber without even knocking. "Are you all right?" she asked, trying to catch her breath. "Good heavens! You're sitting up! Doctor Watts said—"

"I'm not going to die, Amelia." A lazy smile spread across his face. "Did you race all the way up the steps?"

Her mouth fell open. As soon as Captain Avery said Philip had need of her, she was afraid he'd opened his wound or was in terrible pain. "The captain said—"

"What _did_ he say?"

Clearly, she'd misinterpreted Russell Avery's summons, but he'd looked so dire when he'd sought her out, which wasn't like him at all. But now that she truly looked at her fiancé, Philip appeared better than he had the last few days. "That you asked for me." She bit the inside of her cheek. What a ninny she'd become.

"I did ask for you, but I didn't mean for you to run a footrace to reach me." He patted the place beside him on the bed. "Come here, love. _Slowly_ , that is."

Amelia's face burned. "I'm a complete dolt, Philip. I've just been so worried."

He smiled again, comforting her a bit. Then he patted the bed once more. "Amelia, I am quite lonely all by myself. Won't you please remedy the situation?"

Lonely? Had he lost his mind? Had his fever returned? Amelia crossed the room and touched her hand to his brow, but he didn't feel warm. And he _did_ look better than he had.

"Sit here beside me. I have something to tell you."

Sit on the bed? What if someone saw them?

He laughed when she frowned at him. "You removed my clothes and tended my wounds, and _now_ you're concerned about propriety?"

He had a point. Amelia sat on the bed, the very edge of it, careful not to touch or bump the injured man. "I didn't remove all of your clothes. Just your shirt and jacket."

"What a pity to have missed it." Philip lifted his arm, gesturing for her to snuggle against him. "Though I'm sure I'll enjoy it much more the next time you do so."

"Philip Moore, what is the matter with you?" He might look better, but he didn't sound like himself at all.

"Nothing to fret over, love." He heaved a sigh. "Did you know Cordelia Clayworth is procuring a special license for us?"

She was? Amelia's mouth fell open. "I beg your pardon?"

"So sit here against me, love. We'll be married by the end of the day, I'm certain. Your reputation is safe."

Married by the end of the day? Amelia wasn't certain what she thought about that. She'd never had any real intention of marrying the major to begin with. But when she thought she might lose him, her heart had ached more than she knew was possible. She most definitely felt something for him, but could it be love? Wasn't it too soon for such an emotion? Should she really marry a man she wasn't certain she loved? Certainly she admired him, respected him. But love...?

Amelia studied his face, the strength of his jaw and his dark, honest eyes. She could do worse. She _had_ done worse. Philip was sincere and noble and everything she'd ever wanted in a man. She smiled shyly at him as she snuggled against his side. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"I don't think you ever could." His arm came down around her shoulders and he gently caressed her side. "You won't mind heading to Leverton Park after Watts says I'm well enough to travel, will you?"

Leverton Park. To her husband's home. Her husband? The idea still seemed so foreign. But she had to say something. He was waiting for an answer. "Cordie said your mother had beautiful roses."

"Do you like roses?"

"I do."

"Then you'll love Leverton Park." He jostled her a bit so her head was resting atop his chest. "Mother had every variety in Britain. The most amazing garden."

"You're certain I'm not hurting you?"

"On the contrary, you make me feel better whenever you're near."

Amelia tipped her head up to look at him, and found that his warm brown eyes held no mirth, just the truthfulness she'd come to expect from him. She leaned back against his chest and let her hand settle gingerly on his stomach. "Tell me about your home. Cordie only mentioned the roses."

"It's the most peaceful place I know..." he began, and—settled there against him—Amelia's anxiety slowly dissipated. His soothing voice, his gentle touch, his lovingly descriptive words all blended together, painting a picture in her mind of the Nottinghamshire home they would share. She closed her eyes to see the lovely picture more clearly in her mind.

# Chapter 15

Philip opened his eyes to discover someone had opened his drapes, allowing the afternoon sunlight to bathe his chambers with a golden glow. Amelia rested in his arms. A soft sound of contentment escaped her lips, which made Philip smile to himself. He could get used to waking with her beside him, something he couldn't have even fathomed as far back as a few weeks ago. He wasn't even sure how his circumstances had changed, but they most definitely had.

"Interesting. I didn't know you knew _how_ to smile," came a smug voice a few feet away.

Philip turned his head, blinking away the afternoon sleep from his eyes, and then scowled when he realized the owner of the voice belonged to the Duke of Kelfield, who inexplicably appeared to be sitting vigil by Philip's bed. Twice now he'd awoken to find the damned reprobate in his chambers, which was not a situation he wanted to make a habit of.

"I've heard rumor that you've done so on occasion in the past," the duke continued, "but I've never seen evidence of it before now."

"What are you doing here?" Over the last year, both of them would have been happy to learn of the other's demise, after all. "I can't believe you're concerned for my well-being. So what do you want?"

Kelfield shrugged, then leaned forwards in his seat. "I don't wish you ill, Moore, despite what you may believe." Then he gestured to the still-sleeping Amelia with a cock of his head. "Quite the nursemaid you've found for yourself. Never left your side, from what I hear. You're a fairly lucky man, if you ask me."

Philip held Amelia tighter to him as though to protect her from the duke's notice. "I'm certain your duchess would do the same for you." Saying so didn't have the same sting it once would have.

Kelfield agreed with a nod. "Indeed. We're both lucky men." Then a rakish smirk settled on his face and he had the audacity to tsk. "An innocent miss found in _your_ bed, Major Moore. You have quite compromised the girl, I'm afraid."

Philip glared at the blackguard. If Kelfield even considered impugning Amelia's good name... "We're to be married," he growled.

The duke's smirk widened to a full-fledged smile as he rose from his seat. "By special license, yes, I know." He reached into his jacket and retrieved a letter that he held out to Philip. "Hope you don't mind that I acquired it for you. I thought it was the least I could do under the circumstances."

"You?" Philip gaped at the license he now held in his hand.

"Cordie asked me to do you this favor. She thought it might..." he paused as though searching for the right word, "bridge the distance between our two houses, for lack of a better term."

That was Cordie, always plotting, always wanting to smooth over any rifts, no matter how egregious... As though any kindness Kelfield did Philip could erase the wrong he'd done him. Amelia snuggled closer to him, and Philip looked down at his bride-to-be. She was such a dear girl, and he _was_ quite fortunate to have her. Perhaps it was time to let go of a bit of his hatred for the duke, no matter how well-deserved or well-honed.

One of the duke's eyebrows rose in amusement. "I told our estimable Lady Clayworth that her plan was in vain, but she does keep her own counsel."

So Kelfield wasn't anxious to befriend Philip either, huh? That was probably for the best. They didn't have to wish each other to the devil, but neither did they have to become devoted friends.

"In any event, I do hope you'll accept my offering." The duke nodded towards the license. "And I _do_ hope you will live a long and happy life alongside your bride."

Truly this was one of the most surreal moments in Philip's life. Lying in bed with a girl who wasn't yet his wife, a bullet hole in his back, with Kelfield – of all people – coming to his _rescue_. "Thank you." Philip tipped his head towards the duke. After all, what else could he say?

"You're welcome. Though I can't take credit for the clergyman in Clayworth's drawing room. That was all Cordie's doing."

Of course it was. Philip couldn't help but chuckle. Cordie would see him taken care of as though she was a mother duckling.

"I'll let her know you're awake." The duke started for the door, but then stopped and glanced back at Philip over his shoulder. "Olivia and I are returning to Hampshire on the morrow. So if you'd like to say your farewell..."

But there was nothing left to say to Olivia, not anymore. And for the first time since Philip had lost his childhood love to the scandalous duke, he was happy for her. Kelfield did seem enamored with his wife. "Safe travels, Your Grace. Take care of her, will you?"

"'Til my dying breath." And then the duke vanished into the corridor.

Philip nudged Amelia to gently wake her. Heaven forbid a man of the cloth find her in his bed before they were properly married. "Amelia," he crooned. "Wake up, love."

She lifted her flaxen head and blinked her blue eyes open. A smile lit her face when she looked at him. "You were telling me about Leverton Park?"

"Hours ago, if the sun is to be believed."

A blush stained her cheeks. "Did I fall asleep?"

"We both did. Lucky for us—" Philip smiled as he lifted the special license in his hand "—Lady Clayworth has been quite busy in the meantime."

"Has she?"

"Hmm. Tell me you're ready to marry me."

"Now?" She giggled in surprise.

Philip nodded. "I believe a clergyman is on his way up the steps this very moment." At least, if Kelfield was to be believed.

"A clergyman?" Amelia's blue eyes widened and she scrambled off the bed, straightening her skirts just as someone cleared his throat in the corridor. "Heavens, Philip!" she whispered. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"I hardly had any warning myself." Then he glanced towards the doorway to find Cordie, Clayworth, and a fellow Philip didn't recognize standing just outside his chambers. "Lady Clayworth," he called. "To what do we owe this honor?"

Cordie rolled her eyes. "Kelfield told me you were expecting us, my dear Major." Then she stepped over the threshold with her husband and the other fellow following in her wake. "Major Philip Moore, Amelia Pritchard, this is our vicar, Mr. Bailey."

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Bailey," Philip said.

The vicar, a cheerful looking young man now that Philip got a better look at him, smiled in response. "Happy to be of service, Major."

"Amelia," Cordie began, "why don't you take a spot in the chair beside the bed?"

Amelia glanced at Philip, and he noted an expression of trepidation flash in her eyes. Was this moving too quickly for her? He didn't want to force her into something she wasn't quite ready for, but they had run out of time, and she did need the protection of his name. He reached out a hand to his fiancée, hoping to reassure her. "Are you ready, Amelia?"

A nervous smile tugged at her lips, but she took his outstretched hand and sat in the seat beside his bed.

"Well then," Mr. Bailey said, "I suppose we should begin."

Amelia was fairly certain she only made it through her marriage ceremony because of the sincerity she saw reflected in Philip's eyes. She'd maintained her major's gaze the entire time Mr. Bailey spoke and then softly declared them man and wife. Then, when Amelia took her first breath as a married lady, everything hit her. No longer Amelia Pritchard, she would for the rest of her life be Amelia Moore.

Philip squeezed her fingers, and her heart lightened a bit. He thanked the vicar for attending them in his sick room, and then he very graciously invited Cordie and Clayworth to leave his chambers.

And then Amelia was all alone, except for her husband.

"You look terrified, love," he said, tugging her hand, urging her to join him on the bed, once again.

"Terrified?" A nervous laugh escaped Amelia as she moved to his side. "I'm not terrified," she said once she'd settled against him. And she wasn't frightened of Philip; she was simply amazed to discover she had somehow become his wife.

"Good. There's no reason to be. Even if I was in any condition to enjoy our wedding night, I would take care with you."

Good heavens! The marriage bed was the last thing on Amelia's mind! She pulled back to meet his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

A smile that had seemed so foreign on his face when she'd first met him graced his lips, and then he chuckled. "You _are_ frightened."

Amelia shook her head, even though she hadn't given marital relations much of a thought until now. "I've simply been concerned about your health, Philip Moore, and worried about what Mr. Mason might do next." But now that he mentioned it, the marriage bed was a little frightening.

"Mason is the last person I want to think about on our wedding day, Amelia."

"Hardly an orthodox wedding day. You're recovering from a bullet wound, and—"

"Indeed, but I'm hardly dead, love. And you have taken such wonderful care of me. Certain thoughts have been lingering about my mind."

"Thoughts?" she whispered.

"Mmm. My mind keeps replaying the afternoon in Cordie's parlor..." He let his voice trail off as a rakish twinkle glinted in his eyes.

Amelia's face burned at that memory. The liberties she'd allowed him that day. "Heavens."

"Certainly was heaven for me." He tugged her back against him and his hand gently caressed her side, making tingles race across her skin. "I vow, Amelia Moore, that the moment I am up to it, I will make you mine in every way, and I will see to your happiness on every level."

She gulped, not knowing what to say. The memory of what he'd already made her feel at his hands and lips was more than she had ever experienced with Geoffrey Mason, even when she thought herself in love with the scurrilous blackguard.

Philip kissed the top of her head, and Amelia couldn't help but smile at his gentleness. He might not be the husband she'd ever thought to have, but she couldn't be more fortunate.

"Stay with me tonight?" he asked.

She had stayed with him every night for nearly a fortnight. "I am your wife now."

His hand stroked her back. "And what a lucky man I am."

# Chapter 16

Lieutenant Tristan Avery had spent more than a little time in questionable taverns over the years, usually at his brother Russell's behest. Together the brothers Avery had drunk and whored their way across the continent during their regimental years. They'd enjoyed one spectacular adventure after another. But he'd never stepped foot inside such an establishment alone before. He'd always had either Russell or Philip by his side when he'd done so. But not tonight, and not now. London was too large for him and Russell to scour it together. No, dividing and conquering the city in search of Philip's would-be murderer made the most sense. And find the bastard they would, if it killed them both.

He winced at the dank dockside tavern before him. The place reeked of raw fish, fresh-from-the-docks sailors, and unwashed whores. Certainly this Mason fellow wouldn't hole himself up in a place like this. But, even more certainly, the Welsh bastard wasn't spending his time in reputable establishments. At least that was the assumption he and Russell were working on. No one had spotted him some place reputable, in any event.

Tristan inhaled a breath of putrid air and cringed as it entered his lungs. Boisterous laughter and cursing drifted outside the River's End when he opened the door and stepped inside the dimly lit tavern. Damn it all to hell, he'd never see anything in this place, which any other night might be a blessing. But, for Philip's sake, he'd have to try.

He squared his shoulders and walked in the direction of the bar at the far end of the taproom. He placed two coins on the counter and ordered an ale, though he had no intention of drinking anything the barkeep placed before him. The tavern looked as though it might have last been cleaned during the War of the Roses, after all. And the tankard that appeared in front of Tristan might have been washed sometime during the Reformation. A chill ran up his spine. Who the devil would choose to spend their time in the River's End?

"Lieutenant Avery?" came an Irish lilt not too far away.

Tristan turned his head, blinking into the darkness, and was quite surprised to find a young soldier slumped against the bar. "Sergeant O'Leary?" He abandoned his ale and made his way to the Irishman's side. "What the devil are you doing in here?"

O'Leary shrugged. "'Bout ta ask ye the same thing, sir."

Tristan glanced around the tavern once more. "I'm looking for a fellow." Then an idea popped into his mind. "Actually, you might remember him. Tall Welshman. He was with the 69th. Mason. Lieutenant Mason."

O'Leary shook his head. "Doesna ring a bell."

With the way Mason had behaved in Belgium, O'Leary had to remember him. "He was the one strutting around like a peacock after Waterloo. Demanding passage on the first transport back to England."

The Irishman chuckled and then pushed back from the bar. And that was when Tristan realized O'Leary was missing an arm. Dear God in heaven. The sergeant had been injured in the battle? Damn it all to hell. O'Leary was good man, and now...

"I was probably under a surgeon's knife at the time or unconscious. Either way, I doona remember your friend."

"Hardly a friend," Tristan muttered to himself. Then he took another look at the Irishman. "What _are_ you doing in a place like this, O'Leary?"

The sergeant turned his eyes to the floor. "It's cheap, and it helps me forget things I'd rather not remember."

"You left your regiment," Tristan surmised aloud. After all, O'Leary wasn't in uniform, now that he'd taken a good look at him.

A mirthless laugh escaped the Irishman. "Left my regiment? Good, able-bodied men have been tossed aside, Lieutenant. The 27th has no use for a one-armed infantryman, and especially not now." Then he lifted his dirty tankard with his one hand in a mock toast. "Ta the French for finally surrenderin' and puttin' good men out o' work."

Never before had Tristan considered that the war ending wasn't the best outcome for a number of Britain's soldiers. But O'Leary was right. A number of good men had come home from Belgium and found nothing waiting for them. He'd spent the last few months so preoccupied with his own foolish problems, he hadn't given much thought to anyone other than himself. But O'Leary didn't deserve to waste away in the River's End.

Tristan reached into his pocket, retrieved a vellum card with his name scrawled across it, and handed it to the Irishman. "If by chance Mason does stumble in here, send word to me, will you? I'll see you generously rewarded." It was the least he could do, especially as he was fairly certain O'Leary's pride wouldn't allow him to take any charity.

The one-time sergeant frowned as he pocketed the card. "Really that important ya find this friend o' yours, huh?"

Tristan shook his head. "Not a friend. The man I'm looking for shot Major Moore in the back a fortnight ago. The authorities are—"

"Major Moore?" O'Leary's mouth dropped open in surprise. "This Mason fellow you're lookin' for shot _Major Moore_? Of the 45th?"

Tristan nodded. "As I said, the authorities are looking for him, but I'd like to find the fellow first."

"Aye, I bet ya would." The Irishman scratched his head. "Shot in the back, ya say?"

"I'm worried Mason might make another attempt, and I'd like to prevent such an occurrence."

O'Leary agreed with a slow incline of his head. "I know quite a few other fellows who would be happy ta look for Mason too. Some o' them might remember the peacock ya mentioned earlier." Then he patted his pocket where he'd tucked Tristan's card away. I can promise ya, Lieutenant, if the coward's in London, we'll find him for ya."

Philip winced as he tossed on his shirt. His injury still felt tight, but he wasn't going to get any better staying abed. Doing so would only make him weaker. Amelia wouldn't like finding him out of his chambers, which was why he needed to dress as quickly as he could and join everyone in the breakfast room before his doting wife could stop him.

He'd slid his jacket on and managed to button his trousers before he heard a knock at his door. Damn it all to hell. "Yes?" he called.

"Philip?" Cordie's voice filtered into the room. "Do you have a moment?"

Thank God it was Cordie. Philip breathed a sigh of relief as he reached for his cane. He opened the door himself, which earned him a look of astonishment from the countess. "Morning, Cordie."

"Dear Heavens!" She gasped. "What are you doing out of bed? Amelia will—"

"I am done with lying in beds." He started past his childhood friend towards the steps. "And I'm done with eating in beds. I want a real meal at a real table."

Cordie followed him down the corridor. "Do you really think you should be up and around, Philip? Doctor Watts—"

"Is overly cautious," Philip finished for her. "I know myself, Cordie. And I know what I need to heal. And lying in bed like an invalid is not it." He began to carefully descend the stairs. Damn it all. He'd already spent too much time in bed. His leg ached like the devil.

"But Philip," she complained from behind him. "I really don't think now is the best time..."

But he paid her no attention and simply concentrated on finding each step in front of him. Once he reached the bottom of the staircase, he glanced over his shoulder at the countess. "I do hope breakfast is ready."

Cordie frowned at him as she quickly descended the steps at a pace he would never again master. "You aren't listening to me, Philip Moore."

"And you rarely listen to anyone else. Frustrating, isn't it?"

She thumped him in the chest. "Mr. and Mrs. Pritchard arrived late last night. I think it would be best—"

"Amelia's parents." His new in-laws.

"The very ones. That's why I stopped to see you this morning. Mr. Pritchard isn't in the best mood and I had thought—"

"That you'd give him time to adjust to his daughter being married before they met me?"

She sighed. "I just think it would be best."

She was always thinking something. Trying to find the best way to craft any situation to her liking. Philip smiled at her. "What's done is done, Cordie. They'll either like and approve of me, or they won't. Delaying the inevitable only makes it more painful."

"They've accepted that Amelia has married you. They did so while you were..."

"Dying," he supplied.

"I wish you wouldn't say it like that." Then she shook her head. "It isn't as though they don't approve of the match, it's just that..."

Dear God, he hated it whenever she beat around the bush. "It's just what?" he prodded, with more bite than he meant. But, damn it to hell, she could frustrate a saint.

"Well, Amelia hasn't had the chance to divulge the particulars about Mr. Mason to her parents and..."

"She's continuing to let them believe Mason is a trusted neighbor?"

Cordie winced. "Mr. Pritchard isn't in the best health."

Women and their sensibilities. Philip shook his head. "And it would be better for the man to be lied to? I hardly think he would appreciate that. I hardly think he would want to aid the man who murdered his son—"

A gasp sounded behind Philip, and Cordie's face turned to ash. "Mr. Pritchard, have you finished your breakfast?" She brushed past Philip towards the breakfast room. "Is there anything else—"

Philip turned on his heel to find an aged man with wild white hair and brows hunched forwards as though standing straight would be too much of a chore. "What did he say?"

One would have thought with a man as old as Mr. Pritchard appeared, that his hearing would be poor as well. But it seemed as though that faculty was in perfect working order as the man glowered at Philip.

"Please, Mr. Pritchard, let us retire to the parlor and wait for Amelia to join us."

But the man glanced past her at Philip. "What is this about murder?"

# Chapter 17

Amelia sucked in a breath as she heard her father utter the word _murder_. What in the world was going on in the hallway?

Across the breakfast table, her mother's eyes widened in shock. "What's all this?"

Amelia shook her head. "Nothing to worry about, Mama," she said as she rose from her seat. "Stay here." Then Amelia hastened into the corridor after Papa. Just a few feet away, Cordie stood with... "Philip!" she chastised, stepping further into the hallway. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"This...." Papa pointed a knobby finger in Philip's direction. "This is your husband?"

This wasn't exactly the way she'd planned on introducing Philip to her parents. Of course, she hadn't planned on seeing her parents at all this morning. Their arrival had been a complete surprise. Still, she found herself nodding as she breezed past her father to Philip's side. "Papa, this is my husband, Major Philip Moore. Philip, my father, Aldwyn Pritchard."

"Let us retire to the parlor, shall we?" Cordie said with feigned brightness and gestured closer to the front of the house with her hand.

"I want to know," Papa grumbled, "what you said, young man."

Heavens! What _had_ Philip said? Amelia glanced up at her husband, who looked his usual stoic self, as though he lost every bit of warmth and gentleness he possessed when he left his bedchamber.

Mama took that moment to step into the corridor. "Are we entertaining in the hallway?"

"We really should adjourn to my green parlor," Cordie insisted.

"I think that's a delightful suggestion, Lady Clayworth," Mama agreed. "Come along, Al."

But Papa stubbornly shook his head as he glowered in Philip's direction. "I'm not moving one step until you tell me what you said."

"Philip, what did you say?" Amelia muttered under her breath.

Philip heaved a sigh. "You know I was shot in the back—" he pointed towards the front of the house "—right out there?"

Papa nodded. "Amelia said as much."

"But she didn't tell you the name of my assailant? Or the fact that—"

"Philip!" Amelia hissed as the ground beneath her feet shifted. He couldn't tell Papa about Mason or her suspicions about Alan's death. Not now, not here, not like this. Papa couldn't possibly understand. "Please," she begged.

"You know who shot you?" Papa asked.

"I do. Mr. Geoffrey Mason."

Papa's face flamed like nothing Amelia had ever seen before. "You are a liar," he bit out and shook as though standing had become a chore.

"I am many things, but a liar is not one of them."

"You must be mistaken." Mama hastened to Papa's side and held him steady to keep him from tumbling to the ground. "Mr. Mason is a friend of the family. He would never do such a thing. Tell him, Amelia."

The corridor fell silent, with all eyes suddenly focused on Amelia. "I..."

"Tell them, Amelia," Philip urged when nothing else came out of her mouth. "They have a right to know."

Perhaps. But she'd never wanted to be the one who had to tell them. "We don't know for certain, Papa," she began. "But—"

"See!" her father declared. "How dare you impugn an innocent man's name, Moore? One would think an officer of your standing would be more...upstanding."

Philip's dark eyes narrowed in annoyance on Amelia, though he spoke loud enough for her parents to hear him. "The police are, even now, searching out Mason, Mr. Pritchard. I assure you he is the fellow."

"But that makes no sense," Mama chimed in. "I cannot believe Mr. Mason would do such a thing. It isn't in his character."

"I believe, as does your daughter, that Mason was unhappy over our betrothal and thought to eliminate me as his competition for her hand."

"I don't believe it," Mama declared. "Not the Geoffrey Mason we know. He's not the sort."

And years ago, Amelia wouldn't have believed it either. But her parents were still blind to Geoffrey's true nature. And with her father's health, she would have let him believe the best in their neighbor until the very end. The truth might very well kill Papa, and she didn't want that on her conscience.

"That man," Papa's voice rang out clear and proud, "is like a son to me. Always has been. He was with my son when I couldn't be. So I think I'll reserve my judgment until I hear what he has to say, if you don't mind." Then he looked at Mama. "I want to retire in our chambers, Helen."

"Of course," Mama replied, shooting Philip and Amelia a look of derision as she offered her arm to Papa to help him walk past the crowd gathered in the hallway.

Amelia smiled wanly at her parents and then glanced up at her still-healing husband. "Was that necessary?" she asked once her mother and father were out of earshot.

"Why didn't you tell them the truth?" he countered.

"Honestly!" Cordie heaved a sigh. "We truly _should_ adjourn to my parlor. This is not the sort of conversation people should have in corridors."

But Amelia paid her new cousin no attention as her eyes were still locked with Philip's. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Stretching my legs, and I think I'll take a stroll down Hertford Street." Then he turned on his heel, albeit slower than he once had.

Amelia caught up to him. "I don't think that's the best idea, Philip. Doctor Watts..."

He stopped in his tracks, and she nearly stumbled into him. "I'm not a child, Amelia. And neither is your father. He deserves the truth. And I deserve the license to make my own decisions." Then he started once more for the front door.

"Philip!" she called after him, wishing she could make him stay, but realizing he was in no mood to listen to her wants. "Please be careful." If any harm should befall him, she didn't know what she would do.

Philip stepped outside Clayworth House to find a pair of fellows standing sentry on the stoop. "Pardon me," he said, still rather annoyed at his wife.

"Major." One of the men nodded in greeting. "So good to see you up and about, sir."

It was then that Philip recognized the pair. "Corporal Byrne? Private Kelly?" What in the world were two men from the 27th doing on Clayworth's doorstep?

"Just Byrne and Kelly these days, sir." Byrne gestured to his slightly ratty jacket.

"O'Leary sent us," Kelly added, as though that was supposed to make sense to Philip.

"Sergeant O'Leary?"

"He's just O'Leary these days too," Byrne replied. "But when he told us what happened ta ya, we volunteered ta keep an eye on ya."

They were guards of some sort? "I haven't seen O'Leary since Belgium." The two of them had been in the same surgical tent after the battle. O'Leary had lost arm and been nearly despondent. "How is he?"

Kelly grinned. "Like a new man since he heard about ya, Major Moore. He's gathered a slew of us from the 27th, and fellas from other regiments ta help Lieutenant Avery find your villain."

"Not ta worry, sir," Byrne added. "We'll find that bastard and make sure he pays for his cowardice. On that ya can depend."

The men from the 27th were a noble group. Philip nodded at the pair. "I am in your debt."

"But there are so many of us in yours, sir. It's the least we can do," Byrne said. "Are ya headed somewhere?"

"Just for a stroll." He tapped his bad leg with his cane. "It's best if I walk a bit everyday to stay strong."

"You're leavin' your wife in there?" Kelly gestured to Clayworth House with his head.

"Probably best for right now." After all, he was too irritated to be good company for Amelia at the moment. And he wasn't sure how long it would be before he was in a better mood.

Kelly chuckled. "Problems with your wife, huh? I'll stay here then and keep an eye on the house. Byrne knows more about wives than I do."

Philip shook his head. "Really, it's not necessary. I won't be gone very long."

But Byrne scoffed. "Lieutenant Avery told us that if we let the bastard near ya, he'd have our arses. Better safe than sorry, Major."

Tristan was behind this? And O'Leary? "Does Lady Clayworth know you're camped out on her front stoop?" After all, the pair did look a bit like ruffians, and they were Irish, and though Philip didn't question their honor, the same couldn't be said for most living in London. They might have all of Mayfair in an uproar if they remained at their post much longer.

Kelly shrugged. "Lieutenant Avery said we were ta stand right here."

"Why don't we have you stand right inside instead? We'll get you some fresh coffee and—"

"I don't know if the lieutenant would like that."

Philip smiled at the pair. "He sent you to guard my wife and me?"

The Irishmen nodded.

"Well, I'd feel better if you were inside, rather than out." He opened the door and gestured the pair over the threshold. "Come on. We'd best get you introduced to Higgins anyway, so he doesn't call the watch on you."

Byrne and Kelly exchanged an uncertain look.

"Do I need to make it an order?"

Kelly chuckled once more. "We're not in the army anymore, Major. But if ya want us inside, we'll go inside."

Philip opened the front door and stepped back into Clayworth House. He'd only been gone a moment, but now Higgins stood in the entryway as though he'd been conjured up. The butler must have been hiding behind a potted palm during the unfortunate encounter with Amelia's parents. Philip nodded at Clayworth's trusted servant. "Higgins, Mr. Kelly here has been sent by Lieutenant Avery to keep an eye on things today. Get him settled in the parlor with some coffee, will you?"

"Of course, Major," the butler replied as though nothing surprised him anymore.

Then Philip met Byrne's eyes. "I won't be long, just enough to stretch my legs." And to ease his temper. Who knew how long that would take?

Byrne grinned as though he somehow heard Philip's unsaid thoughts. "Ya can take as long as ya need, sir. I won't leave your side."

They started off amiably down Hertford Street, and Byrne cocked his head towards Philip. "A word of advice for a newly married man, Major." When Philip turned his attention to the Irishman, Byrne grinned. "No matter what you've done, no matter that you're most likely right about whatever it is, ya have ta fall on your knees before your wife and tell her you're sorry."

Philip snorted, which only made Byrne laugh.

"I'm tellin' ya the truth, sir. If ya want her warmin' your bed, ya need ta apologize for things ya have done, things you're doin', and things ya haven't even thought of doin' yet. Mark me words."

Amelia warming his bed. Damn, he did want that. But he was not about to apologize for speaking the truth.

# Chapter 18

Amelia massaged her temples with her fingers, hoping to stave off a headache. What an unfortunate turn of events had occurred this morning. If only she'd been able to warn Philip about her parents. If only he hadn't mentioned the word 'murder' in front of her father. If only Papa was capable of hearing the truth.

"Try not to fret," Cordie said as she slid beside Amelia on the settee. "There's always a bit of adjustment with the merging of two families."

A mirthless laugh escaped Amelia. "I don't think that was an adjustment." Her father would never approve of Philip now.

Cordie squeezed her hand. "You should have seen the spectacle that occurred when Brendan and I arrived at Bayhurst Court after we said our vows."

"You eloped," Amelia muttered. She'd heard the rumors even in Wales.

Cordie nodded. "Something no one who knows Brendan would ever imagine him doing, but he was saving me from my own foolishness."

"Was your family very angry?" That would certainly explain the sideshow comment.

"My mother is always angry." Then a bemused smile settled on Cordie's face. "But my brothers were relieved I'd eloped with Brendan and _not_ Lord Haversham. When we arrived at Bayhurst, all three of my brothers were in residence as well as my mother, who had already alienated poor Thomas and insulted Rosamund beyond measure."

Clayworth's less than legitimate nephew and his rather unusual sister. "What an interesting mix of personalities."

"Indeed. And added to the mix was Mr. Lester, who had recently returned to the area and was angling for Rose's hand. Brendan and my brother Gregory took an immediate dislike to each other. And my mother was in the middle of one of her legendary temper tantrums." Cordie shook her head at the memory. "I thought it quite likely Brendan might wash his hands of me and be done with it all right then and there."

Amelia couldn't even imagine such a thing. "He adores you."

"Ah, but you haven't met my mother." Then she squeezed Amelia's hands once more. "The little episode in the hallway just now does not even compare to the insanity I've subjected my poor husband to. But it's all turned out for the best. And everything will turn out fine for you too. Just wait and see."

If only Amelia could be as certain. "Your family all gets along now?" she asked.

Cordie winced just a bit. "Well, Brendan still can't abide my mother, but he and Greg can be in the same room these days without shooting daggers at each other. And Rose, as you know—"

Someone cleared his throat in threshold, immediately drawing Amelia and Cordie's attention to the corridor. Higgins gestured to a slightly shabby looking fellow at his side. "Pardon me, my lady, but Major Moore said Mr. Kelly should await for him here with you ladies."

"Mr. Kelly?" Cordie asked, rising from her spot on the settee. "I don't believe we've met."

The shabby looking fellow glanced from Cordie to Amelia and back, then he scratched his head. "I didn't mean ta interrupt," he said, his Irish brogue filling the room.

"Not at all," Cordie continued and smiled graciously at the man who seemed as uncomfortable in the parlor as Amelia would in a dockside pub. "Would you like some tea, Mr. Kelly?"

"Major Moore already asked for coffee," Higgins replied. "Would you like tea as well, Lady Clayworth?"

"Just a bit, thank you, Higgins."

As the butler took his leave, Mr. Kelly heaved a sigh as though he wasn't certain what to do in this environment.

"I'm Amelia Moore," Amelia introduced herself, hoping to put the man more at ease. "How do you know my husband?"

A smile lit the Irishman's face. "One of the bravest men in all of Wellington's army, ma'am."

Ah, that explained it. Kelly was a returned soldier. Though why he was in Cordie's parlor was still a mystery. "Which regiment were you with?"

"The 27th, Mrs. Moore."

"Well, Mr. Kelly," Cordie said with a smile, "please do join us. I am always willing to hear stories of my friend's bravery."

Finally Kelly smiled. "Have ya got all day, then, Lady Clayworth?"

"How charming you are," Cordie laughed as she settled once again beside Amelia. "Do you, by chance, know my brothers Captain and Lieutenant Avery? They served with Major Moore in the 45th."

Kelly sat gingerly in a seat across from the ladies as though he was afraid of sullying the high-back chair with his person. "Lieutenant Avery is the reason I'm here, milady."

"Indeed?" Cordie asked.

Kelly nodded. "Byrne and me were ta make sure that Welsh bastard..." His face flamed. "Uh, I mean, we were ta make sure that Mason fella doesn't come near Major or Mrs. Moore."

So she was to be guarded by this Irishman? Hopefully, Papa would never learn of the situation or he'd be furious all over again. He'd never believe Geoffrey Mason was dangerous. He'd never believe Geoffrey Mason was capable of anything nefarious.

"Well, hasn't Tristan been busy?" Cordie grinned in response.

"Aye, milady."

"Since you're here, perhaps you can give us the male perspective, Mr. Kelly," Cordie continued. "We were just discussing the melding of one family with another. Are you married, by chance?"

Kelly tugged at his collar as though he suddenly became even more uncomfortable. "No, ma'am."

"I cannot believe it," the countess nodded in his direction. "Such a charming fellow, and handsome too."

"Aye," Kelly agreed and a rakish smile finally lit his face. "So I've been told. But I cannot afford a wife."

At that Cordie laughed and Amelia bit back a grin. "Certainly we're not all so expensive," Amelia teased.

Kelly heaved a sigh, though his green eyes twinkled. "Me sister costs more than I've got as it is, Mrs. Moore."

"Your sister?" Cordie echoed.

Kelly nodded and his visage took on a serious glint. "It's on account of Bridget I'm in London as it is. Better payin' jobs here than in Dublin. I send back what I can."

"I'm certain she's lucky to have you," Amelia replied. Mr. Kelly adored his sister, no matter how much she cost him; Amelia could see it in his expression as he spoke about her. And the image made Alan's face flash in her mind. "Very lucky," she muttered, missing her brother anew.

At that moment, two footmen entered the parlor with both a tea tray and a pot of coffee. Cordie excused herself to pour, and Mr. Kelly finally settled back in his chair as though he had grown more comfortable in his seat.

After Cordie handed the Irishman his cup, Mr. Kelly lifted his drink in a toast. "I understand congratulations are in order, Mrs. Moore."

Amelia's cheeks warmed. "Thank you, Mr. Kelly."

"Aren't newlyweds adorable?" Cordie replied. Then a wicked glint sparkled in her eyes. "Now, Mr. Kelly, as you are here and my brothers are not, you must tell me anything scandalous you know about either of them."

The Irishman choked on his coffee. Then he sat up a little straighter. "I fought with them in war, milady. Brothers in arms."

"Meaning you won't divulge any secrets?" Cordie pressed.

"Meanin' Captain Avery would have me head. He's not a man I'd like ta cross."

Cordie dissolved into a peal of laughter. "Just what I suspected, Mr. Kelly. Tristan is an angel and Russell is...not."

The Irishman agreed with a nod of his head. "Heaven help me if Bridget ever meets ya, milady. I think I would be in trouble every day of me life."

But Cordie shook her head, her brown curl swaying back and forth in protest. "On the contrary, my dear Mr. Kelly, if you have nothing to hide from your sister, you have nothing to fear."

A knock sounded at the door; all three of them turned their attention to the threshold where Amelia's mother now stood. Every ounce of lightheartedness that had enveloped the parlor drained away in that instant.

"Amelia," her mother said sternly. "A word, if you don't mind."

# Chapter 19

As Amelia followed her mother into the corridor, her heart filled with dread. Mama gripped her elbow roughly and dragged her into the now empty breakfast room. "Ouch!" Amelia complained, retrieving her arm and clutching her ill-used elbow.

"You've married an arrogant liar, and now you're cavorting with Irishmen?"

Amelia's mouth dropped open. "Mama!" she admonished. She wasn't even certain where to begin. "Philip is not a liar." He _might_ be a touch arrogant however, so she thought the better of addressing that bit. "And Mr. Kelly is a friend of my husband's and Lady Clayworth's brothers. He served in the Peninsular Wars."

"I don't particularly care about Irish rabble, whether they fought in the wars or not." Her mother's eyes narrowed. "But your husband is most certainly a liar. How could you stand there and let him malign Mr. Mason in such a way? Your father is in an awful state thanks to that...man."

Amelia took a deep breath. Papa couldn't take the truth, but her mother was a different story. If she could just make her see reason. "He's not lying, Mama," she said softly.

Her mother scoffed. "And he's poisoned your mind against Mr. Mason? How abominable! I just knew when we got that letter from Lord Clayworth about your betrothal that we should dissuade you before you made the biggest mistake of your life."

Up 'til now, Mama had claimed Amelia's biggest mistake was crying off from her engagement to Geoffrey Mason. Amelia shook her head. "Mama, I know you think highly of Mr. Mason, but..."

"And so did you. Once. You've known him your entire life, Amelia. He's the most noble—"

"I think he killed Alan," Amelia blurted out before she could stop herself. When the color drained from her mother's face, Amelia stepped closer to her and continued, "That's why I couldn't marry him, Mama. That's why I begged Papa to let me cry off."

"How can you say such a thing?"

Amelia shook her head. "It's true. And when Mr. Mason learned that I intended to marry Philip, he shot my husband in the back."

Mama's lips began to tremble, and her colorless face heated until she was nearly as red as a regimental jacket. "How dare you!" she spat.

This was hardly going well. Amelia hastened to explain, "I didn't tell you because I don't have any proof, but—"

"Of course you don't!" Mama took a step away from Amelia and she swiped at tears that were beginning to trail down her cheeks. "Because my son died an honorable death on the battlefield. How dare you try to take that away from Alan!"

Amelia wasn't trying to take anything away from Alan. Mason had done that. Still, her heart ached to see her mother in so much pain because she'd bungled her explanations. "That's not what I—"

"I don't want to hear another word from you." Her mother held up her hand to stop anything else Amelia had to say. "And don't you dare utter a word of this to your father."

"Mama—" she tried again.

"I don't know who you are anymore, but I'm certain I don't like who you've become." Then she took her leave, abandoning Amelia to herself.

Numbly, Amelia dropped into a seat at the breakfast table as though she was in daze. Her mother didn't like her. Her own mother didn't like her. If her mother had plunged a knife in her heart, it would have hurt less.

"Are you all right?" Cordie asked from the doorway.

Amelia shook her head, but she couldn't speak. If she willed words from her mouth, she'd dissolve in a puddle of tears.

"It'll turn out all right," the countess promised.

But her words fell on deaf ears as Amelia paid her very little attention. "Um," her voice came out as a croak. "I believe I'll retire to my chambers for a while." And then she brushed past Cordie and somehow managed to make it up the steps and down the corridor all the way to her set of rooms, before she collapsed in a piteous heap.

It was no wonder the Irish were known for their charm. After spending only half an hour with the 27th's former Corporal Sean Byrne, Philip discovered his mood had completely turned around. He wasn't certain he should take _all_ of the Irishman's marital advice, but the tales Byrne spun would have done the one-time loquacious inhabitants of Blarney Castle proud. And now that Clayworth House was in sight, he found he couldn't wait to see his wife and unruffle any feathers that were necessary.

Once inside the Hertford Street home, Philip gestured Byrne into Cordie's green parlor where they found former Private Kelly sitting all by himself, sipping a cup of coffee. That was strange. Had the man frightened both Amelia and Cordie away?

"Kelly," Philip greeted the one-time soldier, "have you seen my wife?"

Kelly rose from his seat, sloshing a bit of coffee on his drab coat in the process. "Aye, sir. Delightful lady, she is," he said as he dabbed at the wet spot on his coat with his bare fingers.

Philip agreed with a nod. "Indeed. Do you by chance know her whereabouts?"

Kelly frowned as he looked back at Philip. "Her ladyship said Mrs. Moore retired to her room."

In their room? Well, there was no time like the present to smooth things over with his wife, was there? "I see," he replied. Then he slapped Byrne's shoulder, promised Higgins would be along soon with a cup of coffee, and carefully climbed the stairs.

He leaned heavily on his cane as his leg had begun to ache after his stroll through Mayfair. Then, standing before his door, he took a steadying breath before entering the chambers. "Amelia," he began, but she wasn't there.

Philip's mouth fell open. Where the devil was she? Kelly had said she had gone to their room, hadn't he? Dread settled in Philip's belly. No. He'd said _her_ room. Not his, not the room they'd shared since even before their marriage. She must be angrier than he'd suspected.

He lumbered back into the corridor, wondering which room belonged to his wife. He certainly didn't want to find the one her parents occupied by mistake. Fortunately, he spotted a chambermaid at the end of the hallway and he gestured her forward. "Which room belongs to Mrs. Moore?" What a dolt he must sound like, not knowing the answer to the question himself.

The maid bobbed a curtsy and pointed to a room a few doors down on the left. "That one, sir."

"Thank you." He nodded, then stepped past the servant and made his way down the corridor to stand at his wife's door. He knocked. "Amelia?"

But no reply came from within. What he did hear, however, sounded like muffled crying. _Crying_? He'd reduced his sweet wife, who'd sat by his sick bed for weeks on end, to tears. Bloody perfect. He was no better than his damned father. How lowering that was to realize.

"Amelia," he said softly, but when she still didn't answer, he turned the handle and stepped inside her chambers, prepared to do whatever it took to keep her from shedding one more tear.

She lay across her bed, crying into her pillow. Philip's heart constricted at the sight that reminded him so much of how he'd often found his own mother when he was a boy. Of course, no one had been around to comfort Mother in those days, not the way she needed. It would never be like that with Amelia. It couldn't. She deserved so much better. Philip heaved a sigh, then crossed the room to his wife's four-poster.

"Amelia," he said again, and this time her head jerked up as though she'd been startled by the sound of his voice.

Her cheeks were tear-stained and her pretty blue eyes were rimmed red. "My mother hates me." Her lips trembled.

"Impossible." Philip sat on the bed beside her. "No one could hate you." He caressed one of her cheeks with the pad of his thumb, smoothing away the tears he found there.

Amelia shook her head. "She does. She hates me, Philip."

Then Mrs. Pritchard was a bigger fool than Philip had suspected, though he thought better of saying as much about his mother-in-law at the moment with Amelia so upset. He let his cane drop to the floor and he leaned back on Amelia's bed. "Come here, love." He patted his chest.

She did as he bade her and leaned her head on his chest. Philip wrapped his arms around his wife and simply held her as she cried. He wasn't sure what to say to make the situation better, to make her hurt less, but he would have done anything in that moment to alleviate her pain. So he smoothed his hand down her back and whispered how wonderful she was, how kind, how devoted, how beautiful.

Amelia choked back her tears and pushed up on her hands to look at him. "You think I'm beautiful?"

He'd show her how beautiful she was. It might be just the thing to soothe her pain, as well as assuage the nearly incessant need he'd had for her since before he'd been shot. The memory of tasting her beautiful breast in Cordie's green parlor echoed in his mind, and Philip's course of action was as clear as any battle plan he'd ever seen.

# Chapter 20

Amelia blinked at her husband when his very serious expression transformed to a roguish smile. "Have I not told you often enough, Amelia, how beautiful you are?"

How could he find her beautiful with splotchy cheeks and red eyes? Before she could say as much, he drew her closer and pressed his warm lips to hers. Amelia's eyes fluttered closed and tingles raced across her skin.

"What a bad husband I've been," he muttered across her lips. "Neglectful."

A watery laugh escaped Amelia. "You have been recovering from a gun shot wound."

"I'm all recovered," he growled, then he captured her lips once more, this time harder, more insistent.

Was he recovered? He seemed to be doing better, but Amelia wasn't so sure he should be exerting so much strength. Philip sucked on her bottom lip, coaxing her to open for him. When she did, he delved inside, deepening their kiss, which melted her insides to mush and jumbled all the thoughts in her mind.

He pulled back a bit and smiled as his fingers brushed her lips with the softest touch, then they trailed down her neck to settle at her bodice. "So beautiful."

Philip nibbled her neck and moaned as one of his hands cupped her breast. Heat shot to Amelia's core and she pressed herself closer to him. One of his fingers swept beneath her _décolletage_ , and Amelia thought she might expire on the spot when he caressed her now peaked nipple.

"Philip!" she gasped as his other hand made quick work of her buttons.

Before she knew how it happened, Philip tugged her dress over her head, leaving her in only her chemise. He sat up and shrugged out of his jacket, then tossed his waistcoat aside as well. "I think it's high time for you to become my wife in more than just name."

Amelia's heart pounded and her mouth went dry. This was the very last thing she'd expected when she woke this morning, but she found she now wanted it more than anything.

Philip yanked his boots from his feet, letting both drop to the floor with dull thunks.

Amelia gulped when his now heated gaze settled on her. A desire she didn't quite understand washed over her, settling deeper in her core.

Philip slid the buttons on his trousers through their holes, one by one. And she couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight. Each time he slid another button home, he exposed a bit more flesh, and her breath caught a little more in her chest. She was bound to be lightheaded and pass out from lack of air at any moment.

Once he dispensed with his trousers, she saw all of him. The dusting of dark hair that trailed down his belly, leading to...the part of him that truly did rob her of the last of her air.

"Breathe," he directed as a self-satisfied smile settled on his face.

He was arrogant. But he had every reason to be—he was magnificent in all his splendor, which didn't quite alleviate Amelia's sudden trepidation at the moment. He caught her eyes again, and the intensity of his gaze darkened, nearly halted every thought in her mind and filled her with a promise she didn't quite understand. "Don't be afraid, Amelia." His husky voice rumbled over her, and she found herself nodding.

Philip's large hand skimmed down her side, leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched. He rolled her to her back and pressed his lips to hers once more, soothing her worry with one of his soul-searing kisses. His tongue tangled with hers and the only thought in Amelia's mind was how to hold him there, just like this, forever.

"Don't be afraid, love," he whispered across her lips just as his fingers trailed from her side and across her belly to settle in the springy curls at her apex. "I won't hurt you," he promised right before one questing finger went lower still, gently circling a little nub she hadn't known existed. But she knew it now. She nearly leapt from the bed the moment he touched her there, sending a sensational jolt through her body.

"Relax, my love," he crooned. Then he slid his finger inside her most private of places, caressing her with a rocking motion of his hand. Then he circled her nub again with slick fingers and Amelia thought she might melt right into the counterpane. "That's it," he praised her. "Open for me, Amelia."

Open for him. Gladly, if he'd just keep touching her. Amelia let her legs fall open. "Like this?" she asked, hating the quiver in her voice.

"Perfect." A reassuring smile lit his face and he nodded. "Trust me?"

Amelia smiled in return. "I do." And she did. She'd trust him with her life and with...this.

He worked his finger deeper within her, and his slow, sensual rhythm gradually increased its pace. A pressure began to build inside Amelia as though she was within arm's reach of a most delicious precipice. A moan she didn't recognize escaped her. And when his thumb brushed across her sensitive nub once again, she gasped as euphoria washed over her right before she splintered into a million glorious pieces like a summer Welsh rainstorm.

Philip lifted the hem of her chemise, letting the silk slowly glide up her body before tossing it to the other side of the room. Amelia ran her hands across the dusting of hair on his chest, feeling the corded muscle just beneath his skin. He was so handsome. So strong. So supremely male.

He captured her questing fingers against his skin and lifted her hand to his lips. The desire reflecting in his dark gaze nearly made her splinter once more.

Philip guided her knees further apart, then he settled himself between her legs. "My wife. My very beautiful wife." He ran his fingers along her bare belly, and once again trailed them lower until he cupped her most private place, nearly driving her mad with want.

The need for him to be even closer swamped her and she moaned, "Philip," as she edged lower on the bed where he was positioned between her legs.

"I'm trying to go slow." He smiled. "Though I do appreciate your eagerness."

Slow? She hadn't thought he'd been moving slow at all. Or was it his injury? "Are you hurt? Did I do something?" Panic flared in her heart.

But he shook his head. "I have wanted to make love to you for so long, Amelia. I just want it to be perfect."

Adoration shone in her gaze and Philip's heart swelled along with his erection. He could drown in that look in her eyes and be a happy man. But he'd be happier when he was fully seated inside her.

Philip pressed the tip of his cock into Amelia's warmth, stretching her. Dear God, going slow would be the death of him, but she was still an innocent. He had to take care with her, not frighten her, show her how much he cherished her.

Amelia's eyes widened at his entrance, but the smile she wore was still that of a siren. He pushed himself further until he came to her barrier. He had promised he wouldn't hurt her, but he didn't know how to avoid doing so.

His impatient wife moved lower on the bed, taking more of him until the evidence of her innocence was gone. Amelia's mouth fell open in surprise, but a moment later her siren smile returned. "Make love to your wife, Major. She is most anxious for you to continue."

Always the dutiful solider, Philip thrust forwards and filled her completely. A sigh escaped Amelia and then she draped her arms around his neck. "That's perfect," she whispered.

And it was perfect. She was so wet, so warm, so tight. He'd never experienced such contentment, such a feeling of euphoric rightness in his life all wrapped up together. Philip pulled back from Amelia and then entered her again on one smooth thrust. And then again and again until she was writhing beneath him once more, moaning out his name.

"Oh, Philip!" she cried at the same moment she shuddered around him.

Unable to hold back a second longer. Philip erupted, spilling himself inside her.

His strength gone, he collapsed beside her, never having felt so sated in all his life. He kissed her shoulder and pulled her into the cocoon of his embrace, where he could have held her forever.

Amelia's hand caressed his back, until she came to the bandage that still guarded his wound. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice quivering slightly.

"Hmm." He groaned. "Best bit of medicine I've had so far."

Her lips pressed against his chest and Philip tightened his grasp on her. "I adore you, Mrs. Moore."

She sighed in response. "I adore you, Major Moore."

It was a damn good thing she did. He could never give her up, and he didn't want to share her. Not with her family, not with all of London. At least not right now. They were newlyweds, after all. He was entitled to have his wife all to himself for a little while, wasn't he?

"Let's start for Leverton Place tomorrow," he suggested as he tilted her chin up so she had to look in his eyes. "No helpful friends. No interfering countesses. No Irish guards. Just us."

Amelia smiled. "Will we do this again?"

He somehow managed not to laugh. "Only as often as you'll allow it."

"Well, then you are going to be quite the busy man, Major." Before he could respond, doubt crept across her features. "But is it safe? To go alone, I mean?"

Philip did laugh now. She was so utterly adorable. "I will have you know, my dear, I am quite the decorated hero. We'll be perfectly safe."

# Chapter 21

Amelia ate a bit of the roasted goose before her. She sent a sideways glance at the two empty places at the dinner table and tried not to wince. If her parents refused to dine with the group, she shouldn't let it affect her. She just wished they could be happy for her, that they didn't hate Philip or her quite so much.

"Tomorrow?" Clayworth said, breaking Amelia from her thoughts.

What about tomorrow? Had she missed something?

"I think its best," Philip replied. "Besides, Amelia hasn't seen the Park yet, and I am anxious to show her our home."

Oh, their departure for Nottinghamshire. She should have realized.

"Well, yes," Cordie began. "I can certainly understand that, Philip. But don't you think—"

Whatever the countess was going to say was interrupted by the arrival of the Avery brothers, who burst into the dining room without warning. "Brilliant," Captain Avery said with a boyish grin. "We are famished."

"Oh, well," Cordie said, her tone mocking, "do have a seat." Then she frowned at her brothers. "Love you both as I do, I don't recall inviting you to dinner."

"But there are two empty seats," the captain protested as he dropped into the vacant spot beside Amelia. "We'd hate for you to have any food left over."

"Never a problem when the two of you are in the vicinity," the countess complained. "And, truly, those places weren't set for either of you."

"It's all right," Amelia said softly. "I think my parents have made it quite clear they don't plan to join us."

Lieutenant Avery sent her a sad smile as he assumed the seat beside Philip. "I am sorry, Mrs. Moore. I'm sure time will help them come to accept the situation."

"Now I'm a situation?" Philip asked, sounding more jovial now that his friends had arrived.

"You've always been a situation," Captain Avery remarked as he motioned for a footman to serve him.

"Well, since you are here – uninvited, I might add – perhaps you can talk some sense into our friend here." Cordie gestured to Philip. "It seems the good major feels he is well enough to travel to Pappelwick tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Captain Avery scoffed. "I hardly think Doctor Watts would agree."

"Well, I'm not asking for his opinion," Philip replied. "I feel perfectly fine, thank you for your concern." Then he glanced to his side at the lieutenant. "But while we are on the subject of _not_ asking for opinions, Tristan, do you mind explaining why I suddenly have Irish guards hanging about?"

A boyish twinkle lit the lieutenant's eyes. "You needed guarding, perhaps? And they were available." He looked at his sister. "You'll make sure they get fed, won't you?"

She agreed with a nod. "I've already seen to it. But a little warning might have been nice, Tris."

The lieutenant shrugged. "As long as they aren't a nuisance, I don't know what all the fuss is about."

"They haven't been a nuisance, have they?" the captain asked.

Cordie shook her head. "They are both charming. I was just surprised to find them camped out on my stoop."

Lieutenant Avery heaved a sigh. "Killing two birds with one stone, I suppose."

"Oh?" Philip asked.

"I happened upon O'Leary from the 27th the other night." He shuddered. "Awful place no decent person should ever be found."

"Then what were you doing there?" Cordie asked.

Lieutenant Avery shifted a bit in his seat as though he didn't want to answer his sister's question. "Stumbled in by mistake?" he suggested.

"You aren't attempting to take certain matters in your own hands, are you, Tristan?" Cordie prodded. "Mr. Blackaby was very clear on the subject."

The lieutenant shrugged. "I don't have any idea what you could possibly mean, Cor." He turned his gaze on Philip, which seemed more like a distraction technique than anything else. "You should have seen the poor man."

"Lost his arm at Waterloo," Philip said softly. "He's a good fellow. Our cots were near each other in the surgeon's tent after the battle."

Lieutenant Avery nodded in agreement. "And he hasn't seen a bit of luck since that day, I'm afraid."

"That's true for a lot of men, returned home from the continent," Captain Avery added. "No positions to be found, but mouths still need to be fed."

"O'Leary can't find work?" Philip asked, his brow furrowing.

"None of them can," the lieutenant continued. "O'Leary's only ever known farming, but he doesn't have a spot of land, and now there's his arm. Murphy has a sick mother. Byrne has a wife and a little bundle on the way. And Kelly has a sister who he's responsible for." He sat a little taller.

"Mr. Kelly mentioned his sister today. Didn't he, Amelia?" Cordie said.

"Yes." Amelia nodded.

Captain Avery seemed unconcerned about Kelly or his sister and leveled his eyes on Philip. "And the others remember Mason from Belgium. They could pick him out of a crowd from a mile away."

Cordie frowned as she sat forwards in her seat, as though to catch her brothers' attention. "So we've met Mr. Kelly and Mr. Byrne. But who are O'Leary and Murphy?"

"A couple other fellows from the 27th. They'll be trading shifts with Kelly and Byrne," the lieutenant explained.

"And we're paying them all better than anything they could find on their own," the captain tossed in for good measure.

"I'm sure you are," Philip said, "but I hardly think I need guarding."

Amelia wasn't so certain he was right about that, but she held her tongue. At least for the moment.

"So humor us," Lieutenant Avery replied. "O'Leary and the others are not the sort to take charity, all that Irish pride." He heaved a sigh. "So I thought it was a fantastic idea to have them keep an eye on you, and in return we could help a few men in the process. Good men who deserve better than they've gotten so far."

Philip shook his head. "And you plan to keep them on indefinitely? That's ridiculous, Tris. They need real jobs, not playing nursemaid to me."

"I thought Amelia was your nursemaid," Captain Avery chuckled.

"I think keeping you alive is a perfectly respectable job," Cordie interjected, ignoring her brother completely. "Don't you agree, Brendan?"

Lord Clayworth heaved a sigh. "Keep me out of this, _mon minouche_. Then I won't have to lie if Blackaby asks me if I know anything."

Philip's frown darkened. "O'Leary was a farmer, you say?"

Lieutenant Avery nodded.

"I need a steward. I've been managing the Park on my own, but I could use some help."

"That's a brilliant cover," Captain Avery agreed with gusto. "Do you need a trio of footmen by chance? I'd love to have Murhpy, Byrne, or Kelly always close at hand."

"I do not need three footmen." Philip narrowed his eyes on the captain. "Nor do I need guarding."

Stubborn man.

Amelia cleared her throat. "I wish you'd had someone at your back before Mr. Mason took a shot at you."

The room quieted and all eyes turned to her, but Philip's dark gaze burned the hottest, making tingles skitter across her skin and the memory of their afternoon in her chambers flash in her mind. Her cheeks heated.

"I mean," Amelia continued, certain she was blushing profusely. "I don't want to lose you. And really, what harm is there in it? In letting these men ensure your safety?"

"You want me to take them all on?" Philip asked, his voice low and soft like a caress. "If this is what you desire, Amelia, I'll agree."

He'd do as she wished? Her strong, arrogant husband? What a heady feeling it was to realize he truly did care about her opinion. Amelia nodded. If the quartet of Irishmen could keep Philip safe, they were well worth their weight in gold.

Philip shook his head as though he couldn't quite believe he was agreeing to this idea. "I suppose I just gained myself a new steward, a footman, and a couple of grooms, then. But those positions aren't temporary, Tristan. I really do mean to employ them, make sure they know that. An honest day's work for an honest day's wages."

"For good honest men," the lieutenant added. "I'm sure they'll be happy to know it."

"You can sort out which of them is best for each post," Philip grumbled at his friend.

Captain Avery winked at Amelia. "Brava, Mrs. Moore. Who knew marriage would make him so agreeable? I should have found you ages ago."

"Russell," Cordie complained. "Do be quiet."

# Chapter 22

Quiet, unfortunately, was not in Russell's nature. As soon as the ladies retired to the drawing room and port was served, the conversation in the dining room degenerated even further, which was mildly uncomfortable, all things considered. While Russell regaled the table with the sordid details of his most recent conquest, Tristan clenched his jaw and snorted like a pent-up bull throughout the retelling.

More than once Philip glanced to Lord Clayworth, the only other reasonable mind in the room, merely to have the earl shrug his confusion as well. And it _was_ confusing. Russell was behaving as he always had, most likely as he always would. Tristan's stiff-necked reaction to his brother made very little sense at all. But just as strange was the fact that Russell seemed completely oblivious to his brother's anger.

When the footman Philip had sent on a chore earlier that evening entered the dining room and cleared his throat, Philip was instantly relieved for the interruption. Perhaps Clayworth could start a less volatile topic of conversation.

"Pardon me." The footman made his way around the table to where Philip sat and offered him a folded up piece of foolscap. "For you, sir."

A response to his olive branch already? He hadn't expected a reply quite so soon. Philip unfolded the note and read the short message, which had clearly been penned in an angry scrawl if the rigidly slanted letters where any indication. Still, Amelia's father _had_ granted Philip an audience, and that was what was important, wasn't it? He pushed his chair backwards and rose from his spot. "Do excuse me."

"Excuse you?" Russell grinned unrepentantly. "But I was just getting to the best part."

Philip scoffed as he retrieved his cane from the edge of his seat. "Let me guess. She begged you for more the entire night. Just like every other tale you've ever told."

"Tale?" Russell grumbled. "You make it sound as though I'm being less than honest."

"On the contrary," Philip assured his oldest friend, "I have seen you charm every woman you've ever put your mind to. But they always end the same, Russ." He held up the note in his hand. "Besides I have something else that requires my attention at the moment."

"Amelia sending you notes now?" Russell quirked a knowing grin. "I knew when I saw her this evening that you'd finally tossed up her skirts. Good for you."

And now Philip thought he might help Tristan beat his brother into an unrecognizable pulp. "I'll thank you not to discuss my wife in such a way. And in return, when Miss Greywood finally walks down the aisle to _your_ awaiting arm, I promise never to say such things about her either."

Tristan bolted from his chair and started for the doorway without a backwards glance.

"Tris!" Russell called.

"I'm going in search of Mason. Bugger off." And then he disappeared into the corridor.

Russell shook his head. "Don't know what has gotten into him lately."

"Restless spirit since the campaign is over?" Clayworth suggested.

Perhaps, but Philip didn't have time to speculate on Tristan's behavior or the sudden divide that separated the brothers Avery. He had his own familial problem that needed to be dealt with. "If you're gone before I return, Russ, do have a lovely evening."

Philip tucked the note into his pocket, then left the dining room, limping more than he would like. All things being equal, he'd rather approach his father-in-law un-aided by a walking implement. He'd rather possess an air of strength when he met with the man, but that was not to be. And wishing it otherwise was futile.

He strode as best as he could to the green parlor, then entered the room with as much pride as he could muster. Mr. Pritchard sat in a high-back chair, his angry blue eyes staring holes through Philip. The man did not seem happy at all for indulging Philip's request for a meeting, yet he'd done so anyway. That was promising, even if Pritchard's scowl wasn't.

"Thank you for seeing me," Philip said with what he hoped was a conciliatory tone.

Mr. Pritchard's gaze narrowed further, though how that was possible, Philip wasn't sure. "I don't suppose I'll ever see my daughter after today."

Was that was he was worried about? Losing Amelia? Philip shook his head. "Only if that's your wish, sir. You are welcome to visit us at Leverton Park anytime you'd like. Or we could travel to your home in Wales. I know Amelia loves you very much."

"Then she should have married Mason, like I wanted."

Ah, so life with a murderer was far superior to life with a cripple, was it? Philip heaved a sigh. "I love your daughter and I'll do everything in my power to make her happy all of her days."

The old man snorted. "You won't get one farthing from me."

Money? Philip stepped further into the parlor. "I don't want your money, Mr. Pritchard," he said as he dropped onto the settee across from the man, leaning his cane against his bad knee. "I didn't marry Amelia for her money. I assure you, my funds are in order."

Mr. Pritchard's hardened eyes squinted as though he was trying to decide whether or not he believed Philip. "Whether they are or whether they aren't, I'm leaving everything to Mason. It should have been his anyway."

Philip's mouth fell open. Mason? If the blackguard knew that... "I beg you not to tell Mason this, Mr. Pritchard."

"Why? You think you can charm me the way you did Amelia? I'm hardly one to care about a handsome face."

"No." What a ridiculous thing to say. How could the man be so dense? "I beg you not to tell him, because I fear for your safety if you do."

"Bah!" Pritchard scoffed. "My safety?" He shook his head. "I practically raised that young man, and I won't let you poison my mind against him like you did my daughter's."

"Then you should have raised him better than you did," Philip returned, not caring in the least that his conciliatory tone was long since gone. "And I didn't poison Amelia's mind against Mason. She left Wales to escape him. That was well before she met me."

"She needed time," her father insisted. "She took Alan's death particularly hard. She blamed Mason for not keeping him safe. But in time she would have—"

"You're delusional," Philip interrupted. How could he be so bloody blind? "And if you tell Mason your plan to leave him an inheritance, you'll be dead within a sennight."

"If I were a younger man, I'd call you out for that."

"You wouldn't be the first do so, yet I am still walking around."

"Hobbling, you mean," Pritchard sneered.

The air whooshed out of Philip's lungs. Was that it? Was it the fact he wasn't a whole man that made Pritchard despise him so? No matter what sort of villain Mason was, he didn't limp from room to room, did he? Philip smiled tightly. "It was a pleasure to serve my country, sir. I wish I'd returned unscathed, but I did not. Fortunately, Amelia loves me despite my injury."

"She always did have a soft spot for wounded animals." Pritchard folded his ancient arms across his chest. "You won't see one farthing of my money, Moore. Not one farthing."

That, apparently, was Philip's cue to leave, as the man had started repeating himself and hadn't shown any evidence that he could listen to reason. "We shall get by without your assistance, sir." Using his cane for support, Philip rose from his spot. Then he nodded his farewell to his unhappy father-in-law and limped from the room. So much for his olive branch.

Tristan Avery stepped into his favorite gaming hell. He didn't imagine he would actually find Mason inside the less than hallowed walls, but if he'd had to endure one more moment listening to Russ' skirt chasing escapades, he would quite likely smash his fist into his brother's face, and he might not ever stop. No, all things considered, it was best just to remove himself.

As he approached one of the Hazard tables, a hand smacked his back, making Tristan stumble forwards just a bit. He quickly righted himself, then spun on his heel to find the Marquess of Haversham grinning that irritatingly rakish grin in Tristan's direction. "You look like a fellow who could use a drink."

Damn it all to hell. Couldn't he just be left alone to sulk without having to entertain scurrilous men of one sort or another? Besides, associating with Haversham was never on Tristan's list of enjoyable endeavors. The damned blackguard nearly ruined Cordie before she was married. The jackanapes was even more disreputable than Russell. "What do you want?"

Haversham's grin widened. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Paradise?" Tristan frowned at the man. What in the world was he talking about?

"Or did you have another spat with the lovely Miss Greywood."

Tristan clenched his fists. "You've got the wrong Avery, Haversham. My brother is the one betrothed to Miss Greywood."

"Do I?" The nefarious twinkle in the marquess' eye made Tristan fear the man might see more than everyone else. "My mistake." Then Haversham stepped closer to Tristan and gestured to side of the room with a cock of his head. "No good deed goes unpunished."

Tristan glanced in the direction Haversham indicated and noticed Mr. Blackaby, arms folded across his chest, leaning against a far wall, his eyes focused on the marquess. "What did you do to capture Bow Street's interest?"

"Your family." Haversham snorted. "Everytime I help _your_ family, I end up with that bloodhound on my tail."

"You _did_ shoot and kill a man."

"I saved your sister's life, and I took a bullet to my shoulder in the process."

The blackguard mentioned Cordie. He must truly want Tristan's help. "And you want me to do something about Blackaby?"

Haversham's grin was back, firmly in place. "He is a thorn in my side."

Tristan shook his head, not sure why he was even entertaining such an idea. "And what is in it for me?"

"Ah, the most mercenary of the Averys, are you?" Haversham draped his arm around Tristan's shoulders and directed him towards the Hazard table, making it appear that the two of them were interested in the play. "How about when I next see Miss Greywood, I put in a good word for you?"

The libertine's mention of Phoebe made Tristan's vision turn a bit blurry. "How about," he ground through his teeth, "you stay away from Miss Greywood altogether?"

"Deal." Haversham smacked Tristan's back once more. "Good luck, Avery."

As Tristan turned and started towards the Runner along the far wall, he wasn't quite certain how the marquess had managed to get him to do his bidding. Heaven help him if anyone else figured out Phoebe was his weakness. He pushed thoughts of his brother's fiancée out of his mind and refocused on Blackaby, just a few feet away from him now. Tristan sighed. He might as well use this situation to his benefit, or to Philip's benefit, as the case may be.

He forced a smile to his face. "I don't suppose you've had any luck locating, Mr. Mason, have you?"

Blackaby folded his arms across his chest. "Have any of your Irish guards spotted the fellow?"

So despite him doggedly trailing Haversham's every step, Blackaby was well aware of the goings on at Clayworth House. "Mason won't find Haversham, he'll find Moore."

"Haversham always finds trouble."

Truer words were never spoken. Still... "I owe Moore my life. He's more like a brother than...well, more so than my own brothers in a lot of ways." Tristan winced at the thought of losing his friend. "My Irish guards can spot Mason, but I'd feel better if you were watching Moore and his wife instead of Haversham. Can I hire you to do so?"

# Chapter 23

Amelia hastened to Philip's side when the men entered the drawing room once they'd finished their port. After their afternoon together, she wanted him all to herself, but for now, she'd settle for linking her arm with his and smiling at their family and friends. Soon enough she'd be back in his arms, back in his bed, and in the morning they'd start for Nottinghamshire.

As soon as she reached him, she could tell something was wrong. He'd lost a bit of the twinkle his eyes had sported ever since their afternoon interlude. She reached a hand out to him and whispered, "What's wrong?"

A forced smile settled on his face, and he shook his head. "It's nothing, my love."

He was lying. She could see it clearly in his visage. "It's not nothing. Are you in pain? Shall I call for Doctor Watts?"

Philip brushed his hand across her cheek, making tingles race down her spine. "I am fine. No need to worry about me."

She'd always worry about him. Until her dying breath. But before she could say as much, Captain Avery called from across the room, "Aww, look at the happy newlyweds."

"Russell!" Cordie complained.

Philip leaned close, dipped his head, and kissed Amelia's cheek for all to see. "Nothing is wrong, my love," he whispered for her ears only. Then he stood his tallest and turned his attention back to the captain. "You are a nuisance, Russ."

Captain Avery only laughed and gestured Amelia and Philip towards the more occupied side of the drawing room. And though Philip then chatted with his friend and the Clayworths as though nothing was amiss, Amelia couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened. But she held her tongue, adopted an air of nonchalance, and waited until they were alone, once again, in her chambers.

She dismissed her maid as soon as they stepped over her threshold, not wanting to wait any longer to find out what was bothering her husband. Amelia spun to face Philip and folded her arms across her chest. "Something's happened. What is it?"

A look of bemusement settled on his face. "How can you tell?"

How could she not? "I can see it in your eyes. I can...feel it."

Philip heaved a sigh, then crossed the floor to where Amelia stood. He slid one arm around her waist and towed her towards him. "You can feel it?"

The intensity of his stare stole Amelia's breath momentarily and she nodded in response for fear that her voice would come out a croak. Philip dipped his head towards hers and dropped a kiss on her brow.

"Something did happen, but I didn't want to ruin your evening."

"What is it?" she asked, clutching his jacket in her hands.

He winced just a bit. "I spoke with your father this evening."

"Papa?" That was certainly the last thing she expected him to say.

Philip nodded. "I thought it would be best to smooth everything over with him, to start over from this morning."

She couldn't love him anymore than she did in that moment. "For me?"

His brow furrowed in disappointment. "It didn't turn out like I'd hoped, Amelia. Not like I'd planned. Not at all."

Amelia could only blink at him.

"He doesn't approve of me. I don't believe he ever will."

Papa just didn't know him well enough. In time, he would see how noble Philip was and—

"He had his heart set on Mason as a son, it seems."

It was a miracle Papa had allowed her to cry off in the first place. Amelia shook her head. "Once he gets to know you—"

"He told me he's leaving his fortune to Mason."

Amelia's knees weakened. If Philip hadn't had his arm around her waist, she would have toppled over. Mason was after Papa's fortune. That's why he'd shot Alan in the first place. "He can't."

Philip tucked a curl behind Amelia's ear. "I'm afraid he wouldn't listen to me."

No, of course he wouldn't. Papa was nothing if not stubborn, especially since he didn't care for Philip. Still... "When Mason finds out..." _He'll kill Papa_. She couldn't say the words aloud, but they echoed in her heart.

"I tried to tell him."

A chill raced down Amelia's spine. "I'll make him listen." She pulled out of Philip's embrace and bolted for the door.

Once in the corridor, she raced to her parents' chamber, then knocked. Then she knocked again. "Papa!" she called, but there was no answer. Amelia pushed open the door, only to find the room completely empty.

She stepped back into the hallway and looked at the room again. This was the room her parents had stayed in. Where were they? She started back down the corridor, passing Philip and her chamber, heading straight for the staircase. Amelia descended the steps two at a time and thankfully found Higgins in the grand entryway.

"My parents," she said, trying to catch her breath.

The butler took pity on her and offered her a hand to steady her. "Mr. and Mrs. Pritchard left this evening, ma'am."

This evening? Amelia thought she might be sick. "They can't be gone."

Higgins frowned. "They departed immediately after Major Moore met with Mr. Pritchard."

The room spun a bit in Amelia's vision. They'd headed for home. Where else would they go? No one with any sense would leave London in the dead of night. However, her parents were both more than furious. Safety didn't seem to be their highest priority. "I need to catch them," she said, wishing the entry way would stop spinning.

"I—I," the butler stuttered.

"Amelia," Philip's voice came from the staircase.

She turned towards her husband, her lower lip quivering. "They're gone, Philip. They must have started for home. We have to find them."

He descended the final step and released a sigh. "Not tonight." He shook his head. "It's too dangerous."

But if her parents were traveling westward, she needed to as well. "We have to," she pressed.

A muscle twitched near Philip's right eye. "If your parents are foolish enough to travel at night, then their consequences rest on their own shoulders. I will not put your life at risk. I will _not_ , Amelia. We'll leave at first light, if you'd like, but I will not put you in danger this evening."

Amelia's shoulders sagged forward. How many hours' lead would her parents have on them? Hopefully, they'd stop somewhere outside London and wouldn't risk highwaymen or uncertain roads this evening. "At first light?" she asked, hating the worry she heard in her voice.

"You have my word," her husband promised.

# Chapter 24

Upon second thought, Philip surmised, they probably should have departed the previous evening. After all, his wife hadn't gotten a wink of sleep all night. Though he'd held her in his arms and tried his best to assuage her fears, Amelia never relaxed, never dozed off, and at the first hint of light from the window, she'd bolted out of bed.

Philip pushed up on his elbows and frowned at his wife. "I don't suppose I could talk you into taking breakfast before we dash out the front door?"

Amelia folded her arms across her chest as though to comfort herself. "Can't we take a little something with us to break our fast?"

She seemed so pensive, so anguished, he couldn't refuse her. "Of course, love," he said, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

The rest of the morning was a bit of a blur as Byrne and Kelly readied Clayworth's borrowed coach and then they were off, leaving a pink sky behind them as they headed west on the Bath Road.

After little more than an hour outside of London, Philip frowned at his wife on the bench across from him, still holding a barely nibbled on apple in her hands. A bird would have eaten more. He heaved a sigh, then reached across the coach and touched Amelia's leg. "Starving yourself isn't going to do anyone any good."

"I'm just not hungry, Philip."

He moved across the carriage to sit beside her and draped his arm around her shoulders. "Everything will be fine. We'll catch up to your parents either on the road or once we arrive in Kidwelly. Either way, they're safe for now. Mason couldn't possibly have learned your father's intention. So your parents aren't in any real danger. Not until Mason discovers the game has changed."

She blinked up at him, and unshed tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. "This is all my fault."

He scoffed, though he hadn't meant to. "Amelia, nothing is your fault. You've done nothing wrong, love."

"But if Mr. Mason hurts Papa..."

"He can't even have an inkling of your father's plans. He hasn't seen him for weeks, and, as we speak, the authorities are looking for Mason. I'm certain they'll have him in their custody before your father can move forwards with his new course."

"I hope you're right, but I can't—"

Whatever she meant to say was drowned out by the sound of a pistol. A cry of pain seemed wrenched from one of the horses, and the carriage jerked forward, then toppled on its side, sliding quite some distance.

Amelia screamed and would have banged her head on the wall of the coach if Philip hadn't clutched her to him and taken the brunt of the fall with his back. As soon as the coach came to a stop, Philip thrust Amelia from him, looking her over for scrapes, cuts, or other injuries. "Are you all right?" he rasped, smoothing her tumbled flaxen hair from her face.

Her blue eyes wide in panic, she shook her head. "You're injured."

Was he? Philip looked down at his arm, which did pulse a bit with pain. Blood soaked his sleeve. What the devil had happened? "Byrne! Kelly!" he called just as an angry voice bellowed from outside, "Come on out, Moore!"

Amelia gasped and clutched Philip's lapels in her hands. "Mason," she whispered, her pretty face a mask of fear.

Dear God. How the devil had the man evaded everyone looking for him, only to turn up now?

Philip glanced at the coach door, closed above their heads. At least Mason couldn't throw it open and drag Amelia out. It was the one benefit to a toppled, upended coach. Philip would feel a bit better about the whole situation if either Kelly or Byrne had returned his call. But even if he had to go it alone, this madness would end today.

He brushed his lips across his wife's brow, hoping to calm her fears. "Stay here," he said, then he retrieved a pistol from his overturned satchel near his feet and pushed open the door.

Amelia grasped at his arm. "Please don't go out there. You're injured and—"

And he wouldn't sit around and make it easy for Mason to pick them off. Philip shook his head, frustrated he couldn't abide by her wishes, but he could not. Mason had already shot him in the back once. Mason had most likely shot Alan Pritchard in the back. Philip couldn't ever let Mason take aim at Amelia. "I'm a battle-trained officer, love. I do know what I'm doing."

He tucked his pistol into the waist of his trousers and cautiously poked his head outside, up through the open doorway. He didn't see Mason anywhere. Nor did he see either of his Irish guards. Philip pulled himself out of the opening and then dropped to the ground with a thud.

Pain burst from his wounded leg when he landed on his feet. He nearly saw white from the pain, but he pushed through it, staying close to the overturned coach for whatever cover it afforded him.

He started towards the front of the carriage and he winced when he spotted one dead bay a few feet ahead. Then dread washed over him as he discovered Byrne's lifeless body, partially crushed under what was left of the coachman's box.

Dear God. The man had a wife and child on the way. They were more names to add to Mason's list of victims.

He tried to relax his injured arm, as he was most definitely going to need the damn thing to protect both Amelia and himself. "Mason?" he called, limping around to the front of the coach, careful to navigate Byrne's inert form.

Once at the front of the conveyance, Philip breathed a sigh of relief when he found Kelly, blood trickling down his brow but still alive, leaning against the side with a pistol gripped in his hand. The Irishman gestured with his head towards a copse of trees not far away. "Yer Welshman rode in there," he heaved as though he was trying to catch his breath.

Mason was seeking cover behind foliage, was he? Philip acknowledged Kelly's words with a nod. "You're hurt."

"As are ye." Kelly's eyes dropped to Philip's arm.

Nothing to be done about either of them now. Mason wouldn't wait for them to be all healed before mounting his second attack.

"Is Mrs. Moore all right?" Kelly whispered.

"Yes," he muttered, not wanting to think about his wife at the moment, not wanting to imagine how worried and scared she must be. "But if I don't make it..."

Kelly frowned at him. "Ye dinna drag yerself off that field in Belgium ta be killed by that coward here."

No, he hadn't. But neither had Byrne. "Just make sure she's all right."

Kelly nodded once, apparently not willing to say anything else.

Philip glanced back towards the copse of trees. "Show yourself, Mason," he called.

But there was no answer.

Philip and Kelly exchanged a glance, and the Irishman shrugged. "I saw him ride in there, right before you climbed out that door."

So then, what was the man doing? Philip cupped a hand to his mouth and called again, "I know you're out there, Mason."

Amelia pressed herself against the wall of the carriage, hoping to get some clue as to what was happening on the other side. She thought she heard whispers, which hopefully meant Philip had found Byrne and Kelly.

She wanted to climb out of the coach just as Philip had done, but worried that her presence would only serve to distract her husband, which was the last thing she wanted and the last thing he needed. And _she_ didn't have a weapon of any sort. She would only be in the way.

But the waiting and the not knowing had her nerves more than on edge. She could barely breathe, standing there, waiting for something to happen.

And then another gunshot sounded from right outside the coach.

"Damn," Kelly grumbled. "I thought I had him."

Philip hadn't been so sure. The trees had moved slightly in the copse, but he thought it more likely the wind than Mason making his presence known. "Stay here, I'm going around to the other side. See if I can get a better view."

Just as Philip took a step to head back the way he'd come, he heard the pounding of hooves against the ground; the sound brought memories of Major-General Alten's light cavalry rushing past 45th into the fray that was Vitoria rushing back to his mind. He stopped where he stood, then looked back over his shoulder to find Mason atop a black hunter barreling towards the overturned coach, a pistol aimed directly on Philip.

Everything else was a blur. He barely registered Kelly's scream as the Irishman threw himself in front of Philip as a shield. But he doubted he'd ever forget the mixed expressions of horror and surprise all rolled into one as Kelly dropped to the ground at Philip's feet.

Dazed and slightly numb, Philip raised his injured, shaking arm to take aim at the Welshman, but before he could fire, Mason fell from his saddle at the exact moment the sound of another gunshot from the east reached Philip's ear. His gaze flashed from downed villain to another rider, racing towards the scene.

Blackaby?

Philip dropped to the ground beside Kelly's fallen form, and his heart leapt to his throat. Blood trickled from Kelly's slightly open mouth.

"Br—i—dg—et," the Irishman struggled to say.

The man's sister. Philip clutched Kelly's hand in his. "I'll see to Bridget. I swear it."

After a final sigh that seemed wrenched from his soul, Kelly's chest didn't rise again and his open eyes stared unblinkingly heavenward.

Tears of senseless loss streamed down Philip's face. He swiped at them roughly and stared out towards the field where Mason was pulling himself off the ground. But before the man could find his feet, Blackaby's horse reached him. The Runner leveled his pistol at Mason and ordered him to stay where he was. How in the world had Blackaby found them in the middle of nowhere?

"Mrs. Moore," Mr. Blackaby said from the open doorway above Amelia. "Are you all right?"

Amelia blinked at the Runner. Where had he come from and where was Philip? "My husband...?"

"A little worse for the wear, but he'll be fine." Then Mr. Blackaby leaned through the opening and plucked her from the overturned coach, setting her on top of the conveyance.

Her eyes scanned the field until they landed on Philip, his eyes red-rimmed, his arm looking limp. Amelia slid down the side, not caring in the least when her skirts were torn by broken carriage parts on her way down. As soon as her half-boots found purchase on the ground, she dashed to where her husband stood and threw her arms around his middle.

"Oh!" she gushed. "I was so worried. I thought—"

But she didn't finish her sentence because Philip fiercely clutched her to him and held her so tightly, she couldn't think straight. "Thank God you're all right, love," he whispered against her hair.

But he wasn't all right. He'd been injured once again because of her. "I'm so sorry... for everything."

He shook his head, unable it seemed to find words. Then he glanced behind her and heaved a sigh. "If you hadn't appeared, Blackaby..."

Amelia turned around to face the Runner who had come from nowhere. Mr. Blackaby frowned. "I just wish I'd arrived sooner. I wasn't quite prepared for a dawn departure, and I was further back than I should have been."

"You were following us?" Amelia asked.

The Runner shrugged. "Lieutenant Avery asked me to keep you in my sights." He heaved a sigh and looked back at the carnage behind them. "If I had been here sooner, your man would still be alive. I am sorry."

Their man? Amelia glanced up at her husband and once again noted his red-rimmed eyes. "Byrne? Kelly?"

Philip swallowed and his expression darkened to pain. "Both, and if Blackaby hadn't shown up when he did..."

Fortunately, he didn't finish that statement because Amelia didn't want to think along those lines. She turned her attention back the Runner and would have thrown her arms around him if that had been proper. She settled for pressing a hand to her heart. "Oh, Mr. Blackaby, we are forever in your debt."

"You can thank Lieutenant Avery, madam. I wouldn't have been out here chasing after you if not for him."

She would most definitely thank Lieutenant Avery, every day for the rest of her life.

"I'm going to ride back towards Maidenhead and send someone out for the coach and for _him_." Mr. Blackaby gestured to a large tree several yards away, and Amelia realized Geoffrey Mason was bound and tied to it. "Shall I take Mrs. Moore with me?"

"No," Amelia said before Philip could answer. "I'll wait here with my husband."

The Runner looked to Philip as though to make certain that was all right, then he said, "I trust you won't harm the man while I'm gone?"

"And miss seeing him sent off to Newgate?" Phillip scoffed. "I would never deprive him of that fate."

"Very well." Mr. Blackaby turned on his heel and started back for his horse, while Amelia glared at Geoffrey Mason.

After his attack on her coach, her parents couldn't continue to disbelieve her. Not with a Bow Street Runner as a witness to all that had transpired that morning. She wished the thought brought comfort, but it only made her think about the number of people who had been hurt by the man. The number who had lost their lives. She might never even know the magnitude of all his crimes "What will happen to him?"

"Most likely he'll be sent to Australia or have his neck stretched in Newgate. Either way, you'll be safe. I'll see to that."

Amelia gazed back at her husband. "You'll be safe too."

A sad smile landed on his face. "I have served in the army for a decade, Amelia. I can take care of myself."

"But that's my role now, Major Moore – to care for you, now and always."

"And I look forwards to it, my love."

# Epilogue

Leverton Park, Nottinghamshire – December 1815

Amelia paced the length of Philip's study, unable to sit still. If her parents would only arrive, she could breathe a sigh of relief. "We should have gone to Kidwelly," she muttered more to herself than to her husband, but he heard her all the same.

"Your father wanted to see Leverton Park. And imagine his eyes when he sees for himself that I'm _not_ a fortune hunter," Philip said, a bit of humor lacing his voice.

He most certainly was not a fortune hunter. Amelia could still remember the surprise she'd felt when she first saw the estate. Leverton Park was easily two or three times the size of her childhood home. Still... "Papa has not thought you were after his fortune for quite some time." And though her parents still didn't adore Philip the way Amelia did, they did like him well enough these days. Of course, the fact that he had done his part to make them grandparents had gone a long way to winning them over to his side.

Philip leaned back in his chair, a blissful smile on his face. "I'll still enjoy watching him stumble over his words. Did you have Cook prepare crow for dinner, by chance?"

Amelia couldn't help but laugh. Crow? What a ridiculous thing to say. "You know, you are full of surprises, Major."

"Am I?" His grin widened.

"Indeed, sir." She skirted around the edge of his desk and plopped onto his lap, eliciting a grunt from her husband. "You don't resemble that humorless major I met all those months ago at all anymore."

Philip wrapped his arms around her. "Well, of course not." He nuzzled her neck, letting his lips linger on her sensitive skin. "You make me smile everyday. It's become quite difficult to be so serious walking around wearing a constant grin. You've completely ruined me."

Tingles raced across Amelia's skin and she burrowed closer to him, her honorable and brave husband. "And now you're simply perfect."

Philip's warm laugh echoed off the dark study walls. "I would hardly say that."

She pulled back slightly to look in his eyes. "And that is what makes you perfect," she said with all sincerity. His honest, noble nature. How lucky she was to get to spend a lifetime with him. "I love you, Major Philip Moore."

"Not half as much as I love you."

She would have argued that fact, but a scratch came at the door and their footman, Murphy, cleared his throat. "The Pritchard coach has just arrived."

Amelia scrambled from Philip's lap. "Well, come along, Major, you'll want to serve my father a bit of crow."

Philip rose to his feet and retrieved his cane from the side of his desk. "I suppose I'll settle for just wishing him a Happy Christmas."

# Chapter 1

London – June 1815

After all his years spent on one side of the war-torn continent or the other, with only a slight respite the previous year from all the death and destruction, Lieutenant Tristan Avery was _finally_ home. _Home_ , with all of London's once familiar sights, sounds and, of course, the smell that could only be the Thames.

He glanced across the hired hack at his brother and shook his head. "I wish Philip was here."

Captain Russell Avery agreed with a nod. "Me too. But the surgeon promised Philip would be fine. He won't be too far behind us." Then he smirked. "So, I suppose we'll simply have to make do without his preaching for the next while or so."

Preaching. Russell's euphemism for their childhood friend's stoic, moral nature. "If you'd only behave, he'd have no reason to _suggest_ you do otherwise."

Russell laughed. "And what a boring life that would be. No, no, no. I intend to enjoy my return to civilization one pretty woman at a time."

As though Russell had gone without female companionship the last few years. The last few nights was more like it. Still Tristan couldn't help but needle his brother. "So relieved to hear you've decided to end things with the Greywood chit. I lamented having to look upon her during all of our future family gatherings."

Russell's smile faded and he heaved a sigh. "Don't start again. Phoebe is perfectly fine."

"I wouldn't think _perfectly fine_ would be all one wanted in a wife," Tristan replied, then he shrugged. "But then I'm not the one getting married." Or the one who'd had his way with more women than he could count all across the continent the last half dozen years either. Well, Tristan _had_ enjoyed his fair share of women, but _he_ wasn't betrothed. Though in all honesty, Russell hadn't been either until last year.

"Well, I'm not married yet." Russell leaned forwards on his bench. "Why don't we stop of at Madam Palmer's for old time's sake?"

Whores so early in the day? Tristan gaped at his brother as though he'd lost his mind. "I would like to see our sister."

Russell dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "We can see her any time."

"And our nephew," Tristan continued. "I would like to see little Julian. Clayworth probably has him reciting lines from the Magna Carta by now."

Russell rolled his eyes. "We were gone less than four months. I'm sure the little imp isn't even out of his bassinet, yet."

Four months, but it felt like four lifetimes. Tristan frowned at his brother, hating that Russell had a point. Still, they had yet to lay eyes on the infant, born during this last campaign. He'd missed so much in his absence. He missed London. He missed his dear sister. He missed... everything. "Do what you like," he muttered. After all, Russell would do what he wanted anyway, no matter what Tristan thought about it. "But I am heading to Clayworth House, and I'm not going to let Cordie or her little bundle out of my sight all day."

"Well, that sounds perfectly dreadful." Russell yawned as though the subject bored him immensely. "But you can take my bag with you, I'll be otherwise occupied." He closed his eyes and leaned against the shabby squabs. "I plan to be welcomed home in an altogether different fashion."

"Madam Palmer's?" Tristan asked, even though he knew the answer.

A rakish grin settled on Russell's lips. "I have missed English girls."

Yet they'd only been gone less than four months, and he'd had plenty of foreign girls to tide him over in the meantime. Before Tristan could say as much, the hack jerked to a stop. Tristan smiled as the familiar sight of their sister's home on Hertford Street appeared through the window. He tossed open the door and bounded out onto the walk.

"Toss me both bags, will you?" he called to the driver.

"What about the captain?"

Tristan shook his head. "He'll get your fare. He's headed to Covent Garden."

The driver's brow lifted in surprise, then he snorted as though the situation was no matter to him. A moment later he tossed both bags to Tristan, tipped his hat in farewell, and urged his pair of bays back towards Park Lane.

Tristan slung both bags over his left shoulder and climbed the steps to Clayworth House. The door opened before he could knock and Higgins, his sister's usually stoic butler, beamed at him.

"Lieutenant, you're home!" the servant gushed as he held the door wide. "Lady Clayworth will be so relieved to see you!"

Tristan stepped over the threshold and lowered both bags to the marble floor. "I will be happy to see her too, Higgins. Do tell me she's here."

"Of course, sir, of course. Right in there." The butler gestured to the formal green parlor, directly to Tristan's right. "Shall I announce you?"

"No." Tristan shook his head. "I think I'll surprise her."

"Very good, Lieutenant. I'll have you put in your usual room." Higgins glanced at the pair of bags at Tristan's feet. "Is Captain Avery with you as well?"

"He'll be along soon, I'm sure," Tristan replied as he made his way to the parlor entrance. Just as he stepped over the threshold, a stream of giggles reached his ears. Damn it, Cordie wasn't alone. Even worse, he knew _that_ giggle.

But before he had time to think on it, Cordie spotted him. She squealed, leapt off the settee, and raced across the parlor, throwing her arms around his neck. "Oh, Tris!" Her hold tightened around him. "I've never been so glad to see anyone," she whispered, just for his ears.

Tristan held her close, so very relieved to be home. He kissed Cordie's cheek, then set her away from him so he could look her over. "Motherhood agrees with you." And truly she did look more radiant than ever.

"Oh!" Cordie beamed at him. "Julian is sleeping, but I can't wait for you to see him."

"I could peek in the nursery," Tristan suggested.

But his sister shook her head, her dark brown curls swaying with the movement. "You'll wake him and then he'll be fussy. And I want you to see him at his most charming."

Tristan was certain the child could scream his lungs out and he'd still find the tiny baron charming. He glanced over his sister's shoulder and found Miss Phoebe Greywood, her hands folded in front of her, standing beside a high-back chair. "Miss Greywood," he said curtly, because he had to say something.

A forced smile settled on her face as she met his gaze. "Lieutenant," she returned. "So glad you've returned home safely."

The little liar. She'd have been just as happy if Tristan had fallen to his death in Belgium. They'd never cared for each other, but she seemed to be making an effort at least. "Thank you. You are looking lovely."

That, at least, was the truth. Phoebe Greywood might annoy him at every turn, but she was lovely. Rich auburn hair piled high on her head with delicate tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. Pretty azure eyes that twinkled when she was happy, not that she was generally happy in Tristan's presence, but he'd seen her often enough with Russell. And an enchanting smile that lit her countenance, making her seem the cheeriest of girls.

"Thank you, sir. Is..." Miss Greywood cleared her throat. "Is Captain Avery with you?"

Tristan shook his head. "Not at the present."

"Where _is_ Russell?" Cordie asked, a slight tone of petulance to her voice.

Presently? About to get his knob polished, if Tristan had to wager a guess, not that he could say as much to his sister or his brother's intended. His eyes flashed again to Phoebe Greywood. She looked so hopeful, so... innocent. Poor girl. She had no idea what she was truly in for after she married Russell. Her days of wondering where the scoundrel captain was were just beginning. "He had something to attend to. I'm certain he'll be along as soon as he can." Then he turned his attention back to his sister. "But Philip..."

The color drained from Cordie's face. "Oh, no, Tris! Tell me he's all right."

Tristan winced a bit. "He'll live," he stressed the word. "He took a ball and a bayonet. His leg is bad, I won't lie to you, but he's getting stronger everyday."

"Oh, good heavens." Cordie touched a hand to her heart. "They didn't take his leg?"

"No," Tristan assured her. "The surgeon says he'll have to use a cane the rest of his days, but he'll walk again."

Relief settled across Cordie's features, but she still looked slightly pained. "The poor man."

Indeed. Tristan agreed with a nod. "I still don't think it comes close to the pain in his heart though."

His sister heaved a sigh. "Let's not dredge that back up. Livvie never meant to hurt him and what's done is done."

Tristan shrugged. "I'm not dredging anything up. I'm just worried about him. If you get the chance to see him when he returns, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter."

Cordie nodded, then her face lit up with a smile once again. "Oh, Tris. I'm so glad to see you whole and hale."

And though Tristan would like to spend the afternoon reminiscing with his dear sister, he'd really rather not spend anymore time than was necessary in Phoebe Greywood's presence. He felt slightly dirty lying to her about his brother's whereabouts, and he'd rather not suffer the feeling the rest of the day. "Is Clayworth in? Or is he at his club?"

Cordie gestured to the corridor. "He's in his study. Do you want me to find you when Julian awakes?"

Tristan flashed her a grin. "I would be quite sore with you if you didn't."

THE ENGLISH LIEUTENANT'S LADY continues here...

# About Ava Stone

Ava Stone is a USA Today bestselling author of Regency historical romance and college age New Adult romance. Whether in the 19th Century or the 21st, her books explore deep themes but with a light touch. A single mother, Ava lives outside Raleigh NC, but she travels extensively, always looking for inspiration for new stories and characters in the various locales she visits.

www.AvaStoneAuthor.com

ava@avastoneauthor.com

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# Also by Ava Stone

> **The Scandalous Series**

A Scandalous Wife

A Scandalous Charade

A Scandalous Secret

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To Catch a Captain

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A Scandalous Ruse

A Scandalous Destiny

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# Ava Stone's New Adult Romance

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