 
# The Scandalous Series

A Scandalous Wife

A Scandalous Charade

A Scandalous Secret

A Scandalous Pursuit

A Scandalous Past

My Favorite Major

The English Lieutenant's Lady

To Catch a Captain

Encounter With an Adventurer

In The Stars

Promised Away

A Scandalous Deception

A Scandalous Ruse

A Scandalous Destiny

A Scandalous Vow

# A Scandalous Wife

## Ava Stone

#### The Scandalous Series
Copyright © 2011 by Ava Stone

Covers Design 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: 978-1-4581-4797-4
For Laurel Bennett, my trailblazing friend.

### Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

PREVIEW - A Scandalous Charade

Chapter 1

About Ava Stone

Also by Ava Stone

Ava Stone's New Adult Romance

# Chapter One

### April 1812 – London

Robert Beckford, the Earl of Masten, glanced around his sister's opulent ballroom and wondered, not for the first time that night, why he was there. These sorts of aimless functions were precisely why he spent most of his time in Dorset.

"Every year it gets worse and worse, Rob; and I get older and older, less able to tolerate her all together," Chester Peyton, the Marquess of Astwick, complained as he ran a hand through his dark hair. Everyone else at the Staveleys' annual ball seemed to be enjoying themselves, but Chet, a hulking giant and normally cheerful man, was set squarely in the doldrums.

Robert smiled at the marquess dismissively. "Come now, she can't be all that bad.

"It's worse than I'm letting on," Chet insisted firmly with a crinkled brow. "She's pestering me nearly non-stop."

It was every mother's duty to bully her son into a finding a proper wife. Chet had avoided it for too long at thirty-seven, and Robert chuckled at his friend's continued reluctance to his obvious fate. Though the two had been friends since their boyhood days together at Eton, Robert had to agree with Lady Astwick on this matter. Her son was a bit long-in-the-tooth and quite overdue in selecting a bride. "Well, then finally settle on a chit and make your mother happy."

This conversation was tiresome. They'd had it on more than one occasion. Robert would much rather be discussing his stables, the latest races, or something else of interest. Besides, it wasn't as if finding a wife would upset Chet's daily routine. His life would continue as it always had, just like that of every other married man of their acquaintance.

Robert scanned the ballroom until his eyes settled on a pretty little thing near the entrance to the drawing room. He smiled when he saw her. Light from the chandeliers reflected off the soft hues of her strawberry blond hair piled high on her head. She wasn't like the other girls in their light pastel gowns and demure looks. No, the pretty girl that caught Robert's attention was bold in a rich sapphire-colored gown that was eye-catching in its contrast with her light hair and creamy complexion. She seemed much too daring for Robert's own conservative tastes, but Chet...well, Chet could use a bold woman. "That girl, there. You look like you could be her father, but perhaps she prefers older men. Quite pretty."

Chet followed Robert's gaze and when he spotted the girl, his laugh boomed so loudly that couples stopped dancing and turned toward the disruptive sound. Robert was accustomed to Chet's affable demeanor, so the guffaw had no effect on him except that he raised his eyebrows slightly in question.

After wiping a laugh-induced tear from his eye, Chet shook his head in dismay. "Honestly, Rob, that was nicely played. I appreciate your good humor."

It was common knowledge among their set that Chet could be extremely picky when it came to women; this was why he was still single and unattached at thirty-seven. But Robert couldn't detect anything outwardly offensive with the girl in the sapphire dress. On the contrary, she was breathtaking. He rubbed his chin in frustration. Shouldn't Chet at least make the acquaintance of the girl, before he rejected her outright? "And what exactly is so funny? What could you possibly find wrong with _that_ girl?"

Chet tried not to laugh again, and draped his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Well, for one thing, she's _your_ wife."

Robert's eyes flew back to the pretty girl on the other side of the room. _That_ could not possibly be Lydia Masten. His own wife was a mere child, much younger than that pretty girl. Though now that he thought about it, it had been five years since he'd laid eyes on her. Even then, their interaction had been brief—just long enough for him to say his vows and then explain to her afterward what the rest of her life would entail. "Not possible," he was barely able to mutter.

"What's not possible?" Chet's good-natured grin had yet to leave his face. "That she's your wife, or that you didn't recognize her?"

"Is it really?" Robert couldn't help but stare at her. Had Lydia grown up to become that beautiful woman?

"Perhaps she prefers older men," Chet teased him, apparently feeling more like his usual, gregarious self. "Why don't you go over there and find out?"

But Robert knew exactly what kind of men Lydia Masten preferred: roguish ne'er-do-wells like his younger brother. That's how he got into this mess in the first place. _Was that stunning creature really his Lydia?_

He tried to remember the timid girl of sixteen that he'd married in an attempt to protect his family's name. She had seemed shy and quiet as they exchanged their vows, not like the wanton harlot she obviously was to be in bed with his brother at the late Lord Staveley's country party.

At the time, Miss Lydia Warner had been in the charge of her aunt, the Dowager Lady Carteret. It was very likely that Robert would have never even known she existed at all, if Staveley hadn't stumbled upon the chit in Lucas Beckford's room, not a stitch on her, and in his brother's embrace.

Everything else had happened very fast. Luke, ever the cad, had bolted, leaving the ruined Miss Warner alone for her aunt to console. Something had to be done, and as usual that meant it was left up to Robert to find a solution.

Word of this sort of thing would spread quickly, of that there had been no doubt. And Robert had been fortunate that Lord Staveley was his sister's father-in-law, as that bought him a little extra time, but still he needed to act fast. He didn't necessarily care for the girl's reputation—she'd made her own decision as far as he was concerned—but the Beckford family's good name lay heavily on his mind. So, he did the only thing he could. He acquired a special license and married her himself. Then he hadn't laid eyes on her again.

Until now.

Yes, he seemed to remember that her hair was that light red color. But he didn't remember those eyes—piercingly blue. The bold color of her dress certainly brought them out. The girl he was looking at was simply stunning. There wasn't another word for her. But what was she doing here at _his_ sister's ball? She was supposed to be in Cheshire, for God's sake!

It was as if Chet could read his mind. He slapped Robert's back. "She's spending the season with her cousin, Carteret." Then Chet smiled wistfully. "Now, Lady Carteret...she's one I _could_ have married."

Robert momentarily took his eyes from his wife and smiled at his friend. "That was a long time ago, Chet. Time to get over her. Everyone else has."

Chet dismissed the notion with his hand. "Oh, I never had her—none of us did. Carteret was the only one for her, damn his eyes."

It was Robert's turn to laugh. "He really isn't all that bad, Chet. I've never understood why the two of you dislike each other so intensely."

Chet frowned, as he did whenever Carteret's name was mentioned. "I have my reasons. Besides, he has rotten luck with cards. He hasn't ever come out and said it, Robert, but I know he thinks I cheat. Is it my fault I'm lucky?"

Robert had been on the losing end of card games with Chet for years and could commiserate with Lord Carteret in that regard. "Well, I suppose _he_ was the lucky one where Lady Carteret is concerned."

"That's the damned truth of it," Chet agreed and then glanced back at Lydia. "So, then, about Lady Masten...Go on over. Introduce yourself to your wife, Rob. You just said she was quite pretty. Why don't you see if she remembers you?"

Robert shook his head with determination. "I think I'd prefer to keep our relationship the way it is, Chet, thank you."

"Suit yourself." Chet's light green eyes twinkled and he made his way over to the refreshment table.

With that said, Robert continued to eye his wife from across the room. Had she been this enchanting at sixteen? Could he actually blame Luke for wanting to hold _that_ girl? For bedding her? But _that_ girl was no longer a girl—she was now a beautiful woman, from what he could see. He took note of her plunging neckline and her full lips. Then he shook his head, to snap out of the spell his wife was obviously weaving around him.

Of all the women in England, Lydia Masten was not for him. He was safer finding another woman like Cecily Rigsley. A woman with whom he could have an understanding, a woman who could satisfy his needs without being emotionally involved, a woman who knew her place.

That woman was _not_ his wife.

He'd sent Lydia off to Blackstone Manor in Cheshire immediately after their wedding ceremony and had insisted that she stay put. Though at the time she was outraged with his demands, he felt he'd been very generous in offering her the estate and the two thousand pounds a year that he allotted her. Better than she deserved, of that he was sure. And that's where she was supposed to be right this moment. Not here. Not in London. Not in his sister's ballroom.

Robert looked around the room. He wasn't the only man whose attention she'd caught. In fact, many men seemed enamored by her. His heartbeat quickened. Lydia needed to return to Blackstone before she was embroiled in a scandal he couldn't contain.

The same questions rolled over and over in his mind. What was his wife doing here of all places? Why had she left Cheshire? And why was he not informed of her departure? The staff at Blackstone would have to answer to him. They'd be damned lucky to maintain their posts.

Lydia Masten had seen _him_ , of course. Her husband's rich, brown eyes could've burned a hole in her. She recognized him immediately. In fact, she could never forget him, try as she might. Unfortunately, the man was much more handsome than she remembered, though still just as intimidating. Apparently even his hair didn't dare defy him, as every golden brown strand lay perfectly in place. He did look older to her. But then, he'd always seemed old—old and unyielding. She was just sixteen when they'd married and he'd been twice her age at thirty-two. He had a stern look in his eyes then, and she noted, with a bit of anxiety, that he still had it now.

She averted her gaze back to her companion, the tall, dark, and sinfully handsome Duke of Kelfield. "I can't believe Caroline invited _him_."

Kelfield laughed at that. "My darling Lydia, _he_ is her brother."

"But to not tell me. I wouldn't have come."

"Knowing Caroline, that's precisely why she didn't tell you. She likes to meddle, if you haven't noticed."

"Is he still staring at me?" Truly, that was a bit surprising. Her husband hadn't deigned to even pay her a visit in the last five years. And now he couldn't keep his eyes off her? It was a bit unsettling, to say the least.

Kelfield's wicked lips quirked up to a grin. "Sweetheart, every man in the room is staring at _you_."

It had been that way ever since she'd arrived in London nearly a month earlier, but it was still surprising. Being locked away in Cheshire for the last five years had left her unprepared for the overt attention she'd received upon her arrival. She was so young when she'd been banished that she hadn't realized the depths of the depravity of the _ton_. Everywhere she went, men sought her out and made improper suggestions.

"Still, what a tragedy to be tied to _that_ prig the rest of your days," Kelfield continued quietly.

That sentiment echoed inside her soul.

She'd never even laid eyes on him until they were united in Lord Staveley's study. Aunt Agnes had informed her that she would marry Lord Masten, and that she was lucky his lordship was honorable, given that his brother was not.

_Honorable_. Robert Beckford may be honorable—he had saved her from ruination, after all—but the contempt he clearly felt for her was worse than any censure she could imagine.

"The man has behaved abominably, if you ask me. Had I found myself married to you, sweetheart, I certainly wouldn't sulk over it—and _I'm_ the furthest thing from the marrying type."

Lydia smiled at the duke. "Indeed? Kelfield, I was certain your name was being bandied about in connection with a very proper young lady within the last fortnight."

His silver eyes twinkled. "Ah, Lady Juliet St. Claire? Unfortunately, the lady in question has set her sights on your brother-in-law."

Her brother-in-law? Lydia resisted the urge to cringe. When she was sixteen she'd found him to be terribly handsome and exciting. Now it made her ill to think about him. He had been charming and made her feel special and she...well, she had been very foolish. Any young lady would have wanted the attention of the dashing Luke Beckford. She was no different. Just more naïve.

"Has no one warned the poor girl what a reprobate he is?"

"Some women have a taste for reprobates." Kelfield slid his arm around her waist and peered deeply into her eyes. He was very handsome in a wicked sort of way, but she'd had her share of that sort of man. Besides, she was a married woman. One that hadn't been touched in years, yet married all the same.

"Let me take you home, sweetheart," the duke whispered.

_Home_ was the furthest thing on Kelfield's mind, and she was well aware of the fact. The man practically undressed her with his eyes whenever they met. Still he was a friend of the family, and far safer to her than the other gentlemen of London for that very reason. "Honestly, Kelfield, isn't there some sort of honor among rogues?"

He grinned down at her, still not releasing his hold. "Sweetheart, Masten is the furthest thing from a rogue. So, there's no honor between _us_."

She raised her brow indignantly. "I meant James."

The duke laughed again. "Your cousin stopped being a rogue years ago. I'm the only one left of the group. The rest—" he made a sour face— "have all become respectable."

"Is he still staring at me?" she asked again.

Kelfield nodded as he looked over her shoulder. "And turning a perfectly putrid shade of red."

"I suppose I should at least say a word to him. Don't you think?"

The duke dropped his hand from her waist and frowned. "Would you like me to talk to him for you?"

Hardly. Who knew what Kelfield would say? "I don't think that would be appropriate at all." And when dealing with Masten, one needed to be appropriate.

"Very well." He released her with a sigh. "But don't let him bully you, sweetheart. You don't have to put up with his high-handed treatment. You are a countess. Bear that in mind."

Lydia nodded and made a straight line for her husband. Once at his side, she offered her hand. "My lord, I hope this evening finds you well."

The earl took her gloved hand in his and brought it to his lips. "My lady, whatever are you doing in London?"

There was that condescending tone she remembered. It was the same one he used when he'd explained to her what the rest of her life would consist of, right before he'd shipped her off to Blackstone. But Lydia was no longer that shy sixteen year old girl, and her husband's demeanor was most annoying.

She proudly thrust her chin up and bravely met his eyes. "Removing myself out from under your thumb, Masten."

His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to her. "I want you to go back to Blackstone, wife."

She had meant to make peace with him, but she could feel his hatred in her bones. There was nothing she could ever do to change that; it was plain as the nose on her face. Over the last five years she had led an exemplary life, sincerely meaning to make amends for her indiscretion, but it would never mean anything to this man. Lydia washed her hands of him.

She smiled prettily and gazed up into his brown eyes, certain that anyone witnessing the scene from afar would think she was enamored with the earl. "I'm sure you do, my lord, but my days of caring what you want are over."

It was obvious he didn't like that and his scowl darkened. "Like it or not," he muttered between clinched teeth, "you are my wife and you _will_ go back to Blackstone."

She laughed sweetly, as if he'd made an amusing joke. "I would like very much to watch you try and force me back there, Masten. I'm not staying under your protection in London. You have no control over me. Not anymore. Do have a wonderful evening."

Lydia sauntered past him and was stopped by a handsome young gentleman. She threw her head back and laughed at whatever inane thing her companion had said. Robert was certain it was inane. He had a look about him—too young to say anything intelligent.

He then seethed as she flirted with the young buck. "Lady Masten," he said softly to himself, "you will do exactly what I say, or life will be very unpleasant for you."

Chet returned to Robert's side, once again grinning from ear to ear. "Well, it looks like she prefers older men, after all. I watched the two of you from across the room. Why'd you let her get away without dancing with you?"

Dancing with _her_ was the very last thing on Robert's mind, though wringing her pretty little neck was at the top of his list. He pursed his lips in anger as he watched her flit about on the floor, now dancing with the scandalous Duke of Kelfield.

Robert scowled. He had sacrificed so much in marrying her. He'd given up his hope of ever finding a suitable wife. He'd pushed all that aside, and he'd be damned if it was all for naught. "Lord Carteret, you say?"

Chet nodded and replied tightly, "Yes, she's staying with that Scottish bastard."

Robert scanned the room until his eyes fell on his sister. She stood in the open doorway conversing with her guests. "I'll see _him_ tomorrow. In the meantime, Lady Staveley owes me an explanation."

Robert bowed slightly to Chet and started across the room, catching Kelfield's smug expression as he spun Lydia on the dance floor. The image irritated Robert to no end. So, he impatiently waited for his sister to stop her idle chit-chat with some middle-aged spinster near the entranceway, tapping his foot in annoyance.

When Caroline, Viscountess Staveley, finally noticed her brother's storm-cloud expression, she immediately cut her conversation short and went to his side. "Robert, you look troubled."

"Where can we talk in private, Caro?"

A slight grin cross his sister's face, and Robert had a sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly what he wanted to talk about. "You can follow me to the music room, but I can't be away from my guests for too long. It wouldn't look good, Robert."

_Wouldn't look good, indeed_! He frowned irritably. He followed her down a corridor, passing many happy guests all dressed elegantly for the evening, but Robert paid no attention to anything until they reached the music room. When his sister shut the door behind them, he glowered at her. "Would you care to explain to me what my wife is doing here?"

The corners of her mouth upturned to a knowing grin. "Well, my dear brother, she is here because I invited her. I certainly couldn't have people going around saying 'Lady Staveley snubbed her own sister-in-law'. It wouldn't look good."

There it was again. _It wouldn't look good_. He knew very well that she was mocking him. He had raised her and schooled her as to what was or was not appropriate. Luke hadn't paid any attention to those lessons, but his sister had been an apt pupil. "You can save that bit of sarcasm for your husband, Caroline."

She smiled warmly at him this time. "Rob, she's staying with Lord and Lady Carteret. James is one of David's oldest friends. I couldn't very well not invite her. It would have been rude."

This didn't appease him. "I didn't see Carteret out there."

"Well, they didn't come. One of their daughters wasn't feeling well, so Lydia came alone."

"So, now it's Lydia, is it?"

The irritation was evident in his voice and his sister calmly sighed. "Really, Robert, you don't even know her—"

"But you do?" He countered sharply.

"Well, I've spent a great deal of time with her over the last month."

"The last month!" Robert roared, momentarily forgetting there were people in the hallway. Then he lowered his voice and hissed, "She's been in Town that long and no one thought to tell me?"

Caroline stepped backward in obvious surprise. Robert rarely raised his voice with her. Apparently, she hadn't realized how angry he would truly be. "You were in Dorset," she finally offered meekly.

Did she honestly think he would accept that absurd answer? His glower darkened. "The mail coach runs to Dorset."

Caroline smiled sheepishly and agreed, "So, it does."

Robert paced around the room. His sister had to know what kind of position this put him in. What a fool he'd looked like out there. "Do you think you could've warned me before tonight?"

Caroline paused before carefully answering him. "Then you wouldn't have come. And I so wanted you to meet her. She's such a lovely girl, Robert."

She was lovely to look at, Robert conceded. But her presence here was unacceptable. Didn't Caroline realize this was out of line? "Yes, well, I've met her, and we've exchanged words."

Caroline frowned in disapproval, as if there was any doubt in her mind that Robert had been the instigator. "You said something cruel, I'm sure. Heavens, Robert, must you be so boorish?"

Boorish?

_He_ had done the honorable thing all those years ago by giving his name to girl who didn't deserve it—gave her a title no less. And his sister accused him of being boorish?

Then she smiled playfully at him, as if there was some grand master plan of hers that he was a part of. "Your eyes lit up when you saw her out there."

Had they really? He hadn't realized it had been so obvious. "Were you watching for my reaction to all of this?"

She nodded mischievously and her brown curls bobbed up and down. "It was most fun. I was hoping you'd like her."

Robert ran his hands through his hair and glared at his sister. "Fun? If Luke is on his way here, you'd better warn me now. I'd hate to find them starting up where they left off."

This time Caroline scoffed and looked offended. "In the first place, I don't know where our brother is. And secondly, he knows he's not welcome here. I'm quite put out with him at the moment, actually. Now, honestly, I've been away from my guests for too long, Robert. Please, don't look so sour. Escort me back and try not to be such a beast to your wife."

How had he gotten the reputation with his sister that he was a beast? He had always been the picture of propriety. He frowned at her words.

Bitterly, Robert abided Caroline's request and led her back to the ballroom. Almost immediately his eyes landed on his wife, now dancing with the current Lord Staveley. "Apparently, your husband is fond of her as well."

Caroline smiled and smoothed Robert's jacket with the palm of her hand. "David is a very generous host. If I didn't know better, Robert, I'd think you were jealous."

Robert scowled at the idea, and focused again on Lydia. She had more sets of male eyes on her than he was comfortable with. It was just a matter of time before she was caught up in another scandal. She needed to be dealt with, and the sooner, the better.

As the song ended, Lord Staveley led Lydia to where Robert and Caroline stood near the grand entranceway. The two women warmly embraced and Caroline smiled at her sister-in-law. "Lydia, you are truly radiant this evening."

"Thank you, Caroline," Lydia replied graciously. "This has been a wonderful night. Will I see you tomorrow for tea?"

It sounded as if she was taking her leave, and Robert couldn't have been more relieved. Then his sister took Lydia's arm. "Oh, darling, you can't leave so soon. A waltz is just starting." Sure enough, a violinist could be heard warming up his instrument even over the sea of people. Caroline continued in a soothing voice, "Robert, make me happy. Dance with your wife."

_Caroline had gone and lost her bloody mind!_ Robert could have killed her right on the spot—but later. There were too many witnesses at the moment. And too many people had overheard her request for him to ignore it. He couldn't refuse to dance with his own wife, as that was sure to get tongues wagging all over Town. So he grudgingly offered his arm to Lydia. "My lady."

# Chapter Two

Lydia met Robert's eyes with a look of loathing that matched his own, but she knew what was expected of her. Caroline had been so gracious and forgiving, it would have been easier to refuse Prinny himself than her sister-in-law. So, she took her husband's outstretched arm.

Robert led her to the middle of the floor, slid his arm around her waist, and took her free hand in his. _A waltz, of all things_! She'd have to look up into that scowling face the whole time.

"I'm not any happier about this than you are," he muttered so softly that no one else could hear him.

She glared at him. "Then you shouldn't have offered me your arm."

"Appearances, Lady Masten. Appearances," was his curt reply.

_Ah, yes, appearances_ — _the only thing he ever truly cared about_. She said nothing and just followed his lead. This would be over soon enough and then she could go back to James and Bethany's. With any luck, she could avoid Robert Beckford for the remainder of the season. That should be easy to do. He didn't want to see her either, after all.

"That dress you're wearing is outrageous." His harsh whisper broke the silence. "You look like a harlot."

Shocked by his sudden statement, she couldn't help but laugh from surprise. _The bastard_. Lydia wouldn't give him the satisfaction of flustering her, so she addressed him clearly. "As I've already told you, my lord, my days of caring what you think are over."

"I can stop your allowance," he threatened.

Did he think he could control her with his money? She had family that would step in if she needed them to. Robert Beckford would have to do better than that. She only smiled at his threat. "Do whatever you feel you need to, my lord. I'm not under your roof and I won't answer to you. Not ever again."

His stare became more intense, boring into her, and then the music stopped. Still, he didn't release his hold on her. "I don't want this to get ugly, my lady. Go back to Blackstone. You'll not beat me in the end."

But he couldn't make her do anything. James would protect her. Her cousin would never leave her at the mercy of Lord Masten. That was the one thing she was sure of. Let Robert Beckford do his worst!

The ball had long since been over and all the other guests had already departed, but Robert still remained. Lydia had left Staveleys' shortly after their waltz, and Robert had felt a tug of remorse for his unkind words. He'd just been so surprised to come across her, not that that was a reasonable excuse for his behavior. Thoughts of his wife had occupied him for the remainder of the evening. Lydia was no longer the shy girl he vaguely remembered. She now had a strong will that was, no doubt, just as scandalous as her other activities.

He sat in the parlor, listening to his brother-in-law drone on about one of his children and a puppy. Robert paid very little attention. In fact as his mind wandered, he wondered if he even knew the names of his nieces and nephew. The boy was Aaron—no Adam. And the girls...Rachel and Emily? He supposed he could be a better uncle. When was the last time he'd even laid eyes on the brats?

"So, Masten?" he heard his brother-in-law ask, and he snapped back to the present.

"Beg your pardon, Staveley. I was woolgathering."

But before Staveley could continue, Caroline entered the parlor and cast her husband a disparaging look. "David, Emma has woken up and is asking for you."

_His niece's name was Emma_! Damn, Robert cursed silently. He was convinced it was Emily. Yes, he could be a much better uncle. It was a good thing he hadn't asked about them by name.

With a concerned look, David Benton crossed the room to his wife. "More nightmares?"

"I don't know why you told them that story about Medusa," Caroline chastised him. "She thinks there are snakes in her hair, and only _you_ can vanquish them."

"I didn't think they'd take it so literally." Staveley frowned. "I'll make sure to vanquish the snakes for good, my love."

"See that you do." Caroline brushed her lips to Staveley's cheek.

With her husband gone, Caroline turned her attention to Robert. "You're still angry with me," she remarked quietly.

Robert rubbed his brow. He didn't want to be angry with his sister. He loved her dearly. Though he spent most of his time in Dorset, Caroline was never far from his thoughts. He'd been more of a father than a brother to her, but at the moment he felt a bit betrayed by his sister. "Why did you insist on that waltz?"

Caroline moved to sit across from him on the settee with a conciliatory look in her hazel eyes. "Because I was hoping you'd find her as delightful as I do. She is your wife, after all. Wouldn't it be lovely if the two of you could get along?"

He nearly snorted in response. _Get along with Lydia Masten_? That was absurd.

"Robert," she continued softly, "you hide behind this rigid façade you've created for yourself. And I so worry about you. Sometimes I think I'm the only one who sees the real you—the only one who knows what a kind, gentle man you truly are. And you must admit, darling, that you've been a bit heartless where Lydia is concerned."

That got Robert's attention, and he grimaced. "How is that, exactly? She has a lovely home and all the blunt she could want!" Then he added mordantly, "Yes, I've been truly terrible."

Caroline reached for his hand and soothingly stroked it with hers. "She's lonely, Robert."

_That_ he highly doubted. When Robert snorted, Caroline thrust his hand back into his lap with a look of annoyance. "Don't be boorish. You know very well that I didn't think highly of her when you married. Quite the opposite actually. But now I've gotten to know her, Robert. And I think you would be pleased with your wife, if you gave her half a chance. I prefer her to that stuffy whatever-her-name-was you had your heart set on back then."

Robert couldn't believe what he was hearing. Miss Elizabeth Haddon had been perfect for him. Caroline might just as well have told him what a lovely gentleman Mr. Bonaparte was. Inconceivable. "You can't even compare the two of them."

"No, you can't," Caroline agreed with an edge to her voice. "Lydia is full of life and that Haddon woman drained it from everyone around her."

What was she talking about? Robert looked at his sister and realized he didn't quite know who she was anymore. The Caroline he'd raised would never say such a thing. "When did you change?"

She smiled at him and her hazel eyes twinkled. "Probably when I married David."

"Ah, yes." That was the truth of it. Robert and his sister had slowly drifted apart ever since Caroline had wed. "His friends are peers, but they're common at heart."

"Common?" she echoed incredulously.

"Caroline, Kelfield is more scandalous than even our dear brother."

"I am quite fond of His Grace, myself, Robert. Despite his flaws, Kelfield has a kind heart. And you can call him what you will—he's an unrepentant, self-indulgent, rakehell, but he's far from common."

Although Robert didn't agree with his sister's assessment, especially after watching the man hang all over Lydia most of the night, he admired that Caroline came to her friend's defense. She was always true to her heart. It was one of things he loved most about her. But he couldn't let her off the hook. Not yet. "And then there's Carteret."

At this, Caroline scoffed. "What could you possible find wrong with Lord Carteret? James MacFadyn is a paragon of virtue."

Robert had to keep from smiling at his sister's automatic championing of her friend, but he maintained a straight face. No sense in her knowing that he was teasing her. After all, she quite deserved it after tonight. "You think so? Well, for starters, he's both a Scot and a Whig." He couldn't think of anything else disparaging. If Chet was there, he could have been of assistance. Then he threw in as an afterthought, "And he's a sore loser at cards."

Despite herself, Caroline laughed. "In the first place, he's English, though his family's seat is near the Scottish border in Cumberland. But he's also an earl, Robert, same as you."

He couldn't help but smile then. "If he's English, then I'm the Prince of Wales. MacFadyn is a Scottish name, Caro. He may have land in England, but he's a Scot. There's no question about it."

Caroline's smile faded and she looked at him seriously. "What has any of this to do with anything, Robert?"

He shrugged, not really knowing what to say,

"And if you have a problem with Whigs, then I suppose you won't be comfortable here anymore, since David is one as well."

He realized he'd taken his teasing too far when he saw a hurt look settle on his sister's face. He hadn't meant to actually upset her. Robert hooked one of Caroline's errant brown curls behind her ear with a brotherly smile. "Whig or not, you know I like Staveley." When she smiled at him, he could see the little girl in her that he remembered. Always seeking her brother's approval. "But no more about my wife. I'm going to send her back to Cheshire, so there's nothing further to discuss."

"Oh, Rob, please don't," she pleaded. "I so enjoy having her here. Emma and Rachel worship her."

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that his nieces shouldn't worship a whore, but Robert stopped himself. _His nieces worshiped her_? An accolade like that had never been bestowed upon him. Apparently, she was a better aunt to them than he was an uncle, and they were _his_ blood relations. "Nevertheless, that's the deal we made all those years ago. She's the one who's broken it. She'll go back."

"I'm just saying you're bloody unlucky to have missed Staveley's Ball last night," Chet chided his good friend Brendan Reese, the Earl of Clayworth, as they walked along Rotten Row. The sun was shining brightly this morning, and that was reflected in the return of the marquess' good nature.

The golden-haired, Adonis-bodied Clayworth was dressed in his finest buff-colored breeches, bottle-green coat, and Hessian boots—making the robust and slovenly attired Astwick look even more out of place along the fashionable walkway. "So I've heard from no less than ten people this morning."

Chet's deep chuckle actually startled some wigeons from a nearby tree. "Honestly, Bren, when was the last time you saw Rob with stars in his eyes?"

Brendan looked skeptically at his friend. "You must be jesting. Robert's hardly the starry-eyed sort."

"My point exactly, old man. Yet he _was_ last night...up until he found out who she was, anyway. And even then he couldn't keep his eyes off her. Caroline Staveley has my complete respect. It takes a courageous woman to blindside Masten like that."

There were many pressing things on Brendan's mind, and the situation involving the estranged Mastens was way down the list, as well as none of his business. Still, there was something about the tone in Chet's voice that left him with a wary feeling. "I do hope you're not planning anything rash. Robert won't thank you for interfering."

"Ah, well, Rob doesn't know what's good for him. And after the defection of that Rigsley woman—"

"Robert was fine to see her go. He only keeps them if they're discreet. She wasn't."

"Oh, for God's sake, Bren!" Chet's exasperated voice rang out. "I'm telling you there was a spark between them. He even said his wife was 'quite pretty.'"

This got Brendan's attention, and he stopped walking. "Rob said that?"

Chet smiled wickedly. "Rob said that. He's just too stubborn for his own good, that's all. Therefore, it is up to us, old friend. We must think of something to help him along."

The two men started walking again and rounded a corner. From the opposite direction, a couple of attractive young ladies and their chaperone brushed past them. One of the girls looked back over her shoulder at the two gentlemen and giggled flirtatiously.

Brendan gestured toward the disappearing ladies with his hand. "You, my friend, should be spending your time in trying to find a wife for yourself and not fretting over Robert's unfortunate situation."

Chet frowned. "For God's sake, Bren, not you too. The last thing I need is a giggling, simpering, little chit like that. I'd feel like Goliath around a woman that small. Besides, whoever I end up with has to be able to face down the dragon that calls herself my mother."

At that Brendan smirked. "Ah, you're looking for a steadfast, stalwart young woman then? May I suggest a Scot? They're a hearty breed and could certainly stand up to Lady Astwick."

"I've got it!" Chet smirked. "You need to marry Rosamund off. What say I become your brother-in-law?"

Brendan stopped dead in his tracks with a glower that could have halted an approaching army. "You touch one hair on my sweet little sister's head, you big ox, and I'll cut you down to size in the blink of an eye."

But now Chet wasn't listening. Instead he focused on something across the park. When Brendan followed his friend's gaze, he saw Lady Masten with four unruly children making their way toward the Serpentine—make that three unruly children and one very serious boy.

"Come on, Bren." Chet started toward the countess and her charges, "Rob made a mess of things last night. Let's see if we can't help him along."

Lydia had spent the morning trying not to replay the events of the previous evening. Now, with the thoughts of her husband firmly tucked away, she entered Hyde Park with her young cousins in tow. She loved spending time with James and Bethany's brood. They were such delightful children, all of them in their own way.

Almost at once, her spirited young cousins Katriona, Morgan, and Madeline dashed off toward the Serpentine, giggling excitedly. But at the ripe old age of ten, Liam MacFadyn rolled his eyes heavenward at his younger siblings' high spirited antics.

Lydia took in his somber countenance and ruffled his hair. "Go on, Liam," she urged him. "You should go play with the others."

But Liam shook his head with a stubbornness that Lydia knew he'd acquired from his father. "Lyddie, a gentleman should never abandon a lady."

"Oh, heavens, Liam. I'll be just fine out here in the park. Now, run along."

As Liam started to protest, a cheerful baritone voice boomed from behind them, "The boy is quite right, Lady Masten. All sorts of dangers can lurk about for unprotected ladies."

Lydia turned to see Lord Astwick standing directly behind them, casting a shadow over an attractive gentleman in his wake—Lord Clayworth, she thought. Of course, she recognized the marquess immediately. He was hard to miss and, unless she was mistaken, he was also a dear friend of Lord Masten's. What in heaven's name did these men want with her?

Astwick continued, "Not to worry, young man. We'll keep a watchful eye on Lady Masten for you."

Liam scowled at the marquess and protectively stepped in front of Lydia, with his brave little chin thrust out. "I can handle it. Thank you, sir."

Lord Astwick's laugh could be heard half-way across the park. Then he got down on one knee, so as to be on eye level with the boy. "I like your spirit, lad. I'm Lord Astwick and this fellow with me is Lord Clayworth. We mean the lady no trouble."

The other gentleman smiled and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. Liam didn't return the gesture. "I'm MacFadyn," the boy introduced himself proudly.

"Ah," the good-natured marquess grinned in response, "Carteret's heir."

"Aye, sir. And I mean to look after my cousin."

Anxiously, Lydia looked from Lord Astwick to Lord Clayworth. She had met both men on separate occasions, and while they seemed pleasant enough, they were certainly after something today. Best to get it over with. "Liam my love, I'll be perfectly fine. Pray go to the river and make sure the others aren't soaked in that nasty water or your mother will never forgive me."

Liam clearly seemed torn between his desire to shield Lydia from the unfamiliar gentlemen and with keeping a watchful eye on his siblings. So, Lydia gently touched his shoulder. "It's all right, dear. I believe these gentlemen are friends of my husband."

Both gentlemen nodded in response, but it was Clayworth that spoke to the child. "I count myself as a friend of your father's as well, Lord MacFadyn, as we've dealt many times together in parliament. On my honor, your cousin will be safe in your absence."

Liam sized up the gentleman before him and agreed with a curt nod. "On your honor then." Turning on his heel, the boy quickly made his way down the river's edge where his sisters and brother could still be heard laughing.

Lydia met Clayworth's eyes with approval. "Thank you, for appeasing him. Liam thinks of himself as fully grown."

Clayworth smiled warmly in return. "My sister's son is much the same way. There are certainly worse things than boys who take their duties seriously, Lady Masten."

"Well, thank you again. Now, what is it you gentlemen want with me?"

Astwick offered Lydia his arm, which she tentatively took. "Ah, Lady Masten, we are here to help you." The marquess towered over her and she felt like a child next to him.

"Chet!" Clayworth warned as he strolled along side them toward the river.

But Astwick simply smiled. "Pay Clayworth no attention, my lady. He feels that I'm over stepping my bounds."

Lydia looked from one gentleman to the other. Clayworth's handsome face was furrowed and drawn up tight. The earl was clearly the sensible one of the two. "I may be in agreement with Lord Clayworth."

Despite herself, Lydia couldn't help but be charmed by Astwick's roguish grin. The marquess had a charismatic quality that made one like him almost instantly, despite his disheveled appearance.

"Oh, come now, Lady Masten, where's your spirit of adventure?" Lord Astwick asked good-naturedly.

Lydia's brows rose in question. "What is it you're after, sir?"

Lord Astwick drew Lydia to a halt. "You had it right to begin with, we are friends of your husband's." When Lydia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, Astwick paused briefly before pressing forward. "And we'd like to see Robert happy, you see—"

"Well, I should like _not_ to see Robert at all." Lydia's eyes flashed with anger and she removed her hand from Lord Astwick's arm. "And if he's sent you two to make sure I that I do his bidding, you can tell that overbearing, pompous, ass—"

"Lady Masten!" Lord Clayworth looked aghast at her vulgar language.

"—that he can go straight to the devil. I apologize if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Lord Clayworth, but I daresay you gentlemen have heard worse. Pray excuse me. I should be tending to my cousins."

With an angry swish of her skirts, Lydia brushed past the two gentlemen and escaped to the safety of her four young companions, without so much as glance back at them over her shoulder.

Brendan shook his head and rubbed his chin. "That went well, Chet."

Chet laughed and smacked Brendan's back with the palm of his hand. "Indeed it did, Bren. Indeed it did. She doesn't seem ambivalent toward our good friend, does she?"

"No," Brendan admitted ruefully. "She seems decidedly in the Robert-loathing camp."

"We shall see." Chet grinned and then started back toward the walking path.

Robert called on Lord Carteret as soon as he deemed it proper to do so. He didn't know the man particularly well, but knew he had a good reputation, despite his Scots heritage and his Whiggish leanings. He was certain that Lord Carteret would hear him out and return Lydia to Blackstone. He was her husband, after all. His demands meant something.

After Robert was shown into the drawing room, he waited patiently for the master of the house. When James MacFadyn, Earl Carteret, finally made his appearance, Robert thought he would laugh. Before him was the _paragon of virtue_ his sister had defended—a peer of the realm looking completely tousled, like he'd just fallen out of a moving carriage. His blond hair was mussed and his jacket a mess. He even had a glob of blue paint smeared across his breeches. This was not what Robert expected to find. "Did I catch you at a bad time, Carteret?"

Carteret shook his head and smiled widely. "No, just spending the morning with my daughter."

Robert smiled to himself. Despite Caroline's protestations, Carteret did have a slight Scottish brogue. "Painting?" Robert pointed out the blue stain on his breeches.

Carteret looked down and realized what he must look like. He smiled sheepishly. "That would be Fiona, my youngest. Please forgive my appearance, I must be a sight."

Robert laughed. "That you are, but I'll overlook it."

"Good of you to do so." Carteret agreed good-naturedly. "So, Masten, to what do I owe this honor?"

The smile on Robert's face fell and he sighed. "I've come to talk to you about my wife."

But before Carteret could respond, the door opened and Bethany, Countess Carteret, entered the room. She was a vision—hair so dark it was almost black and crystal-blue eyes that rivaled Lydia's. It was easy to see why Chet and so many others had fallen under her spell all those years ago. Lady Carteret was still a sight to behold. But she obviously didn't see Robert and began to chastise her husband. "Jamie, did you leave Fiona alone with her paints? The entire breakfast room is covered in blue handprints."

Carteret smiled at his lovely wife. "Guilty, my love, but can you scold me later? Lord Masten is here at the moment."

"Oh?" Lady Carteret sucked in a breath of air and blushed down to her roots when she noticed their visitor. "I didn't realize. I'm so sorry. Please forgive my intrusion." She smiled apologetically at her husband and left the two men alone.

Robert smirked. "Busy household you have here."

"Five children, including one set of twins. Busy doesn't begin to cover it, Masten."

"And now you've taken on my wife as well." Robert remarked, trying to steer the conversation back to the reason for his visit. "I hate to burden you with her."

Robert could feel Carteret studying him as if he were a thoroughbred at Tattersall's. "You're not burdening us at all. Lydia is actually a great deal of help. Five children, you know. In fact, she has my four oldest with her in the park right now."

Obviously, going down that road wasn't going to work. His wife was good with children—Caroline had admitted as much. Robert furrowed his brow and plunged ahead with his request. Lydia was _his_ wife after all. Carteret should respect his decision. "I'd hate to take your extra help away, Carteret, but I'd appreciate it if you would send her home anyway."

"Home? And would this be to Blackstone?" Carteret furrowed his brow in a way that made Robert feel like a blackguard. "She's been dreadfully lonely there, Masten, and we've invited her to stay here with us for the season."

Robert was damned tired of hearing about how lonely his wife was. Didn't anyone else see that her being lonely was better than her behaving like a wanton throughout London? The image of her from the night before in that daring sapphire gown flashed through his mind. God, but she was beautiful.

For a moment, the idea of leaving her in Carteret's care was tempting; perhaps he could even get to know her as Caroline had suggested. What a fanciful thought! _When_ Lydia was involved in her next scandal—and she would be—it wouldn't be Carteret's name that was run through the mud. It would be Robert's. She was _his_ wife.

Robert looked at the paint stain on Carteret's breeches and an idea hit him. What a fool he'd been. Why had he not thought of it earlier? The answer was clear as day. "No, not to Blackstone. Not yet, anyway. I'm concerned about my heir, Carteret. I don't have one other than Luke, and that isn't a prospect that I wholeheartedly welcome."

Carteret nodded and Robert could see that he understood that. Probably even agreed.

"Well, there's no way to put this delicately, Carteret," Robert continued. "I need my wife to give me one. She can't very well do that living under your roof." There! Robert triumphantly celebrated. _Deny me that, Lord Propagator_.

Carteret sat forward and Robert tried to read his expression. The damn man was so enigmatic. But then to his relief, Lord Carteret grinned. "I think that's wonderful, Masten. Truly wonderful. You should see Lydia with Morgan and Madeline, my twins. They adore her."

Robert feigned a pleasant smile. What had he just gotten himself into? He gulped uncomfortably.

"I'll have her things packed and ready in the morning. Will that do?" Carteret asked.

"That will do." Robert nodded. "Thank you, Carteret. You don't know how you've delivered my mind from worry."

Carteret tilted his head and leaned toward him, like a conspirator. "She can be a fine wife for you, Masten. Give her that opportunity. A good mother, too. And take it from me, there's nothing more lovely in the world than watching _your_ wife tend to _your_ children. Not nurses or maids, but their own mother. Mark my words."

"I'd never thought you as an egalitarian." Robert remarked.

"Well, I—"

But Carteret was interrupted by a high-pitched squeal coming from the hallway. Then the doors to the parlor flew open and a little girl, about three years old, ran into the room. Blue paint covered her completely, from the roots of her flaxen hair to the tips of her naked toes. "Papa, save me!" The little girl threw herself into Carteret's arms.

Surprised by the scene, Robert couldn't help but laugh. Carteret was covered in paint from top to bottom. He now looked even more disgraceful than before—which was saying something indeed.

Standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, Lady Carteret tapped her foot impatiently. "Fiona MacFadyn, come with me this instant!"

Fiona burrowed her face against her father's chest and whispered loud enough for the entire room to hear, "I think she's mad at me."

Carteret kissed the top of his daughter's head. "I think she's mad at both of us, dear." He stood up and crossed the floor to his wife's side, where he handed over his child. "It was my fault, Beth."

Lady Carteret smiled ruefully at her husband. "I will deal with you later, Jamie." Then she looked in Robert's direction. "You must think you've stepped into Bedlam, Lord Masten. We're not normally this unruly. Please, do forgive us."

Robert watched with great interest and returned Lady Carteret's smile. "Think nothing of it, my lady. We are family, after all." Then he nodded to Carteret, put his beaver hat on his head, and started for the door. "Tomorrow morning. I'll send my coach at ten o'clock."

Carteret agreed with a grin. "Ten o'clock it is. And best of luck, Masten."

After he left the Carteret home, Robert thought about what he'd seen that day. A distinguished member of the House of Lords sitting in his parlor, covered in paint—which also apparently covered his breakfast room—and a beautiful wife who was endearing even as she scolded him. What was it she'd called Carteret? Jamie? So intimate and familiar. He couldn't remember seeing a man more happy with life, despite his disgraceful appearance.

That was not the life Robert led. He always looked impeccable, as did his breakfast room. Though he had a beautiful wife, endearing was not a word Robert would use to describe Lydia. The idea of his own wife calling him something familiar, like Robbie, was too ludicrous an idea to consider seriously. Lord Carteret may be unlucky at cards, but he seemed lucky beyond comparison in life. 

# Chapter Three

Lydia did not feel lucky. She was instead furious. She could barely believe her ears when James told her he was sending her to Masten's the next morning. The traitor! How could James just turn her over to her husband like that? Hadn't he listened as she'd complained to him about her life as Lady Masten, stashed away at Blackstone? If she'd been given any amount of time, she'd have found a place for herself. But Robert had seen to it that she didn't have time to plan anything.

Robert Beckford was a scoundrel, plain and simple! She didn't know what he'd said to James, but she knew her husband had been crafty with whatever it was. Every time she asked her cousin about his conversation with Masten, a grin would cross James' face. "I think that's a discussion for you and your husband, Lyddie."

But she didn't want to have any discussions with _him_. Her husband was a cruel and vindictive man. He'd essentially kept her locked up for years. And now that she was free of his tyranny, the very last thing she wanted was to go back. He might have scared her in the past, she was so young then. But she was not that naïve sixteen-year-old girl that had signed her life away—not anymore. When he came for her in the morning, she would make him most unhappy that he did.

That night as she lay in bed, the unkind words he'd said to her all those years ago echoed over and over in her mind. He had been an imposing figure then and had towered over her, a regal and dignified gentleman. He had intimidated her and she'd cowered from him. He'd called her a little whore right after they'd finished their vows, nearly spitting the words at her. She was a disgrace to his name, undeserving of his charity, and unwelcome in society. But despite all of that, he would see that she lived well at Blackstone Manor; and she was to be grateful for his generosity.

Lydia cringed as she stared up at the ceiling and prayed for the strength to deal with whatever it was her husband had planned.

Lord Masten's carriage arrived for her at ten the next morning, but _he_ wasn't with it. The coachman loaded her things on board and helped her inside. She tried to remain strong, though she would have been lying to say she wasn't nervous. She had been bold and daring when she thought she had James' support, but now she had no one again. She was at the mercy of her husband. And that did not sit well.

When she arrived at Masten's large Berkeley Square home, Lydia felt ill at ease. It felt as if she had butterflies flittering around in her stomach, and her heart pounded rapidly with worried anticipation. As the footman lowered the steps, Lydia took a deep, steadying breath and squared her shoulders. She was determined not to let Masten bully her.

Phelps, the elderly butler that Masten should have probably already pensioned off, greeted her at the front door. He led her to a well-decorated parlor where the earl had requested she wait for him. She waited and waited—at least two hours. Her nerves were on end, but she refused to be outwardly flustered. If Robert Beckford had taught her anything throughout their marriage, it was how to wait.

Finally, she heard voices in the hallway and a booming laugh that she knew could only belong to Lord Astwick. Moments later, the robust marquess entered the room and was surprised to find Lydia sitting patiently on the sofa. "Lady Masten! Whatever are you doing here?" He raised his brow expectantly.

"This is my husband's home, Lord Astwick. Where else should I be?" Lydia answered with a haughtiness she didn't feel. Though she put up a brave front, she wasn't quite able to meet the marquess' eyes—especially after their awkward encounter in the park the day before when her bad temper had gotten the better of her.

Apparently Lord Astwick could sense her trepidation, because he smiled, as if to put her at ease. "Of course you should be here. I was just under the impression that you were staying with Carteret, my dear."

Lydia took a deep breath. She wouldn't allow Lord Astwick to see her at her worst again. She would remain composed and save her venom for her intended victim—Robert Beckford. "It appears my husband has other plans for me." She managed a weak smile.

"I'll just bet he does." Astwick tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a smirk. "I am surprised though. He didn't seem like he could work up the courage to talk to you at Staveley's. That's what Clayworth and I had wanted to talk to you about."

"He didn't have the courage?" Lydia shot back incredulously. Lack of nerve was not something she'd ever considered of her husband. Bully, yes—coward, no. But Lord Astwick did seem sincere in his estimation.

Then the marquess winked at her and took a seat next to her on the settee. "He's good with animals, great in fact. But with people, well, Rob's always been a bit shy around pretty girls. Now if you were a horse—not that you in any way resemble one—"

The idea made her laugh—there was no way to hide it. In the limited time she'd spent with Robert Beckford, _shy_ was not a word she would use to describe him. The words she would use were...well, not things she could repeat in polite society or even to Lord Astwick for that matter. "I would be surprised if he thought of _me_ that way, my lord."

The charming marquess took her hand in his. Shyness was obviously not something that plagued him. "I happen to know he does, my lady. Told me so himself."

Before Lydia could compose a response to that ridiculous notion, the door opened and her husband walked inside. If she wasn't so furious with him, she would've thought he was devastatingly handsome—that was a bit shocking, in itself. His buff doeskin breeches snugly fit his muscled thighs, and the cut of his midnight-blue jacket displayed the strength of his broad shoulders. Lydia caught her breath. He was an imposing sight. And that was a bit scary.

Robert looked first at Lord Astwick and then at his wife. "Oh, my lady, I nearly forgot you were coming today."

Lydia scowled back at him. No, Robert Beckford was not shy and did not lack courage. He was simply a bastard who had made her wait for him all day long and then _forgot_ that she was arriving. How charming! How she loathed him. "Well, I'll be more than happy to leave, Masten. If you'll—"

"You'll stay right where you are." He cut her off and then glanced back at his friend. "Chet, our excursion will have to be postponed. Please make my apologies to Bren, will you?"

Lord Astwick stood from his place and smiled devilishly at his friend. "Don't think on it, Rob. If I were you, I'd stay here too. But I would be honored if the two of you would join me tomorrow night at Drury Lane."

Robert noticed his wife's fiery glare and then shook his head. "Next time, perhaps."

"No, not next time. Tomorrow," Chet insisted. "And I'm not taking 'no' for an answer. Mother is attending and I need a buffer from her constant harping. I was going to force Brendan to accompany us, but..."

"Clayworth turned you down flat?" Robert raised his brow.

Astwick chuckled. "That he did. But lucky me! Since you've cancelled our plans for the day, you owe me and I'm enlisting your help in distracting Mother from her needling of me at the theatre tomorrow." Chet turned back and smiled at Lydia. "And you'll bring this delightful creature with you. Don't fret, my dear, his bark is worse than his bite."

Lydia smiled back. It was nice to see someone bully Robert. Good to know it could be done. Her husband took a deep breath and shook his head. "All right, Astwick. Lady Masten and I won't be in London long, so I'll give you tomorrow night."

_Won't be in London long_?

Lydia furrowed her brow as she cast her eyes on Robert. "I am not leaving London."

Robert looked at her with disdain, just like he had when they first met. "Not now, my lady."

"Don't 'not now' me, my lord."

Astwick looked from one to the other, which must have caught her husband's eye, because he turned his darkening gaze on his friend. "Don't you have someplace else to be?"

The marquess smirked. "I suppose I should be on my way, actually." He started for the door, but then turned back and winked at Lydia. "Worse than his bite, my lady. My money's on you. See you both tomorrow. Oh, and, Robert? Be on time, will you? I don't want to have to go searching the corridors for your bloody arse."

Robert scowled and gestured toward Lydia. "Watch your manners, Astwick."

Chet's rich chuckle filled the room with warmth. "Pardon me, Lady Masten, if I offended your delicate sensibilities. Somehow, I'm certain you've heard worse." With that, the marquess tipped his head and then left the room and the house to the squabbling Mastens.

Lydia stood and matched her husband's disdainful look with one of her own. She folded her arms across her chest and took a deep breath. "I am _not_ leaving London."

Robert ignored her stance and took a seat in one of his upholstered chairs. "You also told me that you weren't living under my roof, and look how that turned out. As I told you before, my lady, you'll do exactly what I say."

Fire shot from her eyes. "Short of you tying me up and dragging me from here, I'm not going anywhere."

That image made Robert smirk but he responded coolly. "Well, that suggestion does have merit. Thank you, I wouldn't have thought of that myself."

She stood perfectly still and glowered at him. Robert was surprised to note how stunning she was, even as she looked at him with such hatred. Her blue eyes shot icy daggers at him, but they were lovely nonetheless. Then again, his brother wasn't the sort to chase after homely girls. Robert had inherited the title, fortune, and good sense, but Luke possessed the handsome looks, charm, and bravado. Other than their sister and shared parents, they had little else in common.

After he had left Carteret's home the day before, he'd thought about their discussion. What he'd said was true—he didn't have an heir and he did not want the line to pass to Lucas. That would be a disaster. If Lydia was occupied with raising their children, which apparently she would be good at, he wouldn't have to worry about _her_ anymore either. She didn't have to go back to Blackstone if she hated it that badly. She could go to any of his other estates to raise his family. It was the perfect solution to all of his problems.

"Now, let's not start off on the wrong foot, Lady Masten. We're going to need to get along."

"We haven't needed that for five years. Why start now?" she shot back indignantly.

"Did Carteret share with you the nature of my visit with him?"

Lydia's glower softened and she shook her head. "No. He said that was something for the two of us to discuss."

Robert sat forward in his seat and looked at her from top to bottom. If their children looked like her, that would be a blessing. "Perhaps you should sit down."

She stamped her foot. "I will not have you order me about. I feel like standing."

"Suit yourself." Robert frowned at her independent streak—just another reason why she needed to leave Town. "I'm at the point in my life where I am looking at what I have, and more importantly what I don't have. It's no secret that there is no love lost between us, but that certainly hasn't stopped others. If you think you're the only unhappy wife in England, you'd be wrong. And like it or not, we are stuck with one another."

"You could divorce me. Let me go, Masten," she begged.

_Divorce_?

She was even more scandalous than he had thought! It was one thing to have a wife that was a harlot, quite another to divorce her. "That is completely out of the question, and you well know it."

"An annulment then? We never consummated."

Robert shook his head with determination. He would not be made to be a laughing stock. "After five years? No one would believe that, and it's not as if you can prove your virtue."

"I don't care what people believe. It's the truth." She stamped her foot.

"The truth, my wife, is that _your_ actions five years ago have led us to this point in our lives."

"Then what _do_ you want from me? To send me back to Cheshire where I will rot until you die?"

"I'm afraid it's nothing quite so dramatic." Robert stood from his seat and reached for her arm. How did one say this sort of thing? Her skin was warm beneath his hand and he felt inexplicitly drawn to her. But apparently she felt nothing, as she looked at him with contempt. So he continued matter-of-factly. "I need you to provide me with an heir."

She yanked her arm from him, stumbled backward, and stared at him in horror as if she didn't quite believe her ears. Eyes wide, she took a deep breath and slumped down onto the settee beneath her. "You cannot be serious."

He didn't know what reaction he expected, but her looking at him as if he had a forked tail and horns wasn't exactly what he had in mind. "Caroline sings your praises and Lord Carteret is convinced you'll make a wonderful mother. He says his twins adore you."

"James knew what you had planned and he turned me over to you?" She stared at him incredulously.

"He certainly wouldn't begrudge me an heir, Lady Masten—not when he has more than one of his own." Robert took a seat next to her. "Now don't look so horrified. You found my brother's bed to be accommodating. I'm sure mine won't be unpleasant."

She started to cry, which made him speechless. He'd never seen her cry. Not when she'd been discovered with Luke, not when she took her vows, not when he'd explained that she'd live out the rest of her days at Blackstone alone. But _now_ tears streamed down her face. He hated seeing her like this. He much preferred the sparring partner she'd so easily become.

"And th-then you'll take my child away from me. I think not."

"No." His look softened and he moved closer to her on the settee. He took her hand reassuringly. "I would never do that. I swear it, my lady. Have I ever lied to you?" After she took a staggering breath, Robert continued softly, "You can have your pick of any of my estates, and you can rear our children wherever you want."

For the first time since their interview began, she looked at him hopefully. "Here, then? May I stay here?"

Robert shook his head. There were too many men in London, too much trouble she could get into in Town. The dance with Kelfield flashed in his mind. No, it was far safer for her to be in the country. Safer for him too. "London is not an option, my lady. Besides, I'd prefer to know that my heirs are actually mine. Don't want someone else's brat to come into my title and estates someday."

Her crying stopped and she stared at him angrily as she wiped away the last of her tears with the back of her hand. "I know how highly you regard my character, sir. I don't need a reminder."

Silently, he was glad to see a bit of her fire back, but when he spoke his tone was unemotional and matter-of fact. "I don't enjoy reminding you. But that _is_ why London is not an option. I don't care where else you want to go. I keep hearing that you're lonely. That won't be a problem for you anymore."

"I'm beginning to think that loneliness isn't quite so bad as I originally thought."

"Well, you know what they say. Be careful what you wish for, because from now on I'll be your constant companion, at least until you're carrying my child."

"If I have a room, I'd like to go up to it now." She spoke so softly it was almost a whisper.

This was a different Lydia than he'd seen up until now. She looked defeated, as if her spirit had been broken. For a moment he felt a twinge of remorse. But only for a moment. "Of course." Robert rang the bell and soon Phelps arrived to escort Lydia to her chambers.

Lydia stared blankly around the pretty room that connected to her husband's chambers. The soft, yellow walls had a warm feel to them and normally, she would have enjoyed the ambiance her bedchamber offered, But at the moment, her fate was the only thing on her mind. She threw herself across the large, four-poster bed, rolled over onto her back, and stared up at the sheer canopy above her.

How had she ended up in this situation? Just the idea of _that man_ , whom she'd hated for years, touching her made her ill. Yet if she was to go through with this, would he really let her keep her child? Not that she was seriously considering his proposal. After all, she knew what kind of man Robert Beckford was.

Still, if he wouldn't let her out of their marriage and was now demanding his husbandly rights—well, she did want a child of her own, didn't she? Would he really let her rear the child?

She stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours, but no solutions came to her. She was all alone. Her family was gone. Her mother and father were both dead, as was Aunt Agnes. Her brother was at sea, not that he'd be of any help if he wasn't. Henry had changed from the caring, protective brother she'd loved as a child. Her cousin Hannah was following the drum and her husband around the peninsula from battlefield to battlefield. All Lydia had left was James' family, and he'd handed her over to Masten without a second thought. Now there was no one she could turn to for help. She was, quite simply, alone.

There was a light knock at the door and Lydia frowned . There wasn't one person in this household she wanted a visit from—least of which was her husband. "Please, just go away," she mumbled before rolling onto her side, away from the door.

"Lydia?" Caroline's voice filtered through the door. "May I come in?"

Lydia lifted her head from the pillows and bounded off the bed. "Caroline?" She raced to the door and opened it to find her sister-in-law waiting with a pensive expression in the hallway.

As Caroline embraced her, Lydia felt comforted for the first time all day. Caroline drew back from her to look her over. "As soon as Bethany Carteret told me what happened, I rushed right over here. Are you all right, darling?"

Relief washed over Lydia. She had an ally, maybe two. Thank heavens. Caroline took her hand and led her back to the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. With pursed lips and arms folded across her chest, Caroline looked like a woman possessed. "Do you know, Lydia, what I do when David is an unreasonable beast?"

Though Lydia wasn't feeling like herself, she tried not to smirk at that comment. The quiet and scholarly Lord Staveley was the least beastly man of her acquaintance. Instead, she merely shook her head.

"I go shopping. I spend his money on anything and everything that catches my eye—until I feel he has sufficiently paid for his beastliness."

"I don't know think Masten has enough money to make _me_ feel better, Caroline," Lydia remarked dryly.

Caroline's face brightened. "Of course he does, darling. He's as rich as Croesus. Come with me and we'll make him pay dearly."

Lydia shook her head. "I'm just not feeling up to it."

But Caroline wouldn't take no for an answer and pulled Lydia toward the door. "Come along. I promise you, it will infuriate Robert if you were to go shopping with me."

"It would?" Lydia skeptically eyed her sister-in-law.

Caroline's hazel eyes twinkled devilishly. "My dear, he will turn a perfectly enraged shade of scarlet when he finds out we've gone shopping together."

Lydia wasn't necessarily convinced, but decided that a shopping excursion with Caroline was better than being locked away in her bedchamber for the rest of the day, waiting for solutions that weren't coming. "Very well. Tell me, Caroline, who is London's most expensive modiste?"

Caroline beamed. "Good girl, that's the spirit."

Before Lydia knew what happened, she found herself following her sister-in-law down the staircase and then toward the front door.

As luck would have it, Robert stood in their path in the hallway, arms folded across his broad chest. Upon seeing the two women, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Good of you to stop by, Caro. Phelps must have forgotten to announce you."

Caroline was undaunted by her brother's brusqueness. "Lydia and I are going shopping, Robert."

"I don't recall approving a shopping excursion."

Caroline hooked Lydia's arm in hers and brushed past her brother. "For pity's sake, Robert. Someone should teach you how to be a good husband. Why don't you make your way to Curzon Street and let Staveley give you lessons." With that, she looked down her nose at her brother and ushered her Lydia down the front steps to her awaiting carriage.

# Chapter Four

Caroline swept into an exclusive shop on Bruton Street with all the grace of a Greek goddess. Madam Fournier, a tiny Frenchwoman with short, cropped, black hair and shrewd, silver eyes, positively glowed when she spotted the viscountess and kissed both of her cheeks. Then she set her sights on Lydia. "You have brought me a most beautiful creature, Lady Staveley. Tell me, what is it you desire?"

"I believe my dear sister-in-law would like a completely new wardrobe," Caroline explained as she pushed Lydia into the middle of the room to be inspected by the slight Frenchwoman.

The modiste walked around the object of their discussion. When she stopped, she met Caroline's eyes. "But she looks lovely already, no?"

At this Caroline grinned. "Of course she is, Madame, but you see my generous brother has offered his wife license to commission your artistic genius in the designing of the most magnificent and unique gowns of the season." With a conspiratorial whisper, Caroline added, "How can a woman refuse an offer like that?"

Madam Fournier's eyes sparkled at the thought. "Well, she should not, of course. Amelie!" she called, and her assistant promptly entered the room.

From that time on, Lydia saw every fashion plate in the store and was poked and prodded more times than she cared to count. When she told Caroline that Robert had every intention of moving her out to the country with great haste, Caroline was so annoyed with her brother that she ordered several dresses for herself as well—and asked Madam to make sure that Lord Masten received the bill the following morning.

After finally bidding Madam adieu, Lydia and Caroline left the trendy modiste's shop in search of more items to purchase. Lydia had finally gotten into the spirit of spending Robert's money. Several hats, gloves, and slippers later, the women were exhausted from their excursion.

Lydia had been alone for so long that, while this outing with Caroline had been a bit overtaxing, she was comforted by the camaraderie that her sister-in-law offered. As such, she wasn't quite ready to return to Berkeley Square. "Do you think we could go by Covent Garden, Caro? I always loved the fruit and vegetable market there."

Caroline looked confused. "The fruit and vegetable market?"

With a slight blush, Lydia nodded. "I haven't been there since I've been back in London. I once went daily for Mama."

"You do know, Lydia, that as my brother's countess there's no need for you to shop for fruits and vegetables?"

"Since Masten is intent on sending me back, Caro, I'd just like to see it before I leave for good."

"Very well." Caroline smiled indulgently and then gave the orders to her coachman.

The bustling market at Covent Garden was just as Lydia remembered it: industrious vendors hawking their wares, middle class matrons and scullery maids filling their baskets, and children—happy children playing and chasing each other around the carts. Lydia smiled as memories rushed into her mind. Life was, if not easier, more innocent when she was that age—when Mama was still alive.

Her reverie was interrupted when Caroline screamed, "Stop! Thief!"

A small child dashed into a nearby alleyway with what looked like Caroline's reticule. Without a look back, Lydia picked up her skirts and dashed after the grubby little boy. She could hear Caroline calling for her to stop, but she continued along the path the child had taken—around a corner and right into a darkened alleyway.

At once she saw the child, a young boy, maybe six years old. He held his ribs and offered up Caroline's reticule to a burly, dirt-covered, scowling man who stood at the end of the alley. When the man caught sight of Lydia, he grabbed a handful of the boy's clothes. "Wot's this?" he hissed angrily at the child. "Stupid li'l good fer nut'in, the lady follow'd ye."

The child began to shake with fear. For a moment she was afraid the man was going to strike the boy. She couldn't let that happen. "Unhand that child at once!" Her most haughty voice echoed off the walls in the grime-covered alley.

With a sneer, the man snatched the reticule from the boy's fingers and pushed the child against the hard, brick wall with a thud. Then he turned his brown-toothed grin on Lydia. "'Ere, Missus. Looks like th' lad swiped yer pretty li'l bag."

She should have been fearful, but she was not. She was too angry, and became even angrier when she heard the soft whimpers of the boy as he gingerly touched his own arm and bent his knotted and tousled head. Without hesitation, Lydia marched up to the towering swine of a man and ripped the reticule from his hands. "How dare you lay a finger on that child!"

Surprise flashed across the swarthy man's face, quickly replaced by anger. "Wot I do's no business o' yers. Ye've got yer bag—"

"We shall see about that." Lydia was furious, but she wouldn't allow her voice to shake. She reached out her hand to the boy who was now crying silently. "Come on, boy. Come with me."

The boy shook with fear and looked from the scowling countenance of the burly man to Lydia's sympathetic face. Skittishly, he started to inch toward her when the man's sweaty hand grabbed his shoulder. With a start, the boy's panicked eyes flew to the man's.

"Goin' somewheres, Petey?"

The boy gulped to swallow his tears and struggled to free himself from the burly man's grasp.

Lydia had seen enough. It mattered very little right now that this boy had taken Caroline's reticule. He was just a little thing in the grasp of a mean and intimidating bully. Her voice dropped to the most threatening tone she could muster. "Remove your hands from that child this instant."

"Or wot?" the man sneered back.

"Or I'll scream at the top of my lungs and have the watch all over your pathetic hide in the blink of an eye. One word from me and you'll find yourself in a dank and crowded cell at Newgate, awaiting deportation." Lydia didn't wait for the man to release the boy. She stepped forward and took the child's filthy hand in her pristine, white, gloved one and tugged him toward her. "Come on, little one. You'll be safe with me."

But the boy hesitated and shook his head. "I cain't, miss."

Lydia shot the man a warning look. "Of course you can. This fellow isn't going to hurt either of us. I'll make sure you're taken care of."

In the distance, a constable's whistle could be heard. The burly man took one last sneering look at Lydia and then took off around the bend.

"See there," Lydia continued soothingly, "now there's nothing to worry about. I won't let any harm come to you."

The boy lost the tentative hold he had on his emotions and a heart-breaking sob was ripped from his soul. "N-no, m-m-miss. 'Tis b-b-because of P-penny."

"Penny?" Lydia echoed.

A little girl, who seemed not much older than a toddler, stumbled out from the shadows of the alley. Lydia could see at once how she'd missed the child. The girl was soot-covered from top to bottom and was camouflaged perfectly in the dingy little alleyway. She was crying, too. "Is all righ', Petey. I'll be all righ'."

Lydia looked from one filthy child to the next. "Good Heavens! How many of you are there?"

The boy gulped, "Jus' me an' Penny."

Lydia's heart broke. "Is this your sister?"

The boy nodded, and Lydia tightened her grip on his hand. "Very well, you'll both come with me then." Without a second thought, Lydia scooped up the little girl in her arms and pulled the boy along, back into the open spaces of Covent Garden.

"Miss," the girl began with a timid little voice, "'Ere ya gonna give Petey to th' cons'able?"

Lydia stared into the desolate brown eyes of the little girl and shook her head solemnly. "No, we won't speak to a constable. Where are your parents?"

"We ain't go' any." Petey stated matter-of-factly.

Good heavens! They didn't have any? Lydia heaved a sigh. Memories of that horrid orphanage she'd been sent to flashed through her mind. She'd only had to stay a month before Aunt Agnes had found her, but a month had been too long. A more miserable place on earth had not been found. She was afraid to ask, but had to know. "What do you mean you haven't got any?"

The little girl buried her face against Lydia's peacock blue Spencer jacket, trembling as she cried.

"It don't matter. I've been takin' care o' Penny, an' we get by good enuf."

Lydia knelt down, and looked the battered little boy in the eyes. There was a bruise on his right cheek, he was covered in grime, and his clothes were threadbare and about to disintegrate all together. "I think you've done a marvelous job. Petey, is it?" At the boy's nod, Lydia continued in a soothing voice, "Well, Petey, believe it or not I know how hard life can be for children, and I want to help you." The boy's eyes grew large, and Lydia smoothed away his matted brown hair away from his forehead. "I live in a huge house and if you and Penny would like, I'll take you home with me. If you'll let me, I'll take care of both of you from now on."

The offer was obviously too good to be believed for the little pick-pocket and he backed away carefully. "Wot you want wi' us, miss?"

"I just want to help you. I helped you back there, didn't I?" She gestured toward the alleyway.

Petey nodded, but didn't step any closer to her. "Why?"

Lydia smiled sadly. "When I was about your age, I found myself in an orphanage. If I can help keep you from that fate, I feel that I must. How much longer can the two of you survive out here, Petey?"

The boy hung his head and shrugged. Cautiously, Lydia stepped toward him and put her hand on his shoulder. "If you don't like my house, I won't make you stay."

Petey's head rose and he stared at his sister before his dark brown gaze once again met Lydia's. "All righ', miss."

"Good." Lydia ruffled his hair and offered her hand to him, which he then took without hesitation.

Caroline was nearly hysterical. She had finally gotten the attention of a constable and was gesturing wildly in the direction her sister-in-law had taken off in. What was Lydia thinking? She had just disappeared around the corner, chasing after the little cutpurse. There was nothing in Caroline's reticule that was important enough to risk one's safety.

Added to her worry, Caroline knew that Robert would kill her if anything happened to Lydia. It was one thing to take her sister-in-law on a spite-inspired shopping spree, quite another to allow her to get her lost chasing after some dangerous criminal types.

The constable, a wiry middle-aged man, was just about to start off in the direction Caroline indicated, when Lydia stepped from around the corner carrying a tiny, dirt-covered child and holding the hand of another one. "Oh, thank heavens, there she is." Caroline gestured wildly to her sister-in-law. What in the world was Lydia doing with those children?

When the child walking by Lydia's side caught sight of Caroline, he panicked and tried to pull away from Lydia's grasp. But her sister-in-law's hold was firm and she tugged the child along with her.

Caroline rushed to meet the trio. "Lydia!" she shrieked. "What in the world possessed you to do such a foolish thing? And what are you doing with these filthy children?"

Lydia nodded politely at the constable. "There's a dangerous man in that alley over there. He was going to harm these children. If you hurry you can probably catch him."

The constable found himself looking from one lady to the other. Finally, Caroline nodded. "Well, what are you waiting for?" At that, the constable took off at a near sprint and left the two ladies to eye each other.

"Lydia, what happened? If you had been harmed, Robert would have killed me."

With a raised brow, Lydia smirked. "I think that's doing it up a bit brown. Think how happy Masten would be to be rid of me, Caro."

"Oh, Lydia, you mustn't think that!" Caroline was exasperated. "I know he can be domineering and gruff, but truly, he wouldn't have gone to these lengths to get you under his roof if he didn't want you there."

Lydia scoffed. "If only someone cared what I want."

This day was going from bad to worse. At this rate Robert would have Caroline's head on a platter. Caroline grimaced. "Darling, I care what you want. But may we please leave now? I'd better get you home before it gets much later." _Or before something else happens_. "I'm sure these children will be fine now."

Matter-of-factly, Lydia started toward Caroline's coach. "Yes, they will because I am taking the children with me to Masten House."

"To Masten House?" Caroline squeaked. Her impending death at her brother's hands was getting clearer by the moment. "Robert will be furious. Please, Lydia, I'm sure these...these children have their own home to go to. We'll just take them there."

Lydia stopped walking and stared Caroline straight in the eyes. "Look at them. Do they look like they have a home to you?"

Of course they didn't. They were little vagabonds, the both of them. Caroline swallowed. Hard. Then she turned her gaze to the boy, who she was certain was the little thief that had taken her reticule. "Do you, boy? Do you have a home?"

Silently, with his eyes focused on his tattered shoes, the boy shook his head.

"See?" Lydia replied coolly. "They're coming with us."

Caroline tried to keep up with her sister-in-law's purposeful gait. "Lydia, listen to reason. This is madness. You can't take these children to Masten House. We'll wait and ask the constable about an orphanage."

"Have you ever stepped foot inside an orphanage, Caroline?" Lydia called over her shoulder without slowing her pace.

"No." Though she'd heard horror stories about such places.

"Well, I have and we're not taking these children to one. This is not madness, it is humanitarianism."

"Robert will...well, I don't know what Robert will do, but you won't like it, whatever it is." Caroline struggled to keep up with Lydia's determined gait.

Lydia reached the coach and waited for the wide-eyed coachman to open the door and lower the steps. "Caroline, there has not been one thing Robert has done that I have liked. I'm sure this will be no different. He wants me out of his hair. I don't think he'll care overmuch if I take these children with me to the country. He won't be around to see them anyway."

Lydia placed the little girl on one of the padded velvet seats and then helped the boy up the stairs before stepping into the coach herself. She took the little girl into her lap and made a space for the boy to sit next to them.

With an overwhelming feeling of trepidation, Caroline nodded to her coachman, gave her brother's Berkeley Square address, and then took her seat across from her filthy guests. The children smelled awful. What exactly the odor was, Caroline couldn't say—but it was nauseating.

She stared across the coach to her sister-in-law. The little girl had curled up in Lydia's lap and rested her grimy head against Lydia's chest. The boy wrung his hands and looked anxiously at Caroline. With a comforting pat on his head, Lydia smiled at the little urchin.

For the entire ride to Masten House, Caroline tried to talk Lydia out of this recklessness, but to no avail. In fact, against her own better judgment, Caroline had promised to send over clothes that Adam and the girls had outgrown. If the children were going to stay at Masten House, they at least needed clean, fresh clothes. But Caroline had her doubts that they would be staying. She couldn't see Robert agreeing to such a thing.

As they pulled up before her brother's Berkeley Square home, Caroline took one last weary glance at her sister-in-law. "Oh, Lydia, and here I'd thought just to spend some of the man's money. I daresay you will punish my brother more than I could ever hope to."

Robert returned from an afternoon spent at his club to find that his home had been turned upside down. As soon as he entered the house he noticed Phelps' beleaguered expression. The man was usually unflappable. Then he heard a high-pitched squeal come from one of the upstairs bedrooms. What the devil was going on? "Phelps, is there something you would care to tell me?"

The butler grimaced but then nodded his head. "It's her ladyship, my lord—"

"Her ladyship has been squealing like that while I've been gone?" That didn't sound like Lydia. He envisioned his wife as more of a throwing and breaking things sort. Besides, the squeal seemed to come from a child.

"No, sir. Not her ladyship, but you see...well, you have guests, my lord."

"Guests?" Robert thrust his cane and hat into Phelps' waiting arms and then flew up the staircase—two steps at a time—until he reached the landing. He could still hear the squeals coming from down the hallway. Then he heard whimpering and splashing. What the devil?

Robert tapped lightly and then pushed the door open to one of his guest bedrooms. In the middle of the fashionably attired chamber sat a copper tub with two long-faced, freckled children looking like wet mutts submerged in soapy water. Lydia was kneeling and bent over the tub, lightly scrubbing the little girl's tangled mass of hair. "Almost done, dear," she cooed softly.

Then the little girl blew soap bubbles across the room with a giggle. "Penny!" Lydia's voice was melodic as she dipped her finger into the soapy water and dropped a dollop of bubbles on the child's nose.

For a moment Robert couldn't move. He just stood dumbfounded in the doorway, taking in the sight before him. Then the older child, who appeared to be a boy, looked at him. It was definitely time to make his presence known. "Lady Masten!" he barked sharply. "What in God's name is going on in here?"

His voice startled her and Lydia's hand slipped from the edge of the tub, dousing her bodice with soapy water in the process. She jerked to her feet and met Robert's outraged eyes. "Masten, you're home? I was hoping to have the children ready before you returned."

Though he didn't know what precisely was going on here, he knew in the marrow of his bones that he wasn't going to like it. Lydia looked nervous, and she was chewing the bottom of her lip.

"I want a word with you. Now!" Robert didn't even look to see if she followed him, but turned on his heel and waited impatiently in the corridor. He didn't have to wait long.

Lydia slinked into the hallway with an anxious expression. "Yes, Masten?"

"I am waiting for an explanation, my lady."

With a respectful nod, Lydia clasped her hands demurely—which had Robert immediately suspicious, as she'd yet to be either respectful or demure in his presence. "Of course. Caroline and I went to the market at Covent Garden—"

"Come now! I can't say I've ever been to the market, my dear, but I don't for one moment believe that you can pick children up there like a basket of fruit."

At this, Lydia stood proudly and met his eyes with a somber expression. "I'm trying to give you the explanation you've asked for."

"By all means."

"Well, you see, Caroline's reticule was taken and I chased after the thief—"

Was she serious? Something could have happened to her! He was surprised to discover that thought made his heart pound heavily in his chest. "Good God, woman, are you mad? You could've been hurt."

"Please, Masten—" she gestured dismissively— "it was just a child."

"A child? A child!" he roared and pointed to the closed door. "One of _those_ children?"

Lydia stepped up to him, put a calming hand on his chest, and looked pleadingly into his eyes. "Please keep your voice down, Masten. I don't want the children frightened. They've been through enough as it is."

With her this close, Robert was assailed by her soft scent of gardenias—which was probably the only thing keeping him from losing his temper altogether. She smelled delightful. He shook off the effect she had on him. "What are _those_ children doing in my home?"

Lydia stared at his chest and smoothed his jacket back into place. "Well, congratulations, Masten. They're your new ward."

Ruthlessly, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her into the wall of his chest. "I don't think I heard you," he hissed. "Try again."

"Let me go!" Lydia wrenched her arm free and glared up at him, her blue eyes alit with fire. "Just this morning you told me you wanted children."

_He was going to strangle her_. She was intentionally being obtuse. "That is not what I meant and you know it."

"Well, I certainly didn't plan on coming across Petey and Penny, but I did. And they need a safe place. And since you are suddenly so intent on wanting children—"

"My _own_ children, damn you."

"Yes, well, it still remains to be seen if you'll get your wish in that regard, doesn't it? In the meantime, it wouldn't kill you to be nice to your ward."

"Those urchins aren't my wards!"

Lydia took a step back from him and folded her arms across her chest. "They are if you intend to get my cooperation with your little plan. If not, I'll be happy to take them with me and return to James and Bethany."

She thought to blackmail him? Robert began to see red, and he could feel his face heating up. When he had forced her under his roof, he had no idea that she'd turn his life and home completely upside down in less than a day. It was well past time for her to realize that he was her husband and his word was law. "Oh, no! Don't you for one moment believe you can manipulate me into letting you go, my dear wife. I need my heir and you'll give him to me."

"Masten," she said, her voice soft but steady, "it is _important_ for me to watch after these children. I don't expect you to understand that. But since you're so intent on stashing me away in the country, I am asking you to let me take them with me. They won't be a moment's worth of trouble for you."

That sounded like the most ridiculous thing Robert had ever heard. Before he could form his retort, Mrs. Hodges, his portly housekeeper, rounded the corner with an armful of clean towels. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the earl and countess glaring at each other and cleared her throat.

Lydia smiled at her sweetly. "Oh, Mrs. Hodges, thank you. Would you mind waiting with Petey and Penny for a moment? I'll be there shortly."

"Not at all, milady." As the housekeeper entered the bedroom, Lydia turned her attention back to her husband.

When Lydia had smiled at the elderly housekeeper, her face lit up with joy. That smile warmed Robert's heart. She was stunning in general, but when she smiled she was the most beautiful creature in the world. It was then that he realized he wanted to make her happy. If that meant taking two little imps into his home...well, so be it. He had the room.

"You shouldn't be bathing them," he said brusquely. "Countesses don't do such things, my dear. That's what servants are for. I'll see to it that a nurse and a governess are hired for the little scamps."

When her eyes sparkled with joy, his heart flipped in his chest.

"This is your home as well, Lydia," he continued in a softer tone. Her eyes widened in surprise. He'd never called her by her Christian name, and he was as surprised as she was to hear it fly from his mouth. Robert cleared his throat. "I do want you to be happy here."

"Thank you, Masten." She smiled again and his heart raced.

"You're welcome, Lydia." It was much easier to say the second time. "And it's Robert...or Rob, if you prefer. Time to stop being so proper, don't you think?"

"As you wish, Robert."

Hearing his name on her lips was the most melodic sound he'd ever heard, and he couldn't help grinning like a fool. That wouldn't do. He couldn't let her know how besotted he was quickly becoming—she'd use it to her advantage and he'd be lost for sure. With that in mind he steadied his voice. "See to it that those children don't upset life here."

"Of course." Lydia turned away from him, stepped back into the room that harbored the children, and shut the door behind her.

Robert stood in the hallway, staring at the closed door. He wasn't quite sure why making his wife happy was suddenly so important.

When Lydia re-entered the room, she found three sets of anxious eyes focused on her. She squared her shoulders and made her way back to the tub.

Petey spoke first, "That bloke don' wan' us 'ere, miss."

Mrs. Hodges drew herself up proudly. "That _bloke_ is the Earl of Masten and this here is Lady Masten. You will address them properly while you're in this house."

Properly chastised, Petey's eyes dropped to the floor, "Yes, ma'am."

Lydia took one of Mrs. Hodges' towels, picked Penny up out of the water, and began to dry the child off. "Don't worry about his lordship, Petey. He has agreed to let you and Penny stay with me in the country."

"Gor, miss—my lady, we've never been t' the coun'ry."

Lydia passed Penny to Mrs. Hodges to be dressed, and with a fresh towel she dried Petey off. "Well, I think you'll like it there. Plenty of open space to run around and play, and horses to ride, and—"

Petey's face paled. "'orses?"

Lydia nodded and handed him a clean set of clothes. "Lord Masten owns one of the top stables in the country. Have you ever ridden a horse?"

"No, miss—I mean Lady Masten, I don' like 'orses."

"You don't?" Lydia looked at him in surprise. "Well, there are plenty of other fun things to do in the country. Now hurry up and get dressed, and I'll present you to his lordship."

Half an hour later, Petey and Penny were clean and in the parlor, dressed in the clothes Caroline had already sent over. With the exception of Petey's bruised eye, they hardly resembled the little urchins Lydia had plucked off the street at Covent Garden. Mrs. Hodges had cut Petey's unruly hair, while Lydia had braided Penny's. It was amazing what a warm bath and a new set of clothes could do for someone. "Well, milady, they look like proper little children," Mrs. Hodges had gushed.

Now standing at attention to be inspected by the Earl of Masten, Penny nervously chewed her bottom lip while Petey anxiously held his breath. Robert stood before them and let his eyes fall on his two young _wards_. He nodded at the lad. "What is your name, my boy?"

"P-Petey 'arris, sir."

"Peter Harris?" Robert asked with his brow raised.

"Yessir." Petey gulped.

"I like Peter better." He turned his attention to the little girl to Petey's side. "And you, miss. What is your name?"

Without hesitation the little girl met his stony gaze and smiled. "I'm Penny, yer lor'ship."

"And is that short for something? Penelope perhaps?"

The girl giggled at that and shook her head. "No, sir."

"Pity." Robert clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk around the room. "Well, Peter and Penny, my wife tells me that you'd like to go to the country with her."

Petey stood stoically, but Penny nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir," the girl stated. "But Petey don't wanna ride any 'orses."

That comment took Robert off guard. Who didn't want to ride a horse? He looked back at the boy. "How old are you, Peter?"

"Seven, sir."

"Seven? And you don't like horses?"

"No, sir."

The child was obviously frightened. Robert could see it in his eyes. He made a mental note about the fact. It wouldn't do for a child to grow up in the country and be afraid of horses. That's how one got around from place to place. Besides, it would never do for the Earl of Masten's _ward_ to be afraid of horses. "I see. And the two of you are agreeable to staying with Lady Masten?"

The little girl's eyes twinkled. "Oh, we like 'er ladyship. She saved Petey from gettin' walloped, she did."

"Walloped?" Robert's brow furrowed as he leveled his gaze on his wife in the corner of the room.

Lydia smiled. "There might have been a man I saved Peter from in the alley."

Robert's frown deepened. Damn her, she was trouble. And what frightened him to his core was that she just might be worth it.

No one had ever depended on Lydia for their welfare before. It warmed her heart to see looks of love and devotion in Petey and Penny's eyes whenever they saw her. She was determined to give them the life that she'd never had. One that didn't include her vicious father. One that didn't involve throngs of different men traipsing in and out of her mother's bedchambers. But one that was happy and safe.

What would it be like to care for a child of her own?

She made her way down the hallway toward the nursery to check in on the children, to make sure they were comfortable in their surroundings. When she stuck her head inside the room, she nearly gasped at the unexpected sight before her.

With an old book resting on his knee, Robert sat next to Peter's bed. The boy was fast asleep, snoring lightly, but Penny was curled up in the earl's lap and holding on to his neck cloth with her tiny hands. He whispered something to the child, and though Lydia couldn't hear what it was, the smile on the little girl's face made her wistful.

What a lovely scene of domesticity they all made.

# Chapter Five

Robert breakfasted alone, just as he'd dined alone the night before. Neither event was to his liking. Though he had his wife under his roof, she wasn't yet a part of his life. She'd spend the previous evening with the little scamps who had invaded his home, and this morning she was in the schoolroom—he hadn't remembered that he even had one—with Mrs. Hodges preparing the space for the children. He'd made it very clear that they wouldn't be staying in London long, but Lydia had insisted the room be operational while they were in Town.

He now sat—alone—in the library at his club, wearing a frown and reclining in an overstuffed leather chair. Ever since he'd spotted Lydia at his sister's ball, he'd been obsessed with getting her alone. She _was_ his wife after all, damn it. It should have been easy.

But she'd spent the first day in Berkeley Square sulking in her chambers, then racking up exorbitant charges at some French modiste, and finally procuring orphaned street urchins and installing them in his house. She had saved no time for him, and Robert was getting bloody well annoyed at that.

He'd given her time to sulk—that need was understandable. He had taken charge of her life and she needed time to adjust. Then he hadn't even batted at eye when the bill had arrived from Madam Fournier this morning. If he wasn't mistaken, his sister had charged a fair amount to him as well. He also hadn't complained when she'd spent every last waking hour fawning over his new _wards_. And how the devil had she talked him into that situation? Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that question. When she'd smiled at him, he would have given her anything. How infuriating _that_ was for him to realize—he'd never thought of himself as soft before.

And as he sat wallowing in self-pity, one thing was becoming perfectly clear to Robert—he needed to spend time with his wife. Alone. But how was he to orchestrate that?

He had just downed what was left of the whiskey in his glass, when the Earl of Clayworth's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Rob?"

Robert stood in greeting and nodded to his friend. "Afternoon, Bren."

Brendan took a seat opposite Robert's with a reluctant smile. "I wasn't sure if you'd actually show today."

Robert shrugged and fell back into his seat. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well now that your lovely wife has taken you back—"

"Taken me back!" What drivel was this? And from Brendan, of all people, who knew the whole sordid story in detail.

"Well, that's the word about Town. Thought you might want to know." Bren tossed that morning's _Mayfair Society Paper_ into Robert's lap.

Robert scanned the society rag. There was a blurb about Viscount S, who had reportedly exaggerated his war injuries to garner the sympathy from one of the Almack's patronesses; a mention of Lord B, a noted fortune hunter, who seemed to be _taken_ with the Duke of L's horse-faced daughter; and then he saw it.

_Speaking of horses, one can only wonder what the young, beautiful, and vivacious Lady M sees in her often staid, sometimes ruthless, and always horse-mad husband. However, it has not passed this author's notice, nor that of society in general, that her ladyship has apparently taken the equine-loving earl back into her heart. Mourning has started in clubs all across St. James Street, as many young bucks lament the loss of the beautiful countess to her own husband._

Robert re-read the column. Staid! Ruthless! Horse-mad! Well, all right he was that last one. He crumpled up the blasted paper and tossed it into the open grate, watching as it burst into flames.

Lydia had been in his life for less than three days and he was already in the gossip columns. Luckily the author hadn't spoken to Caroline, or else the term _beast_ would have been added to his litany of sins. What would be reported in the next column? _Ruthless Lord M opens orphanage for pint-sized pick-pockets_? The faster he got Lydia and their _wards_ into the country, the better.

Wait, wait, wait! What was that bit about young bucks lamenting the loss of the beautiful countess? The devil could take them all!

Lydia was pleased that Caroline had sent over a nurse for the children. Mrs. Norris was a plump, kind-faced, elderly woman, and Petey and Penny were won over almost instantly—though Lydia was certain the two pieces of wrapped lemon candy the nurse brought with her had eased the way. Still, the woman seemed to have a warm heart which was, in Lydia's mind, the most important thing.

With the children and nurse now installed in the schoolroom on the top floor, Lydia suddenly found herself alone in the parlor. Before she arrived at Masten House, she had been engrossed with the Mary Brunton novel, _Self-Control._ Everyone was talking about it in Town. While Lydia thought to herself that she should have been able to relate to the story's beleaguered heroine, who had been kidnapped, she was having a difficult time focusing on the book.

Her life had changed so quickly, in the blink of an eye, really. She had barely left James' house before she had come across Petey and Penny—and that meant she had successfully been able to avoid dealing with Robert's proposal. But now that her distractions were occupied with their nurse, it was time to consider her husband's wishes.

The idea of Robert holding her in his arms didn't bother her as much as it had before. He had been kind as of late—forcing her to live under his roof, notwithstanding. But he had agreed to let Petey and Penny stay with her. She hadn't had to put up nearly the fight she had anticipated. And he had seemed genuinely concerned for her safety when the full story of the burly man in the alley had come out. That was a bit endearing.

She had expected him to roar with fury when the bill from Madam Fournier had arrived this morning, but he'd merely shrugged and said he'd hoped that she like her new dresses when they arrived. If Caroline thought a shopping excursion would cause him to see red, she had been sadly mistaken.

Though at the moment, Lydia didn't necessarily want to make Robert see red. It would be much simpler for all involved if they could just find a way to deal well with each other. A week ago she wouldn't have thought such a thing was possible, but now...well, now she wasn't so sure. And the image of him with Penny in his lap had stayed with her most of the day. Perhaps there was more to her husband than she'd originally given him credit for.

So what did all of that mean? Would she give her consent to bear his children? Lydia didn't think she was quite prepared for that sort of intimacy. Not yet anyway, but...maybe.

A light scratch at the parlor door interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up from the novel. "Come."

Phelps stepped inside the parlor with a solemn look. "Lady Masten, his lordship would like for you to join him in his study."

"Thank you, Phelps." Lydia dropped her book in her seat and followed the butler from the room.

She had seen most of the house over the last two days but hadn't ventured this far into his private domain. However, once she entered it, the room was exactly what she would have expected—rich dark colors of forest green and burgundy. A large shelf lined the back wall, with scores of intimidating tomes. Robert was furiously scrawling something, seated at a strong mahogany desk that suited him perfectly. He was an imposing figure. Her heart leapt a bit as he ran a hand through his impeccable hair.

When she stepped further into the room, Robert closed his ledger and jerked to his feet. Stiffly, he gestured to a dark-colored upholstered chair across from his. "Ah, my lady, please."

He seemed troubled, as if the world rested on his shoulders. Almost immediately, Lydia felt trepidation set in. Quietly, she complied with his wishes and waited for him to speak.

"I wanted to inform you that we shall leave for Beckford Hall at first light tomorrow."

Lydia's mouth fell open. First light? She knew he was anxious to be rid of her and the children, but tomorrow? "But, Masten, we haven't yet hired a governess, and—"

"Tomorrow, Lydia. And since Caroline took care of the nurse, she can handle the governess as well. Besides the children aren't accompanying us."

What was he talking about? "You told me that I could take them with me."

He nodded in agreement. "We shall send for them once you are settled. But, since I don't know which estate you'll choose, it seems rather unkind to drag them across the countryside for days, maybe weeks at a time, don't you think?"

But not unkind to drag her across the countryside. And not unkind to force her to leave London against her will. And not unkind to give her no notice—but to expect her to leave at the crack of dawn, which, truthfully she'd never seen. Anger surged through her and she glared at him as she rose from her seat. "What I think, Masten, is that you're an overbearing brute."

His lips thinned into hard lines. "Don't start with theatrics. I told you from the beginning that we wouldn't be staying long. Don't blame me if you didn't think I meant it."

"Oh, I know you meant it," she spit out, nearly hysterical and pounding her fist on his desk. "You can't have your wanton wife in Town for more than a few days, can you? That wouldn't be wise, would it? There's no telling whose bed I might end up in! Isn't that right, Masten?"

Robert's brown eyes narrowed into cold, dark slits. "That's the long and short of it, yes. Now, prepare yourself for our evening at Drury Lane. And don't make me wait on you. I'll have no patience for any ill-mannered behavior tonight."

Lydia rushed from the room and up to her bedchamber. Whatever could she have been thinking that he was kind in any way? He was as controlling and cruel as ever. What a fool she'd been to think he was anything other than the overbearing brute she'd accused him of being.

_Y oung bucks lament the loss of the beautiful countess!_ That phrase had echoed throughout his mind ever since he'd read it. The author of that drivel was under the mistaken impression that Lydia had come to him willingly. They were far off the mark. Given half the chance, she would bolt. There was no question about it.

Still, he should have gone about their interview with more subtlety. Why had he dealt with her in so heavy-handed a way? Robert berated himself the remainder of the evening.

While he prepared for Drury Lane, he could tell that his valet, Kistler, was definitely put out with him. Robert had been unhappy with everything from the color of his waistcoat to the style of his cravat.

Did he want his wife to think ill of him? What did it matter? She did anyway—certainly after their conversation in his study.

As Kistler struggled to work an intricate knot with Robert's neckcloth, they were interrupted by a slight scratching at his lordship's door. Robert frowned at his reflection in the mirror. He was not looking forward to this night—especially not now that his wife was furious with him, and he did not need any bloody interruptions. "Come," he barked.

The heavy oak door opened and Phelps stood in the doorway with a silver salver. "My lord, you have a visitor. I've left him in the blue salon."

Robert shook off Kistler's hands and snatched the vellum card from Phelps' tray. _Mr. Alvin Cooper_. He read the name twice. Bow Street? What was a Bow Street Runner doing here? The earl frowned as he met his butler's eyes. "Has Lady Masten come down yet?"

"No, not yet, my lord."

Robert threw off the now ruined cravat from around his neck and took a new one offered by his harassed valet. With quick hands, he tied a mathematical and shrugged into his black coat. "I'll see to my guest. When my wife finally decides to show herself, direct her to the gold salon, Phelps."

"Of course, my lord," the butler nodded and slid from the room.

Kistler held out Robert's black beaver hat, with a look of exasperation. The fastidious valet was clearly annoyed with the earl's less than perfect appearance tonight, not that Robert gave a damn at the moment. With his entire life in complete disarray, he had no time to deal his temperamental gentleman's gentleman—especially with a Bow Street Runner waiting in his blue salon. Robert snatched the proffered hat and strode purposefully from the room.

What could Bow Street possibly want? It most likely had something to do with those little street urchins Lydia had brought home. What was she thinking bringing those scamps into his house? And now Bow Street was here! Good God, things were certainly going from bad to worse.

Once Robert reached the blue salon, he pushed open the door with a jab of pensiveness and stepped inside to meet the man from Bow Street. The runner was a portly, middle-aged, balding man with a bushy, brown mustache and small, black, scrutinizing eyes that looked at once remorseful when they landed on Robert.

"Mr. Cooper," Robert closed the gap between the two and gestured to himself. "I'm Masten."

Mr. Cooper nodded curtly in response. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you this evening, Lord Masten. But I do have some questions for you, if you don't mind."

It must be important to bring you out so late." Robert motioned for the runner to take a seat on the settee and then folded himself into a chair opposite him. "Is this about those little pick-pockets my wife brought home?"

Nonplussed, Mr. Cooper shook his head. "Pick-pockets, my lord?"

Peter and Penny or whatever their names are? The dirty little street urchins that are now residing under my roof?"

Again, the runner shook his head, though now with an apprehensive look. "I'm sorry, my lord, but no. I've come to inquire about your brother, Mr. Beckford."

The color drained from Robert's face. What the devil had Luke done now that would bring Bow Street to his door? Then a horrible thought entered his mind. Was his brother dead? Had his years of self indulgence and living on the fringe of polite society finally caught up with him? Luke was a scoundrel, to be sure, but... "What has happened?" Robert choked out.

After a deep breath, Mr. Cooper frowned and leaned forward. "I'm not sure if you're aware that there's been some jewelry theft in Mayfair."

Robert hadn't been back in London long, and while he was in Dorset, he certainly hadn't heard about any jewelry thieves in Mayfair. What had this to do with Luke? "I'm afraid not. We do have pick-pockets living here now, but they're just children. I am certain they couldn't pull off high-stakes jewel thefts in Berkeley Square."

Mr. Cooper cleared his throat and looked recalcitrant. "M'lord, I'm afraid you misunderstand me. Lord Ridgemont has high connections in the government."

None of this made any sense to Robert. Luke? Jewel thieves in Mayfair? Ridgemont's political connections? "Mr. Cooper, I beg you, pray come to the point of all this."

"Well, my lord, we would never accuse a gentleman—not without substantial proof, mind you—but Lady Ridgemont seems certain that Mr. Beckford has the emerald pendant in question."

"I beg your pardon."

The runner shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "She only wants the piece back, m'lord, and she would prefer Lord Ridgemont not learn who took it. If we can retrieve it soon, her ladyship can simply _discover that the piece had simply been mislaid_ —if you take my meaning."

"I'm afraid I don't."

Apparently tired of dancing around the subject, Mr. Cooper took one last frustrated breath. "May I be blunt, m'lord?"

"Please."

"According to Lady Ridgemont, Mr. Beckford was with her in _her chambers_ the last time she wore the pendant. I think you understand what I'm saying."

Robert cringed. He knew only too well what Mr. Cooper was saying. His depraved brother had bedded yet another peer's wife. Damn Luke to hell! Robert roughly rubbed his brow. "I'm afraid I do."

"When Lord Ridgemont discovered the pendant was missing, her ladyship didn't feel that she could tell him where it was, you see. And somehow Lord Ridgemont deduced that the item in question had been stolen and called in some favors to have Bow Street investigate.

"Lady Ridgemont confessed as much to me. So if she can just get the piece back, all will be fine. Lord Ridgemont will be satisfied. Lady Ridgemont can keep her husband from learning the truth, you and your family can be kept from scandal, and I can get back to investigating real crimes and not answering to the beck and call of some stiff-rumped nobleman...no offense, m'lord."

Robert stood and paced around the room with his hands clenched behind his back. "Are you certain my brother has the item in question, Mr. Cooper?"

"Lady Ridgemont is certain. I don't think she would have confessed the situation to me if she weren't."

Sadly, that made sense and Robert scowled as he shook his head. Damn Luke a million times over. "Will my brother not return it?"

Mr. Cooper scowled. "Unfortunately, m'lord, I cannot locate Mr. Beckford. He has not been at his apartments in Piccadilly for some time now."

Robert scoffed in response. "Well, if you think I can help you find the reprobate, you're sadly mistaken. I haven't laid eyes on my brother in more than a year." And only then because Luke had needed help getting out of yet another scrape.

Crestfallen, Mr. Cooper let his head fall back against the settee. "Will you contact me if you do hear from Mr. Beckford, m'lord?"

"Right after I strangle him, Mr. Cooper."

Immediately after the Bow Street Runner left, Robert went to the sideboard and poured himself a generous amount of whiskey. He drained it in one gulp. Why the devil would Luke take Lady Ridgemont's emerald pendant? And what the devil was _he_ supposed to do about the situation? Damn it! Would he be cleaning up his brother's messes for the rest of his life?

Robert left his glass on the sideboard with a thump and strode from the room. Without delay, he made his way to the gold salon, certain that his wife would not be ready—but would make him wait upon her for an indefinite amount of time, or refuse to attend at all. Truthfully, he deserved no better from her.

He threw open the door and stopped in his tracks. All thoughts of Luke vanished instantly from his mind. Not only was Lydia already waiting for him, she was breathtaking. Her fine reddish-blond hair was piled loosely on her head, with dainty little tendrils curling at the nape of her neck. He suddenly ached to remove her pins and run his fingers through the strands of her fire-hued hair. _To hell with Astwick and Drury Lane_. Lydia's midnight blue gown hung low across her delicate, alabaster shoulders and dipped provocatively at her bodice. God, but she was a lovely woman, this wife of his.

Robert couldn't help but gape at Lydia. He eyed her from top to bottom and back. When he finally stopped at her neckline, she blushed. "This is perfectly in style. Please don't tell me that I look like a harlot."

He winced. Had he really said such a disgraceful thing to her before? Robert was ashamed to realize that he had. Caroline was right—he was a beast. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, Lydia. Is this one of the new gowns?"

Lydia smiled, though it didn't quite seem to reach her eyes. "No, Masten, it will take a few weeks for everything I ordered to be finished."

Of course it would. He was such a dolt! No modiste he knew had dresses ready in a day—although with the prices Madam Fournier had charged...

What would she look like in the new dresses she'd ordered? Would they display her heavenly body the same way this midnight blue did? Would he get to see her in any of them? _Would she ever call him Robert again_?

# Chapter Six

When Robert and Lydia arrived at Drury Lane, they landed in a sea of other theatre-going couples. Bouncing ostrich plumes from bonnets and turbans of every color bobbed over the top of the crowd. Robert steered Lydia up the staircase and then down the corridor toward Lord Astwick's box.

From the moment they arrived, Robert noticed with some degree of displeasure that many of the passing gentlemen openly ogled his wife. They seemed unable to help themselves. Though Lydia paid them no attention. It was blatantly obvious that their leaving in the morning was the best thing for all involved.

"There you are!" Chet's loud voice reverberated off the walls. Within two strides they reached the marquess, who leaned toward Robert and whispered, "Thought you'd abandoned me. She's simply horrid this evening." Robert started to respond, but at that moment Chet noticed Lydia and his eyes danced. "You truly are a vision, Lady Masten."

She smiled. "Thank you, Lord Astwick."

Chet motioned to his mother, already in her seat. She was a tiny lady with silver hair, who looked nothing like her hearty son. "Mama, look who's arrived."

The widowed Lady Astwick looked through her lorgnette at the two guests and nodded courteously. "Good Evening, Masten."

Chet took Lydia's arm and smiled. "And, Mama, this is Robert's wife, Lady Masten."

Lady Astwick shot her son a look of stark disapproval. "The absentee wife? The one who prefers to live away from her husband? Doing God knows what?"

Embarrassed, Lydia looked at the floor. She had been in London a month, but no one had been so outwardly harsh toward her. Lady Astwick's displeasure was barely palpable. Lydia was surprised when Robert laid his hand protectively on her shoulder and smiled at the widow. "Lady Astwick, my wife does live in the country, but at my request. I'm very busy with my stables and not in London most of the time myself. She sees me more there than she would here, I assure you."

Lady Astwick looked the girl over and then turned back in her seat. "At least _he_ has a wife, Chester."

Chet threw his friend a rueful look and shrugged.

Lydia turned around to see Robert. It was so much easier to hate him when he was unkind. She smiled gratefully for his interference with Lady Astwick, and was surprised when he returned her smile.

"Here, my dear." Robert put his hand on the back of a seat. "You'll sit next to me." Then he reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Be brave, Lydia," he whispered. "Lord Masten doesn't hang his head in shame and Lady Masten won't either."

She nodded, but couldn't quite look at him.

Then Robert turned his attention to Chet and the two discussed some new horse breeding techniques that Robert's stable manager was working on at Gosling Park in Dorset. After a while, Chet looked past Robert and winked at Lydia. When she smiled in acknowledgement of the marquess' flirtation, Robert glowered at his friend.

In Lydia's opinion, it was a most trying night. She looked around the theatre at happy couples enjoying the performance and sighed. How she envied them! She would give anything to turn back time and keep herself far away from Luke Beckford. Her life could have been so different. Though she had despised her husband from the beginning, she couldn't blame _him_ for her actions all those years ago. She was the one that chose to follow Luke to his room. It was all her fault—everything that had happened afterward could all be laid at her door.

When intermission came, the two gentlemen stood to stretch their legs and Lydia was relieved. Walking around could do her some good as well.

As Lydia rose from her seat, Robert sternly shook his head. She was much safer in the box than walking about with all of those other men. "You should stay here, my dear. I'll bring you some refreshment."

Lydia feigned a smile and took her seat again. But Robert could tell she was annoyed. She sat with her spine perfectly straight, and didn't face him or say a word in response.

He walked the corridor with Chet, who wore a chastising look on his face. "Something you want to say?"

"Why did you make her stay there with _my_ mother? Awfully uncharitable of you, old man."

Robert continued his walk, shrugged, and remarked sardonically, "Sorry you can't continue your flirting with _my_ wife. Besides I think she's safer there."

Chet's laugh boomed throughout the hallway. "What do you think she's going to do, Rob? Take off with the first chap that looks at her?"

That wasn't far from what he thought at the moment, and he glanced back at his friend. "I wouldn't be surprised."

Chet laughed again and smacked Robert's back. "Well, then why don't you try being a little nicer to her. Perhaps you could convince her to stick around. Give her some incentive, Rob."

Robert frowned in annoyance. "Words of advice from a thirty-seven-year-old bachelor? I'm perfectly nice, thank you very much. And besides, I don't necessarily want her 'sticking around.'"

"Perfectly nice?" Chet's eyebrows rose in amusement. "You forget. I was there yesterday morning, Robert. You were a _perfect_ arse. Which reminds me, who won that argument anyway?"

"I did, of course." Robert increased his step. He had always done what was expected of him, but now his sister thought him a beast, gossip rags called him ruthless, and his oldest friend considered him a perfect arse. Bloody wonderful!

"Pity. I think I'd enjoy her staying in Town. She brightens up a room."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Robert admitted. She did indeed brighten up a room, even when she shot daggers at him with her eyes. "You should've seen the looks she got when we arrived here tonight."

"Well, she's young, Robert, and very pretty. You said so yourself. You're old, and stodgy, and set in your ways."

Robert furrowed his brow. "You and I are the same age. And I'm not stodgy." He'd had just about enough of everyone else's less than stellar opinions about his person.

Chet's eyes danced in amusement. "You are the epitome of stodginess, my friend. Poor Lady Masten, so young and beautiful and stuck with you. I think I'll have to add her to the list of ladies I _could_ have married."

Robert snorted. "Tell me, does that list have more than just Bethany Carteret's name on it? Perhaps you should stop looking at other men's wives, Chet. There are plenty of unattached ladies out there."

Chet's laugh boomed again. "Why do you think they're unattached? No one else wants them either."

Lord Haywood, a young, dandified gentleman who had just come into his title, approached them from the other direction. Immediately, Robert took note of the young fop, for two reasons. The first, upon the assumption of his title the new baron had also come into the possession of a stud Robert had kept his eye on for the last year. The second, and more pressing reason, was that Haywood was a known compatriot of Luke's. "Ah, Haywood, do you have a minute?"

Chet smiled devilishly at Robert and nodded to the young lord. "Take your time, will you, Haywood? I'm off to flirt with Masten's pretty wife."

For a large man, Chet was light on his feet and quickly dashed away before Robert could rebuke him properly. So instead, he adjusted his attention on the young baron and fixed him with a pointed stare. "Haywood, I'm looking for my brother. Have you seen him?"

"I'm not his keeper."

With a scowl that should have intimidated most, Robert leaned toward the younger man. "He'll turn up eventually. And when he does, please pass on my desire to meet with him."

"I'm at your service, Masten," Haywood retorted belligerently with all the bravado of a boy who didn't know who he was up against.

"See that you are." With a curt nod, Robert left the baron and went in search of wine for his wife. Instead, he caught the eye of someone else—someone he'd rather not see.

His evening only wanted for this—Mrs. Cecily Rigsley stood just a few feet away. His ex-mistress was resplendent this evening, but then she always was. Wearing a simple gown of shimmering gold, Cecily's dark eyes sparkled mischievously and her brown ringlets bounced as she stepped toward Robert. She opened her arms wide in greeting him. "My dear Lord Masten, how wonderful to see you."

With a curt nod of acknowledgement, Robert made the attempt to step past his one-time lover. But Cecily was not to be ignored. She snatched his arm and made him face her. "Trying to escape, Robert? So unlike you."

"What do you want, Mrs. Rigsley?"

When Cecily pouted in response, Robert cringed. Had he ever found her attempted seductive looks attractive?

"Now I'm Mrs. Rigsley? After everything, Robert?"

Robert pried her fingers from his arm. "You are the one who left me. How is Audley, by the way?"

Cecily folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips. "You are cruel, Robert, not to forgive me. Is that bit of muslin in Astwick's box my replacement? She doesn't seem your sort."

With his jaw hardened and his eyes steely, Robert leaned in toward Cecily. "The days when my comings and goings were your business are no longer. I've already told you, but apparently you're having a difficult time remembering. You're not under my protection, nor shall you ever be again. Stay out of my way."

Cecily narrowed her eyes and her nostrils flared. "You will regret making an enemy of me, Robert."

"My dear Mrs. Rigsley, I already regret ever having known you." With that, he tipped his head and strode purposefully back toward Astwick's box, Lydia's wine long forgotten.

Alone with the sulking Lady Astwick, Lydia thought about her ride from Berkeley Square to Drury Lane with her husband. Robert had drilled into her what behavior he expected that night. She'd said nothing, just stewed in her seat with irritation brimming over. She was his wife and her actions would reflect upon him, he'd lectured. He expected her to be polite, courteous, and ladylike. She shook her head in annoyance. She _was_ all those things, and didn't need direction from him on how to behave in public.

Now she'd been abandoned to sit alone with the discourteous Lady Astwick. Lydia was certain the dowager didn't like her, though she couldn't imagine what she'd done to create such hostility in the older woman. But if she could win the old dragon over, perhaps Robert would see that she didn't need his directives. She turned in her seat and smiled at Lady Astwick. "What a delightful evening. Thank you so much for having us."

The widow looked her up and down, grimaced, and then turned her attention back to the audience below them. "Humph."

_Lady Masten will not hang her head in shame_ , Lydia reminded herself. She looked toward the stage, determined to hold herself high. "It's been so long since I've been to the theatre, though I've always enjoyed it," she continued lightly, not willing to give up on Lady Astwick yet. However, the widow ignored her completely and Lydia felt very small.

When Chet finally returned to the box, Lydia was delighted for his company. He walked past his mother and instead of sitting next to her, he took Robert's seat and affectionately took Lydia's hand. "I'm truly glad you came this evening, my lady."

"Thank you, Lord Astwick." Lydia blushed. She wasn't sure how Robert would feel about his friend holding her hand, but she didn't remove it. It was nice to have someone look at her kindly.

"So, what do you think of London, my dear?"

"I love it," Lydia gushed. How nice to be asked what she thought and not be dictated to. "But I grew up here, sir. It's just been such a long time since I was home."

Chet smiled. "I didn't know you were from London. I should have scooped you up long before Robert had the chance."

Lady Astwick looked at the pair disdainfully and barked at her son, "Chester, why don't you leave Masten's wife alone?"

Chet winked at Lydia. "I'm asking Lady Masten if she has any pretty friends, Mama."

As Lydia giggled, Lady Astwick stood up and glowered at her son. "I don't think any of _her_ friends would be acceptable, Chester. Masten can say anything he wants to. I know why he married her and stashed her away in Cheshire. They found her with that brother of his. She's a whore."

And just that fast, Lydia was completely mortified. She was stunned, speechless, and could feel her face turning red.

Chet glared back at his mother, but before he could reply, Robert barked angrily from the doorway of the box, "Lady Astwick! That is quite enough! How dare you? If you were a man, we'd be meeting at dawn."

Without hesitation, Lydia turned back to see her husband, staring furiously at her attacker. He glanced at her and then continued. "I don't know where you get your information from, ma'am, but it is incorrect. And I won't allow you to disparage my wife any longer. Come, Lydia, we're going home."

Quickly leaving her seat, Lydia rushed to her husband's side. He put a possessive arm around her waist and she kept her head high, though she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. People in other boxes were starting to watch the drama unfold, and her heart pounded ruthlessly.

Robert continued to eye the widow with contempt. "After you apologize to my wife, and _if_ you think you can keep a civil tongue in your head, I may consider forgiving your outrageous behavior."

Without a look back, Robert led Lydia from the box, down the stairs, and out to his phaeton. Lydia barely noticed the blur of people that they'd shot past or the whispering that had started in their wake. Perhaps Robert was right, she might be better off in the country. She certainly didn't need termagants like Lady Astwick in her life.

How did the old woman know of her circumstances?

She had so loved being in London again. But now, for the first time since she'd arrived, she was wishing she'd stayed at Blackstone. It may have been a prison but at least it was a safe prison.

As they traveled along Piccadilly, she realized that Robert hadn't uttered a single word to her since they'd left the theatre. She watched quietly as her husband expertly steered his horses through town. His face was still hardened, his jaw firmly set. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had come to her defense. She touched his arm. "Thank you. You didn't need to do that."

"No one speaks ill of a Beckford." He didn't take his eyes off the road and Lydia's heart sank further in her chest.

_No, of course they don't_ , she thought miserably. It was all about _his_ name. It was only ever about his name. He'd explained all of that to her long ago. It was foolish of her to think he defended her for any other reason. She sighed, clasped both hands in her lap, and was determined not to speak the rest of the way. Once they were at Berkeley Square, she could retire to her room and finally seek the peace she'd needed all afternoon.

Robert ended the awkward silence when he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry you had to experience that, Lydia."

"It's nothing you haven't said to me yourself, Robert," she remarked somberly as she watched the city go by, wanting to be anywhere else at the moment but by his side.

He frowned as he kept his eyes on the horses he controlled. "Well, that's different."

_But not untrue_. She smiled sadly as his home came into view. But she would not cry. She was determined to never let him know how his words had hurt her.

He stopped the horses in front of the house. Lydia hopped down unassisted and started for the front door.

"Lydia!" he called after her and handed the reins to his quickly approaching footman.

She stopped but didn't face him. "Yes, my lord?"

He came up behind her and spun her around to look at him, staring intently at her for a long moment before speaking. "You kept your head high. Thank you."

She smiled half-heartedly. "I believe those were your orders, Masten."

"Yes, they were." His voice was raspy and she could feel his breath on her cheek. Tenderly, he ran his thumb over her chin and held her gaze with his smoldering brown eyes. For a fleeting moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but then he released his hold on her arms and nodded coolly. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Very well." Lydia turned back toward the house and raced up front stairs.

Phelps opened the door and she slid past him without a word, then climbed the stairs to her chambers.

As Robert watched her go. His heart sank, though he wasn't sure why. He'd held her in disregard for as long as he'd known her. She was right. He had called her a whore, among other things. And for the first time, he felt remorse for that. Hearing Lady Astwick's acidic words had made hot lava race through his veins. Being reminded that he'd said the same things to her, once upon a time, made him cringe. Chet was right, he was an arse.

What really had his mind swimming was that he'd nearly kissed her outside in front of the house—out in the open for anyone to see. But she'd looked so hurt and he wanted to take that away from her, any way he could. But she wouldn't thank him for that. His affections were the last thing Lydia wanted at the moment.

He exchanged salutations with Phelps and then ascended the staircase to his chambers. Kistler was waiting to undress him, but Robert waived the man off for the night. He needed to be alone.

Robert paced back and forth across his room, finally stopping at the connecting door that led to his wife's chambers. With a heavy sigh, he placed his open palm against the door. What he wanted was to knock and for her to let him in, but instead he just stood there and rested his head against the doorframe.

What was it about his wife that drove him to distraction? In the last two days he'd felt more alive than he had in years. There was something about Lydia that made his emotions run wild, and that was a bit disconcerting.

When Lady Astwick had spewed her venom, Robert had been overcome with the desire to protect his wife, to keep her safe from the cruel and harsh world—and not for his sake, but for hers. However she'd never believe that, not after the awful things he'd said to her. He barely believed it himself.

Finally deciding against knocking on her door, Robert went to his study and began sorting through his estates' accounts. He hadn't planned on leaving London so soon, but the emergence of his wife had left him little choice. With the evening's events laying heavily on his mind, he couldn't think straight and finally just dumped everything into a valise. He'd sort everything out once they got to Beckford Hall.

Then there was a soft knock at his door. "Yes?"

The butler pushed the door open and nodded stiffly. "Lord Astwick is here to see you, milord."

Robert sighed. "Very well, send him back, Phelps."

Soon, Chet walked through the door with a sheepish expression. "I don't even know what to say, Rob, except I'm completely mortified."

"Well, that makes three of us." Robert leaned back in his chair and motioned for Chet to take a seat across from him.

"I swear to you, I had no idea she knew your circumstances. She certainly didn't learn of them from me." Chet crossed the room and sat opposite Robert, leaning forward on his desk. "After you left, I told her that her accusations were completely false. That you would have told _me_ if any of that drivel had been true. I warned her against spreading any untrue stories about Lady Masten."

Robert smiled half-heartedly, not that it meant anything now. The damage was done. "That was kind of you. But I'm sure she learned of it from the late Lady Staveley. I seem to remember they were great friends before she passed on."

"Yes, they were," Chet agreed remorsefully. "That must be where she got it from. God, if I'd known she was going to behave that way..."

Robert dismissed his friend's remarks with a gesture of his hand. "It's over now, Chet. Actually, I think it will make it easier for Lydia to leave London tomorrow."

"Lydia, is it?" Chet finally grinned. "Don't think I've ever heard you call her that before tonight."

Robert smiled. It was a pretty name, just like she was. He caught himself from revealing too much and cleared his throat. "Well, we'll be spending more time with each other. So..."

With a conspiratorial grin, Chet leaned forward. "More time with your pretty wife? Good for you, Rob. I suspected all along, of course. Though Bren thought I was daft. But I was sure, mind you."

"Sure about what?" Robert frowned uneasily.

"That you're enamored with your wife. Don't you think it's odd that out of all the women at Staveley's, Lydia is the one who caught your attention? And you raised heaven and hell to get her back under your roof, don't bother to deny it. So the question is, my friend, are you going to make a real marriage of it?"

Anxiously, Robert stood and walked around his desk. What was a real marriage? What he and Lydia had for the preceding five years was more harmonious than a number of 'real marriages' in Mayfair. But he knew what Chet really meant. "No, though we are discussing my need for an heir, other than Luke."

Chet's booming laugh bounced off the study walls. "Call it what you want, Rob. But once you've had that beautiful lady in your bed, I don't see you walking away from her. In fact, I'll be disappointed if you do."

Robert laughed this time. "You do have an active imagination, Astwick. 'That beautiful lady' holds me in as much contempt as I do her. It will be a miracle if we're actually able to conceive without killing each other, and then, God-willing, let it be a boy so we don't have to go through the entire process again."

Tears formed in Chet's eyes and his face turned red as he held in a laugh. "I know you, Robert. And you're going to enjoy the entire process enough to do it over and over. You'll have a whole bloody brood. Damn, I'm jealous."

"Well, go be jealous somewhere else, will you? We're leaving in the morning and I've got to get my work in order."

After another good natured jab, Chet left and Robert sank back into his chair. He still couldn't get the hurt look on Lydia's face out of his mind. Why did Lady Astwick have to be such a dragon?

# Chapter Seven

Robert got very little sleep that night and was relieved when morning finally came. He shaved and dressed quickly before tapping on the connecting door to Lydia's chamber. She didn't respond, so he pushed it open and peered inside. "Lydia, we're leaving within the hour. Get up."

Without opening her eyes or saying a word, she reached blindly for a pillow and threw it at the door.

Robert smirked. "Very amusing. But honestly it's time to get up. I'll be back for you soon."

He went down to breakfast and enjoyed black coffee, poached eggs, and toast. He made sure that everything had been loaded onto his coach, sent letters off to Caroline about the need for a governess and to Luke about a missing emerald pendant, and then he climbed the stairs back to his wife's room. As before, there was no answer to his knock.

When Robert opened the door, he couldn't believe that she was still sleeping and hadn't moved an inch since he'd left her. Patience wasn't really his strong suit, but truly this couldn't be tolerated. He strode across the room and ripped the covers off her.

He wasn't quite sure what he expected to find, but a prudish, cream-colored, muslin nightrail that buttoned to the top of her neck and made her look like a Quaker wasn't what he had in mind. At the moment, she didn't seem at all like the harlot he'd always thought of her as. "Lydia, we need to leave."

"Go away." She reached in vain for the covers at her feet.

Robert sat next to her on the bed and gently touched her cheek. "Come on, my dear, it's time to get up."

Lydia opened one eye and grimaced. "I am sleeping, Masten. Leave me alone." Then she rolled over, giving him her back.

With a sly grin, Robert bent down to her ear and whispered, "If you don't get up, then I'm going to climb in there with you."

Both of Lydia's eyes flew open and she looked back at him in shock. "You wouldn't dare."

Robert pretended to loosen his cravat and then chuckled at her aghast expression. With a roguish grin, he chucked her under the chin. "Perfect, you're awake. We're leaving in ten minutes. Be ready to go."

She sat bolt upright at that, and glared at him. "Ten minutes! I can't possibly—"

"Then you should keep that in mind tomorrow morning and get up the first time I ask you. Ten minutes, Lydia. We're on a schedule."

Robert's schedule meant very little to Lydia. She washed and dressed in her usual speed. Then she made a trip to the schoolroom to kiss both Petey and Penny goodbye. When she saw tears in the boy's eyes, she gently wiped them away and promised him that she would find the perfect place for the three of them to live.

Penny looked sad at that. "Wot 'bout Lor' Masten? Won' 'e be with us too?"

Lydia shook her head. "No, my dear, Lord Masten will not live with us."

"Why not?" Penny's little lip trembled. "Is it 'cause o' me an' Petey?"

Did the child actually have tender feelings for the rigid and overbearing earl? Lydia was surprised at that, but tried to explain the situation as best as she could. "No, of course not. It's just that his lordship is very busy with his stables. But he will visit us every now and then." Especially if they had children of their own. He'd probably be around more than she'd like.

"Oh." Penny nodded understandingly. "Petey don' like 'orses."

Lydia smoothed Penny's brown hair off her face and kissed the little girl's forehead. "We'll make do, Penny."

Then she kissed Petey as well and retrieved promises from both children to listen to Mrs. Norris and be on their best behavior. She said a few parting words to the nurse and then went down to breakfast.

She didn't get to eat.

With his arms folded across his chest in the breakfast room, Robert wore an irritated scowl. "I told you 'ten minutes' well over an hour ago."

"Well, that was just simply not enough time. Besides I needed to say goodbye to the children and reassure them that I wasn't abandoning them."

His dark mood didn't appear to be appeased by this bit of information. He rushed her out the front door to his awaiting carriage without breakfast. Lydia fumed, but Robert seemed unconcerned about her anger. She folded her arms across her chest and sulked as she rested her head against the window and finally fell back asleep.

She could not possibly be comfortable in that position. Robert moved from his spot and took the seat beside her. Tenderly, he moved Lydia to his arms and held her. He had to be more comfortable than the wall.

She looked like an angel as he gazed down at her peaceful, sleeping face. Her hair smelled like gardenias and he wanted to pull out her pins and feel it fall about his arms, though to do so he was sure he'd wake her. She wouldn't be happy to find him messing with her hair. Robert breathed in her scent and smiled to himself. She had certainly grown up in the last five years.

As her weight rested against him, he soothingly stroked her arm and then fell asleep himself. When he woke up, she was sitting across the coach from him again, but now knitting. He stretched and yawned, and she smiled at him from her seat. "Sleep well, Masten?"

"What happened to Robert?"

" _Robert_ shouldn't wake me up in the mornings." She smiled and her light blue eyes twinkled at him.

"Oh!" He laughed and returned her smile. "You're punishing me. Well, my lady, it will take more than that." He watched her knit, intrigued. He'd spent little time thinking about her over the years, but when he did, he never envisioned her knitting—or saving little orphaned pick-pockets for that matter. "What are you making?"

Lydia briefly met his eyes and then refocused on her yarn and needles. "Socks for my brother."

Brother?

Robert tilted his head toward her with a raised brow. "You have a brother?"

This time Lydia didn't look up from her work, but she smiled. Her voice was soft and musical. "Yes, Masten. I'm guessing there are many things we don't know about each other."

He watched the yarn fly quickly over her needles and decided she must be right. "Who is he, your brother?"

She continued working. "Henry's a lieutenant in the navy, and he holds me in as much esteem as you do. I'm sure you could beat me liberally and he wouldn't lift a finger to stop you."

Robert frowned. That was an awful thing to say. Did she really think he wanted to hurt her? He hadn't necessarily been kind over the years, but he'd never harmed her. "And yet you're making him socks?"

Lydia dropped her needles to her lap and looked across at her husband with a sorrowful expression. "I'm all he has left in the world."

Sobering words, to be sure. Her brother hated her, but she had kept him in her heart. The same could not be said for Robert. He had seen Luke only a handful of times in the last few years, and never had he openly admitted to caring about the reprobate. "I'm thinking there are sides to you I know nothing about, Lydia. Pretend like we've just met and tell me who you are."

Lydia blushed, apparently unaccustomed to his attention. "Nothing much to tell, Masten. My father was in the navy and gone most of the time. My mother was afraid of her own shadow, and I have an older brother who once upon a time loved me. He used to protect me. Papa died from injuries he received in the Battle of Aboukir Bay, and Mama died when I was barely nine. Aunt Agnes took me in then and..." Lydia smiled at the memory. "Well, then my life was peaceful, more so than it had ever been anyway."

"Was it?" He liked it when she smiled.

"My cousins, James and Hannah, were both gone by then. Aunt Agnes was alone and so was I. She doted on me and for the first time in my life I felt truly safe." She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall of the coach. "I was her constant companion, which is how I found myself at Staveley's years later. And you know the rest."

"Luke." Robert frowned. It was bothering him more and more that his brother had ever touched her.

"Yes." She picked her needles back up and worked quickly.

"But why?" Robert asked. In the time he'd spent with her over the last few days, she didn't seem at all like the wanton little thing he'd thought her to be. "What was it about _my_ brother?"

She wouldn't look at him and stayed focused on her yarn, but she blushed from head to toe.

"Lydia?" he prodded.

"You don't want to hear about that."

He crossed the carriage to her side and placed his hands over her needles until she met his gaze. "Tell me." He had to know.

She swallowed hard and her shoulders sank. "He looked at me, Robert, like he could see into my soul. I felt safe with him. He showered me with attention and affection. Was there ever anyone more charming? I honestly think your brother could sell wool to a sheep farmer."

Robert thought about her words. She was right. When his brother wished it, he could be the most charming of men.

"And when he kissed me..." She looked down at her hands, unable to meet his eyes any longer. "Well, what you've always said about me is true, Robert. I would've done whatever he asked of me."

Robert studied her face and saw pain reflected there. _She had loved Luke._ It was as plain as day. That thought was sobering. Did she still harbor feelings for his degenerate brother? "Found the man of your dreams and instead got saddled with his stodgy brother, who takes every opportunity to remind you of your indiscretion."

Lydia's eyes rose in mild amusement. "Are you stodgy?"

He laughed, happy to break the tension and to see a twinkle back in her eyes. "Chet says I am. Astwick, that is."

"I like him." Lydia smiled and Robert loved the look on her face. "He has an infectious laugh and puts me at ease."

"He likes you too. You should smile more often, Lydia. Your eyes light up when you do."

Suddenly, they were thrown in the air when their carriage wheel found a hole in the road. Lydia fell to the floor of the coach and heard Robert yell out in surprised pain, "Ahh!"

Gaining her senses, Lydia turned in his direction and stared in horror at one of her knitting needles protruding out of his shoulder. "Robert!"

He sank back in the seat and pulled the needle out of his arm. Lydia tried to catch her breath as his shoulder dampened with blood. She knelt at his side to examine the wound, but Robert was attempting to remove his neckcloth and jacket. "Let me," Lydia insisted.

She undid his knot and pulled his arms through his jacket sleeves. She dropped his unwanted clothes to the floor by her side. Robert pulled his shirt over his head. Lydia gently placed her hands around the wound and tried to judge the damage.

Though he could feel his blood pounding toward the hole in his shoulder, her hands brought with them a soothing comfort. He hardened from just her simple touch on his naked skin. It was annoying to discover that his body could betray him at a time like this. "It's just a flesh wound," Robert barked and tried to shake her off.

"Stop moving, Robert, and let me look." After a few moments of examination, she slid her dress up and ripped off a long muslin section of her petticoat.

Robert watched her breathlessly, relieved she hadn't noticed his arousal. He should be focused on his throbbing arm, but instead he hid a smile when she turned back to face him with a strip of fabric. She pressed the material to his wound and then wound the rest of the muslin around his arm. He decided almost despite himself, that the pain was well worth having her hands on his skin and the attention she gave him.

"I'm perfectly fine, Lydia," he insisted, more softly this time. When she met his gaze, he winked at her and then pounded the top of the carriage for the driver. "Watch the holes, Henderson, my wife's going to skewer me down here."

"Oh, Robert, I'm _so_ sorry." Her face was still pale, but he couldn't help but grin at her.

"You know, my dear, I'm fairly flush in the pockets, and I'll be more than happy to allot up to a thousand pounds a year toward socks for Lieutenant Warner. Just put those damned things away, will you?"

She nodded quickly and threw her yarn and needles back into her valise. The color started to return to her face and she looked sheepishly at her husband. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes." He smiled at her and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Lucky, I had such a quick thinking nurse."

Why was he smiling at her? Considering the fact that he hated her and she'd plunged a knitting needle into his shoulder, he should have been seething. The Robert Beckford she'd known up until now would have been. Had he hit his head on the wall of the coach? His smile was completely disarming. It made him seem approachable and...appealing. "You wouldn't have been injured in the first place if it wasn't for me."

"True," he conceded, and his smile grew larger. "But then we wouldn't have this tale to tell our children one day."

Our children?

"Are you really serious about this, Robert?"Her throat began to close in on her.

He nodded without hesitation. "The more I've thought of it, the more it makes sense. I have no faith in my brother, Lydia. I wouldn't be a good steward of my title to let it fall into his hands."

None of that really made any sense to her, though it sounded like it meant something to him. Still it didn't seem like a good reason to bring a child into the world— spitefulness. "Perhaps he will surprise you after all and be worthy."

Robert scoffed at that and shook his head. "If he was going to do that, he'd have done it long before now. I promise to be a very generous father, Lydia."

She tilted her head and frowned. Generous? Children needed more than generosity. There was such a difference in the way she was reared and the way she saw James rearing his children, the way she wanted to rear Petey and Penny. In the Carteret home, despite paint-covered morning rooms and the usual squabbles between siblings, the children's lives were very peaceful. They didn't have any of the anxiety she had grown up with.

Robert's expression was curious and he gently touched her chin. "You don't believe I'll be generous?"

He was so close to her and still shirtless—impressively so. His warm hand on her chin made her blush. She tried to smile and shook her head. "Oh, I have no doubt that you would be, my lord, but—" she retrieved his shirt from the floor and handed it to him— "the happiest children are those who are loved, not those who are needed for some other purpose."

She could feel him studying her face and he threw his shirt back on. "You think I'm not capable of love then, Lydia?"

How should she respond to that? She had never seen any kind of love from him. Only kindness on occasion. "Could you possibly love a child and despise his mother at the same time?"

He frowned and leaned in close to her, tugging up at her chin to meet his eyes. "Lydia, we didn't marry under the most suitable of circumstances and I have been less than kind to you over the years, but you are growing on me and I certainly don't despise you."

She wasn't convinced of his sincerity and moved back to her side of the coach. "Growing on you? Not really the basis for starting a family."

"Well, I'm certainly not in love with you," Robert admitted. "But I'm finding that I like you, Lydia. That's better than a lot of people have."

_He liked her_? She never would have guessed that, not in a million years. But his words were true. Not everyone's parents liked each other. She didn't believe hers had ever gotten along, yet they had three children. But did she trust Robert? Nothing from the last five years demonstrated that she should. She leaned against the velvet squabs and let the rocking motion of the carriage send her back to sleep.

# Chapter Eight

When Lydia awoke it was dark outside. The carriage wasn't moving and she was alone. As she tried to orient herself, she could hear angry male voices nearby. One of them sounded like Robert's.

She rubbed her eyes, opened the carriage door, and let herself down onto the ground. They were in front of a small inn with a hinged sign blowing in the wind. The Fox and The Hare. It seemed like a quaint little place. Lydia looked up at Henderson in the coachman's box and the driver shrugged. "I wouldn't go in there, Lady Masten."

But the voices were growing louder. She followed their sounds into the spacious taproom. Lydia stood cautiously in the doorway as she surmised the situation.

Robert was glowering at an old man. She deduced by his attire and apron that he must be the innkeeper. Though he was much smaller than her husband, he held his own with a proud stance.

Lydia scanned the room with her eyes. Some patrons were passed out across their tables, some were seated at the bar, and some had been playing cards in the far corner, but at the moment, all awake eyes were fixed firmly on her husband.

Robert would probably be angry if she was to interfere, but she could tell that the odds weren't in his favor. The other patrons, who didn't look too far off from highwaymen, stared at her husband with obvious distaste. She was well familiar with his arrogance. He'd probably already said something that had insulted the entire room. She didn't have a choice.

Tentatively, she crossed the threshold of the taproom and started for her husband's side. Her entrance caused several men to look in her direction. Sly grins crossed a few of their faces. Lydia chose to ignore them, but she did clutch her shawl a bit more tightly around her shoulders in response.

Robert hadn't noticed her. He continued to glare furiously at the innkeeper. "Well, that's not acceptable," he muttered through clenched teeth.

Obviously exasperated with the earl, the innkeeper shook his head wearily. "Milord, don't you think that if I had it, I'd give it to you?"

Lydia reached Robert's side and she tugged lightly on his arm. Though she was afraid to ask what the trouble was, she hoped her presence could help alleviate it. Her husband's eyes were ablaze as he stared down the man before him. She'd seen that look before, and she was impressed that the innkeeper could withstand the heat.

With the pressure of her on his arm, Robert glanced down and saw Lydia's frightened expression. Almost immediately, his face softened. "You're awake? I'm sorry, my dear, but this man tells me there are no rooms to be had."

"Oh." Lydia smiled kindly at the elderly innkeeper. If he had no rooms, there was nothing he could do about it. He certainly couldn't build onto his establishment in the next few minutes to accommodate them.

The innkeeper stammered apologetically and seemed to appreciate her understanding smile. "I—I am sorry, Lady Masten. Our rooms are all taken. There's a hunt in town, you see."

"Well, you certainly can't give us something you don't have," she offered softly.

The innkeeper smiled appreciatively. Robert watched the interaction with his brow raised in interest.

Lydia continued, "We completely understand, Mr...?"

"Cass." The innkeeper nearly blushed.

Lydia smiled sweetly. "We do understand, Mr. Cass, but if you were us, sir, what would _you_ do? We do need a place to stay for the night."

One of the inebriated men at the bar called to her, "You can always stay with me tonight, sweeting. I'll keep ye nice an' warm."

There were several other drunken seconds to that motion, until Robert shot the chorus of men a look that could kill. "Watch your tongues in front of my wife!" he snapped.

Lydia tightened her grip on her husband's arm, willing him to keep his temper. If they made a scene, any help the innkeeper could offer would be non-existent. But it was the second time in as many days he'd come to her defense and she smiled gratefully up at him.

"Mind yer manners. Don't speak to her ladyship like that, or ye'll all be out!" the innkeeper barked to the man at the bar and then frowned, looking to the ceiling as if waiting for holy intervention. It was apparent he didn't wish to disappoint the countess, and then his face brightened. "My wife's sister has a house in the village. Her daughter got herself married last weekend. I could see if she'd let you have her extra room for the night."

Lydia smiled. "Oh, sir, that would be lovely. We would be most appreciative. Wouldn't we, my lord?"

The innkeeper puffed out his chest and grinned at her.

Robert continued to frown at the innkeeper, until Lydia pinched his arm. "Yes, most appreciative," he said, echoing her sentiments.

Mr. Cass nodded obligingly. "Very well. Why don't you have a seat while I sort out the details for this evening with Mrs. Thompson? We've got some meat pie this evening. Mrs. Cass makes the best in Bedfordshire. And when you're finished, I'll be back to take you to my sister-in-law's." Then he glanced with irritation at Robert. "You're welcome to have some too, milord. And, no, I don't have a private parlor available either."

Robert grimaced back, but then straightened up when Lydia's pleading look begged him to behave.

With the situation settled, the patrons went back about their business, grumbling a little with disappointment that there hadn't been a brawl to entertain them. A few eyed Lydia from top to bottom, but as they'd all witnessed Robert's temper with the innkeeper, none made the mistake of addressing her again.

Mr. Cass made his way from the room and Robert possessively slid his arm around Lydia's shoulder. When she met his eyes, she was surprised to see amazement and a slight grin on his face.

"I think our innkeeper is smitten with you, as are all these other ruffians."

"Robert!" She blushed as if she could read his mind. She certainly hadn't flirted with the innkeeper. The man was old enough to be her grandfather. And she hadn't encouraged any of the other men in the establishment either. Would he always think the worst of her?

"Not that I can blame any of them, my dear." Robert's grin widened. "I doubt that ladies as lovely as you find their way to The Fox and The Hare on a regular basis."

Lydia gulped. He now seemed to be looking at her with admiration. No one would ever believe that. She was having a hard time believing it herself. Robert Beckford of all people!

_Watch yourself, Lydia. He may not despise you, but he could certainly never love you. You know exactly who this man is. Don't be a fool._ But despite herself, she enjoyed the warm glow in his brown eyes anyway.

Soon a short, plump woman wearing an apron entered the room carrying two mincemeat pies. "Hugh said you two looked hungry." She put the pies on an empty table and added some tankards from the bar.

"Thank you." Lydia smiled gratefully and the woman returned her look with a warm wink.

The innkeeper was right. Nothing had ever tasted as wonderful as the pie Mrs. Cass had placed before them. Of course, Lydia was particularly famished. She had left without breakfast that morning, and lunch had been light. She didn't look up at Robert the entire time at the table, too afraid of what his eyes would say to her.

When the innkeeper returned and dinner was finished, they followed him down a small path to his sister-in-law's home. It wasn't far away and the light in the window looked inviting, especially after spending the day in a cramped traveling coach. After short introductions to Mrs. Thompson, Lydia smiled back at the elderly innkeeper. "Thank you so much, sir. But if I may trouble you for one more thing tonight..."

"Certainly, milady, if it's in my power." A light blush settled on the innkeeper's cheeks.

"Is there a doctor in the area?"

Mrs. Thompson looked concerned and nodded her head. "Doc Fisher is just down the road. Is something the matter, dearie?"

"We had a slight accident today, and I'd like someone who knew what they were doing to take a look at my husband's arm."

"Lydia," Robert grumbled, "I'm perfectly fine."

The innkeeper shot Robert a look of annoyance, but Lydia pressed on. "I think the pain's made him rather grumpy. Please forgive him."

With an obliging look, the innkeeper nodded and started down the road. "Of course, milady. I'll find 'im for ye."

Mrs. Thompson led Lydia and Robert to a small room on the top floor of her quaint home and left them with a reassuring smile. "I'm sure Doc Fisher will be right over, dear."

Their hostess closed the door and Lydia turned around to see Robert frowning at her. "That really wasn't necessary, Lydia."

"As I'm the one who found us a place to stay for the night, you'll just have to humor me," she cooed back. Satisfied with her small victory, she plopped down on the feather bed. Almost instantly, she looked around the room and then realized, with a touch of anxiety, that she would be sharing _this_ bed with her husband the entire night. Not in five years of marriage had they shared a bedchamber.

Robert smirked at her, and she was certain he could read her thoughts. "No, not a big room is it? I could always offer to sleep on the floor, Lydia, but my arm..."

She threw a pillow at him. "I thought you were 'perfectly fine.'"

With a charming laugh, he teased her. "Now that you mention it, my arm is very tender. The floor would only make it worse. You've developed quite a habit of throwing pillows at me, my dear."

"Be glad I don't have rocks."

He sat on the other side of the bed and grinned. "I'll count my blessings. Anyway, we'll be sharing a bed soon enough as it is. And, unlike my brother, I _can_ control myself. You'll be safe enough tonight."

_Safe enough? What did he mean by that?_

There was a sharp knock at the door and Robert opened it, letting Doctor Fisher into the room. Lydia had no expectations about what the doctor would look like, but apparently Robert did. She noticed that her husband frowned at the handsome, young, black-haired man with wire-rimmed spectacles carrying a doctor's bag. Did Robert think the man too young to be a doctor? With a pensive look, Robert met his wife's eyes.

"You're Doctor Fisher?" Robert asked with a disbelieving tone.

The young doctor smiled a handsome grin. "Aye. Mr. Cass said you've had some sort of an accident?"

"My wife won't let me have any peace until someone takes a look at it." When Robert started removing his jacket and blood-stained shirt, Lydia found herself staring at his magnificently sculpted chest. She blushed profusely and went to the window to look outside—anywhere but at her gloriously half-naked husband.

"What happened here?" she heard the doctor say in surprise and she turned around, worried that the injury was worse than Robert had let on.

Her husband was sitting on the bed and the doctor began removing the strip of petticoat she had wound around Robert's arm.

Robert winked at her and grinned mischievously. "My wife stabbed me with a knitting needle. Can you believe that? I've married a shrew."

"Masten!" She was appalled that he would say such a thing. "I assure you, Doctor Fisher, it _was_ an accident. Though at the moment I'm wishing it had plunged a little deeper."

The handsome doctor chuckled. "Well, from what Hugh said, he probably deserved it, my lady." He opened his bag, took out a little brown bottle, dabbed its contents onto some gauze, and then cleaned the area on his patient's shoulder. When Robert winced in pain, Lydia cringed right along with him.

Doctor Fisher smiled at Lydia's empathy and he tried to soothe her. He talked about his studies in Edinburgh and how he'd come back to the district so that his father, the previous doctor, could retire. "The hours, as you can see, are a bit unpredictable. You never know when you'll be needed and have to rush off at a moment's notice."

"Your wife must be very patient, Doctor," Lydia remarked as the young man massaged a salve over Robert's wound.

The doctor shrugged with a grin. "I'm not married, Lady Masten—much to the chagrin of my mother, Mrs. Thompson, and all of the other village matrons. They all think I need a wife to organize my life."

Robert frowned at the doctor. "They don't all bring organization. Good luck in finding one who does." Then he avoided Lydia's scowl from that remark.

Doctor Fisher wrapped Robert's wound with clean gauze, then gave Lydia instructions to make sure his lordship kept it dry for the next several days. He smiled, bowed slightly, and then took his leave.

She breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't a serious injury and began pulling the pins from her hair. "Thank heavens you'll be all right." Like a cascade, Lydia's soft light red hair fell neatly past her shoulders and half way down her back. She was oblivious to the affect the sight had on Robert, who stared in awe.

"Thank heavens?" Robert repeated with a lilt in his voice as he gazed admiringly at her, suddenly in a much better mood now that the doctor was gone. "Aren't you the same girl who wished me to the devil?"

Of course he would remember that! After their vows, when he had ruthlessly disparaged her and sent her off to Blackstone, she had wished him to the devil, but it had been under her breath. She didn't know that he'd heard her.

She narrowed her eyes on him, glad that he'd reminded her again why she hated him. "Yes, that was right after you were perfectly ghastly to me."

She ran a brush through her hair, and Robert rolled onto his side and watched her with anticipation. "Was I ghastly?"

"You know very well that you were." She braided her hair feverishly and turned her back to him.

He waited until she was done with the chore and then tugged at the hem of her dress until she sat on the bed and looked at him. "I was just being practical, Lydia." He took one of her hands and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. His lips were warm and the gentleness of his touch surprised her. Tendrils of sensual anticipation raced up her arm and settled deep in her belly.

That would never do.

She sighed and reclaimed her hand from his grasp. "It was five years ago, Robert. I don't want to argue about it now."

Robert looked at her genuinely. "Neither do I." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and undid his boots and then his socks. "I'm sure you'll feel more comfortable if I leave my breeches on."

"Is Henderson not bringing our bags?"

He didn't look at her as he flung back the coverlet. "No. I didn't want him to come all this way and back. He's at the stables at The Fox and The Hare with the coach."

"Oh." She looked down at the dress she'd worn all day. Not the best for sleeping in, but he wasn't giving her much of a choice. "Well, do you mind if I wear my chemise to bed then?"

She thought she could detect a grin cross his face, but it was quickly gone. "Whatever will make you comfortable, my dear."

_Yes, she should be comfortable_. Lydia undid the lacing on her traveling dress, slipped it over her head and removed her petticoat, leaving only her sheer chemise. Then she quickly dashed under the sheets and pulled them tightly around her.

Robert watched the entire display with a playful grin. "Modest are we, Lady Masten?"

She glared at him and then gave him her back as she turned away.

He rolled onto his side and stroked her arm gently. "Actually, I think I prefer this—" he fingered the ribbon strap of her chemise— "to that stuffy nightrail from this morning."

Shocked by his intimate touch, she kept her back to him. "Do you? And here you'd told me you were stodgy, Robert."

He chuckled and nuzzled her neck. "That doesn't mean I'm dead. Now, my dear wife, did I notice that you looked away when I took my shirt off?"

His hand felt so good on her arm, and his lips against her neck were like heaven. She closed her eyes and wished him away. She didn't want to feel that way about _him_ , which she now realized would be very easy to do. "Contrary to what you think, Robert, I haven't seen all that many hairy chests in my days."

"You haven't?" he whispered in her ear. Her heart fluttered.

"Only your brother's." That should make him leave her alone.

His hold loosened on her arm and then after a moment it tightened again. "I don't want to think about that right now, Lydia."

She rolled over to face him. They were just inches away from each other. He brought his hand to her chin and caressed her lips with the pad of his thumb. "You are very beautiful."

He was closing in to kiss her, but she put her finger to his lips. "Robert Beckford, you told me you could control yourself. If _your_ arm hurts too badly, _I_ could always move to the floor."

He looked dejected. "You _are_ my wife, you know?"

Lydia hated to see that look in his eye and she tapped his chin gently, hoping it would go away. "Only in name, Robert. Where we go from here has not yet been decided."

He had decided, but he'd give her time to come to the same conclusion. "Very well," he gave in. "I said I'd behave and I will." He kissed her forehead and then turned his back to her.

Robert couldn't close his eyes. He lay perfectly still until Lydia's breathing became rhythmic and he was certain she was sleeping. He turned back toward her. When he did, the mattress dipped and she rolled closer to him. Some of Lydia's magnolia-scented hair slipped from her braid and fell over her face. He gently smoothed it away and was left staring at the face of his beautiful wife. She had perfectly arched eyebrows, an adorable, pert little nose, and those lips, full and begging for him to kiss them.

Her arm wrapped around him, and she snuggled into him as if he were a pillow. Robert sighed heavily, and knew he was in trouble as he held her against him. He had first suspected it when he'd seen her at his sister's ball. He was more certain of it when he'd agreed to take in her little pick-pockets. But now there was no doubt in his mind. Robert Beckford—the staid, ruthless, horse-mad, beastly, boorish, stodgy Earl of Masten—wanted to bed his wife.

Lydia's head rested against his chest, and he sighed. Perhaps _she_ hadn't yet decided where they went from here, but Robert had never been more certain of anything in his life. He needed her. His whole body ached for her. And now, holding her, he was finally able to close his eyes and rest.

When Lydia awoke, it was still dark outside and she found herself in Robert's embrace. It was the second time since they'd started this journey that she'd awoken in his arms. If she was to be honest, the sensation was one she quite enjoyed—but she could never admit that, not to him. Then his hand moved on her uncovered skin, and her eyes grew round. She hadn't realized that her chemise had worked its way up around her waist or that her husband held her hip in his grasp.

Her eyes flew to his face, but he was sleeping. _Thank heavens_! She sighed against his bare chest. If he were awake, she'd have to demand that he unhand her, but as he was not, she could safely enjoy his touch. His warm hands on her skin were so comforting. Oh, how she hoped that he never learned that. He already wielded too much power over her as it was.

A week ago, he was the very last man in England she would have felt comfortable with. Though she hated to admit it, he _was_ growing on her as well. That made him much too dangerous. Better than anyone, she knew who he really was. Trusting him was not an option.

If she went through with this plan to give him an heir, she knew she would have to give him her body. But under no circumstance could she ever give him her heart. That was simply out of the question. Trusting anyone with her heart was a dangerous prospect, but trusting Robert would just be foolish.

But still, feeling his strong masculine body pressed against hers was heavenly. He smelled wonderfully of sandalwood and she closed her eyes to breathe him in. Without thinking, she kissed his chest and then whispered aloud, "Oh, Robert, you are very dangerous for me."

His embrace seemed to tighten and she let him hold her. For some reason, she felt so safe with him like this. It was a feeling she had yearned for and she easily fell back asleep.

# Chapter Nine

"Lydia!" Robert's voice sounded annoyed.

"What?" she groaned.

"Do you ever get up in the morning?"

She rubbed her eyes and squinted. Light was pouring in through the window and she held her hands over her face. "I'm sleeping, go away."

He laughed. "Yes, you've been saying that. Come on, my dear, we only have half a day's ride left."

Half a day? Then why was it necessary to get up now? Blast him, he had no respect for her need of sleep! She rolled away from him, burrowed her face into a pillow, and tried to block him out of her consciousness.

She felt his lips on her ear and his hands on her waist. "Do you remember how I woke you yesterday?"

She nodded her head and talked into the pillow, unsure if he could hear her. "You threatened to climb into bed with me. As I spent last night with you, I don't think that will work today." Then she tried to push him away, but to no avail.

His whispering in her ear continued. "Do I have to remind you, my beautiful wife, that I only promised you'd be safe from me for the night? It's now morning, Lydia. All bets are off."

She smiled into the pillow, glad he couldn't see her reaction to _that_ threat. But she knew, even as groggy as she was, that she needed to feign resistance. She pushed up on her arms and turned to face him. "You are a pest, Masten."

He wore a charming grin. "That I am. And here I'd hoped you'd force my hand, my dear. I'll have to spend the day thinking up ribald remarks to wake you with tomorrow morning."

"I'm going to ignore that comment." She sat up and rubbed her eyes again, then looked down at her naked legs. Self-consciously, she clutched the sheets and pulled them tight around herself. "Do you think you could give me some privacy?"

He chuckled and then kissed her forehead. "You are the last woman I would think modest, Lydia."

She glared at him. "Have I mentioned yet this morning that I hate you, Robert?"

He laughed again and then started for the door. "No, my dear, but I wouldn't believe you anyway."

Then he shut the door behind him and Lydia sank back onto the bed. No, she wouldn't believe herself either. Try as she might, she couldn't force herself to hate him. She could still remember the safety of his arms. "You are a fool, Lydia!" she remarked aloud.

She quickly threw on the dress she had worn the previous day. Then she ran a brush through her hair before tying it in a knot at the base of her neck.

"Lydia!" she heard him call her from below stairs.

She hurried to the door, but stopped to glance at herself in the mirror. "He'll only hurt you," her reflection warned. Funny, it made more of an impact when she saw herself say it. She nodded determinedly and started down the stairs.

Robert was waiting for her at the front door. The way he looked at her with that crooked, roguish grin of his made her inhale deeply. She immediately forgot all about the warning the mirror had given her and made her way to his side. He slipped his arm around her waist. "Are you ready to see Beckford Hall, my dear?"

She met his gaze and nodded enthusiastically, finally warming to the idea of visiting his homes. They said their goodbyes to Mrs. Thompson and thanked her profusely for her kind hospitality. Then they made their way back down the path to The Fox and The Hare, where the innkeeper had prepared a knapsack with apples and currants for the ride, in addition to the basket Robert had ordered. Lydia rewarded the old man with peck on the cheek for his troubles. "Thank you for everything, sir. I don't know what we'd have done without you."

Mr. Cass blushed brightly and then sent them on their way.

The Fox and The Hare was barely out of sight before Robert remarked, "Told you he was smitten with you."

Lydia rolled her eyes at the suggestion. "You have an overactive imagination, Masten."

"Do I?" He grinned and propped his feet across her legs, and she strangely enjoyed his display of ownership over her lap. "No one else this morning got apples and currants from the old cantankerous innkeep, you know."

"He was only cantankerous with you. You bring it out in even the nicest people."

His eyes twinkled as he watched her. "Then you'll have to stay with me from now on, as you seem to put everyone at ease."

"Stay with you?" She almost laughed. "Robert Beckford, I know very well that you're removing me from London to keep me from tarnishing your pristine name. Once you have me securely situated in the prison of my choosing and awaiting the birth of your child, you'll leave and only think of me when necessary."

What could he possibly say to that? She was right, of course. That had been his intent in the beginning, but as he heard her say those words, his heart ached from the truth of them. "Lydia, this won't be like last time," he tried to reassure her.

She seemed to have a hopeful look in her eye, but it was quickly gone. _Take it slowly, Robert_ , he warned himself. All morning long, he'd thought of the words he heard her whisper the night before, when she thought he was sleeping.

_How exactly was he dangerous to her_? He'd pondered that half the night as he'd lain awake, just holding her in his arms. Perhaps she meant physically. But he rejected that thought almost immediately. She knew he wanted her. He hadn't made a secret of it, but he hadn't acted on it. Yes, he had placed his hand under her chemise, but she didn't seem to mind. She hadn't wriggled free from his grasp. Instead she had leaned against him and kissed his chest. No, he didn't believe that she considered him physically dangerous.

Could she possibly have wanted him as badly as he wanted her? Was she afraid to act on those wants because of all the awful things he'd said to her in the past? He cringed as those memories flooded his mind. Caroline was right, he had been a beast.

Or was Lydia afraid of him emotionally? That made some sense. When he'd sat in Carteret's drawing room and decided to embark on this little adventure, the last thing he'd considered was that he'd actually want his wife—that it was even possible that he could develop feelings for her—and yet he had. If she was experiencing similar feelings for him, she might definitely have conflicting emotions. How could she ever trust him after their history, brief though it was?

It was easy for _him_ to look past the last five years. His life hadn't changed all that much. He'd built up his stables, ran the Masten estates and holdings, and gone about life as usual. So, he had a wife in Cheshire? She had been absent in his life and she rarely, if ever, crossed his mind.

But life for _Lydia_ had been turned upside down. She lost the safety of her aunt's protection and love. She was kept away from anyone that could offer support or guidance. She had been completely alone, and he had single-handedly seen to it. Robert had to admit that she would be a fool, no matter how strong the spark between them, to trust him. He'd have to prove to her that he was worthy of that trust.

One step at a time.

"I don't think you'll like Beckford Hall," he remarked soundly as he removed his feet from her lap. Robert leaned across the carriage and took Lydia's hands in his. "We can still go if you like, but there's someplace else I'd rather take you."

"Where?" She stared at him with a concerned look.

"Gosling Park, in Dorset"

"Dorset?" Lydia's clear eyes grew wide with confusion. "But that's where you live. Where your stables are."

Robert nodded, warming to the idea. "It's about two days from where we are, but it's the only place I can truly see you, Lydia." Indeed, he could see her there, with the ocean breeze whipping about her hair and skirts. They could ride horseback across the coast. He could make love to her while listening to the sounds of the sea from their bedroom windows.

When Lydia smiled in surprise to his offer, Robert's heart raced. She should always smile. He should dedicate his life to constantly seeing the delicate upturn of her very kissable lips. "That's where I grew up, and where I'd like to see my— _our_ —children reared. But if you don't like it there, you can return to London, with or without me."

"You'd let me stay in London?" she asked, appearing stunned by his suggestion.

_Why had he been so cruel to her in the past_? he wondered with a degree of guilt. "I won't make you a prisoner, Lydia. Not again. I'm ashamed I did it in the first place."

Her countenance lifted and his heart leapt right along with it. "But take a look at Gosling Park first, won't you? If you don't fall in love with it, I'll be astounded."

When she nodded happily, he couldn't resist touching her anymore. He pulled her across the carriage to his lap. She was breathing hard and staring timidly into his eyes. His wife. God how he wanted her.

Robert glanced at her lips, the ones he'd wanted to kiss for three days. Without any further delay, he lowered his head and kissed her.

Lydia's lips were so soft beneath his, and she felt heavenly in his arms. She sighed against his mouth and slid her hands up his chest, to finally settle around his neck.

Robert's body was on fire. His blood coursed through his veins. As Lydia's fingers danced across the nape of his neck, he groaned from the pleasure it instilled inside him. He felt wild and reckless, like never before. Neither Miss Haddon, nor Cecily Rigsley, nor any of the others ever had affected him like this. He'd never felt so alive, as if he'd waited his whole life just for her. Just for Lydia.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Lydia felt truly safe. Part of her was screaming that she was a fool for falling for him, but the rest of her was helplessly lost in Robert's strong embrace. How comforting he felt! His arms tightened around her and she mewed from the joy of his strength.

It was hard to believe that _this_ was her husband, the man she had despised for so long. But his touch, though firm, was so gentle and loving. She melted against him. Robert's tongue crossed her lips and Lydia clung to him. He nipped at the corner of her mouth and then pulled himself away to look at her.

As Robert stared into her eyes, Lydia thought she'd sink into the golden brown abyss of his. There was nothing he could ask that she wouldn't do. But it was this exact feeling for Luke Beckford that landed her in this situation in the first place.

If she'd follow any man who kissed her like that, then all the things Robert had ever thought about her were true. She forced those thoughts from her mind and rested her head against his shoulder. He _was_ her husband after all. Why shouldn't she enjoy this? Happily, she heaved a giant sigh.

Robert leaned his forehead onto hers. "Amazing," he muttered reverently.

Lydia giggled and then blushed. "Stop, Robert. You're embarrassing me." She felt a deep need inside her to have him, but she tried to force that need away. It wasn't possible for her to fall for him that easily was it? It was just one little kiss, after all.

Grinning widely, he tapped her chin. "Then I hope to embarrass you over and over again, Lady Masten."

She chewed her bottom lip as she met his eyes and searched for a change in topic. "So, Gosling Park?"

Robert nodded exuberantly. "Yes, though we're headed the wrong way." He gently slid her from his lap and rapped on the roof of the coach with his cane. Then opened a window and called to the coachman, "Henderson."

"Yes, Lord Masten?" The coachman replied.

"Change of plans, Henderson. Gosling Park instead, please."

"Of course, my lord."

Robert closed the window and refocused on Lydia with desire-filled eyes. Her cheeks began to burn as the coach turned around and headed back toward The Fox and The Hare.

"Now where were we?" he asked and settled Lydia back into his embrace.

"Gosling Park," she reminded him.

"Ah, yes." He rested his chin on her head and ran his fingers along her arms. And though she couldn't see his eyes, she knew they twinkled by the sound in his voice. "Wait 'til you see it, Lydia. You can see the ocean from my— _our_ —bedchamber. Mama had the most amazing gardens in Dorset. The north lawn is like a soft carpet of green. I remember playing there myself as a child. Our sons will have a grand time there. I'll teach them to ride, and their legacy will be—"

"Our sons?" She sat up to look into his eyes, her heart pounding wildly. "Will we not have daughters?"

"Later, Lydia." He kissed the tip of her nose. "First we need sons."

Gleefully, she smiled up at him. "I don't think I have any control over that, Robert, but I'll pray for a boy."

"You _will_ do it then? You'll give me my heir?" He stared at her in awe as she leaned against his shoulder again and nodded her consent.

"At this moment, Robert, I don't think there's anything I'd refuse you." As soon as those words left her mouth, she wished they hadn't. It sounded too much like the harlot he suspected her to be and she cringed. She was relieved when he simply kissed her cheek in response.

"You'll never regret this, Lydia. I promise you."

They spent the next little while discussing names. Robert liked Bartholomew, as it was his father's, but Lydia found it not at all pleasing. What a big name to force upon such a tiny child. And she was strongly opposed to Gordon, her father's name. "Honestly, Robert, I wouldn't plague a stray dog with his name, but we don't need to agree on something today. We will have plenty of time to come up with just the perfect thing."

"All right." He smiled in agreement as he stroked her arm. "Tell me about Lord Carteret then. He was a complete mess when I went to see him—not at all what I expected. It looked like his children had run him ragged, but he smiled like a fool. Is that the way with children?"

Lydia smiled. James was probably the kindest man she knew. "I don't know if it is that way for everyone, Robert. That may just be the way James is. He's a very doting father. Though his children are all very different from each other, he loves each one tremendously. You know, you'd think with five children, that they'd share some similarities, but really they don't."

Robert smirked. "What are they like?"

Lydia smiled as she thought of them. "Liam is the eldest. He's ten. And he's like a little old man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's very serious." She moved so she could see Robert's face better. "Do you think all oldest brothers are that way? You've always seemed very serious to me."

Robert shrugged. "Perhaps. I suppose we know from a very early age that we'll take on our father's title and all that that means."

She frowned. "He never has any fun, poor little fellow. Please tell me that you won't put that sort of pressure on our son."

"Until what age, Lydia?" He laughed, and gently ran his thumb along her jaw. "It won't be a secret that our first-born son will someday be the Earl of Masten. That's why we're doing this."

"Yes, of course," she agreed, but her heart sank as she realized that she _was_ a fool. Perhaps Robert wasn't the monster she'd always thought him to be, but this whole situation _was_ meant solely to give him a son. No, an heir. That kiss had meant much more to her than to him. She needed to keep that in mind.

Robert needed her to carry his children. There was nothing more to it. Many marriages weren't based on love or affection, and at least hers wasn't fueled by hate anymore. They had an understanding now. She could live with the terms Robert offered. They were certainly better than what she'd had before, even if they weren't exactly what her heart wanted.

"What about the others?" she heard him say and she snapped back to the present.

"The others?"

"Carteret's children; you were telling me about them."

"Oh." She took a deep breath and tried to remember where she'd left off. "Katriona is eight. She's very prim and proper. Everything with her needs to be just so." Lydia forced a smile to her face. There was nothing to be gained from Robert knowing what a fool she was. Better he never found out. "And then there are the twins, Morgan and Madeline. They are a pair. They have such a strong bond, but the difference of their sex separates them as well. Morgan tries to emulate Liam, and finds his older brother to be the most exciting thing in the world. He's forever trying to get his brother to play with him, but as I told you, Liam has very little want for play. And poor little Morgan is left with just his sisters for company."

"How old are they? The twins?"

"Six. His twin, Madeline, is often in her own little make-believe world, with her head constantly in the clouds. She's soft and everything feminine. And she's the perfect image of Bethany. That fact causes James anxiety even at this age."

"Lady Carteret did turn many heads before she was married, didn't she?"

"I wasn't around her much then, but that's my understanding."

"So, Liam is serious, Katriona is prissy, Morgan idolizes his brother, and Madeline will break hearts like her mother?" he asked with raised brows.

Lydia smiled, still trying to shake off the disappointment she felt from the realization that Robert was only interested in her womb. "And then there's Fiona."

"Ah. The painter." Robert's eyes danced, and Lydia tried not to look into them. She didn't need to be drawn to him anymore than she already was.

"The painter?" she echoed hollowly.

"When I spoke with Carteret he was covered in paint. Apparently it was Fiona's handiwork."

Lydia laughed at the memory of that day. She and Bethany had scrubbed the little girl's skin nearly raw trying to get blue paint off her. She had felt like such a part of the family. How comforting that had been. Things had been wonderful up until James told her that he was turning her over to Lord Masten. "Yes, paint and anything else she can get into. She's a tyrant at three and I believe she could give ol' Boney a run for his money. I've never seen a more troublesome child—spoiled rotten by her father but everyone adores her."

Robert grinned. "The youngest are always spoiled rotten. Although you don't seem to be, Lydia. You are the youngest, are you not?"

"No." She moved to the other side of the coach and slid her feet under her and leaned against the interior wall. "I had a baby sister, Melody. I was five when she died."

"Oh, I am sorry." Robert's grin vanished, replaced by a look of concern. "What happened?"

Lydia cringed and shook her head. "I'd really rather not discuss it, Robert." And she'd rather not think about it, either. But the image of her lifeless baby sister's body being shaken by their awful father flooded her mind, and she winced at the memory. Then her mother wailing when she realized Melody was gone. If Lydia could only forget all of it...but that would mean never remembering her sweet little sister, and that seemed an even worse prospect.

# Chapter Ten

Robert watched as Lydia slept with her head resting against the side of the rumbling coach. Tendrils of reddish-blond curls fell over her slender shoulders, and she clutched tightly to a lightweight lap blanket. She looked so young and innocent, peaceful.

His wife was such a stunning woman, but from time to time she seemed so haunted, like earlier at the mention of a baby sister who had been gone for sixteen years. That pained look troubled him. He frowned, wondering about the secrets his wife held. As he studied her, he couldn't help but wish that he could unburden her, to love and comfort her.

One step at a time, he reminded himself. If he told Lydia how he felt about her, she'd think he'd lost his bloody mind. After all, he had kept her secluded for half a decade. She'd never believe that he'd started to fall in love with her. He sighed and thought and about how funny life was. What were the chances that after everything, he'd actually fall in love with his own wife?

Lydia moved in her sleep, then blinked open her eyes and looked at him curiously when she found him staring at her. "What is it, Robert?"

He shook his head. "Just admiring you, that's all."

She laughed, and Robert was mesmerized by the charming sound and the delightful way her eyes crinkled when she smiled at him. "Who would have ever believed that you'd admire _me_?"

He ignored the remark, not wanting to be reminded of the way he'd treated her in the past. "Did your mother—"

"No more questions about my family, Robert." Lydia interrupted him. "Besides, you know all there is to know, anyway."

He was certain that was not the case, but decided against pushing her. There would be plenty of time to have all his questions answered, and he enjoyed listening to her light and melodic voice. The sound of it sent his heart racing.

"But I know very little about yours. You've been acting like a Bow Street Runner. Why don't you share your secrets with me now, Lord Masten?"

He had thought so little about her since their wedding, and now five years were gone. He'd wasted too much time as it was, and he wanted to know everything there was about his wife. She was intoxicating. He craved to learn all about her. But he supposed that he had been overly inquisitive. It was only fair to answer her questions as well. "Ask away, my lady."

"Everyone says that you're a remarkable horseman."

He just grinned at that. _Everyone_ had better say a whole lot more than that about his equestrian skills. "Was there a question in there, Lydia?"

Saucily, she made a silly face at him. "I wasn't finished yet. You are forever interrupting me."

"My apologies, sweetheart. Pray continue."

"Fine. Why, my dear husband, do they call you 'Merciless Masten' at Tattersall's?"

With a devilish tilt to his head and a roguish smile, Robert tapped his chin. "My sister has apparently been telling tales about me."

Lydia's blush confirmed his suspicion that he had been a popular topic of conversation between his sister and his wife. She cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly. "So they don't call you 'Merciless Masten' then?"

Robert's grin widened. "I have heard they do, however I didn't know Caro was aware of it. Staveley must have been smarting after our last bout there."

"Do you always talk in circles, Robert? It was a very simple question. You've danced around it, but still haven't answered me. Why the unflattering nickname?" She tilted her head as she surveyed him on the other side of the coach.

Robert's brow raised in amusement. "I know that's how I'm referred to, Lydia, but no one's actually ever called me that to my face. So, I'll have to surmise that my opponents find me a worthy adversary when it comes to filling my stables. I always get what I want."

"Do you?" She giggled in response.

"Always." Robert looked at her as if he could see clear into her soul, and Lydia couldn't help but blush from his attention. She quickly found herself falling under his spell again. She could feel it, and was powerless to stop herself.

It was as if she were in the middle of a long tunnel. Robert was on one side and she could see him, but her sixteen-year-old self was at the opposite end, begging her not to trust him. She struggled for purchase, but wasn't in control of her emotions. Against her better judgment she was being pulled toward her husband.

Lydia took a deep breath as she kept her eyes steady on Robert. She had been so proud of herself when she'd stood up to him at the Staveleys' ball—proud that she had finally taken control of her own life. But now he seemed to have even more power and control over her than he had for all those years. Lydia didn't want to desire him; she was certain there was only heartache down that path. So, she would give him his heirs, and she would raise their children. Life would be rewarding, but _loving_ Robert Beckford was not a wise choice. She needed to keep that in mind. Now if only she could get her heart to listen to reason.

"Lydia, you look distressed." Robert's voice interrupted her thoughts.

But before she could respond, the coach came to a stop. Robert looked out the window and a smile appeared on his face. "We won't have a problem finding a room tonight."

Lydia looked out her window as well. An inn, The Knight's Arms, stood before them.

"Wonderful, Henderson. We made excellent time," Robert remarked as the coachman opened the door and lowered the steps. After exiting the coach, Robert offered Lydia his hand and helped her to the ground.

He glowed with happiness. Lydia hadn't seen him giddy like this before and she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, enjoying the experience of an exuberant Robert.

Soon they were inside the taproom of the quaint establishment and the robust innkeeper beamed when he spotted them. "Lord Masten!" He quickly left his spot behind the bar and rushed to greet the earl.

Robert glanced around the room and gestured with his hands. "Hello, Lange. It appears that everything is going well."

"Only thanks to you, my lord. What can I do for you?" Lange seemed eager to please, and Lydia was intrigued by the man's obvious enthusiasm. What a different experience from the inn they were at the previous night.

With a smile for the rotund innkeeper, Robert motioned to Lydia. "Lady Masten, this is Mr. Lange of The Knight's Arms. Lange, this is my wife."

Lange's eyes grew round as he looked at Lydia. Apparently, he hadn't noticed her at all until Robert introduced them. "Lady Masten!" The innkeeper's wide smile put her at ease. "Welcome, welcome, my lady. So happy to make your acquaintance. Your husband is a most generous man. I don't know what we would have done without him."

Robert waived off the accolade and shook his head. "Please, don't mention it, Lange. I'd say we're even."

Lange eyed the earl with a dubious look and shook his head. He muttered under his breath, "Even, indeed."

Ignoring the remark, Robert motioned toward the staircase. "I assume I still have a room here?"

With a hurt look, the innkeeper frowned. "You know you do. You built the place and the master's suite always awaits you, my lord."

Robert grinned. "Perfect. Can you have Mrs. Lange show my wife to the master's suite, then?"

After Mr. Lange nodded in response and bustled off to find his wife, Lydia stared up at Robert in astonishment. What exactly was going on here? " _You_ built this place?"

"That's a long story, Lydia. Why don't you go upstairs with Mrs. Lange, take a nice long bath, and I'll have dinner sent up."

A nice long bath. After two full days of travel, that sounded like heaven. Lydia sighed at the thought of soaking her tired muscles in soothing hot water.

Soon a lean woman in her fifties with unruly black and grey curls that poked out of the edges of her mop cap entered the room. This had to be Mrs. Lange, as the innkeeper was right on her heels. Lydia thought she saw tears well up in the older woman's eyes when she spotted Robert in the taproom.

"Oh, Lord Masten!" Mrs. Lange gushed. "We're so glad you're here." Then she turned her attention to Lydia. "And Lady Masten, is it?"

Lydia nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Lange's face lit up brightly. "Come along, my lady, I'll show you to your room."

"Thank you," Lydia replied quietly, still trying to get a handle on the enthusiasm the Langes showed for her husband. While Robert was growing on _her_ , she'd never seen anyone so happy to see the earl before—he usually instilled either respect or fear in most people.

As the older woman started toward the back staircase, Lydia hastened to follow her.

"Mrs. Lange," Robert called after them, "I promised my wife a long, hot bath."

"Then we shall see to it, my lord." The innkeeper's wife smiled cheerfully over her shoulder at the earl and then met Lydia's eyes. "You are simply stunning, my lady. And I can't tell you how glad I am that Lord Masten has finally married."

Lydia giggled despite herself. "We've been married for some years, Mrs. Lange. For five years, actually."

The older woman stopped on the staircase and looked back at their husbands conversing in the middle of the taproom. Mr. Lange was pointing at a spot on the back wall. Robert was listening and nodded with some sort of understanding then he glanced at his wife's disappearing form. "Five years?" Mrs. Lange echoed. "I thought certainly that you were newlyweds. He never mentioned a wife. Not that he should have mind you. And just look at how he gazes at you."

Stunned by the older woman's remark, Lydia looked over her shoulder at Robert. When she caught his eye, he tipped his head in her direction and then quickly refocused on Mr. Lange's ramblings.

Mrs. Lange smiled kindly. "Just rare, that's all."

"What is?"

"For a man to still be so much in love after so many years."

Lydia almost choked. "I beg your pardon?"

They reached the landing and Mrs. Lange directed her down a long and slender hallway. "That was a bit too intimate, wasn't it? I apologize, your ladyship. We're just so fond of your husband. And 'tis good to see him smile is all."

"Yes," Lydia replied quietly as Mrs. Lange opened the door to a most magnificent set of rooms. "You don't think most men love their wives after five years, Mrs. Lange?"

The innkeeper's wife pursed her lips. "Well, obviously yours does, my lady. We just see couples all the time in our business and while many of them may love each other, the look of pure admiration I saw in _your_ husband's eyes usually fades away with time."

"Oh," was all Lydia could say to that. While Mrs. Lange was obviously mistaken in her assessment in regards to Robert's feelings for her, Lydia knew better than to reveal the truth. So, she simply smiled instead.

"There's a bath tub through those doors, and I'll have hot water sent up immediately, my lady." Mrs. Lange pointed to a small room located at the back of the magnificent master's suite.

"Thank you." Lydia looked around the room. This was nothing like anything she'd ever seen in a country inn before. The dark walls and furnishings had a distinctly male feel to them—forest green and burgundy, which reminded her instantly of Robert's study in Masten House. How interesting!

While she waited for the hot water to arrive, Lydia walked about the master's suite. There was a comfortable sitting room and large bedroom, both with a distinctly masculine feel. Mr. Lange must have done the decorating. Lydia couldn't imagine that the innkeeper's slender wife had such taste.

When she was finally alone, she entered the small tiled room that held the porcelain bathtub. She stripped down to nothing, touched the water gently with her toe, and found it to be the perfect temperature to soothe away her aches, pains, and stiffness from days of traveling by coach. Slowly, she immersed herself in the tub and enjoyed the warmth that enveloped her. She sighed blissfully from the comfort. The Knight's Arms was definitely an oasis for weary travelers.

After washing her hair with the provided lavender soap, Lydia closed her eyes. For the first time in so long she felt relaxed. She was so lost in the comfort of the soothing water that she didn't even hear Robert enter the small room.

She first felt his breath against her cheek. "You smell delightful," he whispered in her ear, "though I prefer your usual scent—gardenias isn't it?"

Lydia's eyes flew open and she folded her arms across her bare breasts. "Robert!"

Her husband chuckled, crouched down behind her, and gently put his hand on her shoulder. "Didn't mean to scare you." He dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her still wet head.

"No, I'm fine, but just a bit indisposed at the moment."

He whispered again, "You told me today that you wouldn't refuse me anything, darling."

Lydia could feel her heart pounding in her chest and she turned her face to look at him. She knew what he was going to ask for. She could see the desire in his eyes. And she swallowed. "Am I to take it you want something from me?"

The hand on her shoulder worked its way to her neck and he gently massaged her shoulders. "I don't want a repeat of last night. I could barely get to sleep, I wanted you so badly. Give yourself to me tonight, Lydia. I need you. I need to make you mine."

Though she knew it was coming, hearing him speak the words aloud was still startling for her. Lydia couldn't find her voice to answer him, so she stared at her husband with wide eyes and nodded slowly.

Robert smiled in response and nuzzled her neck. "Good girl." Then he stood and Lydia could see a silk robe draped over his arm. "When you're done, put this on." He placed the robe on a nearby chair and left for the other room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Lydia released her breath. She hadn't even realized she was holding it in. Was she truly going to step out of her bath and into Robert's bed? Just like that?

Was she ready for this step? She wasn't sure. Certainly she desired him, she just didn't want to give her heart to him. How could she separate the two and keep from being hurt in the process? Some women were able to do so—her mother, for example. But, she didn't know if she could. She nibbled at a fingernail—a habit she'd thought she long ago broke.

She just needed to keep reminding herself that Robert needed an heir and she'd promised to give him one. That's all this was. There was only one way to go about fulfilling that pledge. Though she craved his touch and wanted to be with him, this wasn't about her desires. This was about fulfilling an obligation—an obligation all noblewomen were expected to perform.

She gulped at the thought of climbing into Robert's bed. The prospect was terrifying. She was already foolishly falling in love with him. And she was well aware that he could never love her in return.

When he was finally through with her, would her prison at Blackstone not seem so bad anymore? It was one thing to hate her husband, but quite another to love him and know the feelings were not reciprocated. How much more difficult would it be after the intimacy they were about to share?

When Lydia felt the water in the tub start to cool against her skin, she knew it was time. She toweled off, dried her hair, and picked up the robe Robert had left for her. It was huge. It was his. It smelled of his familiar sandalwood scent. She threw it on, but it hung off her small frame and dragged on the floor. She wrapped the belt around herself twice, but it still drooped open at the top, revealing her breasts. So she clutched the base of the robe with her hand and started toward her fate.

Robert was waiting for her in the sitting room, where her dinner must be getting cold. Lydia had actually forgotten about eating, and she heaved a sigh of relief, grateful for the reprieve.

"Ah, there you are!" Robert jumped to attention from his seat and gazed at his beautiful wife. "I was starting to think you'd fallen asleep in there."

Lydia giggled nervously and Robert crossed the room to put his arm around her shoulders. He was surprised to find her trembling. "Are you cold?"

"No." She met his eyes and smiled warmly. "I'm just fine."

She was lying. He could tell it.

Had he been too forward? Had he scared her off? He knew she'd agreed to all this, but was she regretting that decision now? Perhaps the idea was unsettling to her. "I hope you like mutton."

She nodded. "Oh, yes, thank you."

Robert deposited her in a seat and poured her a generous glass of Madeira, then took a spot opposite her. He slid a plate of mutton, carrots, and peas in front of her with a warm smile.

"Aren't you eating?" Lydia asked.

"I ate while you were bathing."

"Oh," she whispered.

Then she released her death grip on his robe and it fell open at the top, just as he'd hoped it would. Her perfect, round breasts were beautiful and he couldn't help but stare at them. He couldn't wait to touch them.

Was he simply a licentious beast for wanting his wife so badly? She seemed terrified at the moment—very unlike her, this wife of his that took on London pick-pockets and was even able to hold her own against him. Perhaps she just didn't desire him, though the kiss they shared that morning had led him to hope otherwise. He would take his time, make her comfortable, slowly ease her into it. "Do you feel a bit more refreshed, dear?"

"Oh, yes. Much better." She began picking at her food and looking around the room. "This is a very odd place, Robert."

He sat back in surprise. He had hoped that she would like The Knight's Arms. "Odd? I find it quite comfortable, myself."

Lydia shook her head apologetically. "It is comfortable, that's not what I meant. It's just not like any other country inn I've ever been in before. Everything seems very masculine...especially the décor of these rooms."

Robert chuckled, she was very astute. "I'm sure the rest of it is exactly what you'd expect, Lydia, but these are _my_ rooms. No one else ever stays in here. Anyway, it's decorated to suit me."

She furrowed her brow and dropped her fork. "Why does no one else stay in here?"

"If you finish eating, I'll tell you."

With enthusiasm Lydia retrieved her fork and speared a carrot. Robert couldn't help but smile at her eagerness. His wife did nothing by half. "The old Knight's Arms burned to the ground a few years back."

"Oh, that's awful." She frowned empathetically.

"The Langes have always been very kind. This place is just half a day's ride to Gosling Park, and I've stayed here several times a year for most of my life. So, anyway when their establishment was gone, I had it rebuilt."

His wife looked at him in awe. "That was very generous of you, Robert."

"At the risk of being completely honest, I'm not generally such a philanthropist. But since Luke is the one that accidentally set fire to the place, I felt a responsibility to them."

Lydia grabbed the top of the robe again and frowned.

Robert couldn't imagine why she had reacted like that, so he continued cautiously. "Anyway, Mr. Lange knew he could never repay me, which I wouldn't have asked for, but he is a proud man. So, we agreed that in exchange for my help, I would always have this set of rooms waiting for me."

Lydia still looked upset, which Robert couldn't understand. With a furrowed brow, he reached across the table and took her hand in his. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"How many of his mistakes have you had to clean up over the years?" She sorrowfully met his eyes.

Robert cringed. God, he was such a dolt! Of course, she was troubled by the story. _She_ too had been one of Luke's mistakes. He squeezed her hand and answered honestly. "More than I care to remember. Can you see now why I don't want him to come into my title at some point?"

Lydia nodded and picked at her food again. "I was such a fool, Robert. You don't know how that decision has haunted me."

Seeing her so distraught was painful to watch. Robert didn't know how to console her. He was never very good with emotions. So, she had been foolish with Luke, but it was many years ago now. "There's no point in fretting over the past. What's done is done, Lydia. And you have me now. I promise to always take care of you."

She nodded with an enigmatic smile and finished her wine. When she stood up, she still held tightly to the top of the robe. "Robert, why did you want me to wear this thing?"

He nearly blushed. He certainly couldn't tell her the truth. "I find it comfortable. Do you not like it?"

"It's a bit big, and I can't keep it closed." Lydia let go of the robe and once again it fell open, revealing her slender form and perfect breasts beneath the soft folds of burgundy silk. Robert let his gaze drift over his wife's beautiful body. He couldn't help himself.

With a roguish smile and a raspy voice, he leaned toward her. "I think it's delightful. Please don't feel that you have to keep it closed on my account." He enjoyed the blush on her face and he inched even closer to her. Robert moved his hand along her jaw line. "I haven't made a secret of it. I want you, Lydia. Please tell me that you're ready to _be_ my wife in more than just name."

Lydia gulped as she stared up into his eyes. "I'm scared, Robert," she shyly admitted and then let her gaze drop to the floor. "I've only done this once before. It was so long ago and it didn't turn out very well."

She was so beautiful to him and her concerns only made him want her even more. He wanted to show her how loving he could be, how perfect things could be between them. "Trust me, Lydia."

"I do," she whispered.

"Good." Robert tipped his head down and kissed her softly. She stepped closer into the safeness of his embrace. Then he scooped her into his arms and started for the bedroom.

# Chapter Eleven

Nervously, Lydia gazed up into her husband's eyes. She could see his desire, and knew in her heart that she wanted him just as badly. She tried to relax and to rest her head against his shoulder as he carried her. Then before she knew it, he had placed her among the soft folds of his bed.

Robert fell in beside her and nuzzled her neck while his hands snuck inside the opening of her robe. He found one breast and outlined her nipple with his tips of his fingers. She moaned from his touch—it felt heavenly. She hadn't thought she'd ever feel like _this_ again. And now as desire pooled inside her, she was anxious to give herself to her husband.

With his crooked grin, Robert lifted his head and gazed at her. "My beautiful wife." Then he un-tucked his linen shirt and pulled it over his head.

Lydia's eyes were wide and he could tell that she was still a little frightened. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to put her at ease, to take his time and love her. Gently, he took her hand, kissed the backs of her fingers and then placed it on his bare chest. "Don't be afraid to touch me, Lydia. I need to feel you."

She obeyed his request and ran her fingers along his well-formed chest that was lightly dusted with golden brown hair. His muscles tensed beneath her touch and her eyes flew to his. He felt incredibly strong. Then she outlined his bandaged shoulder. "I am so sorry about that," she whispered.

"Don't think of it, sweetheart. It doesn't bother me at all." He removed the sash from her robe and opened the garment so that he could gaze upon her fully. She watched him smile, as if he was happy with what he found there.

Robert ran a finger along her side, tickling her until she turned in to him, and then he suckled one breast while his hand played with the other. The sensations he inspired in her drove Lydia completely wild with desire. She arched her back, pushing her breast further in his mouth. He chuckled and nipped her lightly. "Like this, do you?"

"Mmm," Lydia answered and ran her fingers through his hair. Her enjoyment pleased him, and he caressed her hip with one of his strong hands.

Lydia looked down at her own body. He had enticed her rose-hued nipples into tight, little buds. Now she was ready for him. Her whole body ached for him.

Robert fumbled with his breeches. Lydia sat up and leaned forward. "May I?" she offered softly.

Her husband grinned and placed her hands on one of his buttons. "Please."

As Lydia worked on the buttons, Robert's hands explored the curve of her back. The feelings he stirred within her were distracting, and her hands shook as she slid the buttons free from their holes. She took a firm grasp of his waistband and tugged his breeches and drawers downward toward his knees.

She wasn't surprised to see his erection as it sprang free. She had brushed it with her hands as she'd unbuttoned him, but still it was an amazing sight. Lydia wanted to touch it, to feel him between her hands, but she was afraid that would be too wanton for him and decided against the action.

Robert slipped his breeches off completely, saw the look of reluctance that flashed across her face, and stopped. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not after he'd envisioned her like this. Not after he'd suffered with an anxious erection for days, just from spending so much time with his wife. "What's wrong, darling?"

"No—nothing," she stammered innocently.

With a heartfelt sigh, Robert leaned forward and rested his head on hers. "God knows I need you, Lydia. But I won't take you unless you want me. I couldn't live with myself."

Softly, she ran her fingers across his cheek. "I do want you, Robert. I swear it. I—I just..."

When she stopped talking, he lifted up and stared deeply into her pool of blue eyes. "You just what?"

A pretty blush crept up her entire body and she couldn't maintain his gaze. "I just want to please you, Robert. I don't want to be that wanton little thing you always thought of me."

The bed shook. Lydia turned her face to look back at her husband, who was chuckling so hard the entire bed was moving. "You're laughing at me?" she sputtered in surprise.

But he shook his head and dropped a kiss on her nose. "Oh, my darling, I'm hoping you _are_ the wanton little thing I've always thought you to be."

Slightly embarrassed, she closed her eyes. "Truly?"

"Mmm." He lowered himself on top of her and buried his face against her soft breasts. When he felt her body relax beneath him, he balanced himself up on his arms and kissed her perfect lips.

She responded by licking his bottom lip and grinned when a low growl escaped his mouth.

Robert had wanted to take things slowly, but he didn't know how much longer he could wait to sheath himself in her warmth. When she arched her back toward him, he was beyond pleased that she wanted him, too. "My beautiful, willing wife."

His erection was barely touching her wetness and she inched toward him. "Robert, please," she whispered and wrapped her legs around his hips.

He couldn't wait any longer if his life depended on it. He thrust inside her in one deep stroke and was nearly overwhelmed with the immediate pleasure that coursed through his body. He stilled, caught between wanting to prolong the sensations and the need for immediate release.

He looked into Lydia's eyes, saw the beginning of passion blossom, and brought his lips against hers. "You feel amazing," he murmured against the softness of her mouth.

She smiled from the compliment and held tightly to him as he thrust again, this time deeper, and again until he found a slow rhythm that seemed to suit them both.

With each stroke inside her, the ghosts of Lydia's past began to fade away, replaced with pleasures she'd never thought possible. This wasn't like last time or anything she'd ever felt. These sensations were new and threatened to overwhelm rational thought. For the first time, she thought it was possible that her husband could heal all that was wrong with her.

She couldn't imagine ever feeling more desired or content. This is what she dreamt it felt like to be in the arms of a man who truly cared for her, not like before. Those old memories were being washed away, replaced by new ones of her husband, of this night.

He had a handful of her hair and brought her head up to meet his lips. He brought her someplace she'd never been before and she gasped in amazed surprise that she could feel like _that_. She called out his name, shuddering around him. Robert smiled at her reaction, pleased with himself.

Then she felt _it_ as he moaned one last time in her ear. He exploded inside her and his warm seed made her entire body tingle with pleasure. He collapsed against her and she lovingly stroked his back, wondering at the ripples of pleasure that were still running through her body.

Robert stroked her side with his fingertips and pressed his lips against her skin as he breathed in the fragrance of their lovemaking. "Oh, Lydia," he whispered breathlessly.

When he regained his strength, and his mind was functioning more clearly, he rolled off her to keep from crushing her beneath him.

But Lydia didn't want him to move. He had still been inside her and when he rolled away. She missed the feel of his body so intimately connected with hers. So, she snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart as she held him tight.

He kissed her hair, closed his eyes, and smiled. "Lady Masten, you are a most magnificent woman."

"I've never felt like that, Robert," she admitted shyly.

He stroked her arm and confessed, "Neither have I."

As Lydia slept in his arms, Robert thought about Chet's words to him in London. Astwick had predicted that after Robert enjoyed the pleasures of his wife, he wouldn't be able to walk away from her. He smiled to himself in the dark. His friend knew him very well. He couldn't imagine anything that would make him walk away from the tender embrace of this woman.

She had never felt like _that_ before? Robert was secretly ecstatic that Luke hadn't made her climax. Only Robert had given her that pleasure. Lydia was truly his—no other man could ever have her now.

Gently, he touched her abdomen. His children were going to grow there. They would grow inside this woman—his wife whom he had discovered he was desperately in love with. He'd promised her that she could rear their children. Would she object to him rearing them with her? After five years of very little thought of his wife, he now couldn't imagine spending his life without her.

His touch, though gentle, woke Lydia. She kissed his neck and whispered, "Robert, are you awake?"

"Mmm," he answered, enjoying her warm lips against his skin.

She lifted herself up on one arm as she gazed upon her husband's masculine form. "I was just dreaming of you."

"Oh?" He inched upward to look into her eyes. "A good one, I hope."

He could even see her blush in the dark, which pleased him to no end, and then she giggled. "A very good one."

Robert cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. Her body responded to his touch and he rolled her beneath him. Then he made love to her again and again.

When Lydia awoke in the morning, she couldn't remember ever feeling so content with life—or being quite so sore, but that was a concession she was more than willing to make. She happily stretched her arms above her head, rolled over, and was surprised to find herself alone in the bed.

The curtains had been pulled back, and sun poured into the room. "Robert?" she called, but there was no answer.

After the closeness they'd shared the night before, she'd expected to wake up in his arms this morning, but he wasn't there. In the light of day, had he regretted his decision to make love to her last night? A quiet panic surged through her. Had she done something wrong?

Lydia sat dumbfounded for a moment and tried to contemplate the last series of events. Apparently, Robert felt that last night had been a mistake. While she had foolishly fallen even more in love with her husband, he obviously didn't share her feelings.

He had been honest from the beginning when he told her he wasn't in love with her. But last night they'd been so in tune, so intimate. She had hoped that this morning would bring a new sense of togetherness for them.

What a fool she was. When would she ever learn? She knew she had never been worthy of love. Wanting it from Robert wouldn't make her deserving of it.

Clean clothes waited for her in a chair in the corner of the room. At least he'd thought to leave her something to wear. She washed, threw on the light blue muslin traveling dress that waited for her, and slipped on her half-boots.

Then she sat in front of the mirror and brushed her hair out. She should have braided her hair before going to bed, but she'd been too caught up in the moment. Last night's activities had certainly left some knots.

She brushed and brushed at her tangled hair, trying to forget how it felt to be in her husband's arms. She yanked and pulled until she was finally satisfied that all the knots were gone. Distracting herself with the job at hand, she pulled her hair high on her head and admired the image that looked back at her.

She knew she was pretty. She'd been told that her whole life. But besides her looks she didn't have anything else to offer Robert. Perhaps he'd discovered that last night. What a disheartening thought that was.

But whatever the case, she'd have to go downstairs eventually. She couldn't hide out in this room forever. It had been a long time since she'd been a coward.

Determined to be strong, she left the room behind her and started down the steps for the taproom. From the top of the staircase, she heard Robert's voice. "No, I'm letting her sleep. I've been waking her up very early the last few days and my wife loves to sleep in late."

Just the sound of his voice made her smile. She sighed as she remembered the things he'd whispered in her ear the night before, and her heart beat faster in her chest.

Once on the landing, Lydia could see that her husband was talking to Mrs. Lange.

The innkeeper's wife smiled at Robert. "Your kindness never ceases to amaze me, Lord Masten. I don't think Stan has ever let me sleep in, not even after childbirth. But such is the way with gentry, I'm sure."

The floor creaked beneath Lydia, and Robert turned his head in her direction, pinning her with his intense gaze. "There you are, sweetheart. We were just talking about you." His voice was like a caress, and her heart leapt when he winked at her.

"Good morning," Lydia replied as she met his eyes. It was a relief to see him looking so content. Her anxiety began to fade away.

Mrs. Lange giggled. "Truly amazing. I have never seen a couple married for years that gaze so adoringly at one another."

As Lydia blushed at the remark, Robert grinned at the innkeeper's wife. "I'm just a very fortunate man, Mrs. Lange. My wife is the most amazing creature. I continue to learn new things about her every day."

The older woman smiled warmly at the earl. "Well, I'll go fetch her breakfast, my lord."

After Mrs. Lange left, Robert crossed the floor in a few strides to his wife. He slid his arm behind her waist and pulled her into his embrace. "You look lovely this morning."

Lydia chewed her bottom lip. "I missed you when I woke up."

Robert chuckled. "Oh?" Then he kissed her lips gently. "Did you want to ravish me this morning as well?"

"Robert!" Her blush deepened.

He tipped his head down to whisper in her ear. "We have the rest of our lives for that, my little minx. But I'll make sure to have you morning, noon, and night once we reach Gosling Park." Then he kissed her cheek.

Having him so near, she felt like the wanton he'd always thought her to be. If he'd dragged her back upstairs to their room, she would have gladly gone.

But before she could comment, Mrs. Lange was back from the kitchen with baked eggs and sausages. "Here you are, Lady Masten. I hope you'll enjoy it." Mrs. Lange placed the food on a nearby table.

"Thank you." Lydia smiled gratefully at the woman as she took a seat in front of her breakfast.

Robert touched Lydia's shoulder and smiled at Mrs. Lange. "Why don't you keep my wife company while I make sure our coach is ready to leave?"

Mrs. Lange nodded. "Of course, my lord, I would be honored." She took a seat across from Lydia and Robert ventured outside.

"This is delicious," Lydia remarked. And it was. She hadn't realized what an appetite she had worked up.

"I'm glad you're pleased, Lady Masten. If you don't mind my saying so, you shouldn't let your husband travel alone."

"Oh?" Lydia stopped mid-bite.

"He just usually seems so lonely when he comes through here. But this time he's more personable than I've ever seen him. He must miss you terribly when you're separated."

Lydia smiled politely and nodded. She knew very well that for the length of their marriage Robert hadn't missed her terribly. But was that starting to change? He did seem amorous this morning, and all night as well. Though she didn't dare get her hopes up. She and Robert had an agreement. When she was expecting his child, she imagined things would go back to normal. She might see him more often, especially if he truly wanted her and the child installed at Gosling Park. He would probably see them regularly.

But would it ever be more than that?

An attractive, young, blond-haired man came in from the kitchen. "Mama?"

Mrs. Lange smiled. "Yes, Thomas?"

"Father is looking for you."

Mrs. Lange's face fell. "Oh, I'm sure he's looking for that bread to take to the Wilsons." She stood up and started for the back door. She touched her son's arm on the way out. "Thank you, dear. Oh, Thomas, this is Lady Masten."

Thomas bowed. "How do you do, your ladyship?"

Lydia smiled. "Very well, thank you."

"I hope your stay was satisfactory?" The young man crossed the room and stood before her.

"Yes, thank you." She nearly blushed when she thought of just how satisfactory her stay had been. The Knight's Arms would always hold a special place in her heart—the first place she made love to her husband.

"Can I get you anything else?" Thomas asked.

Robert walked back inside The Knight's Arms and his brow furrowed immediately as young Thomas Lange fawned over Lydia, adoration in his eyes. In the past, he'd been annoyed with the looks other men gave Lydia because he was afraid that their attention and her obvious lack of self-control would cause a scandal with his name attached.

But _this_ was different.

_This_ was jealousy, pure and simple.

Thomas Lange was an attractive man and much closer to Lydia's age than he was. The young man's hair was also the same golden hue of Luke's and he didn't her want to think about his brother. No, Thomas Lange wasn't the Earl of Masten, but Lydia had never really seemed to care overmuch about titles. After all she'd taken up with Luke in the first place.

He was being ridiculous and he knew it. There was no reason to be jealous over the innkeeper's penniless son—but he was. To see that smitten look on the man's face—well, it was enough to make Robert scowl and think up numerous ways to dismember the younger man.

How long would it be before Lydia met someone she _could_ actually love? Someone who hadn't caused her five years worth of pain and misery? "Lydia," he barked, "Henderson is ready. If you'll wait in the carriage, we'll be off momentarily."

She looked confused by his sharp tone, but stood anyway and smiled at him. "Of course, my lord."

As soon as the words had left his lips, he was ashamed of the way he sounded. He couldn't look at her. She was only _talking_ to the innkeeper's son. She hadn't done anything wrong, and deep down he knew that. He knew he was being foolish, but he couldn't help it. The simple fact remained—men were enamored with his wife and eventually, one of them would strike her interest. The thought that she could someday leave him was pain inducing.

Lydia had agreed to share his bed, but her heart didn't belong to him—not yet anyway. And he knew he wasn't going to win her over by acting like some ogre, but at the moment he wasn't in complete control of himself. He needed to have a clear head when he spoke to her next, no matter how long that took.

He climbed the stairs back up to their room, unceremoniously threw their remaining belongings into his valise, and looked around. What they had shared here was special, and he didn't want to lose it. He knew himself well and was certain he would bark at her out of frustration. If he was going to win her heart, he couldn't let that happen. Their intimacy was too new for him to destroy it with his mood. He'd have to protect her. In this case, from himself.

He took his time descending the staircase as his mind developed his plan. He said goodbye to the Langes and had Henderson secure the bag to the top of the coach.

He opened the door and saw Lydia's confused look as she waited for him to join her. But Robert still didn't trust his mood enough to face her. He had no idea what to say. He couldn't very well explain that he was a jealous lunatic, or that he was in love with her and hated the attention she received from other men. He'd sound like a bloody Bedlamite. "I'm going to ride up top with Henderson for a while."

Robert didn't wait for her response before he closed the coach door firmly. Perhaps a little fresh air and the company of his coachman would put him a better mood for later.

Lydia was completely puzzled. She'd been so insecure when she found him gone that morning, but when she saw her husband, he'd pushed her fears aside. He had seemed just as loving this morning as he had been the night before. Then he went outside to check on their coach and had returned a changed man.

Had the coachman upset him? She didn't believe that. If that was the case, he certainly wouldn't want to ride with the man. And why couldn't he look at her all of a sudden? She had to have done something to anger him. Though for the life of her, she couldn't imagine what it was. But there was one thing she was certain of—her husband was angry at her.

Without him to keep her company, the ride to Gosling Park was a torturous affair. Her mind conjured up all sorts of wild explanations for Robert's behavior. Each mile that passed made her more and more unsettled and anxious.

She hadn't really thought of him as moody before. Sometimes he was gruff or arrogant, sometimes flirtatious, but she hadn't ever seen his mood change so quickly. At least if he'd ridden inside with her, she could have ascertained what was wrong, what she'd done to upset him. Instead, the not knowing was driving her mad.

The night before, Robert had asked her to trust him. But he obviously didn't trust her in return or he would have told her what was wrong. That realization was painful, and she sulked until hours later when the coach finally came to a stop.

The carriage door opened, and Lydia heaved a sigh when Robert offered her his hand. She grudgingly took it, but avoided his gaze as she looked past him upon one of the most magnificent estates she'd ever seen.

Was _this_ Gosling Park? An enormous medieval castle loomed high above them, basking in the beautiful Dorset sun. Lydia stared at the place wide-eyed, and only remembered that Robert was with her when he slid his arm around her shoulders and whispered, "Welcome to my home, Lydia."

She turned to meet his eyes. The warmth was back in his voice and he seemed to be the Robert she'd held in her arms the night before. Tentatively, she smiled back, but she didn't trust him. How could she?

Robert placed her hand in the crook of his arm and led her up to the main entrance. The large wooden doors opened widely and they were soon greeted by the entire staff, headed by an elderly butler. Lydia was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of servants—more than three or four times what she'd had a Blackstone.

Robert nodded to the butler. "Thank you for gathering everyone, Dunsley."

The butler nodded in return. "Of course, Lord Masten."

With the commanding tone that Lydia had become accustomed to, Robert addressed the servants that were assembled before them. "It's good to see everyone. I wanted to make sure you were all here to meet Lady Masten."

Lydia blushed uncomfortably as several sets of eyes focused in on her. She smiled shyly at the large group before them and held tight to her husband's arm.

Robert placed his hand over hers and continued. "I have turned over all household matters to my wife, and I'm sure you'll all love her as much as I do."

Lydia gulped. Did her husband just say he loved her in front of a large group of people, his own servants no less? The staff looked her up and down. Some smiled while others seemed more restrained in their assessment of her. Robert was turning over his household matters to her? She hadn't expected that. He apparently did want her to stay here. She looked around. Could she do it?

Introductions began, and Lydia felt sure she'd be lucky to remember even a third of the staff. Maids curtseyed and footmen bowed, and soon Robert had dismissed everyone until only Dunsley remained. The butler bowed to Lydia, and she thought she saw a kind gentleness in the old man's eyes. "Welcome to Gosling Park, Lady Masten. I'm certain your stay here will be pleasant."

"Thank you." She smiled gratefully. "Dunsley, is it?"

"Yes, my lady." The butler nodded and then glanced up at the earl. "Do you need anything else, your lordship?"

"Actually, if you'll have tea setup in the yellow sitting room, Dunsley."

"Of course."

"And please have my wife's things settled into my room."

A look of surprise briefly cross the old man's face. It wasn't unheard of for married couples to share a room, but it certainly wasn't done in the vast majority of households. Dunsley nodded his head in a dignified manner and set off on his errands.

Lydia looked up at Robert, who smiled flirtatiously at her. "He was this close to losing that dignified façade of his."

"Is that why you told him to put me in your room? To unnerve your butler?" She eyed him curiously, still desperately trying to unravel the mystery that was her husband, and still not trusting him.

Robert's lips curled into a smile and he pulled her into his embrace. "No, Lydia, I'm putting you in _our_ room because I plan to keep my word to you from earlier today and have you morning, noon, and night. You'll be much more accessible when you're right there with me. These halls get cold at night. I don't want to have to search you out." He bent down and nuzzled her neck.

She had his attention. He was focused solely on her at the moment. It was time to find out why he had ignored her all day. She couldn't relax or enjoy any of this until she knew. "I thought for certain that you didn't want to have anything to do with me."

Robert studied her face and frowned. "How could you possibly think that? I spent quite a bit of time last night proving the complete opposite to you."

Lydia sighed and managed to extricate herself from his hold. "Then why did you ride up with Henderson and leave me all alone? What did I do wrong, Robert? I've thought all day, and I haven't a clue."

He seemed to freeze at these words.

She had hoped for the truth, but she got a lie instead. She knew it as soon as she heard it. "I often ride with Henderson. I like to see Dorset from the coachman's box."

She couldn't even look at him. What a complete fabrication. Whatever she'd done must've been truly horrific, if he wouldn't even tell her. "You'll have to do better than that, my lord. I'm not a complete fool. The Earl of Masten doesn't ride on his coachman's box. People would talk, and _that_ is unacceptable."

"Please, Lydia," he begged, "just let it be. I won't do it again if it upsets you."

She finally met his gaze with hurt eyes. "I don't care about you doing it again, Masten. I want to know why you did it today. If I don't know how I've upset you, I can't keep from doing it in the future."

"This has nothing to do with you. Surely, after last night, you must know that."

How was she to know that? He couldn't even look at her when he'd closed her inside the carriage. In fact, the look on his face had actually reminded her of when he'd sent her off to Blackstone all those years ago.

Her confusion turned to fury that he wouldn't answer her, that he didn't trust her. "I have absolutely no idea what I know, Masten. One moment you're a passionate lover and the next you're a scowling martinet."

She could tell he was growing angry as his lips pursed and he stepped closer to her. But she wouldn't back away from him and stood her ground. He muttered between clinched teeth, "The open hallway is not the place for this discussion, Lydia."

_Of course not! We must keep up our appearances! What would the servants think if they overheard this conversation_? "That is the one part of you that never changes, Masten. I've never known a man that was so overly concerned with how he is viewed. I'm certain your staff is intimately aware of your drastic changes in mood. Nothing I've said will be a shocking revelation."

He whispered bitingly in her ear, "And I've never met a woman who is _less_ concerned with how she is viewed. If you had a bit more restraint, we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place."

Without hesitation, Lydia slapped him across the face. Her hand stung from the contact. No matter how close they became, she would always be his brother's whore—she was just now coming to realize that. How could she have been so naïve to think differently? Didn't he reminded her every chance he got? But _now_ she was a countess, and no man was going to speak to her like that—not even her husband.

As Robert's hand instinctively flew to the cheek that she'd assaulted, Lydia folded her arms across her chest and looked him straight in the eye. "I suggest you find Dunsley and have my things delivered to a room far away from yours, my lord."

Robert glared back at her. "I'll do no such thing. We have an agreement, my lady."

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned into him. There were some things even _she_ didn't want servants to overhear. "Perhaps your seed took hold last night, Masten. We'll just have to wait and see. Because until you tell me the truth, I won't be sharing a room or anything else with you."

She stormed off, having nothing more to say to him. As she turned down a corridor with her skirts swishing behind her, she wished she'd waited to unleash her anger on him until after she knew where she was going in this maze of a house. But she wouldn't turn back. She wouldn't face him until he could be honest with her, even if that meant forever.

# Chapter Twelve

Furious, Robert could only gape as she fled from him. _He_ had drastic changes in mood? He wanted to yell after her, but he held his tongue. Would he ever understand women? Hell, women weren't the problem—just his wife. One moment Lydia was an innocent, shy girl and the next she was a formidable opponent. The girl that just left him was the one he'd met at Staveley's ball, the one he'd dealt with in London, the one who was unreasonable and difficult. He'd almost forgotten that side of Lydia existed.

How had things gone from blissful to miserable is so short a time? Ah, yes, he remembered now—he'd created this problem. He'd created it with his jealousy, but he'd be loath if he would ever admit that to her. She would come around. This would be forgotten soon. The one thing he was sure of was that his wife _would_ share their room. He would not have her things moved; she'd have to face him sooner or later.

He walked down the vast corridor to the yellow sitting room. Tea was waiting, as he'd asked. He poured himself a cup and sulked over his wife. This was not how things were supposed to have gone. She was supposed to fall in love with Gosling Park and with him in turn.

Robert didn't know how long he sat there when he finally heard someone clear their throat behind him, but the tea had grown tepid. Snapped back to the present, he turned around to see his butler standing in the doorway. "Yes, Dunsley?"

"I will assign Betsy to care for Lady Masten, unless you're opposed to the idea."

Betsy was a young maid that had been at Gosling since she was just a girl. She'd spent some time in London with Caroline a few years back and knew her way around a dressing room. Dunsley had made a wise choice. "Thank you. Betsy will do fine."

"Very good, my lord. Also dinner will be ready in half an hour. Her ladyship has asked me to tell you that she will not be joining you. And I've put her in the rose colored bedroom, sir."

Robert narrowed his eyes on his butler. "The rose colored bedroom? That was not the order I gave you, Dunsley."

"No, sir, it was hers. You did put her in charge of household matters."

Why the devil did he ever do that? And how could he have been so stupid? "I am still the master of this house, Dunsley. My orders will always supersede hers. Is that clear?"

"Very, sir," Dunsley replied, completely unmoved by Robert's obvious anger. "Sir, if I may..."

"What is it?" he growled.

"Arguments are a part of marriage, your lordship. But don't let too much time pass before you set things right. The longer it takes, the more damage it does."

If it had been anyone besides Dunsley who made that remark, Robert would have sacked them right on the spot. But _this_ man had known him his whole life, and had been instrumental in helping Robert rear his siblings. More than anything, Robert knew Dunsley had his best interests at heart. So, he nodded his head appreciatively and asked, "The rose colored bedroom?"

"Yes, sir."

As Robert started for the door, he turned back to his butler. "You're becoming insolent in your older years, Dunsley."

"Yes, I know, sir," the butler agreed with a wry smile.

The rose colored bedroom was in a completely different wing of the house from _their_ room. His annoyance with his wife grew as he snaked along the labyrinth that was Gosling Park until he stood outside the room that harbored his wife. He knocked determinedly.

"Have you come to tell me the truth, Robert?" she asked from inside.

His jaw was set. Was there a more difficult woman in all of England? He pushed the door open and discovered her seated in a plush chair, knitting again. She did not look up to see him, but kept her eyes focused on her work.

"More socks?" he asked as he closed the door behind him.

"What do you want, Robert?"

Even though he could hear the irritation in her voice, his anger was diminishing just by looking at her. He needed to fix this, for them to start the day over. "I want my wife to come down to dinner and then join me in our room."

She briefly met his eyes and then refocused on her knitting. "Your wife isn't hungry, and is perfectly satisfied with _this_ room. As you've successfully avoided her all day, I doubt very much that you'll miss her tonight."

"Do you always speak of yourself in the third person when you're angry?" He took a seat on the settee across from her.

"If you have something to say, Robert, then please say it. Otherwise, I'm busy right now."

He was trying to be conciliatory. Couldn't she see that? Did she delight in being obstinate? "Damn it, Lydia!" he barked and she finally met his eyes. "Why must you make this so bloody difficult?"

"Why must _I_ make this so difficult?" Lydia dropped her needles to her lap and spoke softly. "Do you have any idea how infuriating _you_ are?"

Why did she have to speak so quietly? Why didn't she yell back at him? That, at least, would have been satisfying. He stood up and paced the room. "What is it you want from me then?"

"I told you what I want." Her voice was still soft. "I want you to be honest with me, Robert. I want to know what I did to make you so angry that you couldn't even sit with me today—that you couldn't even look at me."

He continued pacing, but his gait slowed. That pained look he'd seen on her face after their trip to Drury Lane was there again, but this time he'd put it there. He'd been trying to protect her and his pride, but at what cost? He had ended up hurting his wife instead and opened a chasm between them, and after things had been so promising.

He stopped at her chair and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Lydia, please believe me. There is nothing that you did today. Haven't I always been very open about my displeasure with you in the past?"

Her eyes dropped and she nodded. He sighed and then told her the truth. "I was furious with myself, sweetheart. I wanted to save you from my awful mood."

Lydia looked back up at him with a furrowed brow. "You were furious with yourself?"

He dropped to his knees so they would be on eye level and took her hands in his. "I'm sorry. I never thought you'd blame yourself, darling. I was trying to protect you, not hurt you."

Confusion reflected in her eyes as she studied him. Her voice was soft and caring. "Robert, why were you angry with yourself?"

Heaven help their children if they ever did something wrong. She would be after them until they confessed all. He grinned sheepishly. "You are relentless, my lady. I am embarrassed to admit that I was jealous."

"Jealous?" she echoed in confusion.

This seemed like the last thing she expected to hear, and he winced. "Lange's son is handsome and young. And he had the same look in his eyes that every other man has when they see you. I wanted to beat him to within an inch of his life."

"Was he handsome? I hadn't noticed."

Lydia was teasing him. He'd opened up his heart like she'd asked, and now she was teasing him! He furrowed his brow and growled, "For God's sake, Lydia!"

He tried to back away but she held on to his jacket and made him face her. "I _hadn't_ noticed, Robert." Her voice was filled with sincerity, not merriment. "After the way you made me feel last night, do you honestly think I would even look at another man?"

Robert's heart leapt. Did he dare believe her? He stammered, "I—I—"

But she silenced him by gently pressing her lips to his. Robert moved forward and wrapped his arms around her, but backed off quickly when her knitting needles poked him in the stomach. He laughed despite himself. "Honestly, Lydia, we're going to have to get you a new hobby."

She threw the yarn and needles over the arm of the chair, and he embraced her again. His kiss was hungry, but she met his passion equally. As his hands moved over the small of her back, she pulled on his bottom lip with her teeth. He moaned and scooped her up into his arms.

Fully aroused, he placed her on the bed and yanked her dress up over her waist. He fumbled with the buttons on his breeches, and once again his wife was more than willing to assist with that endeavor.

He had been so miserable the entire day, riding with Henderson outside of the coach. _This_ is what he'd really wanted the entire time. To be with his wife.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he slid deep inside her as he savored every moment of their joining. This was the way it should be between them. Her breath caught and he smiled against the fullness of her breast. Oh yes, Lydia belonged to him.

Lydia curled up, content to lie next to her husband. She ran her fingers through his hair, brushing it off his forehead. She smiled at him, trailing her fingers along his cheek and jaw. "You have no reason to ever be jealous, Robert."

He shifted up on his elbow to look at her. "I know how men look at you, Lydia. I can read their thoughts as plain as day."

She smiled reassuringly. "I don't have any control over that, though I think you may be imagining things. But what I meant, Robert, was that I haven't ever been unfaithful to you, and I hated you for years."

He grinned sheepishly. "Yes, well, there aren't any decent prospects in Cheshire. Why do you think I picked Blackstone?"

She decided not to comment on his lack of faith in her. After all, Robert hadn't known her at all before they were married. He would have no way of knowing that she didn't take her vows lightly. That she would never break her promise. That she would never be like her mother. "I could have been in London the entire time, and I still wouldn't have been unfaithful."

He caught one of her curls between his thumb and fingertips. Lydia leaned in to him, wanting the safety of him to envelop her again. He smiled at her and kissed the top of her head. "Have I misjudged you, sweetheart?"

She looked up, wide-eyed at him. The past dissolved as love for her husband threatened to be her undoing. She wanted desperately for him to believe in her, but that was out of her control and she was wise enough to know it. "You'll have to be the judge of that. I know there isn't anything I could ever do that would erase my indiscretion with Luke. I don't know if you can ever trust me completely, but I know my own heart, Robert. And I pledge to you, as your wife, that you have nothing to worry about from me. _You'll_ have to decide if you can trust that or not."

Robert stared intently at her, but she couldn't read his expression. "There was no one else, ever?"

"No," she whispered and shook her head.

"And there never will be?" he asked hopefully.

Lydia pushed back the tears that had formed in her eyes. After the closeness they'd just shared, it hurt that he even had to ask. "No, Robert. I only want you, for now and always."

Seemingly reassured, he leaned down and kissed her. She needed that, needed to feel his acceptance of her. But acceptance was one thing, and love was another. Did she dare to hope that she could ever have both from this man?

Suddenly, Robert broke their kiss and looked panicked. "Damn, I forgot about dinner." He jumped up and stepped into his breeches. "Quickly, pull yourself together. We don't want Cook angry."

Completely taken by surprise, Lydia giggled but did as he asked. "Are you afraid of your Cook?"

He nodded as his fingers rushed to button his breeches. " _Our_ cook. And if you're smart you will be too."

Within minutes, he was ready to go. He took her arm and they raced back through the myriad of passageways toward the dining room, both laughing like gleeful adolescents. "If Cook is angry, we'll be better off with bread and water for the rest of the week."

When they reached the room, Dunsley was standing sentry in the corridor. Lydia watched as Robert's gait slowed and his face dropped. "Are we too late?"

The butler looked the earl and countess over and raised his brow in amusement. "Lord Masten, I took the liberty of postponing dinner. It should be ready momentarily."

Robert's face beamed in relief. "Insolent and presumptuous, Dunsley."

The butler nodded in agreement. "Yes, sir. You really must do something about me." Then he looked at Lydia and she gulped under his scrutinizing eye. "Lady Masten, please see to it that your husband is presentable before he enters the dining hall."

With that said, Dunsley walked away and Lydia turned to look at her husband. How had she missed _that_? She put her hand to her mouth and giggled. He'd missed several buttons and his breeches were about to fall off of him completely.

"Heavens, Robert! Have you always had a valet? Can you not even dress yourself?" She pulled his waistband northward and her fingers quickly flew to his buttons, giggling while she finished the job. "And I thought you had a reputation for always looking impeccable."

When she finished, she stood up and saw that her husband was grinning mischievously at her. "Lady Masten, mind your manners. Not in the hallway," he flirted shamelessly.

"Really, Robert, when did you become so brash?" She blushed despite herself.

Robert kissed her and moved her into his arms. "Ever since I've had you this close to me, my love."

_My love_?

Lydia nearly tripped as Robert led her into the dining hall. Had she heard him correctly? She was afraid to ask him to repeat himself. Things had changed so fast. Little more than a month ago she was at Blackstone Manor preparing to visit James and Bethany for the season in London. Now she was in the middle of her husband's castle in Dorset and she believed he'd just called her his love. Of course, it could have meant nothing, just a term of endearment. He certainly hadn't said he loved her outright. But still she was left in a world all her own.

Over dinner, Robert raved about Cook's culinary creation, but Lydia couldn't even taste it. She knew she was eating because her food vanished little by little, but she couldn't remember the meal at all. Nothing had ever turned out well for her, not ever. Was it possible that her husband actually loved her? It was too much to contemplate. Too good to be true.

Dessert was served, some sort of fruit torte, but Lydia barely noticed it. She felt nothing at all, until Robert offered her his arm and led her from the room. His touch was warm and he nearly took her breath away.

Almost immediately, she recognized Dunsley in the hallway. The elderly butler seemed pleased with himself as he eyed the earl. "I took the liberty of having Lady Masten's belongings moved into your chambers, my lord."

"You have been taking a great number of liberties lately, Dunsley," Robert responded with an unabashed smirk. "In the morning, please have a list of local gentry for us to pore over. We're going to throw a dinner party."

"We are?" Lydia looked at her husband in shock.

Robert stared back at her in surprise. "We discussed it all over dinner, my dear."

"Oh, yes, of course." Lydia blushed to her roots. To her chagrin, the butler noticed and almost cracked a grin. Almost. But his eyes twinkled, and Lydia felt an immediate sense of safety with the elderly man. She smiled in relief.

"I'll have the list ready for you in the morning, my lady."

Robert nodded his thanks to the butler. Then he placed Lydia's hand in the crook of his arm, and led her down another corridor. "Must you charm every man you meet, my dear? You make it very difficult for me to keep my jealousy under control."

Lydia's eyes flew to her husband's face. She was grateful that he was smiling and not really chastising her. "Every man? Really, Robert, you give me too much credit."

"Crotchety old butlers; innkeepers, their sons, and patrons; young country doctors; theatre-going gentlemen; as well as Lord Astwick, who is notoriously picksome—and that, my lovely wife, has just been in the last fortnight." He put his hand over hers and squeezed it lovingly.

Lydia giggled and rested her head against his arm. "I had no idea. Well, I did know about Lord Astwick, but he's not very shy."

"No, he's not," Robert agreed with a playful frown. "Holding _my_ wife's hand at Drury Lane! No wonder his mother, that awful dragon, was so upset."

Lydia stopped walking and Robert came to a halt as well. She had been meaning to ask him about that night. "How did she know, Robert? I didn't think anyone did, save the few that were there."

Robert sighed uncomfortably. "Chet and I theorized that she must have learned of it from the late Lady Staveley. The two were very close friends. I don't think anyone else would have said anything."

That was true. James and Bethany certainly wouldn't have done such a thing. Aunt Agnes went to her grave with that secret amongst others. The Duke of Kelfield was one James' dearest friends, besides being a scandalous figure in his own right. He would never sully Lydia's name. Caroline and David had been mortified by the situation, but they wouldn't have uttered a word about it.

"All of Staveley's sisters are both featherbrained and loquacious, but the situation was kept from them. So that only leaves Staveley's mother. I'd confided in Chet years ago, but he'd never tell anyone—especially his dragon of a mother."

Lydia frowned.

Robert brushed his lips across her brow. "I am so sorry that she said such awful things to you, sweetheart." Then he took her hand in his and started back down the corridor.

She didn't necessarily feel better—not when she thought about the sheer number of people who knew she'd been compromised. No, not compromised—ruined. Most of them were friends or family now, but still when she thought about the situation it was humiliating. "Oh, Robert. Why did Lord Staveley have to open that door?"

Robert knew exactly why Lord Staveley had opened that door. Grace Benton, his youngest daughter was unaccounted for and had last been spotted in the company of Robert's dissolute brother, Luke. The old man nearly passed out when he found Lydia instead. Her hair color was very similar to Grace's, and Staveley momentarily thought his own daughter had been ruined by the scoundrel. But that was neither here nor there, anymore. Lord Staveley _had_ opened that door, and he had found Lydia and Luke together. The whys didn't matter now at all.

Still, when he looked at his wife's anguished expression, he wanted to take her pain and sadness away. He cupped her face in his hands and stared into her wounded soul. "My dear, it was a very long time ago."

"Not _that_ long," she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

He lowered his head and kissed her lips. "Lydia, it doesn't matter now. None of it does."

"How can you say that?" she asked in amazement.

How _could_ he say that? For years it had mattered. But the answer was startlingly simple. Her past didn't matter anymore because Robert loved her. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that the stunning woman in his arms would have ever married him if his brother hadn't compromised her. He wasn't the sort of man a woman like her would have picked of her own choosing. He was arrogant, controlling, and difficult to deal with. And her misfortune with Luke had been his stroke of good luck—he just hadn't realized it before now. "Because it's true. That's not who you are now, and where you've come from doesn't matter nearly as much as where you're going."

Tears formed in her eyes as she stared up at him. "Robert, do you honestly believe that? Are you saying that my past truly doesn't matter to you?"

Strangely enough, he did believe it. He never would have thought so even a fortnight ago, and he smiled at the realization. "Your future matters to me, Lydia. You're my wife and you'll be the mother of my children. That's all I care about."

Tears did fall from her eyes then. "I won't disappoint you."

"I know you won't." Robert brushed her tears away with his hand, kissed her forehead, and led her through two large doors that opened onto a terrace.

Lydia stared out at the view. The sun was setting in the west over the horizon; pink and orange streaks stretched across the sky. Beneath them was the sea. She took a deep breath. "Oh, Robert, this is breathtaking."

He smiled. "I'd hoped you'd love it."

She stepped to the end of the terrace and looked out across the sea. Robert stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, while she leaned her head back against the wall of his chest. He bent his head down until his lips brushed her hair. This was heaven. She realized Robert was right. She didn't want to live anywhere but here, and with him.

They stood together, reverently breathing in the ocean air and enjoying the comfort of each other until the colorful streaks on the horizon were gone, replaced by a darkening sky. "The ocean makes me think of Henry. I hope he's all right out there."

Robert spun her to face him. "I'm certain he's fine." He tenderly kissed her, and then led her back inside toward their room.

She looked around at the numerous corridors and narrow passageways. "I don't think I'll ever find my way around here, Robert. Without you, I'll be lost for sure." The words had more meaning than she'd intended, but they were true nevertheless.

"You won't have to worry about that, Lydia. I'm afraid you're stuck with me from here on out."

Robert then led her to their bedchamber, and it was just as he had described. The room was impressive in its size. A huge four-poster bed stood against the back wall with large bay windows flanking either side. Both windows were left open, and the sheer burgundy draperies rustled in the sea breeze. Lydia smiled when the soothing sounds of the ocean below reached her ears. It was like something out of a fairy tale.

Gently, Robert slid his arm around her waist. "You are happy here?"

She nodded. "I've never been on board a ship, Robert, but I wonder if the sea isn't in my blood. This feels so much like home."

"It is your home, Lydia."

Then he welcomed her into their room and into their bed.

# Chapter Thirteen

Every morning for the last fortnight, Lydia awoke to find herself yet again alone in their bed. Her nights were spent in passionate pleasure, wrapped in her husband's embrace, but her mornings were spent in lonely solitude. It had been so comforting to wake in Robert's arms while they were traveling the countryside together, and she missed that closeness with him.

When they were together, she could fool herself into believing her husband loved her. He could be so sweet and tender, and she found that pretending was easy to do. What was the harm in hoping for such a thing? He did want her to live with him and to raise their children together. Did it really matter if he only _liked_ her? Was love absolutely necessary? It wouldn't be as if Lydia was missing something she'd ever had. And yet part of her yearned for more. She wanted his heart as well as his home.

With thoughts of her marriage flooding her mind, Lydia climbed from bed. She rang for her maid Betsy, and began to unbraid her hair. Betsy had been a godsend, and Lydia felt very lucky to have her. The young, plucky, brunette maid was always full of advice, unsolicited or otherwise—but she and Lydia had formed a bond almost instantly as if they'd always known each other.

When the maid entered the room, her brows rose in surprise. "Well, well, well. Looks like you had a busy night in here, my lady." She gestured to the tousled bedclothes that had nearly been ripped off the night before.

Lydia flushed a bright red. "Betsy, watch yourself. What would Lord Masten say if he heard you say such a thing?"

Betsy smiled broadly. "Well, since his lordship is always out and about at the crack of dawn, I don't think there's much chance he'll hear me say such a thing."

"You are insolent." Lydia laughed.

"Yes, and that's why you love me. Now, Dunsley says you've received a letter from that crusty old vicar, Mr. Lovelace."

Lydia nodded. "He must be responding to my invitation to dinner."

"A dinner can only be so much fun with that old stick and his harpy wife."

"Betsy!"

"You've yet to meet him, my lady. And you can mark my words, they'll be a drain on that party you're havin'. Now, into the tub with you."

After Betsy bathed her and dressed her hair, Lydia made her way back down through the maze of passageways to the dining hall. Dunsley awaited her presence. "His lordship has gone out to the tenant farms today." Then he sat her at the massive table and offered her an envelope on a silver salver.

Lydia smiled in response and opened the letter. The vicar, Mr. Edward Lovelace, and his wife had happily accepted her invitation to dinner. That made four couples she was to host—Mr. and Mrs. Lovelace; Sir Philip Cressley, the local magistrate, and his wife; Lord and Lady Edgecroft, whose property bordered Robert's to the west; and Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan, neighbors that Caroline had apparently been close to at one time. Lydia was beyond nervous about hosting this dinner. She wanted so badly to be accepted by these people, to find a place for herself in this community, to prove herself to Robert, and make him proud of her.

She knew Robert didn't understand her anxiousness about the event. He'd shaken his head at dinner the night before, and mumbled something about silly female nerves. He couldn't possibly understand her fears and concerns in this regard. He was known and accepted in the community; she was an outsider. Until now she had never stood shoulder to shoulder with her husband in society. This was important.

After just a few days at Gosling Park, Lydia had discovered her late mother-in-law's gardens. If they weren't the most spectacular in Dorset, she would be amazed. There were beautifully sculpted topiaries, a hedgerow maze, and more flowering plants than she could possibly name. She had never been more aware of her inexperience as a gardener until she walked through Gosling's garden and couldn't identify even half the plants that resided there. Despite her ineptitude in gardening matters, this was her favorite place at Gosling. She often found her way to a secluded stone bench surrounded by stunning topiaries. The gardens were soothing and flooded Lydia with a feeling of serenity whenever she was there.

Today when she stopped at her stone bench and sat down, she did so with a feeling of anticipation. Petey and Penny were to arrive tomorrow with Mrs. Norris and Miss Mitford, their new governess. She was certain the children would love Gosling Park, and then her days would be filled as well as her nights.

She tipped her head back to the cerulean sky, closed her eyes, and basked in the warmth of the sun.

"Watch yourself," a smooth male voice said from behind her. "You don't want to get freckles. Most unbecoming on a countess."

Lydia knew that voice and she winced. Her heart pounded feverishly and she suddenly felt dizzy. Slowly, she opened her eyes and spun around.

Blast it! Of all people in the world.

Luke Beckford stood right behind her. Lydia's mouth fell open in shock. He was even more devastatingly handsome than when she first laid eyes on him all those years ago. His golden hair hung rakishly across his brow and his haunting green eyes seemed as if they could see straight into her soul.

When her face flushed red and she took a deep intake of air, Luke laughed with an easy charm. "It's been a long time, Lydia."

"Mr. Beckford!" she managed to choke out. "Good Heavens! What are you doing here?"

With a heart-melting grin, Luke raised his brow. "What a warm reception from my dear sister-in-law." Then he patted his coat pocket. "King Robert has summoned me, and like the good subject I am, I've answered his call."

Summoned him? What would possess Robert do such a thing? Luke was certainly the last person Lydia wanted to see, now or ever. How was someone to act around their one-time lover and now brother-in-law? It was hard enough to live down her past without Luke hanging about.

Luke offered Lydia his arm, which she regarded with the warmth of an approaching asp. Again Luke laughed. "I promise not to bite, Lydia—unless, of course, you ask me to."

She scowled at him. "At the risk of being rude, Mr. Beckford, I think I'll remain here. Following you got me into a spot of trouble last time. Besides, I don't think my husband would approve."

Luke sank onto the bench beside her and smiled—that charming smile of a rogue that never failed to melt women's hearts or lead them into trouble. "Oh, Robert never approves of anything, my love. So, tell me, however did you break out of Blackstone? Chisel and hammer? Or something more dastardly? Really, I'm dying to find out."

She was not going to do this. She was not going to have _this_ conversation with _this_ man! Not here, not ever. Abruptly, she stood up and backed away from her brother-in-law. "Forgive me, but I have things to attend to. Good day, Mr. Beckford."

Quickly she started down the garden path toward the manor house, but Luke easily caught her, snaring her waist in his hands. "Not so fast, Lady Masten."

Lydia turned in his arms to look up at him. The man was a wolf in sheep's clothing. He was so strikingly handsome and looked like a perfect gentleman, but he was the devil incarnate—and she knew that first hand. "Unhand me this instant, you cad!"

Immediately, Luke released her, with just a ghost of a smirk on his face. "We're not yet finished, Lydia, you and I."

"We were finished when you abandoned me to your brother's wrath."

"That hasn't been such a bad deal, has it? I mean, the fool did marry you. You're now the Countess of Masten—not a position you could've aspired to without my help."

Lydia's face heated up. How dare the lout act as if he'd done her a favor by ruining her and then deserting her! "That kind of help I can do without, thank you."

"So spirited, Lydia." Luke stepped back to take in her form. "And you've filled out so nicely in all the right places."

With pursed lips and a pounding heart, she stormed back to the house, leaving Luke alone in her wake. Why would Robert ask that bounder to come to Gosling Park?

The last thing she heard him say as she walked away was, "You should be nice to me, unless you want Robert to learn all your dirty little secrets."

She didn't even bother to turn around. What had he meant by that? No, she didn't want to know. It was just Luke being Luke. She had no secrets. Well, not many, but certainly none that Luke could know. No one knew those dark secrets.

Robert hadn't planned on patching the leak in Mrs. Perkins' roof today, but his steward had needed extra help. The process had gone as well as could be expected, but after lifting several pounds of straw thatch and balancing precariously on a rickety ladder for what felt like hours on end, he was hot, sweaty, and exhausted.

As he rode his stallion back toward Gosling Park, every muscle in his body seemed to ache. Dinner would be served soon, and then he could enjoy the pleasures of his wife. Robert smiled and released a sigh just thinking about it. There wasn't a better way to end the kind of day he'd had.

But Robert's day was not going to get any easier, and he realized it as soon as he stepped inside the castle. He was instantly assaulted by the smell of freshly smoked cheroot and the familiar citric scent of his brother's shaving lotion. The combination of odors permeated the entire front hallway. Almost immediately, Robert's nerves went on edge. He didn't even need the sullen look he received from Dunsley to let him know that Luke had indeed arrived at Gosling Park.

Robert handed his hat to Dunsley and was afraid to ask, but did so anyway. "Where is my brother?"

"Mr. Beckford is in the green salon, my lord."

A headache formied right behind his eyes. God, what an awful day. "And Lady Masten?"

The butler shook his head. "I believe she is in your chambers, sir. Betsy says that the countess is not feeling well today."

Robert scowled. Not feeling well, indeed. Well, neither was he. His temples throbbed painfully. Best get the unpleasantness of his brother out of the way. Robert stalked off toward the green salon and his stomach dropped with every step he took.

Had Lydia seen Luke? Is that why she was in hiding? What a stupid question. Of course she had seen the reprobate. But had his brother made an advance toward her? His jaw tightened with just the mere thought. The scoundrel slept with everyone else's wives. Why would he behave himself around Lydia?

But what had _she_ done? What had _she_ said in response? The last few weeks with his wife had been such heaven. Suddenly, he felt lightheaded. Whether it was from the physical exertion of roofing or the idea of facing his brother, he wasn't sure.

What a lie that was.

Never in his life had he been wary of meeting his brother. Angry at him, sure. Irritated, often. Disappointed, always. But never wary, until now. In all his years as earl, Robert had held the upper hand in his interviews with Luke, but now... Well, now Robert had something he was afraid to lose.

Did Lydia still harbor feelings of love for his degenerate brother? Had the utopia he'd been living in come to an abrupt end?

Would Lydia leave him?

He steadied his shoulders and pushed open the door to the green salon. Luke was lounging like a man without a care in the world across the brocade settee. He was flipping through one of Robert's horse breeding periodicals and sipping some of Robert's best whiskey.

_Had the lout sampled anything else that belonged to Robert?_

Purposefully, he shut the door to the salon with such a force that it could only be described as a slam. He immediately regretted the action, as the sound echoed in his pounding brain. But luckily he also got the reaction from Luke that he was looking for.

The sudden jarring sound caused his generally unflappable brother to start, and he sloshed some of that aforementioned whiskey onto his embroidered waistcoat. "Damn it, Robert. There's no need to come blazing in here like a pack of elephants."

"Herd," Robert corrected as he paced a path in front of the door.

"Heard what?"

"No, a herd. Wolves travel in packs, elephants in herds."

Luke rolled his eyes and rested his head against the back of the settee. "Blister it, Robert. You know what I meant."

"What are you doing here, Luke?"

With a weary exasperation, Luke retrieved a letter from his pocket and hurled it toward his pacing brother. "Answering your summons, brother."

Robert snatched up the letter, but didn't bother to look down at it. He knew very well what it said, and there was no request for Lucas to travel to Dorset. "I didn't summon you here. I told you to take care of that business with the Ridgemont pendant."

Luke threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, thank you for your faith in me, as always." Then he stood and dropped his glass, and the remaining amount of whiskey left in it, on the mahogany table in front of him. "I didn't know that you'd reconciled with Lydia. Hell, Rob, I didn't know you were on speaking terms with your fair wife."

Robert stopped mid-pace and glared at his brother. "My relationship with my wife is none of your concern, Lucas."

With a lazy smirk and a raised brow, Luke retrieved his whiskey and motioned with a mock toast toward his brother. "Really, Rob, Lydia was much warmer with her welcome to me earlier, you know."

There were some things that Robert could talk over rationally with his brother—horse breeding, estate management, even Tory politics—but Lydia did not, and would never, fall into that category. Taking in Luke's smug expression, and wondering anxiously what exactly his brother had meant by 'warmer welcome,' Robert lost a silent battle with his temper. Despite his sore, aching muscles and his pounding headache, he moved with the speed of lightning and had Luke in a choke-hold in a mere matter of seconds. "Stay away from my wife!" he hissed. "Do you hear me, you lecherous bastard?"

With surprising strength, Luke was able to pry his brother's fingers from around his throat then doubled over while he gasped for breath. "Blast you, Robert!" He heaved heavily and slowly took in air. "What the devil has gotten into you?"

Robert narrowed his eyes, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. "All I asked was that you give back the bloody pendant, Lucas. I didn't request that you pay me a visit."

"For God's sake, I don't have any damned sapphire pendant."

The look of complete surprise on Luke's face was just a bit startling to Robert, but he kept his gaze steady on his brother. He knew Luke well—well enough not to let his brother's feigned innocence shake his resolve.

"Emerald," Robert growled.

"Oh, well—" Luke threw his arms up in the air sardonically— "that makes all the difference, doesn't it? Since I go around lifting all the _emerald_ pendants I can get my hands on."

Finally, Robert sank into a sage and cream chintz chair and shook his head. "So, then tell me this. Why would Lady Ridgemont accuse you, Luke?"

Luke shrugged, looking like a boy instead of a grown man. "Louisa is put out that I've broken things off with her." Then he fell back on the settee and rested his elbows on his knees. "She's got some Bow Street blighter dogging my every step and now she's got you beckoning me all the way to Dorset."

"I did _not_ beckon you to Dorset."

With a sheepish grin, Luke stared across the room at his brother. "Perhaps not, but do you mind if I stay for a while? I'm trying to keep as far away from Louisa as possible at the moment. She'd never think to look for me here."

Luke at Gosling Park was just about the last thing Robert needed at the moment. He glared at his brother. "You know, none of this would be necessary if you could just keep that prick of yours where it belongs."

Luke threw back his head and laughed. "Leave it to you, Robert, to cut to the chase. But what do you say, old man? I need a place to stay for a while."

"You're not a young blade anymore, Luke. It's way past time you settled down. Go back to London, end things with Lady Ridgemont, and grow the devil up."

"Spoken like the older brother I know and love. But please, Rob, just a few days."

"Why don't you hide out at Staveley's?"

With a roguish grin, Luke shrugged. "Actually, Caroline's not very happy with me at the moment."

God only knew what the blackguard had done now, and Robert didn't want to know. He sighed heavily. This was not a good idea at all. He should turn his back on Luke and have his brother thrown out of Gosling Park. Yes, he should do that. But something in the pit of his stomach just wouldn't let him. It was that same part of him that was forever pulling his brother out of various scrapes—fraternal bonds. "Fine. But just a few days. And I want you to stay far away from Lydia."

"I wouldn't dream of bothering her."

"See that you don't or you'll answer to me. And in the meantime, I expect you to send a note to Mr. Cooper, the Bow Street blighter you mentioned earlier. I won't harbor a fugitive."

"You're the best, Robert. I always say so."

With a shake of his head, Robert doubted the sincerity of his brother's accolade, particularly since he knew what his brother usually said about him. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and set off to find his wife so he could try to explain the situation they now found themselves in.

Robert pushed open the door to his and Lydia's bedchamber. He found his wife, knitting furiously in their attached sitting room, with her feet tucked under her dress. She either didn't hear him enter or was too angry to acknowledge his presence. Robert cleared his throat.

She didn't look up. Well, that answered that question, didn't it? He'd already had two encounters with those damned knitting needles, and he wasn't ready for a third. "Is it safe to enter?" He gestured toward her weapons of choice.

Lydia sighed. "Well, that depends, Robert. Did you really send for your brother to come here?" Finally, she looked up and met his eyes.

Cautiously, Robert crossed the threshold and took a seat opposite his wife. She went immediately back to work, with her yarn flying between her fingers and over her needles. Robert leaned forward and placed a staying hand on those damned socks. "Darling, I honestly didn't know Luke was coming here."

"So, have you asked him to leave, then?"

Robert took a deep breath. How could he explain this to her? "No, he's got some trouble in London. He may stay for a few days."

"A few days!" Lydia dropped her knitting to her lap. "Robert, the children are supposed to arrive tomorrow, and our dinner party is the night after. You can't actually expect me to live in the same house as _that_ man and act as if everything is just fine."

"Lydia love, it _will_ be fine. Gosling is so vast, you won't even have to see Luke if you don't want to. And I've asked him to stay away from you while he's here."

She narrowed her eyes and shook off his hands. "I can't believe that you would ask this of me!"

"Try to understand, dear. For better or worse, he is my brother. As much as I'd like to sometimes, I can't turn my back on him when he's asked for help. Wouldn't you do the same for your brother, despite your differences?"

He had her there, and he knew it, but she wasn't happy about it. Still, she closed her eyes, as if she was in pain. "It's hardly the same thing, Robert."

"It's exactly the same thing. You and your brother aren't even on speaking terms, and yet every time I turn around you're knitting the good lieutenant another damned pair of socks—or are they the same pair? I don't even know. Never mind. My point, darling, is that you cherish family as much as I do."

Lydia dropped her yarn and needles to a basket at her feet and sighed, resigned to her fate. But if Luke was going to stay there—and God how that left her nauseated—there were things they needed to discuss. "I spoke with him earlier today."

"I guessed as much since you're hiding away in here."

"Damn you, Robert, I'm not hiding!"

Properly chastised, Robert kissed the top of Lydia's head. "I'm sorry, my love. Poor choice of words."

Lydia rubbed her brow, but continued. "Our visit was not a pleasant one. You should know that I don't think your brother likes me very much."

With a mischievous grin, Robert tapped her chin. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. He had his shot at you. Now you're mine."

"Robert!" She leaned back in her chair in exasperation. "That's not what I meant at all. He seemed angry with me and said something about knowing my secrets."

"Secrets?" Robert frowned. "What the devil is that about?"

"I have no idea. But he made me quite uncomfortable."

Robert dropped to his knees before Lydia and pulled her into his arms. "I'll talk to him again, sweetheart. You're my wife and I love you. I won't let him upset you."

_I love you._

Lydia stared at Robert in complete shock. Did the man actually just tell her that he loved her? If so, it was worth having Lucas Beckford here, just to hear those words from her husband. She wanted to hear them again. Over and over again. "Did you just say that you love me?"

"Lydia." Robert looked at once uncomfortable and tried to pull away from her, but she held firmly to him.

She stared deeply into those golden brown eyes of his and willed him to say those words again. "Tell me, please, Robert. Do you really? Love me, that is?"

A rare blush crept up his face, making him look boyish. "Lydia Masten, my darling wife, I can't help but love you."

Joy swept over Lydia, and she sat dumbfounded while she stared at him. Then she threw her arms around his neck and held him closely. How she had hoped to hear him speak those words! How she'd dreamed they were true! Tears pooled in her eyes as she clung to him. His warm hands lovingly caressed her back.

He whispered against her ear, "You don't have to say the words, Lydia."

Immediately she pulled back from him, and smoothed away a tear from her cheek. He didn't think she reciprocated? She tried to smother a choked laugh. "Oh, heavens, Robert! I _love_ you. Surely, you know that."

With a devilish twinkle in his eyes, Robert stood, scooped Lydia up into his arms, and started for their bed. He dropped his forehead to hers and smiled. "Show me."

So she did.

Lydia untied Robert's neck cloth, dropped it on the floor behind them, and then she nuzzled into the light golden brown hair at the base of his neck. He smelled of sandalwood, hay, and hard work. He smelled like Robert.

Before Lydia knew it, he had unfastened the back of her dress with the expertise of a lady's maid and laid her down on their bed. Grinning rakishly, a look he had sported often over the last few weeks, Robert quickly relieved her of her drawers and threw them over his shoulder with the flick of his wrist. Lydia giggled at his showmanship and sat up to slip her dress and chemise over her head.

Lying naked before her husband, Lydia felt a tiny bit shy. But his reassuring smile put her at ease. She started to move to the center of the mattress, but Robert caught her by the ankle and pulled her to the edge of the bed. "My God you're beautiful, Lydia."

She gasped as he dropped to his knees, held her legs apart, and gazed eagerly at her _there_. Lydia knew he thought of her as his little wanton, but this was a bit much. She tried to close her legs, but he held her firmly. "Robert, what are you doing?"

"Worshiping you." Slowly, methodically, his warm hands caressed her thighs and moved closer to her core.

Before she could protest, he parted her springy hair with his fingers and covered her with his mouth. The intrusion of his tongue was shocking and sinful, and delightful in every way. Lydia couldn't control her reaction to him and she strained to move closer to his lips and tongue.

Robert chuckled, and he lifted his head to see her. "Relax, sweetheart. Let me take you away."

"Robert?"

But he was back to his ministrations—licking, nipping, sucking until she thought she would lose her mind from the pleasure he brought her. Lydia breathed heavily and her pulse raced. Then he touched her little nub with his tongue and she groaned in pleasure. That was all the encouragement he needed. Robert thrust his tongue deeply into her and took the care to caress her most sensitive nub with his thumb. Lydia gasped and wrapped her fingers in his hair, holding him against her as she shattered into a million pieces and screamed out his name.

Satisfied with his work, Robert opened his breeches and his erection sprung proudly to attention. He bent forward, dropped kisses across Lydia's flat belly, and then cupped his wife's face with his hands. "I can't wait anymore. I must have you."

Then he entered her on one quick, deep thrust. She nearly swooned from the feel of him, every delicious inch. "Oh, Robert."

He wanted to go slowly but as usual, Lydia drove him so wild he could barely see straight. He took one nipple into his mouth and then pressed into her with deep thrusts until she convulsed around him, calling his name. The pressure of her release shattered his control and he emptied into her with a final powerful thrust. Sliding his hands under her bottom, he held her to him as he used the last of his strength to roll her on top of him. He didn't want to slide out of her. Not yet.

Lydia curled in to him, her soft breath warm against his neck. He breathed in her scent. Gardenias. For the rest of his life he'd get hard with just the barest hint of that wonderful flower.

"Robert," Lydia whispered.

He nuzzled into the hair that had fallen around her neck. "Mmm?"

"Do you remember what you said to me at The Knight's Arms?"

Robert stroked Lydia's arm and moved his lips across her neck. "I said a number of things at The Knight's Arms, my love."

Lydia turned in his arms to face him. "You told me that you'd make love to me morning, noon, and night at Gosling Park."

"Do you think I've been neglecting you, my lusty little wife?" Robert nipped at the corner of her mouth.

Lydia smiled sheepishly. "It's just that I wake up every morning and you're already gone. I rarely see you until the evenings."

Tenderly, Robert ran his thumb over her bottom lip. "I didn't want you to get tired of me."

"Robert, I want to wake up like this tomorrow morning."

# Chapter Fourteen

Luke had come to Gosling Park, looking for something—someone. But she wasn't here, and he'd been blindsided to find Lydia instead. He was still reeling from that unhappy discovery when he made his way to the dining hall that night. More disturbing than stumbling upon Lydia was Robert's reaction to his wife. If Luke wasn't mistaken, his rigid and humorless brother was actually besotted with the little tart.

That was very interesting, indeed.

Luke had known Robert all his life. He had watched his older brother perform his duties without complaint and live up to the standards society expected of him. And over the years, Luke had come to believe certain things about Robert. One was that his upstanding brother always did the right thing. Another was that watching a patch of grass grow was more exciting than boring, old Robert. From the earliest of ages, Luke had decided against following in his older brother's high moral footsteps—life was to be enjoyed, not endured.

That night as Luke sat in the dining hall at Gosling Park, he discovered something else about his brother, something he'd never realized before: Robert was a giant fool. How was it that he'd known his brother for more than thirty years and he was just now seeing that Robert was such a dim-witted dolt?

It was nauseating to see his brother continually cast mooncalf gazes across the table to his wife. And it was equally disturbing to watch the earl and countess laugh together like a pair of featherbrained love birds.

What the devil was going on here?

He cringed when Lydia giggled at some ridiculous thing Robert said, blushing to the roots of her reddish blond hair. Luke narrowed his eyes on his sister-in-law. Somehow this deceitful, little witch had cast some sort of spell on Robert. That was the only explanation that made any sense, because the man sitting at the head of this table was a complete stranger to Luke. Though he looked like Robert, there was no way _that man_ was his brother.

He vaguely heard something about a dinner party that he would be expected to attend a few nights away, but nothing much registered as he contemplated the situation at hand. He was too stunned by the unfathomable change that had come over his brother to focus on much conversation. A week ago if someone had told him that it was possible for Robert—Robert of all people—to fall helplessly in love with his scandalous wife, Luke would have laughed until he passed out.

What game was Lydia playing with his brother? How had she ensnared him? He'd come to Dorset for a different purpose, but Luke was determined not to leave until his questions were answered.

When Lydia awoke, she was still wrapped in Robert's arms. She sighed joyfully and kissed his sculpted chest. How had life turned out so well for her? Robert tightened his embrace and Lydia giggled as she tried to squirm from his grasp. "Let me go, you beast. You're crushing me."

"Am I?" he whispered in her ear. "And here I thought you wanted to wake up in my arms. In fact, I'm still lying here—hours after I would normally be gone, mind you—to honor your wishes, my dear wife."

Lydia rose up and brushed her lips against her husband's. "I don't deserve you, Robert."

"Oh, my love, you deserve all this and more. Now, I believe there was the little matter of ravishing you in the morning, wasn't there?"

_W here the devil is Robert_?

Luke frowned down at the cooling baked eggs on the plate in front of him. He'd wanted to talk to his brother ever since dinner the night before. At first he thought he could grab Robert's ear during after-dinner port, but his brother had done away with that formality, saying something inane about not wanting Lydia to be left alone.

_Robert always has after-dinner port_.

True, Luke hadn't dined with his brother in well over a year, but some things never changed. Some people always stood on ceremony. Robert was one of those people. He was staid and as dependable as the sun rising every morning or the rain coming every English spring.

_And another thing, Robert is always up at the crack of dawn_.

Luke looked down again at his pocket watch. It was well past noon already, nearly one o'clock. Where the devil was the always dependable Earl of Masten? It was certainly not like his brother to keep Town hours in Dorset, or to keep Town hours in Town for that matter.

Just then, the doors opened and a giddy Lydia and a very satisfied looking Robert strolled into the breakfast room.

Damn!

Luke frowned. Would he ever get his brother alone? Did Lydia know he was on to her? Was she purposely keeping Robert from him? Judging from the well-pleased look on his brother's face, she was doing an excellent job of keeping him occupied.

"Oh, morning, Luke." Robert tipped his head toward his brother and then began to fill his plate from the sideboard.

"Morning? A little late for that, brother."

Robert smirked good-naturedly. Good naturedly! _Robert is never good natured. Never_! Luke scowled in response.

Robert took a seat across from his brother and started to slice up his sausages. "I'm headed to the stables today, Luke. Would you care to join me?"

"Of course," he responded casually and breathed a sigh of relief. This was the opportunity to talk with Robert that he'd been looking for. "By the way, are you still interested in Haywood's stud?"

That immediately got Robert's attention, and he pushed his plate away. "You mean Devil's Inferno?"

Luke nodded. "The old boy's run into a bit of financial trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if you could actually get him to part with the animal. Haywood doesn't care about horse flesh the same way his father did."

With a sly grin, Robert nodded appreciatively. "Good to know. Thank you."

Lydia slid into a seat next to Robert but refused to meet Luke's gaze. She added some sugar and milk to her coffee and then sipped it tentatively. If one didn't know better, they would think the Countess of Masten was a picture of grace and propriety. _But they would be wrong_.

As Luke stuffed a piece of dry toast into his mouth and reached for his cup, he heard the most bizarre combination of sounds—first a high pitched squeal that could have shattered one's ears, and then several pairs of heeled boots running down the corridor in front of the breakfast room. He nearly choked from the surprise and spilled his tepid coffee onto his plate, which splashed into his lap. Honestly, this trip to Gosling Park had been murder on his wardrobe.

Lydia knew that squeal. She smiled gleefully and jumped up from her chair. Quickly, she threw open the breakfast room doors and nearly ran into a small entourage led by Dunsley, then Peter, Penny, Mrs. Norris, Robert's irritable valet Kistler, and a mousy young lady that Lydia took to be the new governess.

The composed butler stepped aside when he saw Lady Masten's expectant expression. Eyes dancing and smiling widely, Lydia bent down to catch Penny as the child hurled herself into her arms, her skirts flying around her. "Penny! I'm so glad to see you."

The little girl held tight to Lydia's neck with a childish exuberance that was contagious. "It took forever to get 'ere, m'lady."

"I know it was a long ride." Lydia kissed the girl's cheek. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Petey got sick all over the floor and we 'ad to stop. It was awful, but not me. I didn't get sick."

Petey was now standing in front of the mousy looking young woman with light brown hair pulled into a tight knot. She had intelligent, brown eyes that hid behind wire-rimmed glasses, and she seemed quite capable, if someone could make rash judgments based on first impressions.

The boy blushed from head to toe when his sister mentioned his weak stomach. So, Lydia tapped Penny's nose with her finger. "You mustn't embarrass your brother, Penny. He's taken such good care of you."

Penny pulled back from Lydia to look at the earl. She met Robert's eyes and whispered excitedly to Lydia, "I didn't think 'e was gonna be 'ere."

Robert chuckled and bent down to tousle the child's hair. "Well, Miss Penny, there's been a change of plans. Hope you don't mind, but from now on we'll all be together here at Gosling Park."

Penny nodded happily, and the scene touched Lydia's heart. She was so thankful that Robert had agreed to support the children. Without his help, the two orphans would still be living alone in the dirt and filth of London's streets.

Lydia was distracted from her reverie when Penny looked up at Luke and asked boldly, "And 'oo are you? Are you livin' 'ere too?"

Hesitantly, Lydia stood and gestured to her brother-in-law with an air of formality. "This is Lord Masten's brother, Mr. Beckford. He's staying only a _few_ days." Then she met Luke's eyes briefly. "This is Peter and Penny Harris. They're Masten's ward."

Luke's brow shot upward, then he stared incredulously at his brother. " _You_ have wards?"

"It's a long story, Luke." Robert smirked and then nodded to Peter. "Mr. Beckford and I are going down to the stables today. You'll come with us."

It wasn't a question. Peter turned an ashen grey color while Lydia stared with annoyance at her husband. The man knew very well the boy was terrified of horses. "Robert." Her tone was quiet though it held a warning.

But he held up his hand to stave off her complaint. "Are these children _my_ wards, Lydia?"

The overbearing ass. How could the man be so tender and loving one moment and then controlling and unwavering the next? Lydia narrowed her eyes on her husband and crossed her arms over her chest. But the man she was looking at was not her kind and caring husband. Instead, he was the arrogant Lord Masten she'd battled in London. "Of course they are," she bit out tightly.

"Then I will decide what is best for them." Robert then directed his gaze to the young governess, standing behind Peter. "You must be Miss Mitford."

She dropped a curtsey and smiled shyly. "Yes, my lord."

"Lady Staveley has great confidence in your abilities, Miss Mitford. I expect you won't disappoint me. Tomorrow morning you will stop by my study and we'll go over the children's curriculum."

"Of course, my lord."

Lydia glared at her husband. Wasn't this an eye opening morning—or afternoon, rather? Did Robert think he would behave this way when they had their own children? That he could run roughshod over her and bully her to get his way? She couldn't challenge him now, not with the audience they had assembled before them. But very soon she would have her say, and they would come to an understanding.

Robert continued to address the governess. "Dunsley will see you and the children to the schoolroom and then to your chambers."

"Thank you, Lord Masten."

As Miss Mitford, Mrs. Norris, and the children followed Dunsley down the hallway, Lydia noticed that the governess eyed Luke with slight trepidation and then smiled weakly at him. She shouldn't have been surprised. Of course the governess smiled at Luke—every red-blooded woman smiled at Luke, up until he destroyed them.

Robert called after the boy. "Peter, I'll expect you on the front lawn in ten minutes."

Stoically, the boy nodded. "Yes, sir."

Kistler let his disapproving gaze drift from Robert to Luke and back. He tsked softly with a shake of his head and then slipped away down a back corridor.

Then they were alone—well except for Luke, who seemed inordinately interested in the whole situation. "When did you acquire wards, Robert?"

Lydia cast a dismissive eye on her brother-in-law. "Mr. Beckford, please excuse us, will you?"

With a curt nod Luke retreated down the corridor, and Lydia was left staring at her unrelenting husband. He shook his head determinedly. "I know what you're going to say, and you can save it, Lydia."

"Do you? Do you _really_ know what I'm going to say?" Lydia seethed. With her hands placed firmly on her hips, she stalked toward him.

"Do you or do you not trust me, darling?" he drawled.

_Blast him for being so calm_!

"I am so angry with you right now, Robert. You know very well that child is afraid of horses. He hasn't even been at Gosling Park for five minutes and the first thing you do is drag him off to the stables!"

Robert stepped toward Lydia and brushed his hand across her cheek. "I know you're upset, but I would never let the boy come to harm. You're going to have to trust me."

Lydia pushed away and turned her back on him, pondering his words. She did trust him, of course. But this overbearing attitude of his was another matter.

"The boy is going to grow up in the country. He can't be afraid of horses and he can't be coddled. Someday he'll be a man. It's best if we tackle this problem right here and now."

Was he right? Lydia wasn't sure. She knew next to nothing about little boys. Her cousins Liam and Morgan were both fearless—though they had always been safely protected by their parents and hadn't been raised on the dangerous streets of London. So perhaps Robert was right about how to deal with Peter and his fears. And then again, perhaps not. What did Robert even know about children? In any case, he _still_ should have conferred with her before making grand pronouncements.

She would not tolerate his high-handed treatment of her, and he'd best know it. Slowly, she turned back to look at him. "Later, you and I need to have a long conversation about the raising of our children, Robert. You will not continue to make decisions without bothering to consult me."

Robert scowled. "I'm not accustomed to answering to anyone, Lydia."

She threw her head back and brushed past him. "Our children will be reared by both their father _and_ their mother. Its best you grow accustomed to the idea."

At the appointed time, Robert met Luke and Peter on the front lawn. The boy looked like he might cast up the rest of his lunch right there. Maybe Lydia was right. Maybe he should have eased the boy into dealing with horses.

_No, I don't believe that_.

As soon as Peter realized there was nothing to be afraid of, the easier time the child would have of it. Besides, no ward of his would harbor a fear of horses—that was simply ridiculous.

He took the boy's hand in his and started off for the stables. It was a beautiful day in Dorset. The azure sky was sprinkled with big, white, puffy clouds, and the cheerful song of a nearby skylark filled the air. There was no place like Gosling Park, and now that Lydia and the children were there, Robert didn't think he'd ever have to leave again.

Lydia.

He hadn't meant to make her angry. He hated it when she was angry, and he particularly hated it when she was angry with him. So, his wife wanted to be consulted in matters involving the children. He shouldn't have been surprised. Lydia was no shrinking violet. This was a woman who had relieved a London footpad of his pint-sized accomplices, kept her head high even during a vicious attack from Lady Astwick, and she always held her own against Robert—well, except for when she was a frightened sixteen year-old girl, but ever since then for sure.

Robert sighed. He wasn't accustomed to consulting anyone else in his matters. He'd never had to. The concept was completely foreign to him.

Of course, he'd always been alone until now. He remembered Caroline raking Staveley over the coals for telling their daughters a bedtime story about Medusa. And he remembered Lady Carteret soundly chastising her husband for leaving their troublesome three year-old daughter alone with blue paints in the breakfast room. And then he thought about Lydia berating him for not consulting her over dealing with Peter's fears. She was simply being his wife. The thought brought a smile to his face.

Before he knew it, they had reached the stables. A whinny hit Robert's ears, and Peter tensed next to him. _The poor child is scared to death_. Robert stopped walking and called out to Luke. "Go on ahead, will you? We'll catch up in a moment."

Luke nodded nonchalantly and continued into the stables.

Robert bent down so he could be on eye level with Peter. "There's nothing to be worried about, Peter. Horses are perfectly safe animals. You just need to know how to handle them."

It was heartbreaking to watch tears pool up in Peter's eyes, though the boy was careful not to let them trail down his cheek. "I seen 'em run down me mum," he quietly admitted.

Good God, that was awful!

Robert closed his eyes and sighed. So, the boy's fears weren't unfounded. Still, wild horses didn't freely roam the streets of London. But how could he explain to the boy that the horses weren't responsible for his mother's accident, but that their foolish human driver was? The poor child.

Robert nodded his head and reached for Peter's hands. "You'll be fine with me, Peter. I'll show you how to safely handle our horses. Since you and Penny will be living here at Gosling Park from now on, you'll need to know how to do so. And you need to learn how to get along with the animals."

The boy blinked back the tears in his eyes and nodded solemnly. He was trying to be brave. Robert respected that.

He tousled Peter's hair and smiled warmly. "Come along, lad. I won't let anything happen to you. I swear it."

Peter stared at each stall in wide-eyed amazement. There were more horses stabled at Gosling Park than he had ever seen in one place. He felt mostly safe. Holding Lord Masten's hand helped. The horses were securely closed behind large wooden doors, but their snorting and size were scary.

The earl was pointing out all the different kinds of horses they were looking at. None of it made any sense to Peter. One breed sounded just like another to him. Then they came to a stall that was larger than the rest. Inside, there was a black horse that had big, dark brown eyes. Peter didn't know how he knew it, but he did—this horse was miserable. Peter could just feel it. "What's wrong wi' this 'orse? 'e looks sad."

Lord Masten smiled down at him, and Peter felt his heart swell. Scared as he was, it felt good to have someone look down on him with a smile and not the scowls he was used to. "Aren't you a smart lad? This is Star Dancer. She is an Anglo-Arabian and she'll deliver her foal in a matter of days."

"Foal?"

"A baby horse," he explained with a pat on Peter's back. "And you're right, she has been very sad. I acquired her two months ago, and her previous owner in the north was near destitute. She had been badly neglected for quite some time before she came here."

It was hard to talk to Lord Masten. The earl used big words that Peter didn't quite know the meanings of. So he smiled awkwardly and nodded while keeping his eyes fixed on Star Dancer. He'd never seen an animal look so sad before. The horse walked toward Peter, and he was surprised to realize that he wasn't afraid of _this_ horse.

He looked up at Lord Masten. "Can I touch 'er?"

Again the earl smiled and patted Peter's head. "Of course. But there are some rules." Lord Masten took the boy's hand in his own and held Peter's fingers together. "First, make sure not to open your fingers, or to her your hand will look like a claw and it could scare her."

Peter nodded, but now he wasn't so sure he wanted to touch Star Dancer anymore. What would happen if he scared the horse? Most likely, something awful. He gulped.

"And keep your hand flat. Then slowly extend your arm toward her and let her smell you. If she backs away, you'll just have to let her be."

Peter took a deep breath and followed Lord Masten's directions to a tee. His arm shook slightly, so he tightened his muscles to look calm. There was no way in the world he wanted to scare the horse. Tentatively, he stretched his hand toward Star Dancer, and the pretty black horse approached him. Her black nostrils scrunched up and looked funny as she sniffed at Peter's outstretched arm. Apparently he didn't scare her, because the next thing Peter knew, Star Dancer was nuzzling into his hand as if they were old friends.

"Good." Lord Masten rested his palm on Peter's shoulders. "Now look in her eyes, and don't look away. Let her know you're not afraid of her."

Peter smiled. Amazingly, he _wasn't_ afraid of her. The other horses, perhaps, but not Star Dancer. There was just something about her.

"Now, you can touch her gently," Lord Masten directed quietly.

With his heart pounding, Peter stepped a tiny bit closer to the stall door and carefully caressed Star Dancer about her nose. She felt sleek and silky against his fingers. The horse stepped closer as well, as if she liked him. How amazing! Peter had never felt so proud in all his life.

"Well, I'd say you two are kindred spirits. Would you like to feed her a carrot?"

Peter's eyes lit up and he nodded happily. "Can I?"

"Of course." The earl smiled again. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, orange carrot. "Now let me have your hand again." Peter anxiously complied, and Lord Masten placed the carrot in Peter's palm. "Keep your hand flat and stretch your arm back to her."

Again Peter followed the direction. It tickled when Star Dancer took the carrot from him, and Peter found himself grinning and giggling.

Robert smiled when he heard the boy giggle. Penny giggled all the time, when she wasn't squealing, but until now he'd never heard the solemn Peter make such a sound. How nice it was to hear. He couldn't wait to tell Lydia. She'd be thrilled.

But then Robert noticed Luke leaning against a back stall, watching them. With a smirk and a flick of his wrist, Luke gestured for Robert to join him. "So, now tell me. How did you end up with wards?"

Robert grinned. "A pick-pocket took off with Caroline's reticule in Covent Garden, and Lydia went after him. In the process she came across Peter and Penny."

Luke's eyes grew wide and he snickered in surprise. "And what about the reticule?"

"She returned it safely into our sister's awaiting hand. Case in point—don't ever underestimate my wife."

Luke scoffed. "Oh, I've learned that lesson well."

Robert frowned. He shouldn't have said that to his brother. Luke was the last person he should discuss Lydia with. "Forgive me."

"Something has been bothering me. So, I must ask you. How well do you know your wife, Robert?"

Robert stepped away from his brother a put his hand on Peter's shoulder. "It's all right to touch her face, if you want to. Just be gentle."

Unfortunately, Luke followed him and wasn't done talking. "Don't avoid me, Robert. Answer the question."

Anger coursed through Robert's blood when he faced his brother. "I told you before, Lucas—we will not discuss my relationship with Lydia."

"I'm not asking about your bloody relationship. I'm asking how well you know your wife. It's not the same thing."

Robert took a steadying breath and turned back to watch Peter's interaction with Star Dancer. "I know that Lydia is brave. She's loving and has a kind heart."

"And she lived in a orph'nage," Peter offered innocently without looking back them.

He couldn't have heard the boy correctly. Robert furrowed his brow. "What did you say?"

Timidly, Peter turned around and faced Robert. "She was in a orph'nage."

"How do you know that?" Robert asked incredulously.

"She tol' me an' Penny."

Robert felt Luke's hand on his back. "I think there are many things you don't know about your wife."

"If you want to hide out at Gosling Park, Lucas, you will not speak to me of my wife again. And you know precisely why. Do I make myself clear?"

Luke nodded begrudgingly and then walked back toward the entrance of the stables. But his words still echoed in Robert's mind. What exactly did he know about his wife? He knew she had secrets. She never wanted to talk about her family—other than Carteret and his brood. How was it possible that his wife had lived in an orphanage and he didn't know it? She'd told Peter and Penny, but she hadn't confided that piece of information to him. At least he now knew why it had been so important to Lydia for them to take in the two orphans. But what else didn't he know?

# Chapter Fifteen

It was rare for Lydia to be in a snit. Certainly she got annoyed or put out every now and then—and heaven knew that even from the very beginning, Robert had always had the capability to get her ire up faster than anyone else—but for the most part she had a sunny disposition and tried to see the best in people and find the silver linings in difficult situations. She'd had lots of practice.

Which is why she was quite annoyed with herself at the moment. She knew that getting angry seldom did any good—especially for women, who had little or no control over their lives. Often it just made the situation was worse. However, with that said, she found herself storming up the stairs to her chambers—still fuming over her conversation with her husband.

It was very hard to get used to the paradox that was Robert Beckford. On one hand he had convinced her to bear his heir so that Luke wouldn't inherit the earldom, and then on the other he'd allowed the lout to stay in their home—knowing full well that she hated the situation.

At first he'd told her that she could pick the prison of her choosing and _she_ could rear _their_ children; but now Peter and Penny were _his_ wards and _he_ would make decisions concerning them. She would have had more freedom and control over her life if she'd opted not to stay at Gosling Park with him. She could have gone to Beckford Hall, or back to Blackstone, or any number of Robert's properties—up to and including Masten House in Berkeley Square, but to do so, she also would have had to give up Robert. Despite his ability to drive her completely insane, she did love him with all her heart. But damn it, concessions were difficult!

She opened the door to their chambers and immediately heard shouting from the attached dressing room. The voices were unmistakable—Kistler and Betsy.

"Just because you've found yourself promoted to lady's maid, does not mean that you can take over my space," the stuffy valet bit out the words.

But Betsy was holding her own against the persnickety gentleman's gentleman, and she sounded calmly determined. "I am just following his lordship's orders, you puffed-up bag of wind."

Lydia was surprised that neither servant had noticed her footfall into the chambers. She certainly shouldn't eavesdrop, but before she could interrupt, she heard Kistler's boots stalk loudly across the dressing room floor. He growled, "Listen to me, Betsy Bowman, I have been dressing Lord Masten for more than a decade. I'll have you know that this dressing room belongs to me."

Betsy answered him saucily, "Well, Jonathan Kistler, this dressing room is attached to the chambers that both Lord _and_ Lady Masten share. Therefore, you and I will both be using this space. If you don't like it, you can take it up with Lady Masten."

"The devil I will," Kistler spit out. "I'll talk to his lordship once he's back from the stables. And then _you'll_ be removing all of these fripperies out of my space, one piece at a time."

Betsy laughed haughtily. "Good luck with that, Jon. You've been in London, so you would have no way of knowing that things have changed around here. For your information, Lady Masten is in charge of all household issues."

"He would never turn those duties over to _her_."

Lydia cringed when she heard the dismissive inflection of the valet's voice.

"She's the lady of this house, and all Ladies of Quality are responsible for household matters. I would've thought that you, of all people—being so high and mighty—would know that."

"Lady of Quality, my arse."

"And you'd best watch that tone of yours, you self-important prig. Lady Masten is the best thing to happen at Gosling Park in years—maybe ever. And if you want to keep your position, you'll keep that in mind. His lordship would never allow anyone to speak badly of her—you included," Betsy hissed, but Lydia was able to make out each word clearly.

"I don't know why not. He did enough of that himself," the valet grumbled and stormed out of the dressing room and into the bedchamber. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Lydia in the middle of the room, most of the color now drained from her face. The valet feigned a polite little smile and bowed. "Lady Masten." Then he rushed from the room as if his coat was on fire.

Tentatively, Betsy poked her head out from the dressing room door. Her dark brown curls spilled out from beneath her mop cap, and she looked as if she'd just eaten something that had gone bad. "I suppose you heard all of that?"

"I think I heard enough to get the gist," Lydia admitted with a frown.

Betsy crossed the room in a trice and draped her arm around her mistress' shoulders. "Don't pay that arrogant prattle-box any attention, your ladyship. I can count on one hand—no, scratch that—I can count on one finger the number of people at Gosling Park who care what Kistler thinks, and that's Kistler."

"He doesn't seem to like me very much."

Betsy smiled weakly. "That old windbag? Truly, Lady Masten, Kistler doesn't like anyone very much. Why, I've heard him talk to his lordship in just such a manner."

"And Robert tolerates that?" Lydia was aghast. It certainly didn't seem like her husband to overlook a belligerent servant. It was just one more of Robert's confusing dichotomies.

"Oh, Lord Masten just turns a deaf ear to the man. And for all his whining and complaining, Jon Kistler always turns his lordship out looking magnificent."

Lydia nodded, as if she understood, though truthfully she didn't. One would think Robert could find a valet that didn't possess such an acidic tongue that could _turn him out_ looking just as magnificent.

Apparently, Betsy didn't like that Lydia's frown had only deepened because she cheerfully began directing her ladyship toward the coveted dressing room. A large trunk was in the middle of the floor and the lid was wide open. Lydia knew at once what was inside—her new gowns from Madam Fournier. Finally, a smile tugged at her lips.

Her maid was cooing, "These are some of the finest gowns I've ever seen. They must've cost his lordship a pretty penny."

Lydia laughed, despite herself. "Well, that was the objective in buying them."

"Now, you sound like Lady Staveley." The maid giggled conspiratorially.

Lydia's laugh deepened. "Indeed, it was her idea."

Together, the two women laughed and Lydia hugged Betsy tightly. Her maid was a blessing, and Lydia would never forget Betsy's words in loyal defense of her to the stuffy valet.

Betsy went to the trunk, started removing dresses, and shaking them out. She held up a rose-colored gown, with tiny embroidered flowers and a gauzy overdress. The creation was breathtaking. "Oh, my lady! I think you must wear this one to your dinner tomorrow night."

"You don't think the color will clash with my hair?"

Betsy held the dress up under Lydia's chin and she smiled brightly. "I think it will compliment your coloring. You'll simply take his lordship's breath away in this one, my lady."

Lydia blushed. "You know, Betsy, I think those were Lady Staveley's exact words."

"Well, now! If there's one thing Lady Staveley knows about, 'tis picking out a fine dress."

The maid's job was complete. Lydia's mind had finally let go of the troubling events of the morning and she explored her new dresses with enthusiasm.

Wearing one of her new creations, a soft jonquil day dress of cambric, Lydia sat squeezed into a tiny, child-sized chair in the schoolroom, enjoying a late afternoon tea party with Penny and Miss Mitford. For the last hour or so, Lydia had already listened, with great interest, to the little girl's wild tales of their journey to Dorset.

"An' then Petey thot 'e saw a 'ighwayman followin' us, bu'—"

Miss Mitford cleared her throat loudly, with raised brows as she met Penny's big brown eyes. The girl looked away bashfully and frowned as she tried to concentrate. "Sorry, Miss Mitford. _H_ e thought _h_ e saw a _h_ ighwayman follow _ing_ us," Penny was careful to enunciate.

Miss Mitford smiled widely. "Very good, Penny. That sounds much better."

The little girl beamed with pride. "But, Lady Masten, it was just a bloke on a _h_ orse."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," Lydia began indulgently. "I'd hate for you to be captured by highwaymen."

"Penny has quite an imagination. She entertained us the entire journey."

Penny took a sip of tea, with a practiced grace. It was obvious that Miss Mitford had already worked very hard with the children. Caroline had done a wonderful job in selecting their governess. "However did Lady Staveley find you?" Lydia asked.

Almost immediately, Miss Mitford looked uncomfortable, apparently not accustomed to such pointed attention from a countess. "M—my—cousin works for Lady Staveley, and she knew I'd just left my last post."

Lydia grinned widely. "Really? Where were you before?"

Miss Mitford took a long sip of tea. Then the governess sighed. "Essex, my lady."

It seemed to Lydia that the governess was uneasy discussing herself, but then Lydia could understand that. Perhaps everyone had secrets or a past they'd rather not discuss. Caroline had sent a glowing letter of introduction for Miss Mitford. So, as long as the governess treated the children well and did her job, Lydia supposed she was entitled to her secrets.

"In London, Miss Mitford took us to the Staveleys'. Me an' Petey got to play with Adam and Rachel and Emma," Penny announced proudly.

"And did you have fun?" Lydia asked the child with interest.

"Oh, yes, my lady. Is there anyone to play with 'ere?"

Miss Mitford cleared her throat again.

Penny looked exasperated. "Is there anyone to play with _h_ ere?"

"I'm certain we can find someone, when you're through with your studies."

The little girl frowned at that. But before she could make a remark, the schoolroom door flew open and Peter ran in excitedly as if the devil was chasing him.

At first, Lydia was scared that something bad had happened, until she saw the broad smile on the boy's face. He hugged his sister wildly and words just exploded from his mouth. "Pen, Lord Masten let me touch one of 'is 'orses. Star Dancer. An' she's gonna 'ave a baby, an' Lord Masten said I could name it."

Lydia gaped at the boy. This was Peter? The boy who was deathly afraid of horses? Penny scrunched up her face. "I want to name a 'orse."

Miss Mitford cleared her throat.

Penny scowled this time. "I want to name a _h_ orse," she clarified.

Lydia stood and stroked the girl's hair. "Perhaps his lordship will let you name the next foal, Penny." Then she turned her attention back to the excited boy. "I'm so glad that you enjoyed yourself, Peter."

"Oh, my lady, Star Dancer is," he screwed up his face trying to get the words just right, "an Anglo-Arabian. And Lord Masten says she's my kin'red spiri', wha'ever tha' is."

"That means you understand each other." Lydia smiled at him.

The boy nodded eagerly. " _I_ knew there was something wrong with 'er, and I was right."

" _H_ er," Penny corrected miserably. "Why doesn't Miss Mitford make that sound when Petey says it wrong?"

Lydia bent down and dropped a kiss on Penny's head. "Remember what I told you, Penny. Be nice to your brother, Peter has taken good care of you, you little imp."

Soundly chastised, Penny nodded sullenly and whispered under her breath, "I still wan' to name a 'orse."

Lydia smiled, squeezed Peter's shoulder lovingly and promised to see the children before bedtime. Now that Robert was back, she wanted to apologize for her earlier snippiness. Obviously, her husband had been right in how to deal with Peter and his equestrian fears. Though she still thought he should have consulted her. But seeing the boy so happy was well worth the concession.

Soon she rounded the corner and ran straight into the wall of her husband's chest. Startled, she took a step backward, looked up at him, and laughed. "Oh, I was just coming to find you, my dear."

"Well, you found me," he remarked coolly.

Lydia frowned up at him.

Robert's strong suit was not in dealing with feelings. Not really. He'd handled the situation with Peter all right, but that was because he understood horses, not necessarily the boy. And right now he certainly didn't understand his wife. To make matters worse, she was now frowning at him.

The entire way back to the house, he'd been sullen. For weeks he'd felt a special closeness and bond develop between Lydia and himself, something he'd never felt before. But how close could they truly be? There was so much that he didn't know about her. So much she still kept hidden. And he wondered—did any of it really matter?

The one thing he did know, the one thing he was certain of, was that he loved her. It didn't matter that his wife had lived in an orphanage. But what did matter was that she hadn't told him. He didn't want it to bother him, but it did nonetheless. What concerned him even more, was wondering what else she hadn't told him.

"I just saw Peter," his wife explained quietly. "It seems that you were right about the stables. I just wanted to apologize for earlier, Robert."

He didn't want to be at odds with her. He missed the closeness they'd shared that morning—had longed for it all day. With a conciliatory smile, he offered her his arm. "The boy did enjoy himself. Though, honestly, he was only comfortable with one of my mares."

"Star Dancer?" Lydia took his offered arm and they started down the corridor toward the staircase that led to their chambers.

Robert was surprised she already knew that piece of information, and he nodded. "The poor girl was painfully neglected and roughly treated before she came to Gosling. Actually, I'm surprised she took to the boy. She's a bit skittish most of the time, but they seemed to connect."

"She sounds just like Peter," Lydia remarked and looked up at him. "Is that why you said they were kindred spirits?"

Robert smiled at her. "Did he tell you that?"

"Oh, yes. That and the fact that you told him he could name her foal. Which, by the way, made Penny exceedingly jealous."

Robert's smile vanished. He hadn't thought that he would be causing a problem when he'd made his offer to Peter. It had just seemed the thing to do. Rearing children was not going to be easy, and it had been too many years since Luke and Caroline were young. Caroline. How did _she_ handle parenting so flawlessly? "Was the little urchin upset?"

Lydia rested her head against Robert's arm. "I told her that she could ask your permission to name one in the future. I hope that was all right."

Well, that made sense. Why hadn't he thought of it? Robert squeezed Lydia's hand and smiled. "Certainly."

Perhaps consulting his wife wasn't such a bad idea. Perhaps they could handle this parenting thing together. Perhaps that's how it was supposed to be all along. So now the pressing question on Robert's mind was, could he trust his wife completely—knowing she was keeping a part of herself separate from him? "Lydia, I need to speak with you."

They had reached the threshold of their bedchamber. Lydia pushed the door open and looked back at her husband. "And I'd like to speak with you as well."

Robert waited until Lydia had found a spot in her chintz chair before he took a seat opposite her. He pursed his lips and nodded to her. "Ladies first."

Lydia sat forward in her seat and smiled. "First of all, I am so glad that everything turned out well with the stables today. I am very happy that you were right, Robert. But I meant what I said this morning. I intend to be involved with decisions concerning our children."

"I'll try to be better," he acknowledged with a nod. "But what I said this morning is true as well, Lydia. I'm not accustomed to having to include anyone in my decisions."

"I am well aware of that." Lydia smiled saucily. "If you weren't the overbearing Lord Masten I married, I wouldn't know who you were."

_And that is the crux of the problem, isn't it_? She still thought of him as the arrogant, heavy-handed bully that had sent her away to Cheshire. It was no wonder she didn't trust him. The realization nearly knocked the wind out him, and Robert winced. He'd foolishly thought they had gotten past all that. How much longer would it take? Would she ever forgive him?

"Robert?" Lydia ask with a note of concern in her voice.

He shook his head. "Yes, dear?"

"I asked if you were all right." Lydia slid from her seat and dropped before him. A worried expression had settled on her face. "You don't look right." She gently touched his face.

Robert didn't feel right; he felt empty inside. Was there anything he could do to right the wrongs of their past? He looked down at her and smoothed his hand down her slender neck. "Lydia, will you ever see that I'm not really that man?"

"What man?"

"The awful bastard who said terrible things and sent you away to Blackstone?"

"Oh, Robert." Her face softened and she stretched up to softly kiss him. "That's not who you are to me. I don't think of you as that man. I've given you my heart."

"But do you trust me?" He desperately searched her face for answers."

"You know I do. What would make you believe differently?" She looked at him with loving concern.

Robert frowned. He didn't want to ask, but he had to know. It was driving him mad. "Are you keeping secrets from me?"

Lydia innocently shook her head. "Secrets? Does this have to do with Luke? With that bizarre remark he made to me?"

Robert had nearly forgotten about that little episode. Was it possible that Luke knew Lydia's secrets? The last time they'd seen each other was five years ago, and even then they were barely acquainted a sennight. What could his brother have possibly learned in such a short period of time?

Most likely it was nothing. It simply didn't make any sense for Luke to know something of importance.

Robert raised one of Lydia's hands to his lips. "Peter said something earlier, and it's been bothering me most of the day."

"Well, I'm sure he didn't mean to upset you. Whatever it is, I'll ask him to apologize."

Frustrated, Robert dropped her hand, closed his eyes, and leaned back in his seat, away from his wife. "Lydia, did you really live in an orphanage?"

She was shocked and nearly fell backward, but Robert moved forward and reached out his arms to catch her. Lydia smiled up at him tentatively. Apparently, she hadn't expected that question, but she regained her composure and nodded slowly. "Yes. Is that what you're upset about?"

"I'm upset, Lydia, because I didn't know about it. _Why_ didn't I know about it?"

Lydia shrugged, but kept a concerned eye on his face. "I don't suppose I thought it was important. But it wasn't a secret, Robert. You can ask James or Bethany if you like. They both know all about it."

"Why? Why were you sent to an orphanage?" The idea of his sweet wife being subjected to that kind of mistreatment made him see red. In fact, at the moment he'd like to pound Carteret into the ground for allowing such a thing to transpire.

Lydia frowned, but she leaned in more closely toward him and rested her chin on his leg. She met his eyes and spoke quietly. "I was nine at the time. Mama had died suddenly, unexpectedly. I didn't have any family in England. Papa was already gone, thank God, and Henry was at sea. So, I ended up in a children's home in Spitalfields. But I wasn't there long. Maybe a month, maybe a bit longer. Aunt Agnes was in Dumfries-shire, and as soon as she got word about Mama, she left Scotland to find me. And that was it. Honestly, Robert, I wasn't trying to keep it from you." She looked at him pleadingly.

When he looked at his wife, he saw the helpless little girl she'd once been. He wanted so desperately to take care of her. "My God, Lydia. When I think of what you've been through."

She smiled at that and sat up straight. "Please, I barely remember it. It was a lifetime ago."

"I don't believe that." Robert heaved a sigh. And he didn't believe it, not for a minute. No one ever forgot horrors like that. How could she be so nonchalant about it?

"What do you want me to say?" Lydia absently fingered one of the buttons on his waistcoat, looking lost in her memories. "Do you want me to ramble on about the squalid conditions? The rodent-infested hovel we were made to live in, that was rampant with disease? Tell you about the food that wasn't edible—but that we ate it anyway?" She shook her head and stared up at him. "It doesn't matter anymore, Robert. It's all in the past. Remembering it is painful and so I choose not to do so."

He couldn't remember a time when she was so open, and he still had questions that hadn't yet been answered. Robert cupped her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "My darling, I am so sorry for all of that. I don't want to make you remember unpleasantness. It's just that sometimes I feel like you're hiding a part of yourself away from me."

Lydia stared at him innocently with wide eyes. "Heaven's, Robert, I've given you every part of myself. What can you possibly think I'm hiding?"

She was closing up again and he frowned. He didn't want to hurt her, but his conscience nagged at him. If he didn't get the answers he sought now, then when? Robert pressed on. "Your family. Unless it has to do with Carteret, you never speak of them. When I do ask you directly, you change the subject. I just want to know where you come from, Lydia."

A blank expression fell

"Because it tells me who you are."

"You _know_ who I am," she insisted with a shake of her head.

"Not all of you, only the part you choose to show me. I don't know why you hate your father. You once mentioned a sister who died, but you won't speak of it. I've only heard you refer to your mother in the vaguest of terms. What caused the rift between you and your brother? Why did—"

"Stop!" she wailed with a pained expression. Then she whispered, "Please, Robert, just let it be."

Seeing her so miserable nearly broke his heart, but now he was certain he was right. There was something important she wasn't telling him. How could he convince her to trust him? To confide in him? "Sweetheart, please tell me." His voice was soft and caring.

But she just shook her head, sadly. "I've given you all I have to give. I'm sorry if that isn't enough." She pushed up to her feet, but couldn't meet his eyes and started for the door.

He couldn't let her run away from him. Robert jumped to his feet and stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her path. He pulled her into his embrace and rested his chin on her head. "What is so bad, Lydia, that you're afraid to tell me? Do you think I won't love you anymore, sweetheart?"

She went limp in his arms and then she shook as sobs wracked her body. There was nothing Robert could do except hold her close and whisper soothing words into her hair. God, he hated seeing her like this. If he could only understand.

Slowly, Lydia started to compose herself and she pushed away from him. "Wh—when you told me that my p—past didn't matter to you, that it was my future you cared about—were you lying to me?"

Robert felt numb. That wasn't what he'd meant when he said those words all those weeks ago. He closed his eyes, wondering what awful thing had a hold of his wife. "I meant that I don't hold your past against you. I certainly do care about who you are, and your past is part of that. Tell me you see the difference, Lydia."

"I am who you see. There's nothing more to me."

He didn't believe that any more than she did. All he wanted to do was make it better, and he couldn't do that if he didn't know what it was. "Sweetheart, if you tell me what it is, I'll do everything in my power to fix it. You know I will."

She scoffed and wiped away the vestiges of her tears. "Some things can't be _fixed_ , Robert." She turned her back to him and paced around the room. "Can you bring justice for my baby sister? Killed at the hands of my father, who is now dead, himself? God curse his soul."

Robert stared at her, speechless. There was nothing he could say to that.

"No, I thought not." Lydia's gait increased. "Can you take away my memories of Mama's broken bones and her shattered soul—all at the hands of that bastard and others like him? Can you bring back my brother to me? The sweet boy who protected me? Because that boy is gone, Robert. He doesn't exist anymore."

Again, tears fell freely down her face and Robert's heart ached for her. Why had he forced the issue? What an arrogant bastard _he_ was. Had he honestly thought he could _fix_ whatever it was she was keeping from him? He couldn't take away her past or comfort the little girl she'd been.

Robert couldn't hold back any longer. He crossed the room in just a few strides and hauled her back into the strength and warmth of his arms. "I'm so sorry, my love. God, Lydia, I am so sorry. I won't make you speak of it. Please, forgive me, my darling."

Her arms tighten around his waist and he breathed in a sigh of relief. He shouldn't have pressured her. Shouldn't have forced her to talk of painful memories. He brushed his lips across the top of her head. 

# Chapter Sixteen

Gosling Park was in a mild uproar, and all over a mere dinner party for twelve measly people. Since Luke had descended upon the household and would be present at dinner, Lydia had asked Miss Mitford to attend as well, to round out her numbers. At first the governess had balked at the invitation and seemed nervous to learn there was going to be a dinner party at all. But Lydia had enticed the girl with an extra day off the next week if she would attend. Besides, it was a good opportunity to meet the local magistrate and vicar. Finally, after she'd secured Miss Mitford's acceptance, Lydia offered her the use of one of her gowns for the party.

Miss Mitford had politely refused the dress. "I don't think that would be proper at all. I'm sure I have something that will be suitable, Lady Masten."

Lydia smiled warmly. "If you change your mind the offer still stands. And one more thing, Miss Mitford."

"Yes, my lady?"

Lydia took a deep breath and pursed her lips. How did one go about warning young women in regards to the dangers of Luke Beckford? "My brother-in-law—well, Mr. Beckford can be very persuasive with his attentions. I just want you to keep your guard up and be careful around him."

But to Lydia's surprise, Miss Mitford had laughed out loud at her warning. "Oh, Lady Masten, don't worry about me. I know Mr.VI know all about Mr. Beckford. Remember, my cousin works for Lady Staveley."

Lydia had smiled at that, putting her mind at ease. Thank heavens. It was one less thing to have to worry about. Though her list of other worries concerning her party were growing by leaps and bounds. She soon discovered that Betsy was a fountain of information regarding her guests. At first the knowledge was comforting, but that feeling had quickly turned to troubling.

Betsy had convinced her that she should watch Sir Phillip Cressley's intake of spirits. Apparently, the magistrate was known to get foxed whenever he was in close proximity with the vicar. Lydia made a note: _Place Sir Phillip and Mr. Lovelace at opposite ends of the table._

Lord Masten had been heard cursing Lord Edgecroft's name earlier in the week and was itching to give their neighbor a piece of his mind. Apparently, Edgecroft's sheep had recently started jumping the fence onto Gosling's property and were eating everything in sight. Lydia made another note: _Persuade Robert not to thrash Lord Edgecroft in front of the other guests._

Betsy felt certain that Lady Cressley would try to monopolize the handsome Mr. Beckford's attention in an attempt to make her husband jealous. The baroness had been put out with Sir Phillip ever since he'd been found enjoying another woman's company. Her ladyship now seemed dead-set on making her husband pay for his pursuit of other pleasures. _Keep Lady Cressley away from Luke. Seat her near the Reverend Mr. Lovelace._

The list went on and on. How was there so much to keep in mind for such a small gathering? Lydia's respect for Caroline's ability to entertain swarms of people now knew no bounds. What she wouldn't give for her sister-in-law's sage advice.

On the plus side, Kistler had finally stopped sulking from the set-down Robert had apparently given him the night before. The earl had been in no mood to deal with his prickly valet, and he had made sure that Kistler understood—in no uncertain terms—that he would have to share his dressing room with Betsy from now on. While the valet had originally bristled at such an arrangement, he came around after being subjected to a burst of Robert's quick temper. In the end, Kistler had swallowed enough pride to actually smile in Betsy's presence. Lydia was hopeful that this was another situation she wouldn't have to worry about anymore.

Betsy convinced Lydia to wear her new rose colored gown, and then gushed over how beautiful she looked in the creation. The maid piled Lydia's hair up high on her head, but left a few tendrils out to curl around her face.

Lydia looked at her reflection in the floor-length mirror and her eyes grew wide with alarm. Robert would never approve of the revealing bodice on this gown. What had been going through her mind when she'd ordered it? Oh, yes, she had intended to punish her husband at the time. "Betsy, please fill this in with a fichu." Lydia touched the top of her exposed bosom. "I think it would give Lord Masten heart palpitations to see me like this."

Betsy smirked. "More like it would give him palpitations somewhere else."

"Betsy!" Lydia tried to suppress a smile. "I don't have any idea what you mean."

The maid laughed as she tucked in the lacy material at the top of the countess' dress, making it a bit more conservative.

The door to the chambers opened and Robert strode inside. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw his wife in the middle of the room. Then he smiled and crossed the room to inspect her more closely. "My love, you look gorgeous."

Lydia blushed from his praise and then spun around in her new gown. "Do you really think so, Robert?"

He kissed the top of her head. "Aye, and the dress is nice too. Is this one of the new gowns from Madam Fournier?" He looked her over, front and back.

"Yes." Lydia nodded as she looked up at him.

"It's worth every penny. Remind me to thank Caroline for taking you shopping."

Now she laughed. "Even though it was to teach you a lesson?"

"Even though." He tapped her nose affectionately.

Betsy quietly cleared her throat. "Will that be all, my lady?"

"Yes," Lydia responded, though she never removed her eyes from her husband. Then she snapped back to reality. "I mean no. I need my pearls, Betsy."

The maid curtseyed. "Of course, my lady."

"Wait." Robert stopped the maid. "Betsy, leave us, will you. And tell Kistler I'll be ready for him in a trice."

"Yes, Lord Masten." Betsy smiled one more time at Lydia and then bustled from the room.

Robert withdrew a long, slender box from his coat pocket and offered it to Lydia. "I hope you don't mind, darling. I managed to pry out of Betsy what you would be wearing tonight and I'd hoped you'd wear these instead."

Lydia tentatively took the gift from her husband and opened it with shaking hands. Inside the velvet-lined box, there was an opal nearly the size of her fist that hung from a slender cream-colored ribbon. There were also two smaller matching opal ear bobs. They were, in a word, stunning. Lydia looked back up at her husband in awe. "Oh, Robert."

"They were my mother's. But I want you to have them now. I sent Betsy into Lulworth to find a ribbon that would work." He removed the necklace from the box and tied it around her neck.

"Robert, they are beautiful," she remarked breathlessly, gently touching the opal around her neck.

He smiled while Lydia slid the ear bobs into place. "Much better than those virginal pearls," he remarked, then stood back and admired his wife and her new baubles. "It's almost perfect."

"Almost?" Lydia asked in surprise and tried to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.

But before she could step away from Robert, he smiled devilishly, snatched the fichu from her dress, and flicked it over his shoulder. "Now it's perfect."

Lydia looked down at herself and then met his eyes in surprise. "You don't think this is too daring? The Robert I knew in London would have hated this dress."

Robert pulled her into his arms. "Oh, who cares what that Robert thought? He was a fool." Then, very softly, he kissed her.

They were interrupted by a light scratching at the door. Robert rolled his eyes and whispered to his wife, "You'd best leave me to Kistler. The man is temperamental as it is. He won't want you hovering."

Lydia grinned. "I'll check in on the children."

"Oh, I'm sorry, love." Robert cringed. "They're down at the stables with Mrs. Norris. They wanted to check on Star Dancer." The scratching got louder, and Robert frowned as he barked, "Stubble it, Kistler!" Then he smiled at his wife. "That man will be the death of me. Unfortunately, he's the best damn valet to be found."

Lydia giggled as she stepped toward the door and opened it. Kistler nearly fell to the floor, but he caught his balance and managed not to look flustered. She nodded politely to the valet. "I'll leave his lordship in your very capable hands, Kistler."

"Thank you, my lady." Then the valet actually smiled at her before he started across the room to the earl.

Then Lydia turned back to look at her husband. "Oh, Robert, I nearly forgot."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Promise me you won't thrash Lord Edgecroft tonight at dinner."

Robert's mouth fell open. "How did you know I'd planned to?"

Kistler snorted. Loudly. "I'd bet you a year's salary that Betsy Bowman told her. That woman has a loose tongue."

Lydia smothered a smile. "Well, Robert?"

Her husband's eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. "His sheep are a nuisance. And they've gotten into to my special crop of hay, Lydia."

"Then you can make plans to see him tomorrow to discuss it. Please, Robert. You know how important this dinner is to me."

His expression softened and he shrugged, looking like a troublesome boy. "You'll have to use your wiles to convince me, darling."

Kistler made some sort of choking sound from the corner of the room. When Robert glared sternly at his valet, Lydia giggled. "Oh, Lord Masten, I promise you'll be amply rewarded for your good behavior." Then with that, she left him to his toilet.

The guests were all assembled in the formal drawing room. Robert stood close to his wife and was glad she seemed more relaxed somewhat now that everyone had arrived. Mrs. Vaughan, an attractive young matron, asked Lydia all about London and how her old friend Caroline was getting along. Mr. Vaughan said very little, but walked around the drawing room, stopping every now and then to peer at one antique item or another.

From the moment she arrived, Lady Cressley flirted shamelessly with both Luke and the dour Lord Edgecroft. However her husband, Sir Phillip Cressley, the aging magistrate paid her activities little, if any, attention at all. Instead, the baronet focused on the thin and balding vicar, and he quickly downed two and a half glasses of whiskey as soon as Mr. Lovelace arrived.

Miss Mitford stood in the corner of the drawing room and observed the goings-on. The spindly and angular Lady Edgecroft stared at the governess for quite some time before pointedly asking the young woman where she knew her from. Miss Mitford's face lost her color and she looked almost at once like a frightened mare.

Surprisingly, Luke smoothly came to her rescue. "Oh, my dear Lady Edgecroft, I believe Miss Mitford just has one of _those_ faces, you know?"

"One of _those_ faces?" Lady Edgecroft repeated with a frown.

"You know," Luke drawled charmingly and made his way to Miss Mitford's side, "she could be a duke's stubborn daughter, or a wealthy heiress embroiled in some adventure, or a shy governess looking after a couple charges. Miss Mitford looks like she could be _anybody_. Though, I think of her as a diamond hiding among paste imitations."

Miss Mitford cast him irritated glance, and then turned her attention back to Lady Edgecroft. "I'm sure I would remember if we'd met before, my lady." Then she made her way to other side of the room.

A few minutes later, Robert frowned as he watched Luke follow the governess to her spot in the corner. What was his brother up to? And what was all that rubbish about diamonds hiding among paste imitations? Robert squeezed Lydia's shoulder and dropped a peck on her cheek, before crossing the room to where Luke and the governess were embroiled in a heated but quiet discussion. Miss Mitford met his eyes and she smiled, relief evident on her face. "Lord Masten."

Robert nodded at her and then met his brother's eyes. "Miss Mitford, would you mind terribly giving me a moment alone with my brother?"

"Not at all." The governess sounded thankful and she crossed the room to where Lydia and Mrs. Vaughan were chatting amiably.

Robert narrowed his eyes on his reprobate of a brother. "Lucas, tell me I don't have to ask you to refrain yourself from seducing a member of my staff."

Luke looked from his brother to the quiet governess across the room and finally again back to Robert. "What kind of man do you think I am?"

There were too many insulting things on the tip of Robert's tongue, but he managed to hold them back. "I think I'll save us both the embarrassment of actually answering that."

Luke scowled and then turned his attention back to the governess. "Let me put your mind at ease, Robert. I have no intention of seducing _Miss Mitford_."

There was something about the way Luke spoke the governess' name that made Robert uneasy. He couldn't exactly put his finger on it. But before he could question his brother any further, the doors to the drawing room flew open and Peter and Penny raced inside.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd at the children's sudden presence. They were panting heavily and trying to catch their breath. Penny's brown hair had fallen out of her braid and hung about her face, making her look like a miniature Medusa, and Peter's little cheeks were red from exertion. When the children saw that the room full of adults were staring at them in shock, Peter and Penny both stopped in their tracks.

Lydia rushed toward the children and placed a comforting hand on each of their faces. "What are you doing here, my darlings? You should be up with Mrs. Norris."

Peter looked at all the anxious faces focused on him and his sister and froze. But Penny excitedly took the countess' arm and squeezed tightly. "We went down to the stables, like Lord Masten said we could. And, Lady Masten, the baby, the—" she squished up her face, obviously trying to get the words right— "foal. We saw it get born. It just fell—"

"Thank you, Penny." Lydia loudly cut the child off, blushing to her roots. "I'm sure his lordship would love to hear all about it—tomorrow." She stood up tall and began to usher the children from the room. "Let me take you back up to Mrs. Norris."

But Miss Mitford stepped forward. "Allow me, my lady." Lydia didn't notice that the governess glanced back over her shoulder fretfully at Luke, but Robert caught the look.

And so did Luke, who crossed the room in front of his brother and offered his arm to the governess. "I'll escort you, Miss Mitford. Gosling can be a bit confusing to navigate and I'd hate for you to find yourself lost in this maze of a house."

Begrudgingly, Miss Mitford took Luke's proffered arm and then the two of them quietly steered the children back through the drawing room doors. Lydia noticed that Lady Cressley frowned when the door shut behind them. Betsy had certainly been right on that score—the baroness had kept her eyes on Luke all night.

Robert stepped forward and placed a hand on the small of Lydia's back, speaking softly in her ear. "I'm uneasy with _that_ situation. Luke has been paying too much attention to Miss Mitford for my comfort."

Lydia met his eyes, smiled, and whispered back, "I think Miss Mitford can take care of herself. She told me she is quite familiar with your brother's reputation. Her cousin works for Caroline, you know."

Robert furrowed his brow thoughtfully, then nodded and smiled at his guests. "Sorry for the interruption. The children have been anxiously awaiting the birth of Star Dancer's foal."

The guests smiled politely, though a confused look crossed more than one face. It was Mr. Vaughan who finally spoke. "Masten, who exactly were those children?"

With a twinkle in his eye Robert explained, "Ah, the poor dears. They're my wards. Their mother, Francesca Harris, was a childhood friend of Lady Masten's. She was widowed, of course, and had no family to speak of. So, when she knew illness was going to take her away from her precious children, she asked us if we would care for Peter and Penelope in her absence."

Lydia looked up at her husband in pure amazement as the complete fabrication fell so easily from his lips. She had no idea the man was a master deceiver. Then she smiled, despite herself, when he draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side. "My sweet wife wouldn't have it any other way, of course—she and Mrs. Harris had been such good friends. And the children are just delightful. So Lady Masten and I have started adoption proceedings."

Adoption proceedings? Lydia's eyes flew to Robert's. Was he serious?

He was still talking however. "I thought initially that the boy should go off to Eton, but my wife felt that Peter should have some time to grieve and adjust to his new family and surroundings before displacing him again. What is your opinion, Mr. Lovelace?"

The vicar looked taken aback to be asked so pointed a question in front of the assembled group. He nodded toward Lydia and then Robert. "Well, I think it was quite charitable for you to open your home to these children, Lord Masten, and to offer them your name. Peter is more than welcome to join the other boys in my Latin class on Tuesdays. Then perhaps he'll be ready for Eton in the fall."

And it went on from there, with the earl answering questions and painting a tragically romantic history for his two soon-to-be children, thus cementing Peter and Penny's future position within polite society. They would never be known as orphaned pick-pockets or London street urchins. They would now be the respectable, adopted children of the Earl and Countess of Masten—orphans of a war hero, Major Quinten Harris, and his lovely wife Francesca. With just a few words from his creative imagination, Robert had invented a past for Peter and Penny that would ensure them a bright and happy future.

_Appearances, Lydia, appearances_ —she could almost hear him whisper in her ear. Lydia's heart swelled with love for her husband. He was so different from the man she'd always thought him to be. How glorious it was to be wrong.

It took a bit longer than one would have expected for Luke and Miss Mitford to return to the group. But other than that, the remainder of the evening continued free of incident. Once they sat down to dinner, Robert looked down the long table at his wife and smiled. She was in her element, charming Mr. Lovelace on one side and Lady Edgecroft on the other. Gosling Park had gone too long without a mistress to preside over her. Thankfully, that lonely era had finally come to an end.

"Robert, were you really serious about adopting the children?" Lydia asked with a raised brow, after their guests were finally gone and they were alone in the safety of their bedchamber.

He stood proudly and nodded. "Would I make an announcement like that if I wasn't?"

No, of course he wouldn't, but still. "That's just such a big step, Robert. Are you certain you want to do this?"

"Lydia, when I let you keep those children in London, I knew I was taking responsibility for their well-being. All I'm doing now is giving them the added protection of my name."

"But how?"

"I've sent everything to my solicitors at Amherst and Birch. They are getting all the necessary papers drawn up as we speak. I gathered all the information that Peter knew about their parents. Their mother was trampled by a coach in London. He'd told me about the accident, but I didn't realize that was how she died. Poor fellow witnessed the gruesome event. Mary Harris was her name. She was never married, and Peter knows next to nothing about either of their fathers. Those two little imps have been through so much more than any child should have to endure."

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "But you never said a word to me about any of this."

Robert kissed the top of her head and then stepped away to admire his wife. "I know you want to be included in decisions, darling. But I so wanted to surprise you." His brow then furrowed and he took a deep breath. "You should know, however that Peter cannot inherit the title. There are provisions against such a thing, Lydia."

Lydia giggled with glee. "Oh, Robert, you'll still have your heir. Didn't I tell you that I'd deny you nothing?"

"Is there anything yet? Dizziness? Nausea? Wild cravings?" he asked anxiously.

Her blue eyes danced as she smiled at him. "Just the wild cravings. I've developed quite an addiction for my husband and I want him all the time. I don't know what is to be done about it."

Robert pulled her into his arms. "Hmm? I'm sure I'll think of something."

Lydia then looked up at her husband and grinned. She still couldn't get over the fact that they were going to adopt Peter and Penny. "And you renamed her Penelope?"

Robert shrugged as he stepped behind his wife and began to unbutton the back of her dress. "I figure that's only fair. She does want to name one of my foals, after all. Besides, Penny sounds too common to be the daughter of an earl. Appearances, Lydia."

Lydia laughed. Had she not thought the same thing over dinner? "And what about Major Quinten Harris and his lovely wife Francesca?"

Robert smirked as he finished his ministrations. "I suppose I did lay it on a bit thick, didn't I?"

Her dress dropped from his hands and fell limply to the floor, leaving Lydia only in her chemise. She turned to face him. "You do nothing by half, Robert."

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. "I'm glad you noticed, because I'm ready to claim my reward, wife."

"Your reward?" she asked innocently as she stepped out of the dress that pooled at her feet and backed away from her husband.

Robert's eyes twinkled with a devilish glint. "Yes, my reward for not handing Edgecroft his arse on a platter in front of an audience. My wife said I'd be amply rewarded."

Lydia coyly bit the bottom of her lip and stepped even further away from her husband, until the back of her legs bumped against the edge of their bed. "And so you have been. All of our guests now think you're perfectly well behaved."

"Bollocks," he responded with a grin and began to stalk her like a predator. "You forget, those people have known me most of my life. Now they all think I've gone soft. I'd best be rewarded most generously for the loss of my hard-earned reputation, Lydia. Besides, there are those wild cravings of yours to consider." He reached her beside the bed and picked her up in his arms, kissed her thoroughly, and then dropped her in the middle of their four-poster.

Lydia scrambled under the soft counterpane and waited anxiously while Robert shed his clothes and joined her. She sighed happily when he pulled her to his lap, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her into submission.

It wasn't even dawn—of that Lydia was certain. True, her eyelids hadn't yet opened, but she knew it was too early for any sane person to be awake. That could only mean that Robert was already getting up for the day. Did the man never sleep? He could stay up all night making love to her, and then rise with sun and never seem tired. Of course, she was more tired lately than she could remember being before. But still...

Then she heard voices, tiny ones, in her room. She rolled over and groaned. Next she heard Robert's voice softly whispering, "Shh! Don't wake her. We'll all be sorry if you do."

Blast him! Who was he talking to in their room in the wee hours of the morning? And what did he mean they'd all be sorry? Was he saying she was cranky in the mornings? She stirred again and moaned.

Then she heard two little voices laugh quietly—but she distinctly heard them laugh. Peter and Penny? What were they doing in the master chambers at this hour? She tried to sit up, but her arms just wouldn't cooperate. She was simply too tired to move. "Robert?" she was barely able to get out.

The bed dipped as Robert sat next to her. He gently smoothed her hair off her forehead and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Shh! Darling, go back to sleep. I'll usher these little urchins out of here."

"No, I don't want them to leave." Lydia managed to blink her eyes open.

"Lydia, we're just going down to the stables to have a look at Star Dancer's new filly."

"That's a girl 'orse," Penny said cheerfully and hopped up on the bed next to Lydia. "Petey and me have been thinkin' up names all night. I think we got a good one."

Lydia's arms were now functioning and finally ready to obey her commands. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, grateful she was still wearing her chemise. Penny snuggled against her and she wrapped her arms around the little girl. "Penny, what are you doing up at this hour?"

"Well, Lord Masten said we can't in'errupt our studies to see the 'orses, so we 'ad to get up earlier than Miss Mitford."

Robert tweaked the child's nose. "You little tattle-tale. Now, you've got me in trouble."

Penny giggled at that and sat up tall. "Nobody could ge' you in trouble. You're the earl."

"Ah." Robert leaned in close and kissed the girl's cheek. "But she's the countess, and I have to answer to her."

Lydia rolled her eyes at that. As if Robert ever had to answer to her for anything. Then Penny leaned back against her and snuggled in closer. "Can't you come with us, Lady Masten? Don't you want to see Petey's filly?"

"You little imp." Robert picked the girl off the bed. "I already told you that her ladyship needs her sleep or she's grouchy the rest of the day."

"Robert!"

He looked sheepish and shrugged. "I'm sorry, my love, but it is true. Now close your eyes and go back to sleep, and we'll see you at breakfast."

Grouchy, indeed! Lydia swung her legs off the bed and stood. "If you can get up at this ungodly hour, Robert, then so can I. Give me a minute and I'll meet you all out on the front lawn."

He smiled at her and both children clapped their hands together excitedly.

Before Lydia knew it, she was haphazardly dressed and crossing Gosling in the early hours of the morning. Penny and Robert raced down the path while Peter held back with her and held her hand. "I'm glad you've come wi' us, Lady Masten."

"Me too."

They reached the stables in no time, and Peter led the group to the foaling stall where Star Dancer, a beautiful black mare, now shared with her new chestnut filly. Penny excitedly explained how they'd made it just in time to witness the birth of the foal the night before and all the details Lydia had tried to keep quiet at the dinner party.

It was truly amazing to see these two children, who'd only lived in the filth and the disease-ridden streets of London, embrace their new lives in the country so openly. Her thoughts were interrupted when Peter remarked grandly, "Gardenia."

"Gardenia?" Lydia echoed in confusion.

Penny lifted her arms in the air for Lydia to pick her up, which she promptly did. "Petey told Lord Masten that we liked 'ow you always smell so pretty. An' he said you smell like Gardenias—that's a flower." Penny rested her curly brown head on Lydia's shoulder.

Lydia smiled at the child, kissed the top of her head, and then met her husband's eyes across the stables. He winked at her.

"So," Peter continued, "Penny and me decided that since this was a girl 'orse, we should name her Gardenia."

Lydia blushed as she looked at the other three expectant faces around the stables. "Peter, that's lovely. Thank you."

"It was my idea," Penny chimed in. "But it would've been a terrible name for a boy."

Lydia laughed in agreement, and then she watched in amazement as Peter entered the stall and ran his hand over first the mare, and then the filly. She couldn't believe the mare would allow the boy to engage with her offspring. Though Star Dancer kept a watchful eye on Peter, she seemed completely at ease he interacted with Gardenia. Never in a million years would Lydia have thought such a thing was possible.

# Chapter Seventeen

The next few weeks were spent in complete bliss. Lydia would breakfast with the children before sending them off to the schoolroom with Miss Mitford. She spent her afternoons furthering her acquaintances with the local gentry, and was delighted to realize she had been openly accepted in the community. Her dinners were spent with Robert, Miss Mitford, and Luke. Though she and her brother-in-law were still wary of each other, she felt they had formed a sort of uneasy truce.

But that truce came to an end one sunny June afternoon in the library. Lydia had gone to find a book on gardening, hoping that she might learn something helpful on the hobby since she was so poor at it. Instead, she discovered Miss Mitford wrapped in Luke's arms in the midst of a passionate kiss.

The lecher!

Lydia couldn't help but gasp. The two would-be lovers flew apart and Miss Mitford rushed from the room without so much as a look behind her. Lydia narrowed her eyes on her brother-in-law and took a determined step toward him. "How dare you take advantage of that girl in this home?"

In the past, Luke would have turned on his handsome smile and tried to charm himself out of whatever trouble he was in. But it seemed that he simply wasn't in the mood to play those games today. "That _girl_ knows exactly what she's doing."

"Yes, well, I remember thinking the same thing where you were concerned." She pursed her lips together. "Against my better judgment, I let Robert talk me into letting you stay here, but I won't let you do to that poor girl what you did to me."

Luke scoffed. Loudly. "I've got news for you, Lydia. No one _lets_ Robert do anything. Regardless of whatever hold you have on my brother, I doubt very much that has changed."

"Weren't you only going to be here a _few days_ , Luke? It's now been weeks. I'm sure your tarts and gambling buddies must be missing you."

Now, Luke grinned charmingly, but it was all an act—and they both knew it. "Am I to take it that you've grown tired of my company?"

"I certainly meant no offense, but—"

"Oh, Lydia, you meant offense, all right. But don't trouble your pretty little head over it. I'm not going anywhere. At least not until I figure out what you've done to Robert."

"What I've done to Robert?" Lydia took a hesitant step backward and stared questioningly at Luke. "I've not done anything to your brother."

She didn't look quite right. Her face had grown a bit pale. He must have shocked her with his boldness. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage and get the truth out of her. "Oh, come now, Lydia. You and I both know that you're not who you pretend to be."

"Not who I pretend to be?" she echoed with a frown.

Truly, she was an excellent actress.

"And now after all these years, you and Robert are suddenly in each others' pockets? You're after something, Lydia, and I intend to find out what it is."

She staggered back and slowly shook her head. "I have no idea what you're talking ab—"

But she wasn't able to finish her statement. Instead, her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell, cracking her skull against the corner of the bookcase as she collapsed in a heap on the floor. For just a split second, Luke gaped at her in complete shock. Then he rushed to her side and yelled loudly for help.

Sweet Lucifer, he'd never seen that coming.

When he touched her cheek, Lydia's eyes flickered open and she started to rouse, though it was clear she was dizzy and unable to focus on him.

"Sweet Lucifer, Lydia. Are you all right?" he whispered in concern. He'd wanted to get answers from her, but he hadn't meant to knock her unconscious. Then before he knew what had happened, Lydia's face took on a mortified expression of either shock or fear—he couldn't tell which—and she cast up the contents of her stomach all over his Hessians.

Damn it! Those boots were brand new. Realization struck Luke like a bolt of lightning.

_Good God! Lydia was pregnant_.

All the puzzle pieces fit together now. The little whore was trying to pass off someone else's child as Robert's. She must have had to get into the earl's good graces quickly, so that the fool might actually believe the child was his. Luke's pulse pounded in his head as anger set in. She was even more devious and deceitful than he'd first thought. But this— _this_ was unconscionable. Robert didn't deserve _this_.

"I'm s—so sorry," Lydia stuttered as she wiped tears away from her eyes. Color slowly began to return to her face. Then she struggled to sit up, but ended up lying her head back down. Gingerly, she touched a bump that was forming on the side of her head.

Luke shook his head, stood, and backed away as if he'd been burned. "You won't get away with this," he growled.

Dunsley hurried into the room and a look of horror crossed the old man's face when he saw the countess sprawled across the floor. "Lady Masten!" The butler rushed forward and helped Lydia get back to her feet.

Still dumbfounded, Luke stumbled backward and then fled the library.

Lydia soon found herself dressed in her long cotton nightrail and lying in bed—tucked in like a sick child. Betsy applied a cool cloth to her forehead and calmly explained that a footman had already been dispatched to find Lord Masten.

Kistler paced in the corner of the room and Betsy turned her attention to him and ordered quietly, "Jon, go fetch a new pot of tea, and ask Cook to add a pinch of ginger."

Normally, the prickly valet would have bristled at an order from the maid, but he looked relieved to have something to do. He nodded and then fled the room.

Lydia closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. "Ginger?" she asked quietly.

Betsy nodded knowingly. "It helps with the nausea, or at least old Mrs. Trumball—she's a midwife over in Lulworth—says it does."

_Midwife_? Lydia groaned and closed her eyes. She wouldn't be able to keep her secret anymore. And she had wanted so badly to be absolutely certain of her condition before she told Robert. What if she was wrong? She didn't want him to get his hopes up over nothing.

Then she remembered the strange argument she'd had with Luke before she fainted and all that had come after that. Had she actually gotten sick on the poor man's boots? How dreadfully humiliating! She didn't think she could ever look her brother-in-law in the eyes again, not that she was anxious to see him anytime soon.

There was a soft knock on the door. Weakly, she nodded for Betsy to answer it, which the maid promptly did. With a concerned look, Miss Mitford stood on the threshold with a tear-stained face and her hands clasped together tightly. "Oh, Lady Masten, we just heard you were ill. The children wanted me to make sure you're all right."

Lydia smiled and held out her hand to the girl, the earlier scene with the governess and Luke long forgotten. "Miss Mitford, please tell the children not to worry. I will be fine. After I've regained my bearings, I'll stop by the schoolroom to see them."

Miss Mitford nodded. "Very well, my lady." Then the governess slid away.

Betsy closed the door and walked purposefully back to Lydia's side. Hands on her hips, the maid shook her head at the countess. "Visiting the schoolroom? I don't think his lordship will approve, my lady. At least not until Doctor Grant has had a look at you."

Lydia struggled to sit up and tried to look sternly at her maid—but it was hard when she knew the girl was only concerned about her welfare. "For goodness' sakes. It's just a bump on the head, Betsy. I'll be fine."

"It's not the _bump_ I'm talking about, Lady Masten, and you well know it."

Lydia blushed. Up until now, she hadn't realized that anyone else might know her secret. "I'm not certain of anything yet, Betsy."

"Oh? And just who do you think empties the chamber pots in this room, my lady? You've been sick every morning for nearly a fortnight."

"Betsy!" Lydia sputtered in shock. She couldn't believe her maid would mention such a vile thing.

"Don't _Betsy_ me. You and Lord Masten share a bedchamber. It was just a matter of time."

"Well, even if you're right, there's no reason I can't simply visit the children in the schoolroom. I'll have you know that my mother cooked and cleaned every day until my sister was born."

Betsy shook her head with a grim determination. "Dunsley has already sent for Doctor Grant. And until his lordship says you may leave that bed, I'll watch over you myself. And if not me, then Kistler."

Lydia sighed tiredly. "Very well. I'll wait for his lordship."

Panting, Robert rushed through the front doors of Gosling Park. The second footman had tracked him down in the stables and told him that something was wrong with Lydia. He'd left the poor man in a cloud of dust and sprinted back to Gosling like he was on fire. A somber looking Dunsley met him in the front entryway. "I've already sent for Doctor Grant, my lord."

Robert nodded, as if in a trance. Lydia had seemed fine when he left her that morning. How could something have hit her so suddenly? The thought of his wife being ill and in pain made his stomach churn.

He made his way quickly down the corridor toward the staircase that led to their room, and he wouldn't have stopped for anything but he heard yelling coming from a small parlor at the end of the hallway.

"Oh, for God's sake, Juliet! It's hardly the same thing." It was Luke's exasperated voice. Robert frowned and started in that direction.

Before he could open the door, it flew open on its own and Robert was very nearly knocked to the floor by the fuming governess. "Just stay far away from me, Lucas."

Miss Mitford didn't even acknowledge Robert's presence as she stormed down the corridor. He stared after the departing governess and then turned his attention on Luke, who now stood before him. This was the very last thing Robert needed right now. He glared at his brother and then turned on his heel toward the staircase. "We will discuss this later, Luke." Robert gestured in the direction the angry governess had gone.

But Luke chased after him and grabbed his arm. "Actually, Robert, I need to speak with you _right now_." And then he began to haul Robert inside the parlor.

Robert shook his head. "Something's wrong with Lydia. We can discuss your attempts to seduce members of my staff later." He tried to free himself from his brother's grasp, but Luke's hold on his arm only tightened with determination.

"I'm not _trying_ to seduce anyone. And nothing's wrong with Lydia. She's simply with child."

_With child_.

The statement was blunt and simple. Robert stepped backward, stunned. And then he grinned and nodded like a fool. "I must see her."

"Damn it, Robert!" Luke growled. "You _need_ to hear me out first."

Robert could barely concentrate. Was it possible? Was Lydia really carrying his child? He had to get to her. But damn it if Luke wasn't successful in pulling him into the small parlor.

When Luke firmly shut the door behind them, he spun around with a painful expression. "This is important, Robert."

Exactly what kind of trouble had Luke gotten himself into with Miss Mitford? Robert heaved a sigh. Dealing with his brother was the last thing in the world he wanted to do just now. What he wanted was to be was at Lydia's bedside, but his brother seemed unusually determined. So he figured the best thing to do was stop wasting time, listen to whatever Luke had to say, and then climb the stairs to Lydia's bedside. "Out with it then. I want to see Lydia," he barked impatiently.

Luke took a deep breath. "I don't want you to be made a fool of by your wife, Robert. She isn't who she appears to be, she never has been."

Robert furrowed his brow. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"I honestly never wanted to have this conversation with you, Rob. But I can't keep my mouth closed anymore—not when you're the one who'll suffer."

This didn't sound good. Robert was fairly certain he didn't want to hear whatever it was Luke meant to say. "Can't this wait, Lucas? I really need to get to my wife."

Luke looked anguished and harshly rubbed his own brow. "Haven't you ever wondered, Robert, why I fled Staveley's after Lydia and I were caught together?"

"Actually, no." At the time, he'd been so angry with Luke, the why hadn't really mattered. "I just chalked it up to you being you."

Bitterly, Luke laughed. "Yes, your confidence in me has always been overwhelming." Then he started pacing. "All these years you thought I'd ruined and abandoned her. But you should know that's not the way it was, Robert."

Truthfully, Robert wanted to forget the incident at the Staveley's had ever even taken place. If he'd spent any real time dwelling on the fact that Luke had touched Lydia, that he'd had her in his bed, Robert would have gone stark-raving mad with jealousy. So, he certainly didn't want to rehash the particulars of that situation with his brother. Especially not now, while Lydia was waiting for him. "I don't know what this is about, Luke, but I don't think there's any question about whether or not you ruined Lydia. Staveley found the two of you together. And really, there's no point in discussing it now."

Luke smiled—not the charming smile he usually wore, but a pained expression that was instantly disturbing to Robert. "Oh, I bedded Lydia. I'm not denying it. But _I_ didn't ruin her. Someone before me enjoyed that privilege."

Robert felt his blood run cold. Why would Luke utter such a vile thing? And how could he keep himself from murdering his own brother?

"I wasn't about to marry her," Luke continued, unaware that his life was in serious danger. "Why should _I_ be tied to her for the rest of my life, when someone else had ruined her? But then you jumped in there to save me from disgracing the Beckford name and married the little whore in my stead."

Robert's jaw tightened and his steely gaze narrowed in on Luke. "You will refrain from speaking ill of my wife. Because you're my brother, I'm going to pretend like we never had this conversation. And then—"

"Yes, go ahead and live in your dream world, Robert."

It took all the self-control Robert possessed not to strangle the life out of his brother right then and there. God knew the bounder deserved it, but at the moment he was more concerned with Lydia's welfare and getting to her side. Robert started for the door. "Leave Gosling Park and don't come back, Lucas. Not ever."

But Luke sidestepped in front of Robert. "I'm not done." He squared his shoulders and pressed on. "It was all an act, Rob. She pretended to be an innocent and virginal. I was completely fooled by her. And let's just say I'm more than a little dubious about the paternity of this child of hers. I think I'll hold off on my congratulations, Robert, to see who the child looks like first."

Robert glared at his brother, literally shaking with fury. There were parts about his wife's life he was sure he knew nothing about. However, if Lydia was with child, Robert had no doubt that he was the father. After all, it was Robert who had forced Lydia back under his control. It was Robert who had asked Lydia live with him at Gosling Park. And it was Robert who had convinced Lydia to give him his heir. Of course, none of that was information that Lucas was privy to, and with good reason.

But the incredibly insulting conclusion that Luke had come to was disturbing on many levels. The first was that his reprobate of a brother seemed more sincere and earnest than Robert could ever remember him being before. But most importantly, the poison that spewed from Luke's mouth was precisely why his brother couldn't stay here any longer. If Luke remained at Gosling, his vicious words would distress Lydia and would hurt her further. And that, Robert couldn't allow.

He started for the door again. "It must be hard for you to realize that you won't be my heir, Lucas, but I'm sure you'll get used to the idea."

Luke laughed cynically. "It's not my greed that makes me dubious, Robert, but my intimate knowledge of the Lady in question."

Robert snapped. In the blink of an eye, he had his hands wrapped around his brother's throat and growled through clenched teeth. "I don't ever need to be reminded again that you once shared a bed with my wife."

Luke pulled at his hands and gasped for breath. "Rob!"

With a force he didn't know he had, Robert shoved his brother out of the way. "You lying bastard, if you're still here by the time I finish checking on my wife, I will kill you."

Robert stormed from the parlor and sped up the stairs to his chambers. He took a deep, steadying breath before he pushed open the door and saw his wife resting peacefully in their bed. Betsy was shaking out one of Lydia's dresses and smiled with relief when she saw him.

Robert nodded to the maid. "Betsy, will you find Dunsley and ask him to call for my brother's coach? Mr. Beckford has decided return to London. I believe he's in a bit of a hurry."

"Right away, my lord." The maid left the dress laid out across a chair and hurried toward the door.

"And bring Doctor Grant as soon as he arrives."

"Yes, of course." Betsy smiled reassuringly at him before she shut the door behind her.

Finally alone, Robert crossed the floor in three strides, his brow creased with concern. He took her delicate hand in his. "Oh, darling, I was so worried about you. I came as fast as I could." Then he pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. "How are you?"

Lydia smiled tentatively. "It's just a bump on the head, Robert. I'll be fine."

A bump on the head? Robert frowned. Luke had been insistent that she was with child—insultingly so. "How did it happen, sweetheart?" He tilted her face toward him so he could examine at the goose-egg sized bump on the side of her head.

Lydia softly answered, "I—I fainted and hit my head on a bookcase in the library."

He couldn't hide the smile that spread across his face, or the excitement in his voice. "You fainted?"

She nodded sullenly. "I'm afraid I got sick all over your brother's boots. The whole thing was very embarrassing."

Robert now grinned from ear to ear. To hell with Luke and his damned boots. "Oh, God, Lydia! Do you know what this means?"

Finally, Lydia smiled sheepishly. "I'm not sure of anything yet, Robert. I don't want you to be upset if it's not what you're hoping for."

Lydia might not be sure, but Robert was certain. He'd always heard that expectant women had a glow about them, and Lydia positively glowed. "You've made me the happiest man in all of England."

He threw off his coat and looked around the room. The windows were open and the curtains were moving with the sea breeze. "Are you comfortable, darling? I'll shut the windows, if you'd like. Or is there something I can get you? Anything you need at all?"

With a cheerful giggle, Lydia reached her hand out for him. "I'm perfectly fine, Robert. You don't need to fawn all over me."

Robert winked and then grinned devilishly. "Oh, my dear, I can't wait to fawn all over you." He plopped onto the bed next to his wife and gently pulled her into his arms. "From now on, I'll be by your side every waking moment. I'll make sure that all your wants and needs are taken care of. And—"

"Enough, you silly man." Lydia placed her finger over his lips.

He nipped lightly at her finger and then kissed her softly. "I do so love you, Lydia."

As he held his wife and breathed in the scent of gardenias, Robert realized how much he had changed. In the past, he would have fretted over Luke's warning and worried about what his brother meant by saying such things. Before he knew Lydia he'd have even believed Luke's vicious lies. But now—now none of it mattered. Lydia was his and he was hers and there wasn't anything his brother could do or say that would change that fact.

# Chapter Eighteen

Upon his return to London, Luke met briefly with Mr. Cooper of Bow Street and promised the Runner that he'd deal with Lord Ridgemont. It felt as if he was giving in to Louisa Ridgemont's manipulations just in doing so, but his time in Dorset had taught him a lesson: he needed to get his past in order.

Amazingly, when he finally spoke with the baron and explained his past friendship with Lady Ridgemont, the man thanked him for his honesty and promised to deal with his wife. When he left the grand Ridgemont home on Park Street, he felt like a free man—at least more free than he had been. The troubling goings on in Dorset still bothered him.

Luke found himself alone in his rooms in Piccadilly, sulking as he had been for a week. How had he let things go so badly with Robert in Dorset? Robert, who'd raised him. Robert who'd always been there for him no matter what. Robert who'd pulled Luke from more scrapes than he cared to remember. Sure, his brother would lecture Luke and badger him to change his ways, but he had always been there regardless—until now. Robert had never before told him he wasn't welcome at Gosling Park, not to come back. The loss of his brother's affections was something Luke had never considered, and now that it had happened, he felt like a part of his soul was missing—though truthfully, he'd been feeling that way for quite a while.

If it hadn't been for William, young Lord Haywood, Luke would have stayed holed up in his rooms. No one would have ever believed _that_ of him, but he just didn't have it in him to socialize. It was pointless. But Haywood had been adamant that Luke follow him from one gaming hell to another, certain that his luck was _just_ about to change. What a fool! But try as he might, Luke couldn't talk the young baron off of his self-destructive path.

Begrudgingly, Luke agreed to accompany his young friend—mostly just to keep Haywood out of trouble. Luke had enough guilt on his conscience at the moment. He didn't need to add to it, and the young whelp was certain to get in over his head if someone wasn't watching after him.

This was why Luke now walked around the current hell they were in and raised his glass to more than one old friend or ex-lover. This was what his life had come to—spending time around drunken sods, gambling nabobs, and brazen women. Damn, he hadn't wanted to come here tonight!

Remorse and regret were new sensations for Luke. And for his part, he wasn't too keen on it. His entire life, he'd been an unrepentant, selfish, self-serving bastard. Hadn't those been Juliet's exact words to him?

_Lady Juliet St. Claire_.

It was most difficult keep the stubborn, prissy duke's daughter from his mind. Why the devil was his Juliet masquerading as Gosling Park's governess? The willful chit wouldn't tell him a thing, though he'd tried his damnedest to get it out of her. He shouldn't have sworn to keep her identity a secret, but he foolishly had. And his memories of her were slowly driving him insane. Best not to think of any of that. She'd made it quite plain on his last day at Gosling that she wished to have nothing else to do with him—just like Robert had.

Luke downed a good portion of the whiskey in his hands and sank into a seat close enough to the hazard tables that he could keep Haywood in his sights. He leaned back and glanced around the room. Then he lost himself in his own thoughts and contemplated the situation he now found himself in.

Up until now, he'd been satisfied with his life. Wine, women, and song—who would complain about that? He'd been quite content with his self-indulgent lifestyle. His actions had really only ever affected himself—or so he thought. The incident with Lydia at Staveley's five years ago... Well, that had affected Robert, hadn't it? Usually when Robert was forced to save Luke's neck, he only had to throw his influence at whatever the problem was—but this time Robert had been forced to give up his own future.

Luke and Robert had never been particularly close. They ran in different circles and never saw eye-to-eye on much, but they were family. And as Robert had saved Luke time and time again, Luke now felt like a cad for getting Robert into this situation with Lydia in the first place. He never dreamed his brother would feel obligated to marry the little tart. But he had. And now the situation was worse. Now she'd pass off someone's bastard as Robert's legitimate heir.

Luke should have told him the truth about Lydia years ago, but it had seemed pointless. By the time he found out that Robert had married the girl, it was too late.

In truth, Luke didn't care about not being Robert's heir, not really. The stress of the title and obligations, well, that just wasn't something Luke had ever wished for. He'd been happy with his own lot and didn't want Robert's life. He certainly didn't want it now.

An attractive female _friend_ , one whose name Luke didn't even remember anymore, slid on to the settee next to him. She smiled coyly and ran a tantalizing finger along his jaw. Luke frowned at the hussy and pushed her hand off him. He wasn't all that fond of his own life at the moment.

In a snit, the woman stormed off. Luke drained what remained of the whiskey in his glass and sank back in his seat with a sigh. He would never have believed in a million years that his conniving sister-in-law would have been able to wrap Robert around her pretty little finger in so short a time. His brother was a besotted fool, and he just couldn't clearly see his wife for what she truly was. It made Luke sick to think about it. And how disheartening to realize that his own selfish act had landed his brother in this precarious situation.

But what could he do now? He tried to warn Robert. He tried to tell him the truth. But the bloody love-sick dolt wouldn't pay him one bit of attention. Damn Lydia Masten to Hell. Robert didn't deserve whatever she had planned for him. And while he was at it—Damn himself as well. It was, after all, his fault that his brother was in this trouble to begin with.

"Lucas?" a soft feminine voice asked at his side.

Luke turned his head and grinned up at an old familiar face. Cecily Rigsley dropped into the seat next to him, and she smiled. Now, why hadn't Robert made things work with her? She was much more his brother's type—long legs, slender frame, thick brown hair and dark eyes. "Evening, Cecily."

Cecily reached across her seat and took his hands in hers. "Why, Lucas, whatever has you so distressed, my dear boy?"

Luke usually held his cards fairly close, but he surprised himself when he began to tell her his troubles with Robert. And he was relieved to realize that it felt a bit better to get the pressing weight off his chest, so he held nothing back—well, nothing about Lydia.

Cecily listened with great interest and a consoling ear. "His wife?" she echoed in surprise. "Is that the little flame-haired chit I spied him with at Drury Lane?"

"Flame-haired? I suppose it was." Luke nodded miserably.

"I wondered who she was. At first I thought perhaps she was Astwick's newest light-o-love. But since his mother was present, I figured that wasn't the case. But for God's sake, Lucas, I never would have dreamed that slight little girl was Lady Masten."

"Her looks can be deceiving," Luke admitted sullenly.

"And Robert is truly smitten with her?"

Was there a jealous edge to Cecily's voice? No, of course not. She and Robert had been finished long before Lydia entered the scene. "Blinded is more like it, and it's all my fault, Cecily."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Robert is a grown man. You can't be held responsible for his choices."

"But I _know_ her, Cecily. I _know_ that she's passing off some lover's child as Robert's. I don't mind being passed over by a legitimate heir, mind you, but it is a bit nauseating to think that some buck's by-blow will take my place in line."

"Don't be so distraught." Cecily caressed his folded hands. "Perhaps the child is Robert's, after all. He's not a fool, your brother."

Luke held her dark gaze. "You're very kind, Cecily, but I know what I know. Why did Robert ever leave you?"

She frowned and looked down. "Your brother can be a very unforgiving man. I said some things I shouldn't have when I was a bit foxed. And, well, that was the end."

Through his alcohol-induced haze, Luke nodded glumly. It was coming back to him now. But slowly. He blinked and tried to remember the exact circumstances. Ah, yes, he seemed to recall that Cecily had taken up with Lord Audley after some blowup she'd had with Robert at Vauxhall. Audley had been put out over losing a promising bay to Robert on the stocks, and had taken great pleasure in relieving Masten of his mistress as a consolation prize, of sorts.

By the time Cecily had realized that Audley had no intention of making their _friendship_ a permanent one, Robert had already washed his hands of her. Yes, her desertion was not something Robert would forgive easily. And really none of it mattered anymore, anyway. His brother was in so deep with Lydia that it made Robert's days of sparring with his mistress at Vauxhall looked like child's play. "Thank you for your ear, Cecily. And if it's any comfort, I think Robert was a fool to let you go."

"You are such a dear, Lucas." Her eyes sparkled with delight as she stood and happily left him. Why was that? Luke shook his head, nothing made sense anymore.

An audible "Aw," was heard from the hazard table. Luke's head popped up and he refocused on Haywood. His young friend's shoulders were slumped forward and his head was bent in defeat. Damn. How much had he lost now? Honestly, the boy didn't have anything else to lose except for his horseflesh.

When Robert heard a child laughing over the sounds of the ocean, he knew he was getting closer. He followed the stone path to the sandy beach behind the castle and spotted them. Lydia sat on the ground with her legs tucked neatly under her skirts, smiling as she watched the children. Penny jumped bare-footed and drenched in the surf, giggling happily, and Peter knelt on his knees, digging a hole in the sand with a rock. What a beautiful picture they all made together.

As Robert grew closer, he heard Lydia speaking to Peter. He wasn't one normally to eavesdrop, but he just didn't want to interrupt this sweet domestic scene, and his presence would do precisely that.

"Thank you for being patient with her, Peter. I hope you never lose each other." Lydia smiled wistfully.

"Like you lost your brother?"

She nodded her head. "Oh, Henry is out there somewhere." She pointed to the sea. "And I just hope that wherever he is, he's safe."

An idea struck Robert, and he smiled. He could do _that_. It was quite simple really. He had to go to London anyway, so while he was there, why not drop off a note at the Admiralty? He knew Lydia's rift with Lieutenant Warner bothered her every day. Perhaps he could help. She had changed over the years, perhaps the lieutenant had as well. Perhaps their relationship could still be salvaged. And if not, nothing was lost, as they had nothing now. But _this_ would be successful; he could feel it in his bones.

Robert stepped forward and cleared his throat. Peter stood at attention and let the sand in his hands fall through his fingers. Lydia smiled at Robert and started to get up, but he rushed to her side and helped her to her feet. "Darling, don't tax yourself."

Lydia giggled and smoothed his coat across his chest. "I am perfectly capable of standing up, Robert. I'm not an invalid."

He dropped a kiss on her cheek. "If you don't want me to leave, say the word, sweetheart, and I'll stay. It's just a horse. There'll be another."

She stood up on the tips of her toes and brushed her lips against his. "I don't want you to leave. But you'll only be gone a few days, and I'll have plenty to keep me busy while you're away. Besides, I know how much you want that stud."

Penny came in from the sea and threw her arms around Robert's leg, soaking him completely through. Instantly, the image of Carteret covered in blue paint flashed through Robert's mind. Months ago when he'd spoken with the Scottish earl, he'd envied the man's beautiful wife and loving family. He now had that himself, and how wonderful it was. He laughed and picked the soaking child up in his arms and placed a kiss on the top of her brown curls.

"Are you leaving now?" the girl asked with a pout while a tiny tear ran down her cheek.

He smiled and tousled her hair. He couldn't love the little girl more if she was his natural child. "I'm afraid so, imp. But I'll be back before you know it." Robert put the girl back on the ground and sank to his haunches to speak to Peter. "I'm leaving you in charge, young man. Make sure Lady Masten gets enough to eat, and plenty of rest."

Peter nodded in response, "I'll take care of her, sir."

"I know you will." Robert patted the boy's back. Peter had grown so much in the last few weeks. He spent his days in the schoolroom with Miss Mitford and his afternoons in the stables, doting on Star Dancer and Gardenia. He'd even worked up the courage to brush one of the stallions the other day. Robert was very proud of the boy.

Both children had come so far from the scrawny little pick-pockets Lydia had found. They seemed settled and happy—safe. And their studies were coming along nicely too. They never dropped their h's anymore and their diction was much improved. So far, Miss Mitford had done a remarkable job with her charges.

Robert turned his attention back to his wife. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. He hadn't been away from Lydia since the day he'd forced her back under his roof in London, and so much had happened since then. He would miss her desperately. It _was_ only for a few days, he knew that in his mind. But his heart...well, that was another thing altogether. He'd become so accustomed to holding her every night as they fell asleep, and Robert dreaded this separation. How foolish he'd been to ever think he could live without her.

But there were things that needed to be done, things he had to do in London. It would be a quick trip. He'd acquire Devil's Inferno, check in with Mr. Birch about the status of the adoptions, and leave a letter for Lieutenant Warner with the Admiralty. Then he'd hurry back to Dorset, to his wife and their children.

When Phelps saw the Earl of Masten's coach stop in front of his Berkeley Square home, the elderly man took a deep breath and opened the large door for his lordship. The earl had left London so quickly last time he was in town, and the butler wasn't quite sure what to expect from his employer.

But his lordship bounced up the front steps with a happy gait, not what the old man had anticipated. Phelps couldn't quite pinpoint it, but there was something a bit different about the earl from the last time he'd seen him—a softening perhaps.

Robert offered his hat and cane to his butler with a smile. "Evening, Phelps." He nodded and stared toward his study.

Phelps cleared his throat. "Lord Masten, both Lord Astwick and Lord Clayworth are awaiting your arrival in the parlor."

"They're both _here_?" Robert was aghast. "Last time I checked they each had homes of their own." He frowned and made his way to the parlor.

He threw open the door and stood in amazement at his two dearest friends. They were drinking his whiskey and laughing together, just like old times. It was Chet who first noticed Robert and stood up. "Ah, there you are. We were just starting to worry about you."

Yes, they seemed like they were terribly worried, laughing and drinking as they were. "What the devil are you doing in my home?"

Chet raised his glass in a mock toast, though he addressed Brendan. "After all this time, with virtually no word from him, and that's how he greets us."

Brendan stood and crossed the floor to shake Robert's hand. "We knew you were due in tonight. Forgive us for making ourselves at home in your absence."

"Speak for yourself, Clayworth. Don't apologize for me. Now sit down, Rob, we want to hear all about it." Chet motioned toward one of the brocade chairs in the room as he flopped back down on the settee behind him.

Robert furrowed his brow. It was often hard to keep up with Chet's train of thought. "What exactly do you want to hear all about?"

Chet's laugh boomed throughout the room. "We want to know about your progress, Robert. Rumor has it you've installed your pretty wife at Gosling Park? Do tell all, old man."

Robert didn't want to grin. He didn't want to encourage Chet, but he couldn't quite help himself. "My progress is none of your business, Chester. But to answer your question, Lydia _is_ living with me in Dorset."

Chet winked at Brendan. "Didn't I tell you he'd win her over?"

Brendan nodded and took a sip of his whiskey. "You say a lot of things, Astwick. I only pay attention to about half."

Chet brushed Brendan off with a dismissive waive of his hand. "Then you undoubtedly miss the best parts." He turned his attention back to Robert. "Now, out with it Rob. We were there from the beginning. We have right to know. How go things with your wife?"

Robert shook his head and finally took the seat Chet had motioned to earlier. "Shouldn't you be looking for a wife of your own, Astwick? You spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about mine. I should warn you I am a very jealous man."

With a snort, Chet responded with an unconcerned shrug. "Now _that_ I believe. But I live vicariously through you, Masten. I'm dying to know if you've made a real marriage out of it after all. I have a wager riding on it with Clayworth."

Robert threw his head back and laughed. "I have no doubt which side you took, Chet."

"Well, any fool could see that the two of you had a spark of sorts. You just needed some time alone so the spark could ignite to a smoldering blaze."

"A smoldering blaze?" Brendan repeated in disgust and rolled his eyes. "And you wonder why you can't find a bride."

"I don't see you progressing toward that eventual end either, Clayworth."

"I've been there before, Astwick. I have no intention of being caught in the parson's mouse trap again."

Robert laughed. He had missed his friends. In truth he only saw them sparingly, since he spent the majority of his time at Gosling Park, but the three of them had been friends for so long that it was easy to fall back into their comfortable camaraderie.

They spent the next couple hours catching up, and after a while Robert leaned back in his chair and grinned widely. "The two of you need to come to Dorset for a visit. But you should probably come sooner rather than later. With Lydia's present condition she won't be able to entertain much longer." He'd like for Lydia to know them as he did, just as he wanted Lydia to share everything with him.

"Her present condition?" Brendan asked with a raised brow.

But Chet laughed loudly. "So you did the job! Good show, Robert, and congratulations. I've always thought Chester was a fine name, by the way."

"You would." Brendan smiled then threw back the rest of his whiskey. "Now are we going off to play hazard, or not?"

Robert shook his head. "Not me. I've got Tattersall's in the morning, then a meeting with my solicitor, and an errand for Lydia in the afternoon. I'd like to start for Dorset after that—"

Chet jumped to his feet with a cheeky grin. "You've become old and boring now that you're a happily married man."

"You said I was old and boring when I was a miserably married man," Robert retorted.

"Well, that was true too." Chet dropped his glass on the side table and started for the door with Bren fast on his heels. "See you in Dorset, if not before."

"Thank you for coming over, uninvited, and drinking my whiskey." Robert stood and ushered his friends out of his home. "But do come to Gosling Park. I'd like you each to get to know Lydia better. My life has never been so rich."

"Oh, if I could only be so lucky." Chet smacked Robert's back.

And with that, his two friends were gone and Robert was alone. The last time he was here in Berkeley Square, he'd decided to embark on this amazing adventure with Lydia. Things had certainly changed since then.

Robert paid a bit more for Devil's Inferno than he wanted and spent a bit more time at Tattersall's than he'd intended, but in the end the prized stallion—once a winner at Ascot—was his. Arrangements were made for the horse to be sent to Dorset, and Robert went about accomplishing his other chores.

Mr. Leland Birch saw Robert immediately upon his arrival at the offices of Amherst and Birch, though the solicitor was taken aback by the sudden and unannounced visit from the earl.

Robert's hardened gaze took in the solicitor's appearance. Mr. Birch was a young, auburn-haired man, dressed in dark blue with a severely starched neck cloth. He wore a pair of thin wire-rimmed glasses on his face. Robert didn't know Leland Birch well. The man had recently taken over for his now-retired father, who'd served the Earl of Masten well over the years. But this delay in Peter and Penny's adoption did not present a good beginning for the young solicitor in the earl's eyes. "Birch, I want those adoption papers, and I want them now."

The nervous solicitor pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up on his nose and took a deep breath. "I have been working as quickly as possible to complete your adoption of Peter and Penny Harris, Lord Masten. I just need more time."

"You've had ample time. What is the hold up?" Robert narrowed his eyes on the young man before him.

"Y—yes, well, I'm just waiting for one last document, from the coroner that declared Miss Mary Harris dead. But that man is currently on holiday, visiting his daughter in the Cotswolds."

"And you're not there tracking him down because...?"

Birch's eyes grew large inside the frame of his glasses. "I—uh—was just on my way, sir."

More likely the dolt hadn't thought of it on his own. Why hadn't his father given the young buck more guidance?

Birch started clearing items from his desk into a satchel at the base of his desk. "I'll find Mr. Potter in Gloucestershire and get this entire matter resolved in a trice, my lord."

"Make sure that it is, Birch. This thing has gone on quite long enough, and my wife doesn't need any undue stress at the moment. I don't like having to come to London to seek you out."

The solicitor swallowed. "O—of course not, my lord."

"So, let me make myself plain, sir. If I don't have those documents on my desk in Dorset within the week, then you'll lose both me and my retainer, and I'll find someone who _can_ get the job done."

Mr. Birch looked as though he might pass out from holding his breath, but he simply nodded and grabbed his satchel from the desk.

Satisfied that he'd finally set a fire under the man, Robert made his way to the Admiralty. However, by the time he arrived, the office was already closed for the day. Damn if he didn't have to spend another night in London.

He knew, of course, that he could cut his losses and go home to Gosling Park, but then he wouldn't be able to speak with anyone at the Admiralty office about Lieutenant Warner. He could leave the letter delivered, but this was too important to trust to chance. One more night away from Lydia and the children wasn't so bad. If he could help bridge the chasm between Lydia and her brother, it would be worth it.

Robert directed Henderson to take him to his sister's home in Curzon Street. If he was going to be in town, he may as well pay a visit to Caroline. She would want to learn his news, and hearing it in person would be better than reading it in a letter. Besides, if it wasn't for Caroline's ball he might not have come across Lydia. What a tragedy that would have been.

"Oh, Robert!" Caroline warmly greeted him in her drawing room, and then threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "What are you doing back in London? I thought for sure you'd spend the summer in Dorset."

Robert kissed his sister's hand, directed her to the settee, and took a seat beside her. "Caro, I have news."

Caroline bit her lip nervously. "Is it Miss Mitford?"

Robert furrowed his brow and shook his head. Why would she think his news was about the governess? "No, Miss Mitford is fine. Actually, she's done wonders with Peter and Penny. Thank you for finding her."

Caroline breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, I am so glad that worked out. What is your news then, darling?"

Robert smiled broadly. "Congratulate me. In a few months, I'll be a father."

Caroline smiled and squeezed his hand. "So the adoption's gone through then?"

Robert scowled. "Not yet. That dolt Birch has been dragging his heels. I should have sent Staveley over to see him weeks ago." But then his face softened and he smiled joyfully. "But what I meant, Caro, is that Lydia is expecting."

Caroline's eyes grew the size of saucers and she clapped her hands together in joy. "Oh, Robert, that is wonderful! Truly wonderful!" Then her face dropped and she spoke nearly a mile a minute. "How is she feeling? I can't believe you left her in Dorset at a time like this. Why did you leave her? Did things not work out with the two of you? Oh, I'd so hoped they would. What did you do? Perhaps if I write her, I can convince her to take you back."

Robert rolled his eyes, laughing at his sister. Caroline was always so melodramatic.

"What is so funny, Robert?" she demanded, her arms folded indignantly across her chest. "I hardly think this is a laughing matter."

"My dear Caroline, where to begin? Lydia is doing fine. She is still a bit queasy in the mornings, but Doctor Grant says it won't last forever. I came to London for a horse and I'll start back for Dorset in the morning. And there is no need for you to write her on my behalf, things between us could not be better. You were right all along, my interfering little sister. I am quite happy that Lydia is my wife. In fact, I can't imagine my life without—"

He stopped because a tear was trailing its way down his sister's cheek. Robert smoothed it away with the pad of his thumb, smiling at her. "Oh, Caroline. Truly, I can't imagine my life without her."

Joyfully, Caroline squeezed his hands and grinned. "You've made me very happy, Robert, very happy. Thank you."

"No, thank you for inviting her to your silly ball, and for not warning me in advance."

Caroline giggled and she sat up straight. "Robert, does Lord Carteret know?"

Robert shook his head. "Outside of you and the staff at Gosling, no one knows. Well, Luke knows, but he wasn't all that happy about it."

"You saw Luke?" she asked innocently, a tone that should have made Robert suspicious—but he simply shrugged off her question.

"He spent several weeks at Gosling Park this spring."

Caroline furrowed her brow. "But what about Miss Mitford? Did he know she was there?"

Robert frowned. Both of his siblings seemed inexplicably interested in his governess. Very strange, that. "Is there something going on with my governess that I should know about?"

"No," Caroline hastily answered. "She worked for my good friend, Lady Teynham is all. You remember her? Well, before Georgina died I promised her that Miss Mitford would be well taken care of." Caroline stood and paced around the room.

"Miss Mitford is perfectly safe, Caroline, I assure you." He thought it best not to mention the kiss Lydia had witnessed between the governess and Luke, or their argument that he'd stumbled upon himself. For some reason Caroline seemed overly emotional about the entire situation and he didn't want to upset her any more than she already was.

If Robert thought his sister would make any sense out of the situation, he would have pursued the conversation further. But, truthfully, Miss Mitford's circumstances weren't a concern for him. She had done a marvelous job with Peter and Penny, and someday he was sure she'd be a fine governess for the child Lydia was carrying—and that was all that mattered to him.

But Caroline _had_ said something that caught his attention. She had asked about Carteret. Lydia's family should know their joyful news too, though it didn't seem right for him to tell them. Perhaps, something else could be worked out.

Robert was waiting at the front door to the Admiralty when they opened. The clerk at the front desk was quite helpful. He gladly looked up the information on Lieutenant Warner's ship, _The Intrepid_. According to the naval clerk, the frigate was still at sea, but was due back in England sometime within the month. That was good news, indeed. Lydia and her brother could reconcile long before the baby was due.

The naval clerk took Robert's letter and promised to have it delivered to the lieutenant when he returned from sea. With a broad smile and a lilt to his step, Robert left the Admiralty and started back for Dorset.

# Chapter Nineteen

Lydia looked so peaceful in her sleep. She was curled up on her side, clutching a pillow with her hand, her long, red braid flopped over one shoulder. Robert smiled just looking at her.

He had pushed Henderson to drive through the night, stopping just long enough to rest the horses before starting back again. It was now the dead of night and everyone at Gosling Park was fast asleep. God, it felt good to be home.

After a big yawn, Robert stripped off his clothes, leaving them piled in a chair for Kistler to deal with in the morning. Then he quietly climbed into bed next to his wife and pulled her into his arms. "I've missed you so much, my darlings," he whispered as he gently let his hand rest on her abdomen.

Lydia mumbled something in her sleep and then settled more soundly against the wall of his chest. Robert sighed happily. It was indeed good to be home.

In the morning when Lydia awoke, she was happy to discover Robert's arms wrapped snuggly around her. He smelled good, like Robert and leather. She couldn't resist pressing her nose against his shoulder and inhaling his scent. He must've snuck in during the middle of the night. She smiled and shifted in his arms, and now felt his familiar hardness pressing against her belly.

He he'd only been away a week, yet she'd missed him dreadfully. She nuzzled against his chest and kissed his neck. His arms tightened around her and she giggled quietly to herself. He must be exhausted. Normally, he could never withstand her kisses and caresses in the morning.

Earlier in the week, she had decided that she and the children would go with him next time he left. She didn't think she could handle being away from him again. "I'm so glad you're home," she whispered so softly she could barely hear it.

Robert's lips curled into a grin, though his eyes were still closed. "Me too." Ah, so he wasn't sleeping, after all.

He opened his eyes and brushed his lips against hers, letting his kiss linger for what seemed an eternity. She melted against him.

When his tongue touched hers, she groaned and he smiled, knowing that she wanted him. He wanted her too, and had for some days. The erection that jutted from between his legs was evidence of that. Without a word, he rolled her to her back and lifted her nightrail so that he could softly touch her slick core. When she instinctively arched against him, Robert slid one finger inside her and stroked her back and forth with his thumb. The feel of her clenching around his finger nearly drove him wild with desire.

She was wet, and panting, and ready for him. Robert moaned as he spread her legs wide with his knees and admired her. It had been too long since he'd touched her. "Oh, Lydia." _Damn Devil's Inferno. No horse was worth being away from his wife_.

He began by kissing her shoulders and gently ran his hands up her side. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself up to meet his kiss. Robert laughed against her mouth before nipping at her lightly. "Eager, my little minx?"

She didn't speak but nodded as she met his eyes. With an impatient groan, he grabbed a handful of that awful, Quaker-looking nightrail that he hated and pulled it over her head in one swift move.

Then he looked down at his beautiful, waiting wife. Her perfect nipples had peaked into hard buds, tempting him to taste them. He wasted no time in doing so; first lavishly laving one, then sucking it hard into his mouth, while his devilish hand plucked and pulled at the other. Lydia bucked beneath him, and he closed his eyes in pure pleasure.

"Please, Robert," she begged breathlessly.

He rose up on his elbows and stared down at her. "Please, Robert, what?"

Lydia playfully pouted. "The other one, please."

He couldn't contain his grin. "Of course, my lady, whatever you wish." He dipped his head down and captured her other nipple into his mouth and traced her areola with his tongue. Hearing her moan from his ministrations only made him throb. He couldn't take much more and he nipped her lightly.

"Oh, Robert!" she panted. When Lydia smiled up at him coyly, her blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. He kissed her one last time before spreading her legs even further with his hands and then slowly sheathing himself inside her. He threw back his head in pleasure. There was no feeling like this, no feeling like his wife. His joining with her was complete heaven.

Had he really been away for so long? He didn't think he could ever take another separation from her in the future.

Soon she was crying out his name and she shuddered around him in pure ecstasy. He couldn't have held back on his release if he'd wanted to, and he poured himself inside her.

No. He definitely couldn't take another separation from his wife.

When they both lay breathlessly sated, Robert held Lydia against the wall of his chest and he buried his head deep into the flaming river of her hair. "My God I missed you," he whispered.

"I am so happy you're home."

"I won't leave again, I can promise you that. But I do have a surprise for you, my darling."

"You do?" She looked over her shoulder at him with a grin that made his heart leap. "Is it better than the surprise you just gave me?"

He nipped at her neck. "Behave yourself, my little minx, or I'll have you on your back again in a matter of seconds."

A giggle was her only response to that threat. "Did you see Mr. Birch?"

"I did. He assures me that it will just be a matter of days before Peter and Penny are ours legally."

"What a relief that will be." Lydia turned back to look at her husband. "Then I am lost, Robert. What is your surprise?"

"I saw Carteret when I was in London. And I've invited him and his family to join us here for a fortnight or so. They should arrive at the beginning of next week."

"James and Bethany are coming to visit?" He could hear the smile in her voice, "And they're bringing the children?"

He nodded against her hair. "Yes, all of them, even that little scamp Fiona."

Lydia sighed and relaxed against him. "Peter and Penny will be so happy to have playmates. That was very thoughtful of you, Robert."

"Mmm." He nuzzled against her neck. "I live only to please you, my love."

She giggled at that. "I think that's a bit of an exaggeration, but the thought was nice anyway."

He lightly nipped at her neck. "Well, it's only fair. You bring so much pleasure to me."

"Oh, I'll be so glad to see them," she said dreamily. "Did you tell James about the baby?"

Robert gently stroked her shoulder with his hand. "No, sweetheart, I didn't tell him our good news. He's your cousin. I thought you'd want to do that."

She nodded happily. "Oh, I do. Thank you, Robert."

"I did tell Caroline though, I hope you don't mind."

Lydia rested her head against him and sighed. "Of course not. What did she say?"

"Well, she was thrilled, of course. I don't think she ever thought she'd be an aunt. But..." Robert frowned as he remembered the conversation he'd had with his sister, "Sweetheart, do you think there's anything strange going on with Miss Mitford?"

Lydia turned her head to look at her husband. "With Miss Mitford? What do you mean?"

He shook his head still trying to make sense of it in his mind. "I'm not sure. Didn't you tell me that Miss Mitford's cousin works for Caroline?"

"That's what Miss Mitford told me on the first day she arrived."

"Well, Caroline told me that the girl had been governess to an old friend of hers, Lady Teynham. They'd gone to a girls' school together. Anyway, Caroline said she'd promised Lady Teynham, before she died, to watch after Miss Mitford."

Now mystified herself, Lydia sat up in bed and stared at her husband. "How strange. You wouldn't think that Caroline would concern herself overmuch with someone else's governess."

Robert now sat up too. "No, that's not really like her. The entire situation is odd."

"Well, I'll ask Miss Mitford to clear up the details today."

Robert nodded in agreement. "Let me know what she says. Lydia, are you all right?" She didn't look good.

Lydia closed her eyes and swallowed, then she lay back down. "Just a little queasy." She groaned. "I thought this was supposed to get easier as time went on."

When she moaned, Robert winced. Seeing her in pain was distressing. Knowing he was responsible for her distress was heartbreaking.

After breakfast, but before studies were to begin, Lydia met Miss Mitford in the hallway near the schoolroom. The governess was dressed in another dowdy brown dress, with her hair pulled back in a severe knot. It was ridiculous to think that something untoward was going on with this woman, yet the circumstances were odd. Why would she and Caroline tell different stories about their connection? "Miss Mitford, do you have a moment?"

The governess dropped a quick curtsey and smiled gaily at the countess. "Of course, my lady."

Lydia directed her into the schoolroom and both women took a seat at the worktable. When Lydia sighed, Miss Mitford looked genuinely concerned. "Lady Masten, are you all right?"

"Yes," Lydia responded quietly, though she furrowed her brow. "Miss Mitford, there seems to be some sort of confusion over you and your connection to Lady Staveley."

The governess' face went white and she stood abruptly. "I can leave within the hour."

Lydia quickly rose from her seat and offered a calming hand to the governess, "Please don't leave. The children are very much attached to you. I just need to ask you some questions."

Every muscle in Miss Mitford's body stood at attention. "Questions?"

"I remember you mentioned that your cousin is in Lady Staveley's employ."

The governess nodded, but she couldn't quite meet Lydia's eyes.

"Anyway," Lydia continued, "Lady Staveley told Lord Masten that she knew you through a friend of hers, Lady Teynham, who has since passed on."

A tear fell down Miss Mitford's face, and she took a moment to answer Lydia. "I was very close to Lady Teynham. Her passing is still quite hard for me to come to terms with."

The girl was very upset. Lydia felt awful for making her cry. "Why did you not just tell me that, Miss Mitford? Why instead did you tell me that your cousin worked for Lady Staveley?"

A small look of hope crossed the governess' eyes. "Well, that's true as well, my lady."

Lydia felt like the biggest fool. Of course the two stories weren't contradictory. They could both be true. She smiled weakly. "I'm sorry to have upset you, Miss Mitford. Please accept my apology."

Miss Mitford said nothing, but nodded her head and began straightening the books at the end of the table.

By the week's end, an exhausted Leland Birch arrived at Gosling Park late one evening. The once pristinely garbed solicitor was disheveled from head to toe and breathed heavily as he waited in Lord Masten's study for the earl to grace him with his presence. But all was well—the papers had been signed, by everyone except his lordship.

Now, Birch sat slumped in a straight-backed chair across from Lord Masten's large, mahogany desk. Moments later the door to the study opened and the earl strode inside, with his pretty wife quick on his heels. "Birch, tell me you have good news." His tone was curt and impatient.

The solicitor jumped from his seat to attention. "Yes, my lord."

"Well, out with it," the earl snapped.

Lady Masten put a calming hand on her husband's arm. "Robert, don't bark at the poor man. He looks exhausted." The earl grumbled something under his breath, but Leland Birch couldn't hear what it was. The countess then turned her attention to the solicitor. "Mr. Birch, would you care for some tea?"

And that's when Leland Birch fell in love with Lady Masten. She had a sweet timbre to her voice and her face was both beautiful and kind all at the same time. He would gladly track down Mr. Potter in Chippen Campden all over again if she asked him to. How had a woman like this ended up with the gruff and overbearing earl? Birch nodded gratefully. "Yes, please. Thank you, Lady Masten. That would be wonderful."

The countess crossed the room to ring for tea. By the time Birch stopped gazing at her and glanced back at her husband, the earl was scowling at him. "I'm waiting, Birch."

The young solicitor gulped and quickly opened his satchel. "Of course, my lord. I do indeed have good news." He thumbed through the stack of papers in his bag looking for the ones that required the earl's signature. "Mr. Potter didn't quite remember the incident with Miss Harris, but I was able to refresh his memory."

"I already told you that money was no object, Birch. Just send me the bill. I don't want to hear you whine about simply doing your job." Lord Masten took the papers that Birch offered and fell into his large leather chair. He leaned back in his seat and scanned the pages with a frown. After he finished reviewing the paperwork, he looked up and nodded to the solicitor. "This appears to be in order."

"Yes, my lord. That is your copy." Birch walked around the desk with another stack and laid them in front of the earl. "I do need your signature here...and here...and here...and on the last page at the bottom."

The earl took the new stack and thumbed through them as well. He took out his quill to begin signing in the places Birch had indicated, just as the refreshments arrived. Lady Masten poured him a cup of tea and dropped a large biscuit onto his plate. Birch didn't realize he was staring like a mooncalf at the countess until Lord Masten cleared his throat. Loudly.

Birch snapped back to attention. "Yes, Lord Masten."

"Is that it then? The children are mine?" The earl handed the second pile of papers back to his solicitor.

Birch nodded. "Indeed, you are now the proud father of Peter and Penelope Beckford. Congratulations."

For the first time in their acquaintance, Robert Beckford, the Earl of Masten, actually smiled at Leland Birch. "Good work, Birch. I'll have Dunsley set you up with a room for the night. We've already eaten dinner. Shall I send a tray up for you?"

Birch grinned from ear-to-ear. Those were the nicest words the earl had ever spoken to him.

"Sweetheart," Robert whispered in Lydia's ear.

Still half-sleeping, Lydia groaned and swatted at her husband's face.

The bed shook from Robert's chuckle. "Don't ever tell me you're not grouchy in the morning, Lydia." He held his eye where she'd whacked him. "I'll be sporting a shiner for the rest of the day."

Blast him! Why was he waking her up? Didn't he know expectant women needed their rest? She blinked open her eyes and frowned at her over-jovial husband. No one should be allowed to be that cheerful in the morning. "Ro-ber-t!" she whined.

"You _wanted_ me to wake you early this morning, sweetheart." he cooed softly.

"I most certainly did not!" she pouted and rolled over on her side away from him. "Now, go out to your stables, or whatever it is you do at the crack of dawn, and leave me alone."

She felt his lips against her ear. "I distinctly remember you asking me to wake you first thing, so that we could tell the children our good news."

Lydia's eyes flew open. She did remember now. The children were already asleep by the time Mr. Birch had arrived the night before. This morning, she and Robert had planned to tell them that they were now an official family. She swung her legs off the bed. "Oh, yes, of course."

Robert was already dressed, and Betsy was off in the corner of the room waiting for her mistress to get up for the day. She stepped forward holding a soft, periwinkle muslin for Lydia's inspection. "This one has more room in the waist, my lady."

That was Betsy's nice way of saying she was already getting plump. Lydia scowled, but begrudgingly nodded her approval. She was quickly turned out in the garment and discovered that it was more comfortable than what she'd been wearing.

Moments later, she followed Robert down the hall and up to the nursery. Anticipation was coursing through her veins. It felt as if they'd been waiting forever to tell the children, when in fact it had only been a month or so.

Quietly, Robert and Lydia entered the children's bedroom. Peter was curled up like a ball in his bed, lightly snoring. Penny was sleeping with her little bottom pointed high in the air, making a tent of her sheets. Lydia sat at the edge of Peter's bed, while Robert took a spot on Penny's. Gently, they caressed the children's backs, whispering soothing words until they awoke.

Peter and Penny both rubbed their eyes and sat up in bewilderment as they stared at the earl and countess. Robert moved Penny to his lap and smoothed the tangled hair from her face. "Morning, my little imp."

"Good—" Penny stretched and yawned, then snuggled in close to Robert's chest— "morning, my lord."

Robert kissed the top of Penny's head. "Not anymore, Penny. As of this morning, I am no longer Lord Masten to you."

Peter sat bolt upright. "You're not the earl anymore?"

Robert chuckled. "Short of committing treason, I'm an earl for life, Peter. What I said is that I am no longer Lord Masten to you and Penny. From now on you are no longer my wards but my children."

Peter blinked his eyes. Twice. "Your children?"

Lydia gently touched the boy's face. "Robert means that we've adopted you as ours. You're not orphans any longer. But I don't want you to feel that you have to call us Mama or Papa, not if you're not ready for that."

The children quietly stared at each other for seemed like an eternity. Then Peter smiled tentatively and reached for Lydia's hand. "Mama? I like that."

"Me too." Penny yawned again and clutched the lapel of Robert's jacket in her tiny hands.

"Good." Robert tousled Penny's hair. "Now get dressed and come down for breakfast. Cook has a celebratory feast awaiting us."

"Breakfas'?" Penny frowned, "It's too early."

Robert threw his head back and laughed. "She takes after you, Lydia."

His wife picked up Peter's abandoned pillow and threw it at Robert's head. Still laughing, he fell backward on the bed, taking a happily squealing Penny with him. "Oh, Papa, you're silly!"

# Chapter Twenty

The impending arrival of Lord Carteret and his family had the staff and residents of Gosling Park in an uproar. Lydia was giddy from just the thought of visiting with James and Bethany. Peter and Penny could barely contain their excitement over the prospect of five other children to play with. Robert enjoyed watching the entire scene play out.

At the first sight of a Carteret coach off in the distance, Lydia and the children rushed out to the front lawn to wait. Penny was bouncing up and down on her toes in anticipation as their guests got nearer.

When the first grand traveling coach bearing the Carteret coat of arms finally stopped at Gosling Park, the door flew open and children began to file out. Liam, Morgan, and Lady Madeline were followed closely by their mother. Before Bethany Carteret could even greet Lydia, her twins nearly knocked her to the ground as they raced to meet Peter and Penny. "Morgan, mind your manners, and Maddie, chasing after your brother is not ladylike."

Lydia smiled gleefully and rushed to Bethany's side. "I'm so glad you've come." She warmly embraced her cousin. "How was the journey?"

Before Bethany Carteret could even answer her, Morgan jumped in to do so. "It was great fun, Lyddie. And we even got stopped by some highwaymen. Liam said they didn't really exist, but I said they did. And sure enough—"

"Highwaymen?" Lydia gasped.

Bethany sighed and shook her head. "I don't know that I'd call them that, Morgan." Then she looked to Lydia. "Actually I don't know what to call them. They didn't rob us or take anything. But they were obviously looking for someone. They had a miniature with them and looked over each of us. I thought James was going to get himself killed, he was so furious."

Morgan chimed in again with a nod. "Papa's face was as red as blood, and then it turned purple, and then—"

"That's quite enough, Morgan." Bethany sent a chastising look at her youngest son.

When Lydia bent down to receive hugs from both Morgan and Madeline, she noticed Liam standing proudly next to his mother. With an indulgent grin, she reached out to shake the young Lord MacFadyn's hand. "You look well, Liam."

"Thank you, Lady Masten."

"Lady Masten?" Lydia trilled. "What happened to Lyddie?"

Liam shrugged. "'Tis a bit childish, don't you think?"

Morgan turned slightly red from embarrassment at that, but Lydia tousled Liam's hair. "Absolutely not. I think it's sweet. Now, come all of you and let me introduce you to my children."

Up until now, Penny had been standing on her tiptoes, trying to get a good look at the visitors. But when all eyes were suddenly on her and Peter, she instantly shied away.

Just then, Robert walked down the front steps and smiled at his guests. "Ah, Lady Carteret." He kissed Bethany's cheek. "And you must be Lord MacFadyn. May I call you Liam?"

"Robert," Lydia interrupted him. "I was just introducing everyone. Peter, Penny, these are our cousins, Lady Carteret, Liam, Morgan, and Madeline." She stepped forward and took her husband's hand. "And of course, this is my husband, Lord Masten, and our children, Peter and Penny."

Peter looked the other boys over with obvious interest, while Liam and Morgan stared at him with curious glances. "We thought we saw highwaymen too," Peter offered quietly.

"Brilliant!" Morgan enthused. "What did they look like?"

And like that, the three boys started off together, chatting amiably, and didn't notice when the second coach approached. The coachman hopped down from his perch and quickly opened the door for Lord Carteret and his young daughters Lady Katriona and Lady Fiona. The earl looked a bit haggard, as if his daughters had driven him to the brink of insanity. He exchanged a look with his wife that said something along the lines of, 'Next time _you_ get these two hellions.'

"James!" Lydia called happily as she closed the distance between her and her cousin. "Thank you so much for bringing everyone." She threw her arms around his neck.

James dropped a peck on Lydia's cheek. "You look wonderful, Lyddie. Doesn't she, Beth?"

Bethany sent a scathing look at her husband and then turned her attention on Lydia and smiled. "Of course she does. Lydia always looks beautiful."

Lydia wasn't quite sure why the scathing look was sent to James. She couldn't imagine what her cousin had done to garner such a scowl. She smiled in return to Lady Carteret. "Thank you, Bethany."

Grumbling nearby, Katriona and Fiona were playing tug-of-war with something—Lydia couldn't tell what it was—glaring at each other. Katriona, a pretty eight-year-old, leaned toward her little sister and hissed, "Let go, you little brat."

"But I want it," Fiona wailed.

"Well, it's mine. And it's not my fault you left yours in Salisbury." Katriona pulled hard one last time, cradling a doll to her chest. The movement sent Fiona tumbling to the ground with a thud.

"Girls!" James' bellowing voice boomed over the group. "I have had all of _that_ I can handle for the day. Give your mother the doll and go off, the lot of you."

Instantly, Katriona thrust the coveted doll in Bethany's hands and all of the children stared in shock with open mouths at James MacFadyn. Lydia stared too. She'd never seen her cousin lose his temper before.

Robert smiled at the girls. "I believe Cook was baking some pear tortes for tonight. Penelope, sweetheart, why don't you take the girls to the kitchen and see if you can't persuade Cook to let you each have a taste?"

Penny frowned at being called Penelope, but she nodded at Robert, ready to escape Lord Carteret. "Yes, Papa." And with that, the four girls vanished into the castle.

James looked chagrined and his brogue was a bit stronger than usual. "Sorry 'boot that. They fought the entire time." He sighed and rubbed his temples with both hands as if he had a pounding headache. "Maddie has to ride with Fiona on the way home. She's the only one that won't strangle that little termagant."

Bethany laughed, despite herself. "They seemed perfectly happy when we set out from Salisbury this morning."

"I believe that harmonious atmosphere lasted all of five minutes. No more about them, please." James rubbed his brow and sighed. "It's been so long since we've seen Lydia. Let's hear how our cousin gets on."

James offered Lydia his arm, while Bethany took Robert's, and the two couples made their way inside Gosling Park. James placed a reassuring hand over Lydia's and smiled. "Sorry I lost my temper. I'm not accustomed to being cooped up with fighting children. When we're at home, you can just separate them and move on."

Lydia nodded with understanding. "I'm sure all will be forgotten as they scarf down Cook's pear tortes. I only hope there's enough left for dinner."

James' eyes grew large. "There had better be, Lydia. I haven't been allowed dessert since you moved out."

Surprised by that statement, Lydia looked up at her cousin. James had a sweet tooth a mile long. He would eat cakes or tarts all day long if he could get away with it, though somehow he always managed to look fit and handsome. "You've not been allowed dessert?"

James shook his head sullenly. "Bethany has taken it off the menu at home. She was quite put out that I sent you to Masten, and I'm still being punished. Tell me my sacrifice has been worth it, Lyddie. Are you happy?"

Lydia beamed at him. "I've never been happier. I was angry with you too, by the way. But I suppose I'm now indebted to you for my happiness."

With an enigmatic smile, James patted her hand. "I'm the last person you should be indebted to."

They reached the green salon and Robert motioned for everyone to find a spot in the room. Lydia and Bethany ended up together on the settee, while Robert and James took chairs across from the ladies. Lydia quickly took Bethany's hand. "Have you really cut James off from dessert?"

Bethany nodded at once. "And he won't get any more until I'm satisfied that you're happy."

James threw back his head and laughed at that. "Heavens, sweetheart, look at her. She's practically glowing. Have you ever seen Lydia look so well?"

As a blush crept up her cheeks, Lydia looked from Bethany to James. "Funny you should mention glowing. I was going to wait until later, but I'd hate for James to miss any more desserts." She briefly met her husband's eyes and then continued, "Robert and I are expectant parents."

Bethany's eyes grew to the size of saucers and she clutched Lydia's hands tightly in hers. "Truly?"

Lydia shyly nodded and smiled at Bethany. "I've never been happier."

"Congratulations, Masten." James sent a self-satisfied smirk to Robert.

"Robert, please." Robert tapped his chest lightly. "We are all family, after all."

"Congratulations, Robert, then." James clapped his hands together and grinned widely. "Brilliant! I can't wait to start having dessert again."

Bethany rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Jamie, you sound just like Morgan."

With a wink, James replied, "No, darling, he sounds just like me."

The fortnight passed quickly. The seven children rubbed along fairly well, and Lydia was glad to see Liam lose a bit of his overly serious façade. Peter and Penny had never been so happy and that feeling was echoed in both Lydia and Robert. Indeed, the Masten family was safe, secure, and content.

On the last afternoon of the MacFadyn visit, while Bethany offered to share her experiences of four confinements with Lydia, Robert asked James to accompany him on a trip around the estate. He had meant to speak with Lydia's cousin earlier in the trip, but time had slipped away. This would be his last chance to get some answers for a while.

The two men started off on a path that led to the stables before Robert began his inquisition. "I'm hoping you can give me some information, James."

"I will if I can."

"I wanted to do something nice for Lydia."

James smiled and patted Robert on the back. "I think you've already made her very happy, Robert, but what have you got in mind?"

Robert kicked a small stone from his path and shrugged. "She won't talk about her family. The time that I forced her to do so, she became an emotional wreck, and I ended up feeling like the worst sort of blackguard."

James nodded in understanding. "Lydia didn't have an easy childhood. But she's risen remarkably above all that pain, without being bitter or vengeful. I don't think I could've done it."

Perhaps she wasn't bitter or vengeful, but Robert was certain she was still in pain. "I know she's troubled by her estrangement from her brother. She told me that Lieutenant Warner holds her in disregard." Robert's eyes were on the path in front of them, so he missed the deep frown that suddenly appeared on James' face. "Anyway, I'd like to change that if I could. I left a letter with the Admiralty for the lieutenant asking him to come see us at his earliest convenience. Since he's your cousin, I'm hoping you can give me some information about my brother-in-law. Lydia won't speak of him."

James scoffed, and he asked incredulously, "He holds _her_ in disregard? Is that what _she_ said?"

The tone of James' voice caught Robert off guard and he stopped walking to face his companion. He now noticed the deep frown etched on Lord Carteret's face and he furrowed his own brow in response.

James continued solemnly, "And knowing her, she probably believes it too—probably believes it was her fault."

Robert was completely confused, a state he did not enjoy. "There's a subtext I'm not following. Please enlighten me."

James glanced back toward the manor house, and Robert could tell that he was torn, but between what he didn't know. Then James took a deep breath and eyed Robert with a look of caution. "If _anyone_ should be held in disregard it's Henry Warner. He's just like their bastard of a father if you ask me, perhaps even worse."

"What do you mean?" Robert asked.

"Uncle Gordon was gone most of the time, fortunately. But when he was home, he was cruel, drunk, and tyrannical. I remember once my mother begged Aunt Mabel to come stay with us, but she wouldn't leave him. It was as if she was afraid to. I'd never seen my mother happy to hear of anyone's death, but when we got the news that he'd died on board his ship she was relieved. Actually relieved." He snorted and looked up at the sky. After a minute he finally continued, "I'm the oldest cousin, followed by Henry. He's a few years older than my sister, Hannah. Hannah always adored Henry, same as Lydia did. It wasn't until we were adults that I came to see him as the disreputable and unconscionable man that he is."

James again looked back toward the manor house, as if to make sure no one else was around. Then Carteret started walking again, and Robert made sure to keep up. "As you said, you're family now, Robert, and I'm asking you to keep the rest of this to yourself."

"Of course." Robert would have agreed to anything as long as James would keep talking.

"Henry was besotted with Bethany." He smiled sadly. "Though so was I and many others—your friend Astwick, for example."

James looked pained, and he said nothing for a few good minutes, as if trying to determine the right words, or whether to speak at all. Then after a deep sigh he continued, "Henry attacked Bethany. This was before we were married. We were all at Briarstrath in Dumfries-shire, celebrating Mama's birthday. Lydia had just come to live with her a few months earlier. At the time, everyone had expected Bethany and I to announce our betrothal, but instead we'd had an awful argument earlier in the day. So, I'd gone in search of her, to apologize. I don't even remember what it was about now."

James looked beyond distressed, as if each word he spoke was painful. But Robert was engrossed in the tale and patiently waited. What exactly had Henry Warner done to Bethany Carteret? Though Robert was afraid to know the answer, at the same time there was nothing in the world that would have drug him away from hearing the end of the story.

"I came upon them, Bethany and Henry. She was struggling against him in a secluded parlor. My heart stopped, literally, when I saw them. I swear to God, I thought I would tear him limb from limb. There on the floor, with her dress torn nearly to shreds and sobbing her heart out was the sweet girl that I'd loved since I was a boy. And atop her was Henry, a monster—my own bloody cousin. He was holding her down against her will." James managed to get the words out, but it was obvious that memory was still very disturbing and difficult to speak aloud. "I smelled brandy thick on his breath and it permeated the entire room."

Robert took a deep breath. "Did he..."

"No!" James said hastily. Then more quietly he added, "He'd hit her, but he hadn't violated her. Not yet, though his intent was obvious. His breeches were down around his ankles. We were fortunate that I happened upon them when I did."

Robert was sickened by this revelation. If James' allegations were true, then Lieutenant Warner was the last person who should pass judgment on Lydia. "Does my wife know about this?"

Shamefully, James hung his head, and he couldn't look Robert in the eye. "No. I didn't want to publicize Bethany's encounter. She had done nothing wrong, mind you, except be his victim. But you know as well as I that her reputation would have been in shambles had the incident gotten out. I couldn't do that to her. So, I thought it was best if we just kept quiet about the whole thing. Neither Beth nor I told another soul, well, except for Mama. And I threatened Henry with his life, made it plain that if he ever so much as looked at her again, I would kill him on the spot. I meant it, and he knew it. Neither of us has seen him since." James took a long, staggering breath and finally met Robert's pained gaze.

James was clearly troubled, and Robert knew in the pit of his stomach that his story wasn't yet over. "I _should_ have dealt with him then, Masten, but I honestly thought it was just Beth he was after. So many others were back then, you realize. And since Henry knew I was protecting her—I swear to you I thought the danger was over."

"You're saying it wasn't?" Robert swallowed and realized his mouth had gone dry.

James' countenance darkened even more. "After Aunt Mabel died and Mama found Lydia in Spitalfields, they returned to Scotland for a few years. But Lydia had always lived in London and she missed it. Mama wanted to make her happy, so they re-opened the house in Queen Street."

"She told me it was the happiest time in her life." Robert studied James' sullen face.

"Her life wasn't all that happy up to that point, Robert." James rubbed his brow roughly. "Now, I wasn't there, so I can only speculate as to what happened. Mama would never tell me the whole story."

Robert didn't like the sound of James' voice and was worried about what he would hear next, but he nodded his understanding and waited for James to continue.

"Henry was in London, on half-pay at the time. He'd stopped several times at the house, but Mama wouldn't permit him entrance. She hadn't ever since the incident with Bethany. Besides, he was nearly always drunk and had his father's temper. Henry could be erratic, funny and charming one moment, then irate and belligerent the next. Mama didn't want Lydia subjected to him. The poor girl had been through enough as it was. But Henry was enraged that Mama would keep Lydia from him." James stopped talking and closed his eyes.

Robert was both afraid that James wouldn't say any more and terrified that he would. But he had to know. "Go on, Carteret."

With a curt nod, James turned to face Robert. "Mama could always sleep through anything, Robert, she was just like the dead. But this particular night she was awoken by Lydia's screams. She was an old woman, Masten, and the only one on Lydia's floor. It was the dead of night and all the servants were asleep. Mama was frail, and still groggy from sleep, but she made it to Lydia's room at the same time as a footman, who'd been awakened as well. They found her chamber door had been broken off its hinges. Henry was there, drunk. Apparently, he was holding Lydia beneath him—that's all I could get out of the footman before Mother shushed him."

Robert was pale and his heart was racing, as he witnessed the horrific scene in his mind. Words of hope flew from his mouth. "But she'd just screamed. Your mother got there in time. The footman got there in time—just like you did with Bethany."

James sighed heavily as he unloaded his awful burden onto Robert. "Honestly, Robert, I don't know. I should say I'm not sure. You see, I _know_ that if Mama had been able to stop him she would have made that fact very clear to me, but she would never say one way or the other and the footman was sent away. Ever since that moment, I've been wracked with guilt over not dealing with my cousin when I should have years earlier."

Robert's voice was hoarse with disbelief. "Are you telling me that he violated her? His own sister?"

"I don't have any proof of that, but..."

"But you think he did?"

James met Robert's darkened eyes and nodded gravely. "Aye. I think he did. And who knows how many others have suffered at that bastard's hands."

Thoughts began to flood Robert's mind. Luke had insisted Lydia wasn't pure, that _he_ hadn't ruined her. He was adamant about that fact. Robert felt the world start to spin and he fell to his knees. Luke hadn't ruined Lydia. Instead, she'd been defiled at the hands of her own brother whom she'd loved and trusted. Robert wasn't in control of his emotions or his body's reaction to the horrendous tale. Bile rose up in his throat, and he spit it out.

Lydia's own brother had stolen her innocence. He had defiled her in the most horrific way. No one could ever make that right. "My God!" he whispered hoarsely. "And she knits him socks."

"I know," James replied. "Beth and I are convinced she blames herself, and that's some sort of penance she's paying."

How had Lydia survived the cruel turns life had thrown at her? His kind and compassionate wife had suffered at the hands of her abusive father. Her own brother had stolen her innocence. Luke had used her. And for five years he, himself, had punished her for all of it. Robert didn't think he'd ever be right again.

James offered Robert his handkerchief and a steady hand, as the world began to spin around him. He had to lean on James to keep from stumbling to the ground. Never in his life had he felt helpless, but there simply wasn't anything he could do to make this better. As Lydia had said, some things just couldn't be _fixed._

He had to pull himself together. He could never let her know that he knew. They could never discuss this. He would never make her relive it. So, he had to find a way to come to terms with the events. He had to be strong for his wife, who'd had to be strong for far too long—all alone.

"Robert, are you feeling all right?" Lydia asked as she climbed into bed. He hadn't seemed himself the entire day, and at dinner he'd barely touched Cook's duck with roasted plum sauce. James had seemed off as well, but Lydia figured that was due to his trepidation about traveling the next day with his unruly brood again.

Wearing only a stockinet, Robert slipped under the bedclothes and forced a smile to his face. "I'm fine."

He wasn't fine. She knew that. She knew him.

Lydia inched toward her husband and laid her head on his chest. "Thank you for putting up with my family." She ran her fingers down his stomach and gently kissed his chest. "Their visit has meant so much to me."

Robert dropped a kiss on the top of her head and patted her back in a very brotherly manner. "I'm glad you've enjoyed their company, sweetheart." Then he shifted in the bed and rolled on to his side, giving her his back. "Goodnight, Lydia."

She stared at her husband's back in surprise. She always slept in his arms. That nagging feeling she'd once sensed after their night together at The Knight's Arms washed over her. Something was wrong. He'd shut her out, and she had no idea why. "Robert."

"I need to get to sleep."

What was wrong with him? What had happened? "Something is wrong, I can tell."

He didn't turn to face her, and his shoulders seemed to tense. "Damn it, Lydia! Leave it be, I'm just tired."

# Chapter Twenty-One

The MacFadyns had been gone exactly one day, and still Robert couldn't get a handle on the horrific tale Carteret had told him. And still he couldn't touch his wife. He loved her, that hadn't changed—but he was afraid to hurt her. She apparently had come to terms with what had happened to her, but the feelings were new to him.

Lydia had noticed the change in him. Whenever she looked at him, he couldn't meet her eyes. She was getting more impatient with his inability to confide in her and there was an uncomfortable distance between them. But he couldn't talk to her about _this_. He wouldn't hurt her like that again. He just had to come to terms with it in his own time.

For most of the day he'd escaped to the privacy of his stables and dreaded heading back home for dinner. The MacFadyns were gone and Miss Mitford had stopped dining with them after Luke left. He'd have to dine with his wife—alone. Lydia was not one to let him continue avoiding her. She would want answers soon. She would demand them. And there was nothing he could say.

When sky darkened, Robert sighed. He couldn't delay it any longer. He wearily trudged back to the castle. The entire walk home, he tried to think of things he could talk about with his wife. He could tell her about Devil's Inferno. The prized bay was adjusting nicely at Gosling Park. He could tell her that Edgecroft had finally managed to keep his blasted sheep on his own property. He could tell her other inane and mundane information, but she would see through all of it.

Fortunately for Robert, he wouldn't have to struggle for things to say to his wife. As soon as he reached the castle, he spotted the Astwick coach being unloaded by his footmen.

Astwick?

Well, at least he wouldn't be at a loss for words. Robert brushed past his footmen and into his home. Dunsley met him in the front entryway with a beleaguered look. "Lord Astwick has arrived, my lord."

"I can see that."

"Lady Masten is entertaining him in the green salon. Also Master Peter and Miss Penelope are there as well."

Robert nodded to his butler and started down the corridor toward the green salon with a little bounce to his step. Astwick should have sent some warning that he was showing up, but at the moment Robert couldn't be happier to see him.

He heard Chet's booming laugh even before he reached the parlor. Without delay, Robert pushed the door open. Peter was sitting quietly in a chintz chair and Lydia was knitting again.

Knitting. Just seeing her do that made his stomach churn.

But he managed a smile for Penny who was sitting on Chet's lap, showing him her latest watercolor. "And that's Papa."

Chet looked up to meet Robert's eye. "Ah, and here's your Papa now."

Penny dropped her masterpiece to her lap and smiled widely when she saw Robert. Then she bounded off the marquess' lap and rushed into Robert's awaiting arms. He scooped the girl off her feet and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Hello, my little imp."

"I was showing Lord Astwick my picture and he was telling me about when you were my age."

Robert's brow shot up and he looked at his friend. "I'm sure he was only telling appropriate stories."

Chet smirked as he stood. "What kind of a lout do you take me for, Rob? I would never tell Miss Penelope anything to impugn your good name."

Penny wrinkled up her nose, then threw a charming smile at the marquess and whispered, "I hate the name Penelope."

Chet laughed and Robert could feel the glass in the windows shake from the sound. "I am not all that fond of Chester. That's why my friend's call me Chet."

"Very interesting." Robert put Penny back on the ground and crossed the room to his wife's side to drop a kiss on her cheek. "When I last saw you, Astwick, you were touting the merits of the name Chester."

"Well, of course." Chet grinned devilishly. "If you _want_ to name your heir after me, I would be more than honored."

Robert rolled his eyes at that and turned his attention to Lydia. "How are you feeling, darling?"

She met his eyes with a tired expression. "I'm fine, Masten."

So he was Masten again? Not that he was surprised, but he frowned at her tone. He knew it very well—it was the same one he'd used with her the night before. It belied her words, just as his had done. When she wouldn't look at him, he felt the chasm between them deepen even further.

Lydia dropped her knitting to the basket beside her chair, stood up, and reached for both Peter and Penny's hands. "Come along. It's time to get you back to the schoolroom. I'm sure his lordship would like some time with Lord Astwick."

When Penny's bottom lip shot out, Chet chuckled. "Don't look so grim, Miss Penelope. I'll see you in the morning and you can show me all the other paintings you've done. And Master Peter, when it's light you can show me that horse you were telling me about."

Both children nodded enthusiastically and then followed Lydia from the room. Robert took a seat in the chintz chair that Peter had abandoned and frowned at his friend. "Most people send word when they are to visit."

Chet's normally gregarious façade vanished and the marquess looked graver than Robert could ever remember seeing him before. "Any word I would have sent would have arrived the same time I did. We need to talk, Robert."

That sounded serious. And the only time Chet ever sounded serious was when it had to do with his mother. "If Lady Astwick is at it again, I'm sure it can wait."

"This has nothing to do with my mother. There is a scandal brewing in London, and it has your name plastered all over it."

Scandal?

Robert grimaced. He'd done nothing to create a scandal. Some people might not approve of his adoption of Peter and Penny, but it certainly wasn't scandalous. Lydia had done nothing, as she'd been with him ever since they'd left Town. "What are you talking about?"

Chet took a deep breath and then began to pace around the room. Good heavens, this was worse than Robert thought. Chet never paced.

Finally, the marquess pursed his lips and then spoke. "Word about Lady Masten's delicate condition has spread all over Town."

Well, it certainly wasn't a secret. "I don't see what is so scandalous about my wife providing me with an heir."

Chet stopped his pacing and faced Robert with a furrowed brow. "Not even when the sire is your brother?"

Robert's heart stopped. He must have misheard his friend. That was the most preposterous thing Chet had ever said to him, and _that_ was saying something.

There were some things Robert wasn't certain of. He wasn't certain if his youngest niece was named Emily or Emma. He wasn't certain if he and Luke could ever be in the same room together again. And he wasn't certain what to do about the recent revelations concerning his wife's tragic past. But one thing he was certain of, more than anything else, was that the child Lydia carried belonged to him. "I don't think I heard you properly," he growled.

Chet, who was more accustomed than most to Robert's temper, shrugged off the warning look in his friend's eye. "Word has spread all over Town, Rob. Everything—why you married her, the circumstances surrounding that, even that she was..." Chet looked suddenly uncomfortable and he stopped talking.

"...Even that she was what?" Robert clipped out impatiently.

Chet took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and blurted out, "They're saying that Lucas wasn't her first lover. And, Robert, they're saying your wife's affair with him never ended—that Luke has cuckolded you over and over. They're saying Lydia's babe belongs to your brother."

A muscle began to twitch beside Robert's eye, so he looked even more menacing when he scowled at his friend. If _they_ , whoever the devil _they_ were, were indeed saying all of these things, the tale could only have one source. Robert's heart sank in his chest. How could Lucas do this to him?

While Chet and Brendan knew some of the particulars, neither of them would ever say a word to anyone. Caroline most certainly would never open her mouth about the situation. But most importantly, no one other than himself, Lucas, and James MacFadyn knew that Lydia's innocence was lost long before his lout of a brother had put himself in her path. And Luke was Hell-bent on saving Robert from himself.

Luke thought Lydia was deceptive, but he didn't know the whole truth. He didn't know what the poor girl had gone through. And _now_ he was going to run her name through the mud? Robert knew that he could be in the same room with his brother again, at least once more—in order to strangle the life out of the blackguard.

Quietly, Chet cleared his throat. "You're not saying anything, Rob."

Robert's head snapped toward his friend. "When I find my brother, I'm going to end his miserable existence."

Cautiously, Chet approached him and pitifully remarked. "So, it's true." It wasn't a question—just a statement and a rather dejected one at that.

Fire nearly shot from Robert's eyes. "The devil it is! It's all a pack of lies."

Chet leaned against the wall and eyed his friend with sympathy. "I don't necessarily want to bring this up, Rob, but it's not all lies."

Robert sank into a chair. Luke knew his weakness—that in tarnishing Lydia's reputation, he would force Robert to deal with the situation. "I knew he was angry, but to claim to have sired _my_ child. I can't believe that he'd ruin her all over again, just to spite me."

"So you don't believe it's the truth?" Chet asked.

Robert's eyes angrily flew to his friend's face. "Of course it's not true. The child is mine."

"You're certain?"

"If you ever ask me that again, Astwick, we'll be making a dawn appointment. Do I make myself clear?" Robert's normally warm brown eyes were close to black as he glared at his oldest friend.

Chet stared at Robert in shock, but then he slowly nodded his head. "My apologies. I didn't mean to impugn Lady Masten."

"My wife's virtue is not in question here, but rather that of my scurrilous brother. I can't allow him to hurt Lydia anymore than he's already done. I can't allow him to damage the reputation of my unborn child."

"I'm at your service, Robert, whatever you need. I speak for Clayworth too, of course."

Robert scoffed. What could he do? Half of what his brother said was true. There were people that knew it, and they'd all believe the rest was true—just as Chet had done. Robert couldn't think of a way to handle the problem honorably. He could challenge his brother, but really, what good would that do? So he'd put a bullet in Luke's skull, half the Town would still believe the rumors, and both Lydia and their child would still be ruined.

He paced back and forth, alternately rubbing his brow and heaving huge sighs. Could he get Luke to refute his claims? It was better than killing the lout, though God knew he deserved no less. He stopped walking and turned his attention back to Astwick. "I need to get to London. I can't deal with this problem here."

Chet nodded in agreement. "We can take my coach. I just need to get a fresh set of horses."

Robert started for the door and called over his shoulder to his friend. "I can't wait that long. Leave as soon as possible, and I'll meet you in Town."

"Take a pistol with you, Robert. Some strange men stopped my coach on the way here. And Lange said highwaymen of a sort have been stopping coaches with family crests all over the countryside."

Robert furrowed his brow and nodded. "Carteret said something similar."

"Carteret!" Chet visibly winced. "Here I am, the best friend you have, racing across the country to warn you about these rumors and the first thing you do is throw _his_ name in my face."

Suddenly Chet wasn't his usual, charming self anymore. The mention of Carteret's name always had that affect him, though truthfully no one knew why. Normally, Robert would have taken the opportunity to chide his friend about his intense dislike of James MacFadyn, but he was too distraught over the disturbing news about Lydia. He eyed his friend with dismay and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Don't worry about me. I always travel with my pistol.

Lydia ran into Robert in the hallway outside the schoolroom. She looked at her husband with pain in her eyes, unsure what had happened to cause the rift between them. "You should've told me that Lord Astwick was coming to visit."

"I didn't know."

"That seems to happen a lot around here. First Luke, now Astwick." She started down the hallway toward the staircase.

Robert increased his step to keep up with her. "Something's come up, darling. I need to go to London."

She stopped suddenly and turned her pained gaze up to him. "You'll go that far to avoid me?"

He reached out and stroked her arms up and down, "I'm not avoiding you."

Did he honestly think she would accept that answer? Lydia pursed her lips and crossed her arms across her chest. "Then what would you call it, Robert? You turned your back on me last night. You left at the crack of dawn only to return at dusk to tell me that you're leaving for London."

The truth of her words reflected in his eyes and he looked away briefly. Then he pulled her into his embrace and covered her mouth with his. His soft lips melted against hers. She wanted to pull away from him, but she had missed his touch and couldn't bring herself to end the intimacy she'd craved all day.

Slowly, Robert raised his head, though he still held her against him. "I wouldn't leave if it wasn't important."

Lydia clung tightly to his coat, willing him to stay. What could possibly be so important that he had to leave so suddenly? "You promised you wouldn't leave again," she said to his chest.

She felt his arms tighten around her as he rested his chin on her head. "I know I did. Unfortunately, this business can't be put off. I'll make it up to you, sweetheart."

There was a finality to his voice and she stepped away from him, smiling weakly. "You are coming home, aren't you?"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away, Lydia."

# Chapter Twenty-Two

Robert's journey was a tiring one. Astride Devil's Inferno, he ate up the ground toward London. Considering the price he'd paid for the stud, it wasn't the best choice for this excursion, but Devil's Inferno was the fastest horse he owned, and time was of the essence.

At night, there was very little sound. All Robert could hear was his stallion's hooves pounding against the road. The sky was lit up with stars, which would normally have been comforting, but Robert paid it very little attention. He was alone with his thoughts. There was no one to talk to, no one to strategize with. His family's future lay heavily on his shoulders and his mind spun with different possibilities and scenarios.

He remembered how Penny's big, brown eyes filled with tears when he told the children he had to return to London. Even stoic little Peter muffled back a cry. And Lydia—his beautiful, adoring wife—had been unable to meet his eyes as he left.

Robert frowned. After everything, how could Luke do such a thing to him? To his family? This situation with his brother needed to be dealt with quickly. He had other pressing problems that required immediate attention. For one, he needed to retrieve that letter he'd left for Lieutenant Warner. The last thing they needed right now was for that monster to re-enter their lives.

Plans of one sort or another rattled around his mind. Short of torture, how could he get Luke to recant his tale about Lydia? And how much damage could be reversed? Some people would always believe the story that was going around Town. That couldn't be helped. But how could he change the minds of the vast majority of others?

It was Wednesday, Miss Mitford's day off, so Lydia was spending the day with the children in the schoolroom. The governess had told her that both Peter and Penny were exceedingly talented artistically, and now she saw that it was true. When Lydia looked at Penny's watercolor of the garden view from the schoolroom window, she was amazed at the expertise. A child of five had captured the soft beauty of Gosling's garden? At twenty-one, Lydia couldn't duplicate the work. Peter was working with charcoal and had mastered the elegant lines of the mare he loved so dearly. Perhaps Mary Harris had been an artist and passed on the talent to her children.

Lydia was just about to ring for tea when a soft knock sounded on the door. "Come," she replied.

Dunsley opened the door and nodded to the countess. "Lady Masten, you have a visitor. He didn't have calling card, but said his name was Lieutenant Warner."

Lydia's stomach drop and she took an awkward step backward. Henry was _here_? Why? How?

The surprise she felt must have registered on her face, because the elderly butler took a step forward and steadied her with his arm. "Are you all right, my lady?"

She managed to nod. "Yes, Dunsley. Lieutenant Warner is my brother. I just haven't seen him for seven years."

Dunsley looked relieved and smiled at her. "I've left him in the green parlor."

Lydia was still in a daze and couldn't focus on anything in particular. She barely heard herself ask the butler to have tea and biscuits delivered to the green parlor. When Dunsley left the schoolroom, Lydia was assaulted by both Peter and Penny.

"Your brother has come to visit, Mama?" Peter asked with a furrowed brow.

But Penny was bouncing up and down on her toes again. "Does that make him our uncle?" The girl looked excitedly at her brother. "We've never had an uncle before."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Who do you think Uncle Luke is then?"

Penny chewed the side of her face in thought. "I forgot about Uncle Luke. We have two uncles!"

Lydia shook her head to try and clear it. "Actually, Lord Staveley would be your uncle as well. I'll have Mrs. Norris meet you in here momentarily."

"Mrs. Norris?" Penny pouted. "But I want to meet our new uncle."

Peter nodded in solemn agreement. "Papa did say I was the man of the house. I'm sure he'd want me to meet Lieutenant Warner."

Lydia sighed with exasperation. It had been so long since she'd seen her brother. And that night— No, she mustn't think of that. Lydia shook her head. It was cowardly of her, but perhaps if the children were with her, she and Henry could deal with each other in a civil way. "Henry." Lydia smiled at her son. "He'd be your Uncle Henry. Very well, you may both accompany me to the green parlor."

Penny chattered the entire way, though Lydia couldn't focus on her daughter's words and would have been hard pressed if quizzed on the content. They reached the green parlor, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. She took a steadying breath and felt Peter squeeze her hand with reassurance.

"You said you missed him. If he's come back, you won't have to worry about him at sea anymore."

Peter was such a tender-hearted little boy. Old for his years, like Lydia had been. "Thank you, sweetheart."

With courage she didn't know she had, Lydia pushed the door open and found her brother peering out a window with his hands clasped behind his back, standing with a proud stance. At the sound of their entrance, Henry turned around and smiled at her.

He looked different than she remembered, larger, and his skin was very tanned from living aboard a frigate. His thick, auburn hair had been lightened by the sun to a coppery bronze color, but his steely grey-blue eyes were the same. He wore his regimentals, and gold buttons sparkled against the deep navy of his uniform.

He seemed to be assessing her appearance the same way she was doing with his. "Moppet?" He crossed the room with a smile and opened his arms for her.

Lydia wanted to believe that this was the brother she remembered from her childhood. The one who had protected her and would never have hurt her. She smiled cautiously and stepped toward him. Henry enveloped her in his strong embrace.

"You look so well, Lyddie."

Lydia stepped back to admire her brother's appearance. "As do you, Henry. What are you doing here?" Then she felt a little tug on her dress and her eyes flew down to meet Penny's. "Oh, sorry. Henry, these are my children, Peter and Penelope. Children this is Lieutenant Warner, your Uncle Henry."

Henry stared at Peter for quite some time, but then eventually smiled at the boy. "The pleasure is all mine."

"Please—" Lydia gestured to the brocade settee— "have a seat. The children's governess is off for the day, I hope you don't mind that they join us."

"Not at all." Henry dropped onto the settee and Penny immediately climbed up next to him. She was such a flirt, even at five, though Henry paid the little girl almost no attention. Instead he was intently focused on Peter, who quietly found a spot in a nearby chair. "When I arrived in London there was a letter waiting for me at the Admiralty from Lord Masten."

Lydia frowned as she took a seat across from her brother. Why would Robert do such a thing and not tell her? "Oh?"

"Yes, he asked me to come here at my earliest convenience."

She feigned a pleasant smile. "Unfortunately, you've missed him. Masten left just yesterday for London on urgent business."

"Will he be gone long? I am on leave while _The Intrepid_ is in dry dock for repairs. I could stay here and wait for him."

Lydia's heart raced and when Penny reached for one of Henry's gold buttons. What did Robert want with her brother? What would happen if Henry told Robert what had occurred between them? What would Robert think of her then?

She must have hesitated to answer too long, because Penny threw her a pleading look. "Please, Mama. Miss Mitford has been telling us delightful stories about pirates and buried treasure." The little girl looked up at Henry and batted her big brown eyes. "Have you ever fought pirates, Uncle Henry?"

Henry smirked at the child and tapped her nose indulgently. "Sorry, no pirates. Just the French, but they're equally bad."

Penny's eyes grew round with excitement. "Please, Mama. Can Uncle Henry stay?"

_This won't be like last time_. She had swarms of servants around at her beck and call. She wouldn't let Henry be alone with the children. In fact, she would make sure that she and Miss Mitford never left them unattended.

What had Robert wished to accomplish with this?

Lydia nodded reluctantly and eyed her brother wearily. "Of course, he is family."

When Dunsley opened the door with tea service, Lydia asked him to have a room prepared for her brother, and she prayed that she wasn't making a mistake. Lydia poured some tea in a cup and added a biscuit to a plate. If she remembered correctly, Henry required neither milk nor sugar. She handed him the refreshments.

He smiled and took a bite of biscuit. "Ah, you have no idea how good this tastes after being a sea. No weevils."

Lydia cringed at the thought, but then refocused on Penny who was talking again. "Do you know Fiona?"

Henry shot a look at Lydia for clarification. "Fiona? I don't think so."

Lydia explained, "She's one of James and Bethany's daughters."

Henry furrowed his brow at that, but nodded and then turned his attention back to Penny who was happily continuing. "Yes, she's our cousin. She was here last week and she cried and pouted and threw things—"

"Pen!" Peter scowled at his sister.

"And my Papa said it made him glad _I'm_ his daughter."

Lydia narrowed her eyes on Penny and frowned. "I think that if your Papa heard you tell someone that, he'd be quite unhappy with you, young lady."

"But I'm just telling Uncle Henry."

"I think you've told Uncle Henry quite enough. No more out of you."

Henry looked at Peter, still studying the boy intently. "You seem like a quiet lad. How old are you, Peter?"

"Seven, sir," Peter answered both quickly and quietly.

"Seven?" Henry repeated and his tanned face began to drain of its color.

Lydia found Miss Mitford in the library and apologized for interrupting the governess on her day off, but pleaded that she watch the children for the rest of the day. "It is very important that you _never_ leave them alone, Miss Mitford." She sighed while she contemplated the situation at hand. "In fact, would you mind if we moved your bed into the nursery for the next little while, so that you can stay with them at night too?"

That was a most bizarre request, and Lydia knew it. But she felt that there was safety in numbers and that she could best protect everyone this way. Miss Mitford furrowed her brow and looked at Lydia as if she'd lost her mind. "Sleep with the children as well, my lady?"

"I'm not feeling my best, Miss Mitford, and with Masten gone, I'm afraid that if something happened to either Peter or Penny that I couldn't reach them in time."

The governess frowned. "I'm just down the hall as it is, Lady Masten."

"Please, Miss Mitford, don't ask me to explain."

Some emotion crossed the governess' face, though Lydia couldn't tell what it was, but in the end Miss Mitford nodded in agreement. "Whatever you wish, my lady."

After depositing Peter and Penny into Miss Mitford's care, Lydia decided to take a walk in the garden. Her nerves were on end, and she could use time alone to think. As she made her way past the roses, Henry's voice startled her from behind. "Lyddie, wait up."

She stopped. She wasn't quite ready to face Henry alone. But what could she do? Run and hide? She was a bit old for that. Lydia turned around and before she knew it her brother was right behind her. "Yes, Henry?"

He smiled in an obvious attempt to put her at ease. Then he gestured to the castle that towered above them. "I never pictured you living someplace like this."

"Honestly, neither did I."

"It will be hard for me to adjust to having so much space. I'm used to the cramped cabin that I share with two other lieutenants."

"Well," she teased, "I'm sure I could find something in the servants' quarters if you'd feel more comfortable there."

Henry threw back his head and laughed. "It's good to know you're not so stuffy, Lyddie. I must say, I was worried about that." He offered her his arm, which she took with the tiniest bit of hesitation. "I'm glad to have this time alone with you."

She winced at his words and wished she could keep herself from reacting, though she couldn't help it.

"That's exactly what I was afraid of." Henry sighed as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "Lydia, words mean nothing, I know, but I am so sorry for what I did to you."

She stared up at her brother in surprise. Was he actually going to talk about _that_ night? That was the last thing she ever wanted to discuss, with him or anyone else. Only Aunt Agnes knew what happened that night and the two of them swore never to tell anyone.

"I don't know what was wrong with me, or why I—I wasn't myself," he continued with a pained tone.

"I don't want to discuss this, Henry."

He frowned, "I'm sorry, Lyddie, but we must. I can't ever undo my actions, and I've been torturing myself over hurting you for years. And then you'd send me socks or a scarf and my guilt nearly killed me."

Was there another conversation in all the world that was more uncomfortable? "The past can't be changed, Henry. There is no point in discussing it now."

Then Henry stopped walking and drew Lydia to a halt. "I know that, moppet. But there are some things that need to be dealt with. I have to know. Is—Is Peter my son?"

A shocked gurgle of surprise slipped from her throat and she stepped away from her brother. "God, no!" Lydia's face took on an anguished expression. What an awful thought that was. "Neither Peter nor Penny are my natural children. Masten and I adopted them."

Henry closed his eyes in relief. "Thank God. When he told me his age, I thought I'd die on the spot." Then he opened his eyes and raked a concerned look over Lydia's body. "You've adopted children? Can you not have them? Did I...do something that damaged you?"

Lydia's face was flushed red and she turned her back on Henry. Would he ever stop discussing that? She couldn't pretend as if it never happened if he wouldn't stop rehashing the incident. "I am perfectly fine. In fact, I'm _enceinte_ now. So, please let's stop talking of this."

Henry placed a comforting hand on Lydia's shoulder. "Do you know what kind of blackguard I felt like? How could I have done such a thing to you, my little moppet? God, Lyddie, can you ever forgive me?"

Tears began to pool in Lydia's eyes. She did not want to think about that night. _Please let this conversation end_. And she didn't want Robert to ever know about it. Aunt Agnes was emphatic that no one ever find out. She'd told Lydia that if people knew, they'd ostracize her, blame her. "Henry, you're forgiven if you'll never mention it to anyone ever again."

He squeezed her shoulder. "Thank you, Lyddie. I feel as if a giant weight has been lifted from me."

# Chapter Twenty-Three

Robert made it to London in a day and a half. He was exhausted, as was Devil's Inferno, but time was of the essence. Without hesitation he directed his stallion down Piccadilly to his brother's rooms. Luke lived in a stylish building, in an area where many young bucks resided. Robert easily persuaded Lucas' landlord to let him up the stairs to his brother's apartments.

It was the early afternoon, which meant that Luke was probably still sleeping off whatever ills he'd been involved with the night before. Robert pounded on the door furiously.

Hopefully, Lucas was suffering from imbibing too much the previous evening. Robert pounded even louder on the door, hoping that the sound was echoing inside what he imagined was his brother's alcohol-soaked brain. "Lucas! Open the bloody door!" he bellowed.

Robert heard someone stumble inside the room and he prepared himself to set eyes on his barely-dressed, still inebriated brother. But when the door opened, he was surprised to see that Luke was already dressed for the day, and looking as sober as a vicar on Sunday morning. "Robert? Oh, God, you've heard." His eyes dropped to the floor.

After spending a day and a half on the back of a horse with adrenaline pumping through his veins, and now staring at his lout of a brother, Robert felt his hold on his temper snap. Of course he'd heard what Luke had done. Had he honestly thought Robert wouldn't hear of it? Robert roared into the room, pushing Luke's chest with both hands. "I should kill you on the spot."

He expected Luke to fight back or perhaps defend himself, but his brother simply nodded his head in agreement. "Aye, you probably should."

Robert held Luke's jacket in his clutches and he growled with all the fury bottled up inside him, "How could you do this to me? How could you maliciously destroy my wife like that?"

Still, Luke couldn't meet his eyes and wouldn't fight back. "I have no excuse, Robert. I was deep in my cups, but I shouldn't have talked to Cecily."

"Cecily?" Robert spit out. "What does _she_ have to do with this?" He released his hold on his brother and watched as Luke slid noiselessly into a seat.

Luke dropped his head into his hands and shrugged. "I don't really know. But I'm _certain_ she's the only one I said anything to. And she'd seemed so concerned and comforting at the time."

"Why would you tell Cecily Rigsley that you got my wife with child?"

Luke snorted and his head shot up. "I never said _that_! At least I don't think I did. I can't imagine saying such a thing. Honestly, Rob, I don't know who the father is, but I know for certain it's not me, if that's what this is about."

Robert balled up his fist and spoke through clinched teeth. "Let me make myself very clear to you, Lucas. That is _my_ child. Mine. I sired it."

"Robert," Luke replied wearily, "I know you think so, but—"

Robert lifted his brother off the ground by his jacket and thrust him against the wall. Truthfully, he was pleased to see a look of fear that crossed Luke's eyes. "I don't just _think_ so. I have never been more certain of anything in my life. Do you hear me?"

Luke nodded, but looked at Robert pityingly, as if he was sorry for his brother's blind delusions. Robert dropped him back to the ground with a thud. "If it makes you feel any better, Lucas, I do believe that Lydia was not an innocent when you took her to your bed."

Luke's ears perked up. "You do? Then, why...?"

Robert fell into a seat and rubbed his brow. God, he needed someone to talk to. He knew it shouldn't be Luke, but this wasn't something he could talk over with anyone else. He closed his eyes painfully. "I have reason to believe that she was violated before she ever met you."

"Violated?" Luke frowned disbelievingly, up until he saw the tortured look on his brother's face. "Are you certain?"

Robert couldn't speak. His throat was choked up and all he could do was nod. It wasn't until he felt the first tear trail its way down his neck that Robert realized he was crying. He sat up straight and rubbed his cheeks raw. He never cried. Never. This was unacceptable. Another tear fell from his eye. Bloody hell!

"For God's sake, Robert. If I'd known..." Luke muttered in shock.

Robert glared at his brother and somehow found his voice. "Everything was fine, we were fine, and then _you_ had to go and ruin everything! Like you always do. And now, after all the indignities Lydia has already suffered, she will never be able to show her face in society again—all thanks to you. There will always be talk that my child, my heir, is your bastard."

"I swear to you, Robert, I _never_ said that."

"Well, you're going to help me straighten it out. And then you will refrain from ever speaking ill of my wife again. She's the kindest, most forgiving soul in the world. I may not be able to fix her past, but I bloody well can protect her future."

A plan was called into action. Robert, Lucas, Caroline, Brendan, and Chet, fresh from Dorset, converged in the gold parlor at Masten House. Battle lines were drawn up, and everyone knew the role they were to play. It was the first time in years, maybe ever, that all three Beckford siblings had worked together with one goal in mind: protect Lydia and her unborn child at all costs.

For the next few days, Robert and Luke were seen everywhere together: the theatre, Astley's Amphitheatre, at one club or another along St. James, and even at a musicale featuring the talents of their young cousin Miss Olivia Danbury—much to Luke's chagrin. Robert's unforgiving nature was legendary. It would be hard for people to believe that the Earl of Masten would go about Town with the man who cuckolded him, brother or not. That just wasn't in his nature and everyone knew it.

But it was Caroline's role that was the most integral in starting to squash the rumors regarding her sister-in-law. Word began to spread throughout the _ton_. At first it started off slowly. Lady Staveley mentioned to Lady Tatton, a notorious gossip, how sad it was that her brother, Lucas, would never be a father. This was why poor Lucas had never married—he'd been diagnosed as sterile by old Doctor Grant back in Dorset when he was just a boy. Terrible riding accident.

Caroline shook her head sadly when she relayed the same tale to Lady Pennington. Luke had always been such a warm and loving uncle to _her_ three children, and though he was happy for Robert's good fortune, he was slightly jealous as well. Lady Pennington had frowned at hearing the story. "Dear me, I never would have guessed such a thing. He seems like such a young, virile lad."

But it was finally after Caroline retold the sad tale to Lady Ridgemont that news flew all over Town like wildfire. Hell hath no fury, and all of that. Lady Ridgemont was only too happy to spread the tale of Luke's impotency to anyone that would listen. In just a matter of days Lucas Beckford would never again be seen as a handsome devil-may-care rogue. He was, instead, a pitiful shell of a man who could never father a child.

At White's, Chet was loudly telling a shocking tale to Brendan. Soon a crowd had formed around the two lords, intently listening to every word. "Honestly, Bren, who would've thought ol' Beckford was capable of it, but apparently love can hit anyone."

Brendan looked dismayed. "You must be jesting. Lucas Beckford?"

"Rob swears he's heartbroken."

Brendan snorted. "I didn't know he had a heart."

"Apparently Lady Juliet meant more to him than any of us suspected. When things ended between them, he went to sulk over the situation with Rob and Lydia." Chet swallowed some whiskey.

Lord Grayden, a stocky, auburn-haired viscount, flashed a rakish grin. "I heard that it was an entirely different kind of comfort Lady Masten gave Beckford."

The room broke into a tittering of laughter, but no one so loud or booming as Lord Astwick. Chet pounded his whiskey glass onto the table and wiped a tear from his eye. "God, I needed that, Grayden...Whoo, that was rich."

Grayden frowned. "Really, Astwick, I don't see why _you_ think it's so funny."

Chet had to work to keep his self-congratulatory smile in check. He slapped Brendan on the back. "You want to answer that, Clayworth?"

Bren turned in his chair to face the throng that had assembled behind him and Chet. "Grayden," Bren began condescendingly, "how is your wife?"

The viscount sputtered. "I don't really see how that's pertinent to this conversation."

Bren continued without missing a beat. "I assume Lady Grayden is fine. So, more importantly, how is her sister—Miss Woodcliff, isn't it?"

Grayden shrugged and realized that all eyes were now on him. "She's well, I suppose."

While he tapped his chin, Brendan started toward the viscount with a wicked grin. "Miss Woodcliff is a pretty little thing. Have you ever considered _comforting_ her?"

The viscount's face was now aflame with embarrassment. "My wife's sister? How dare you, sir?"

Brendan shrugged and took a puff of his cheroot. He flicked his hand dismissively toward Grayden. "Save your indignation. It's more likely that you're aware, more so than any of us, of just what kind of a harridan resides under Miss Woodcliff's pretty skin. I know that's the way I felt about my wife's family anyway."

Muttering started throughout the assembled men, each thinking of their own relations, and Clayworth's point made some sense. Regardless of the face you put on for the outside world, your family always knows the truth about you.

Chet had always liked a big finish and he stepped forward. "I wonder how many of you know Lady Masten. She's a pretty little wisp of a thing, to be sure, and sharp as a tack. I'd wager she knows even more of the scrapes and scandals Masten has saved his brother from than I do. Perhaps if she wasn't so dedicated and loyal to her husband, she might seek _comfort_ from someone else. But I'd lay odds that the last man on earth she'd turn to is Lucas Beckford."

The men seemed to be in agreement. Chet and Bren's arguments held water. The entire situation had run smoothly, and yet the one question Chet was prepared for hadn't come. No one even questioned whether or not Luke had compromised Lydia. Perhaps it was just old news. Or perhaps no one cared. But the men returned to their drinks and games and previous conversations. The Mastens just weren't very interesting anymore. Robert would be thrilled.

The scandal had been almost completely squashed. But the battle wasn't quite over yet, and there was only one lady who could finish the job famously—only one lady who had no motive in helping the young countess. At least not one anyone knew about.

Eugenia Peyton, the widowed Marchioness of Astwick.

Lady Astwick held court in her son's grand drawing room with several of the most influential Ladies of the _ton_. She knew what she must do, if she wished to remain in London. _What has gotten into Chester_? He never demanded anything from her. But the day before he had informed her that unless she wanted to be shipped off to Wiltshire, she would help Masten untangle this trouble he'd gotten himself into.

Quite frankly, she didn't see how Masten's problem was her concern, but Chester had made it quite plain that if she didn't give her help to the cause, her life would be most uncomfortable. Fortunately, she'd held out long enough to get a promise from her son that he'd select a bride within the year. Lady Astwick would have swum across the English Channel for that promise, so helping Masten seemed quite a simple thing to do in the end.

She looked around the drawing room at her friends and, like any good general, set her strategy into motion. "At the moment, I am concerned about young Lady Masten." She spoke with a sincerity no one would doubt.

"That scandalous countess everyone has been talking about?" inquired the dowager Duchess of Lynton, a tiny woman with an enormous headdress made of red tulips.

Lady Astwick nodded sadly. "I'm not sure how news of her confinement got around so quickly, but—" she leaned in toward her friends and whispered conspiratorially— "poor girl hasn't had success carrying any other child to term." That wasn't a lie as far as Lady Astwick knew. "And you know how badly Masten wants his heir."

"That's not what I heard from Agatha," remarked the prune-faced dowager Viscountess Ainsley, just as Lady Astwick had anticipated.

Lady Astwick furrowed her brow in mock concern. "That's just what I'm worried about. The poor girl has done nothing wrong, though her husband's spiteful ex-mistress has set about to destroy her good name. And I'm afraid the whole ordeal will put so much strain on the countess that she'll lose this child as well."

"Spiteful ex-mistress?" asked Lady Audley.

Lady Astwick pursed her lips, as if considering whether to tell her friends the whole story. But of course she would. Then she sat forward in her seat. "Mrs. Rigsley." No one but Lady Astwick noticed that Lady Audley's face had gone white at the sound of that name. So apparently the rumors about the mistress and Audley were true, Lady Astwick silently noted as she began to tell her story. "Once Masten left her, she was determined to destroy him. And when she found out about Lady Masten's delicate condition, she decided this was her perfect opportunity."

"How did she find out?" the duchess asked skeptically. "I mean if he wasn't seeing her anymore..."

Lady Astwick nodded knowingly. "Astwick tells me that this Rigsley woman, whoever she is, found Mr. Beckford deep in his cups at some gaming hell. He's impotent, you know?" She glanced around at the fascinated faces around the drawing room and then continued. "Anyway, Mr. Beckford was apparently feeling sorry for himself after hearing the news of his brother's impeding heir, and, well, the spiteful harlot decided to spin her own tale." From what she'd learned from her son, that was mostly true.

Lady Audley looked mortified. "What a despicable woman! To cause such heartache to a gently bred girl."

Lady Astwick smiled to herself, knowing full well that Lady Audley had an entirely different reason for thinking Cecily Riglsey _despicable_. "But alas, there's nothing that can be done about it now."

"Pish posh!" the duchess exclaimed. "I don't see how we can let a woman of _her_ standing abuse young Lady Masten in such a way."

So far things were going well. Lydia had gone from that scandalous countess to a gently-bred girl not to be abused by her husband's ex-mistress. Lady Astwick feigned surprise. "But what can _we_ do about it? The tale is all over Town."

The viscountess grinned wickedly. "Then we'll just have to spread the truth even faster. When my dear Edgar was alive, I can't tell you the heartache he put me through with women of her ilk."

The duchess nodded her head enthusiastically. "Here, here. We have to protect our own, Eugenia. We certainly can't trust men to do it for us."

Lady Astwick smiled at her friends. "If we can squash it, perhaps Lady Masten won't suffer and she can carry _this_ child to term."

"Then it's agreed." Lady Audley clapped her hands together. "We'll save this girl from that wretched woman's lies."

Once the harridans-on-a-mission had left his drawing room, Chet strolled languidly through the doors to see his mother looking much like a cat that ate the cream. "Nicely done, Mama."

She narrowed her eyes on her son. "Just keep your end of the bargain. I want a daughter-in-law and grandchildren, Chester. And I want them before I'm in my grave."

Chet smirked. "Within the year, Mama. I'll have a bride within the year, but it's my understanding that grandchildren will take a bit longer."

In Robert's gold parlor, Luke sat with his head in his hands. He was ruined, there simply wasn't another way to describe what had been done to him. And his siblings were standing in the corner congratulating each other on his premature demise.

"I just don't understand why it was necessary to un-man me in such a fashion," Luke complained after the story of his virility, or lack thereof, had swept across Town.

"Because—" Caroline turned her back on Robert to face him, and explained for what must have been the hundredth time— "it made sense. How could you father Robert's child if you're impotent. Besides for all I know, you actually suffer from the ailment."

"Caro!" he exclaimed in shock.

"Well, honestly, Lucas, it's not as if you've been discriminatory over the years. And you have no bastards running around that I'm aware of."

Luke frowned. "I'm careful is all. And my little sister is the last bloody person I want to discuss this with."

Robert chuckled from the corner of the room. "I thank you for sacrificing your blackened reputation to protect my child, Lucas. Now, I need to run one last errand before I start back for Gosling Park. I trust you can each show yourselves out."

Robert strode out the doors and then straightened up and looked his sister in the eyes. "And what will happen when I do marry someday and have a child of my own? What will people say then?"

Then she smiled and swept toward him. "Oh? And have you a candidate in mind? Dare I hope that some lady has finally convinced you to reform your dastardly ways?"

Luke frowned. "Caroline, I've not yet said anything to Robert, but would you care to tell _me_ why you've installed Juliet at Gosling Park as a governess?"

Caroline pursed her lips, frowned, and turned from him. "She swore me to secrecy."

"Come now, Caro." He edged toward her like a stalking lion. "You'll have to do better than that. After all, you sent me there to find her."

With a bounce to his step, Robert entered the Admiralty office. The clerk he'd spoken to weeks before stood guard at the front desk and smiled when he recognized him. "Ah, Lord Masten, what can we help you with today?"

Good. The man remembered him. "I need to retrieve that letter I left here for Lieutenant Warner. I've had second thoughts about it."

The clerk frowned. "I'm sorry, my Lord, I already delivered that letter to the Lieutenant about a week after you left it."

But that was weeks ago—almost a month.

What a fool he was. He should have come here first, but he was so focused on the scandal. What if he'd passed the Lieutenant on the road to London? What if the bastard was at Gosling Park this very moment?

He flew out of the Admiralty and hopped on Devil's Inferno's back. He stroked the bay kindly. "Sorry, old boy, but we're going to have to get home even faster than we got to London."

# Chapter Twenty-Four

Lydia came down to breakfast with the children in tow. Henry was already there waiting for them. For the last several days, Lydia had begun to feel comfortable around her brother. He was almost like the old Henry she'd adored as a child, not the frightening man who'd hurt her all those years ago, though she'd promised herself she wouldn't think of _that_ again. How many times had she told Robert the past didn't matter because it couldn't be changed?

Lydia started to fill a plate for each of the children from the sideboard. Peter slid into the chair at the head of the table and sat stoically.

Henry smiled at Penny when the little girl rushed toward him. "Uncle Henry, will you tell me the story of Blackbeard again?"

Lydia scrunched up her nose at the distasteful subject and placed a plate in front of Peter. "Really, Penny, not at the breakfast table. Piracy is so unappetizing."

Penny playfully pouted. "But Uncle Henry has the best stories. Yesterday he told me about _your_ Papa. I didn't know he was a sailor too."

Lydia returned to the table with a plate for Penny. She looked at her brother and let go a beleaguered sigh. "Henry, we don't discuss _that man_ in this house. You're not to mention him to either me or to the children."

With a frown Henry nodded his head. "You're the countess."

Lydia returned to the sideboard to fill her plate with dry toast and a bit of oatmeal, anything that wouldn't make her queasy.

"Why don't we speak of _that man_?" Penny asked innocently when Lydia returned to the table.

For heaven's sake, the child was more inquisitive than a Bow Street Runner with a memory to match. Lydia realized that all eyes were focused on her and she took a sip of tea. "We don't speak of my father in this house because he was a cruel, vile man. And I refuse to reward his memory by speaking of him."

Penny hung her head and looked down at the plate in front of her. "Sorry, Mama."

Lydia had a hard time working up her appetite after that, and she simply played with the oatmeal in front of her. Finally, Miss Mitford came for the children, and then Lydia was left alone with Henry.

Her brother was staring at her with a concerned look. "You don't really think Father was cruel?"

Did he not clearly remember the beast that sired them? Lydia dropped the handle of her spoon in irritation. "If you even think of defending that monster, I swear to you, Henry, I'll throw you out on your ear."

A strange look crossed Henry's face, but he said nothing. He simply finished his meal and then left Lydia alone.

Atop Devil's Inferno, Robert raced through Dorset. Gosling Park was just over the horizon. Soon, very soon he would be home. He was tired and his skin was sore from the whipping of the wind, but he pressed on.

There was probably nothing to worry about. Lieutenant Warner had received his letter weeks ago. If he was intent on seeing Lydia, he would have arrived long before Robert had left for London. Perhaps his despicable brother-in-law had no desire to see Lydia. If so, that was just fine with Robert. But he wouldn't feel comfortable until he was home and had his wife back in his arms.

They hadn't left things particularly settled between them when he'd departed. She was hurt and angry with him. He couldn't really blame her for that. He had been distant—he realized that now. But at the time, the revelations from James MacFadyn were so new that he'd crawled a bit inside himself. Although he'd never stopped loving her. He'd just needed some time alone to sort through things in his mind. He'd had plenty of time to do that on his way to London and now on his way home.

Gosling was getting closer, and he urged his exhausted stallion to pick up the pace. He'd be home soon, and then everything would be fine.

Lydia climbed the stairs that led to her room. She felt exhausted, more so lately. Betsy had insisted that her ladyship begin taking late morning naps to preserve her energy, and Lydia was certainly looking forward to today's.

She'd stopped by the schoolroom to listen in the hallway to Peter and Penny's lessons. Normally she was fairly interested in history, but today, overhearing about the establishment of the Church of England made her eyes go blurry and nearly put her to sleep in the corridor.

As she rubbed her eyes and yawned, she entered her room. Unfortunately, she was not prepared in the least for what met her there.

Henry stood just inside with a furious expression. Before Lydia could react or even scream, he'd clamped a strong hand over her mouth. "Don't you ever tell me what I can or cannot talk about."

His light blue eyes were like cold steel and panic wash over Lydia's body. She knew _that_ look. It still haunted her nightmares. This was not her brother. This was the monster that lay deep inside of him.

She struggled to free herself from his grasp, but Henry was so much stronger than she was. Years of working on a ship at sea had made him powerful.

"Do you think that because you're a countess you can dictate to _me_? Threaten to throw _me_ out?" he hissed, just inches from her terrorized face.

Lydia's eyes grew to the size of saucers. She tried to shake her head, but he was holding her too tightly for that. Henry forced her to step backward and he sneered angrily at her.

"Well, you can't," he continued. "I tried to come here and get along with you. I tried to put our past behind us, but you think you're better than me."

Lydia felt the bed hit the back of her legs. This was _not_ happening. He wouldn't do this to her. Not again. She struggled even harder, with all her might to free herself but to no avail. She wished she could kick him, or scratch him, or bite him even, but his hand was so tight that she couldn't move. She could barely breathe.

What was wrong with him? He'd been so pleasant up until now. God, she was the biggest fool in the world to have let him stay.

She felt his fingers dig into her skin. "Well, you're not. And that's a lesson I'll just have to teach you."

"Let her go!" Robert's enraged voice rang out from the now open doorway.

Henry turned toward the sound and Lydia was able to catch a glimpse of her husband. He was furious. In his hand, he held a, pistol which was pointed directly at Henry.

_Thank God Robert is here._

She felt her body go limp.

But Henry didn't release her. He laughed instead. "I don't think you'll use that. You might hurt the prissy little countess."

A muscle near Robert's eye twitched, but he stalked forward. "I seriously doubt that. My aim is excellent. Now, unhand my wife."

Finally, Henry removed his hand from Lydia's mouth. She sagged from relief. " _R—Robert_ , please be careful."

But Robert appeared not to hear her. He remained solely focused on Henry. "I said unhand my wife, Warner."

"She doesn't belong to you." Henry's gaze bore down on Robert. "She's mine. I laid claim to her first."

Lydia's heart stopped. How could he blurt out such a thing to Robert like that? Her eyes flew to her husband's face. But he didn't even flinch. His jaw tightened instead. "And that's reason enough to put a bullet through your heart. We've reached the end of my patience, Lieutenant. Release my wife, or I'll drop you where you stand."

Something was going on in Henry's mind. Lydia could see emotions flashing across her brother's face, but she couldn't read them. Henry looked down at her and in his eyes she saw, fleetingly, the young boy she'd once known. "Sorry, Lyddie," he whispered. Then he suddenly pushed her away from him and lunged for Robert's weapon.

Lydia screamed and the pistol went off.

Then it was as if time moved in slow motion. A look of horror crossed Henry's face when he caught sight of his chest. Blood was beginning to seep through the white cloth of his muslin shirt.

Robert dropped the pistol in his hand and bellowed for help. Lydia was in a daze and she barely registered that Robert was now walking toward her. He sank to his knees at her feet and wrapped his arms around her abdomen. "Oh, God. Please, tell me that you're all right."

But she couldn't speak. She wasn't all right and she couldn't catch her breath.

Both Betsy and Kistler burst into the room and gasped in unison when they saw Lieutenant Warner's collapsed body on the floor, struggling for his last intake of air. Robert stood hastily and met his valet's eyes. "Have Dunsley send for Sir Phillip Cressley."

Without a hint of hesitation, Kistler bolted from the room. Robert cupped Lydia's face in his hands. But she couldn't look at him and she closed her eyes tightly. "Lydia darling, please say something."

She was trembling. She couldn't help it, and she couldn't focus. Everything she wanted, everything she'd hoped for was gone. Life would never be the same again. She turned her face away from his reach and stepped toward the door. Then without a look back, she raced from the room.

Robert watched in horror as Lydia fled from him. He started after her, but Betsy stayed his arm. "Give her some space, my lord."

Damn if that didn't feel like the wrong thing to do. Robert looked down at Lieutenant Warner's now lifeless body on the floor of his bedchamber.

When he'd arrived at Gosling and was informed that Lieutenant Warner had arrived the very day after he'd left for London, he thought he'd be sick. He'd raced in the house with the pistol he'd been traveling with for protection. He hadn't meant to kill Warner, though God knew he wanted to. And when he'd seen Lydia struggling with the monster, he'd have done anything to protect her.

But never would he have thought the blackguard would have lunged for him. He didn't even remember pulling the trigger. But he had, and now the man was dead and his wife was off suffering somewhere alone. Remembering the look of terror on Lydia's face when the pistol rang out was sheer torture.

Blast Betsy! He had to find Lydia.

Lydia sat in the garden, numb. She vaguely noticed an hour later that the magistrate had arrived. Henry was dead. Wasn't he? He certainly looked dead. She wasn't yet able to cry, so she simply stared at the sculptured topiaries in a daze.

"Lady Masten?" came Dunsley's soft voice from the pathway.

"Yes?" Lydia barely answered, without raising her eyes to see the butler.

Dunsley stepped forward and offered his hand. "My lady, Sir Phillip is requesting your presence in the drawing room."

Sir Phillip. Lydia sighed wearily.

The magistrate would ask all sorts of embarrassing questions. Questions Lydia would rather not answer. Questions Lydia was afraid Robert had already figured out the answers to. For a moment, she considered bolting. She could take a horse and go back to Blackstone. No one would think to look for her there. She could hide out at the Knight's Arms, for a while. Surely the Langes would let her stay. She could go back to Carteret house on Queen Street and...and go back to _that_ room. The room that had been hers seven years ago when she lived with Aunt Agnes. Were the answers that plagued her still in _that_ room?

"My lady?" Dunsley's concerned voice entered her consciousness.

Lydia snapped her head in the direction of the butler. She couldn't flee. She wouldn't abandon Peter and Penny. She wouldn't endanger the life of her unborn child by riding across the country, hiding from her ghosts. Even if Robert despised her, the life of the child she carried meant more than her own. And Robert. She was certain that he could never look at her again, but despite everything she would always love him. She couldn't let him deal with Sir Phillip alone, not after he'd been the only person ever to have saved her from Henry's wrath.

Lydia stood up from her seat on the bench and nodded to the old man. "Thank you, Dunsley." Then she squared her shoulders and started back for the castle.

When Lydia entered the drawing room, both Robert and Sir Phillip stood. She couldn't look at her husband. She couldn't bear to see the disgust that must be on his face. Lydia forced a smile for the aging magistrate. "Sir Phillip."

Sir Phillip nodded his balding pate politely to the countess. "Lady Masten, your husband was just relaying to me the unfortunate events of this afternoon. I am terribly sorry for the loss of your brother."

_The loss of your brother_. Those words echoed in her mind. But she hadn't lost Henry today. She'd lost him years ago. Today had just been an awful reminder. "Thank you, sir."

"I understand that you were in the room when the accident occurred."

Accident? Before Lydia could speak, Robert broke in. "Cressley, can't you see she's distraught. In her condition, must you do this now?"

Sir Phillip frowned. "It's just unusual that the lieutenant would be in your bedchamber, my lord."

"I already told you, my brother-in-law and I were discussing weaponry and we'd gone to my room to look at the dueling pistols that belonged to my father."

Lydia's eyes flew to Robert's. What was this Banbury tale he was spinning?

"When her ladyship entered the room, Warner got startled and he dropped the pistol. It went off, hitting him in the chest. Now, sir, look at my wife. Taking her condition into account, I must ask that you speak to her later."

So that was the story he'd conjured up? Why didn't he simply tell the truth? Certainly, he wasn't afraid of the hangman's noose. An earl wouldn't go to the gallows for this, especially not if Robert was honest with Sir Phillip. Henry had jumped for the pistol, and Robert had defended and protected her. He wasn't at fault.

But she couldn't call him a liar, couldn't contradict his story in front of the magistrate. "It's all right. I'd rather get this over with. What is it you wish to ask me, Sir Phillip?"

"Since you were there, my lady, I just need you to corroborate Masten's story."

"Are you saying you doubt my husband's account?"

Sir Phillip shook his head. "No, my lady, but his temper is legendary and—"

"Cressley!" Robert growled.

Lydia held up her hand to silence her husband. "Sir, my husband is the most honorable of men. The story is exactly as he said. It was an accident. I certainly didn't mean to surprise my brother, and I had no idea that he was in my bedchamber. I was simply retiring for a nap. This babe has made me very tired, you see."

The magistrate studied her for a moment and then nodded at Robert. "Very well. I'll let you know if I need anything else."

After Sir Phillip made his exit, Robert watched Lydia drop her eyes to the floor. She still hadn't met his gaze. "Lydia." He crossed the floor in three strides and took her hand in his. "Look at me."

Slowly, her eyes rose to his face. She didn't look good. But how did he expect her to look? He still didn't know what had transpired while he was in London. He still didn't know why Warner was in their bedchamber, keeping his wife prisoner. He still didn't know what she thought or felt about the situation.

Robert had raced in there with a pistol in his hand and shot her brother in the heart, right after threatening to do so. Should she look happy to see him?

But whatever was going on in the bedchamber wasn't good. Lydia wasn't there voluntarily. "Tell me what happened." It wasn't a question. He used his commanding voice.

"What happened is that I corroborated that pack of lies you just told Sir Phillip."

He was trying to keep his temper in check. He was tired, sore, frustrated, and more confused than he'd ever been. For the past sennight he'd been trying to protect her in one way or another, and now she was being flippant? "Would you have rather I told Cressley how I discovered you and Warner? I've spent the last week trying to protect _your_ good name, and I'd be damned if—"

He stopped when Lydia's face went white and her eyes filled with unshed tears. Robert sighed. Seeing her in pain was like a stake through his heart. "Sweetheart, please tell me he didn't hurt you again."

Again?

What did he mean _again_? Lydia's eyes grew large as she stared at her husband. His expression was one of love and concern, not the anger and repulsion she'd expected to see. She shook her head, as words wouldn't come.

Robert cupped her face in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Lydia. I didn't mean to kill him, I swear to you I didn't, but when I saw the terror in your eyes when you tried to free yourself..."

"What do you mean, 'again'?"

Robert took her hand and led her to the settee, where he sat beside her. "I knew you didn't want to speak of it, Lydia, and so when James told me what Warner did to you, I said nothing."

Lydia's heart stopped beating. Surely, she misunderstood what Robert was saying. She prayed he didn't really know. "James said what?"

Robert's eyes dropped to where his hands cradled hers. "He told me about the night at Carteret House, when your brother broke the door to your room. He told me everything."

Her mouth had gone dry. No one knew what happened that night. Just Henry, Aunt Agnes, and her. Aunt Agnes would never have told James, as she'd forbidden Lydia to tell anyone. And yet, Robert did know. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in her soul. He knew about the attack. He knew that Henry had taken her innocence. He knew...and hadn't looked at her in disgust. Her lips begin to tremble. "Robert?"

Slowly, his eyes rose to her face. When he saw the agony she was in, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her. _He still loved her_. The floodgates opened and Lydia sobbed like she had never been allowed to do.

He whispered soothing words and caressed her back, and promised she would always be safe. For the first time in her life, Lydia actually believed it. There was still so much that had not been said, and she wanted to finally be free of her terrible secret.

"Why, Robert? Why did he do that to me? I adored him. I worshiped him."

Robert shook his head. "I don't know why anyone would ever do such a thing, darling. But your brother wasn't the man you thought he was."

How could he know that? He'd never even laid eyes on Henry until today. "What do you mean?"

"James said that your Aunt Agnes was worried about Warner's character, and that she wouldn't let him see you. I think she had reason to believe the worst about him, otherwise she wouldn't have kept you from him for all those years."

Lydia hadn't known that. Aunt Agnes wouldn't let Henry see her? Why not? What had he done? She was so young at the time, she just couldn't remember.

"Darling, you do know that this isn't your fault?"

Lydia shook her head. Aunt Agnes had said the same thing, but it just didn't make sense. She'd always felt that she must have done something, said something that made Henry hurt her. She could just never figure out what it was.

Robert pulled her back into his arms and enveloped her with his love and warmth. "You were a child, Lydia. You were not to blame for his despicable actions."

Aunt Agnes had told her that no one would understand, that they would think she was at fault. How did Robert see things differently than that? "You don't think less of me?"

"Never," he swore vehemently. "You are the most perfect woman. You are beautiful, you know. Strikingly so. But it's your heart I fell in love with, Lydia. You are honest and kind, forgiving, passionate, and loving. You are my life. No one will ever hurt you again."

Lydia wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips to his. "I don't deserve you."

"Oh, darling, you deserve so much better than me." Then he smiled roguishly. "But it's too late. You're mine and you're stuck with me."

Lydia laughed as she brushed the last of her tears away. "I'd never want to be stuck with anyone else."

# Epilogue

Robert had worn a path around the green parlor, waiting for news on his wife. He'd never known such torture. While James MacFadyn and David Benton were conversing pleasantly and playing a game of piquet, Robert thought he'd strangle the life out of both of them. How could they sit there so calmly?

"Sit down," David commanded, looking up from his cards. "Working yourself up into hysterics won't help you or her at this point."

"I can't sit still," Robert growled. He'd already been barred from his wife's bedside by both Caroline and Bethany Carteret.

The two card-playing peers exchanged matching smirks. James dropped his cards to the table and rose from his seat. He draped his arm around Robert's shoulders companionably. "She'll be fine. It's just your first time, is all. Trust me, when you've been through this as many times as Staveley and I have, it's old hat."

Robert liked to pride himself on being logical, but the fact of the matter was his mother did die in childbirth with Caroline. He didn't know what he would do if he lost Lydia—she was his life.

David nodded in agreement with James. "True, true. Next time it won't take as long, and it'll be even shorter the time after that. This is the worst of it, Masten."

Thank God it didn't get worse than this. Robert didn't think his heart could handle it. Before he could say as much, the parlor doors opened and Caroline stepped inside, looking both hot and weary. Though when she spotted her brother, she smiled. "Now, you can go up, Robert. And—"

Robert never knew what else Caroline had to say. He bolted out of the room, down the long and winding corridor, and up the stairs that led to his bedchamber. He threw open door and found his wife lying quietly in the middle of their bed.

Bethany Carteret was holding a little bundle in her arms and she approached him with a sweet smile. "Would you like to hold her, Masten?"

_Her_. He had a daughter.

Robert couldn't speak, words of joy were stuck in his throat, and he was only able to nod. Bethany carefully placed the little bundle that was his daughter into the crook of his arm. When he looked down at the little sleeping face of the baby, he fell instantly in love.

He never noticed Bethany slip out of the room. He was too engrossed in watching his daughter's tiny stomach rise and fall with each intake of breath. There was never anything more lovely in the world. Well, almost. Robert started toward the bed, his eyes on Lydia. Though she must be exhausted, she managed a weary smile. "I know you were hoping for a son."

Had he ever said such a foolish thing? Robert crossed the floor and carefully sat on the edge of the bed, still cradling his daughter in his arms. "She's perfect, sweetheart, our perfect little angel."

Lydia closed her eyes and smiled.

Oh, how he loved this woman, his wife. His heart overflowed just looking at her. He'd never let anyone hurt her again and would dedicate the rest of his life to her happiness. Robert carefully bent toward her and brushed his lips across her brow. "I love you, Lydia."

Eyes still closed, she smiled even bigger. "I love you, Robert."

He looked back at his sleeping infant. "Lady Melody Beckford, you have a most remarkable mother," Robert stated matter-of-factly.

Lydia blinked her eyes open. "Melody?" her voice sounded choked and a tear began to make its way down her cheek.

"Melody," he answered and brushed the tear away. He could never take away Lydia's terrible memories, but he could replace them with new ones. "I can't bring back her namesake, but I can promise that this little girl will live the happy and joy-filled life your sister deserved. I'll protect her with every breath in my body."

There was a soft knock on the door and Robert turned toward the sound. "Come in."

Slowly, the door opened and Caroline poked her head inside. "You've got two children in the hallway who are dying to see their sister."

Lydia struggled to sit up and smiled happily. "Oh, please send them in."

Caroline opened the door wide and Peter and Penny cautiously entered the bedchamber. Robert motioned for the children to approach them. "Come along you two." He shifted the baby in his arms, and Melody's eyes fluttered open. They were the clearest, deepest blue, just like her mother's.

Penny rushed forward, though Peter held back a bit. The little girl cooed softly. "She is lovely."

"You know, Penny," Robert began with a wink, "you're Melody's older sister. She'll think you're the most amazing person in all the world."

"She will?" Penny asked as her face lit up.

"Absolutely," Robert assured her. "You'll watch after her won't you?"

"Oh, yes, Papa."

Peter glanced at the baby, but kept his eyes focused on Lydia. "Are you all right, Mama?"

Lydia smiled at the boy. "I am now that you're both here with us."

Robert placed Melody in her mother's arms and scooped Penny up onto the bed along with them and cradled her. "Climb on up, Peter."

So, the boy did. Then the Masten family spent the afternoon together, until Lydia finally fell asleep. It was the most peace and love that any of them had ever known, and it was just the beginning.

# Chapter 1

February 1812 - London

This truly is a den of iniquity, Lucas Beckford thought to himself. One sleeping, naked woman was draped across his lower torso, while another slept soundlessly, her head resting on his left shoulder. However, Luke was not sleeping. He was wide awake in the wee hours of the morning, staring at the crushed red velvet walls and what was left of some flickering candles.

Something in his life was most definitely missing. Unfortunately that same thought seemed to creep into his mind at the most inopportune times over the last month or so. Not that he should complain. Many men would love to be in his position—especially the one he found himself in right now. But somewhere along the line, this had become mundane for him. After many years of cheerful sinning in one capacity or another, he'd started to tire of this existence that was his life. Fast-paced hazard tables, fast-paced whores, and a never ending supply of money and whiskey. No, most men wouldn't complain.

Yet, he wasn't satisfied. So, there had to be something he was missing. Something...more.

The woman in his arms stirred and he took the opportunity to shift her to a pillow beside him. However, the one draped across his middle didn't seem likely to move for quite some time, and he hated to wake her. She had been quite accommodating.

"Luke!" came a panicked voice on the other side of the door.

What the devil? He sat up with a start, waking the poor girl that had been atop him. "Sorry, love." He smiled at her.

The panicked voice continued, "Lu—ke!" Then the interloper banged wildly on the door.

"For God's sakes!" he growled. What in Lucifer's name was the problem? Luke wrenched the door open, not a stitch on him, and glared at the intruder. His glower lightened a bit when he recognized his young friend William, Lord Haywood, standing in the corridor, a horrified expression plastered on his boyish face. Will knew better than to interrupt a man here. Something truly terrible must have happened.

Will pushed his way into the room and noticed the two girls now scrambling for clothes. He grinned bashfully at the younger of the two. "Oh, Sarah."

"Lord Haywood." The girl blushed, which was strange in Luke's mind, as he didn't remember ever seeing a whore do so before.

After he pulled his trousers up over his hips and started to button himself in, Luke glanced up and was annoyed that Haywood was still making moon eyes at the girl. "Sweet Lucifer, Will, what are you doing here?"

Will tore his eyes away from Sarah. "You have to help me, Luke. I don't know what else to do. I've tried everything I can think of, but nothing's worked. And tonight she told me I was a featherbrained dolt whose thoughts wouldn't fill a thimble."

At the moment, Luke was inclined to agree with whoever she was. He had a hard time believing that the young baron had tracked him down here in the middle of the night to discuss some female. Certainly this could wait until morning...or afternoon, or whenever Luke chose to finally wake up. "Who are we speaking about, Will?"

Haywood looked exasperated and frowned at him. "The Ice Princess, Luke—Lady Juliet. That damned haughty chit."

Luke's head began to ache. This was hardly the sort of thing a man wanted to think about at—he checked his pocket watch—three-thirty in the morning. Then he pulled on his shirt and waived the girls out of the room.

Will smiled at the pretty young whore one last time. "Bye, Sarah."

To her credit, Sarah quietly nodded and shut the door behind her. Luke scowled at his friend. "Sarah?" he asked incredulously.

"What?" Will shrugged.

"Just surprised you know her name, Will." Calling a whore by her first name was not something Luke had ever done. In fact, he didn't know any of their first names and planned to keep it that way.

"Oh, well," Will began as he sank into a high-backed velvet chair, "she's a real sweetheart. Wants to be an actress."

Luke couldn't care less, and his gaze darkened on his friend. "Perhaps instead of chatting up career goals with Madam Palmer's girls you could be charming Lady Juliet."

Will snorted and let his head fall into his hands. "I could spend all day trying to charm her and it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. Honestly, Luke, a more frigid woman doesn't exist." Then his head shot upward. "That's why I need your help."

Luke didn't like the sound of that and he shook his head slowly. "If she's so prickly, Will, then just pick someone else. It's not as if she's the only heiress in England."

"No, she's just the wealthiest. If I have to sell my soul in marriage, I want to get the most out of it."

Luke pulled on his Hessians and chuckled. It was no wonder the Ice Princess wasn't charmed by Haywood. "What a romantic notion," he remarked sardonically.

"That's just the problem. I don't have a clue what to say around her. You've got to go with me to the Ridgemont's tomorrow...er, technically I suppose it's tonight."

"No!" Luke barked emphatically. He'd successfully avoided Louisa Ridgemont for the last fortnight and he wasn't about to go traipsing into the she-devil's den.

"Please," Will begged. "You've got to watch me interact with her, tell me what I'm doing wrong."

Luke was bone tired and he shook his head at his pitiful friend. "Not even to save your pathetic life, Haywood. Do you know how long it took me to end things with Louisa?"

Haywood actually blanched. "Oh, sorry. I hadn't thought about that. The thing is, Luke, Lady Juliet's unpredictable, and avoids functions for the most part. But I know she'll be at the Ridgemont ball, and I desperately need your sage advice."

Luke cursed under his breath. If it had been anyone else that was asking this of him, he'd have told them to go jump in the Thames...But he felt responsible for Haywood. He always had. "I ought to be checked into Bedlam for agreeing to this, and you'll owe me for the rest of your life."

Will's solemn face broke into a wide grin. "You're the best."

"Yes, yes." Luke frowned, opened the door of the small bedroom, and stepped into the corridor—directly into the path of Alexander Everett, the Duke of Kelfield.

An amused grin tugged at the corners of the wicked duke's mouth. "Very interesting. I had no idea," he smirked as he glanced inside the empty bedroom, then back at Luke and Will.

Luke scowled at Kelfield, as he pushed past him. "Bugger off." Then as an afterthought he added, "Your Grace."

"Dear God, she's here." Will gulped nervously, his boyish face drawn up tight. He quickly downed the remainder of the wine in his goblet.

They'd been waiting for nearly an hour at the Ridgemont's and Luke had been certain the Ice Princess wouldn't show up. She'd leave him to flounder in Louisa's ballroom, paying a penance he had no desire to pay. But, apparently, he'd been wrong.

Will raked his free hand through his dark hair, as if the process would help him think of the right thing to say this time. Luke had never seen the lad so anxious. This was serious indeed.

"Courage, Will," he drawled next to his anguished friend. Then Luke lazily pushed himself away from the large, white pillar he'd spent the last half hour leaning against, to focus his attention on the Ridgemonts' newest arrival.

The reason he was here.

Lady Juliet St. Claire.

The last time he'd laid eyes on her had to be ten years ago, at a wedding or something. She must have been nine or ten at the time, a bony girl with knobby knees and big brown eyes.

She had changed.

She was lovely.

Lady Juliet was adorned in an expensive, yet tasteful silk rose gown that shimmered like diamonds as she glided across the floor. Her chestnut colored hair was piled high on her head, and dainty tendrils framed her heart-shaped face. Her brown eyes were still big, though apparently deceiving, as he'd heard tales of her ability to instantly chill a man to his bones with just her gaze.

So this was the chit Haywood had decided on. God have mercy on his soul.

Luke watched Lady Juliet with methodical eyes. She was instantly swooped down upon by a fortune-hunting viscount, who was quickly followed by other suitors, all light in the pockets, each of them. Without a doubt Will had competition for the heiress' hand...er...make that fortune. "Do you see how they've swarmed around her? You definitely do not want to be part of that pack."

Will frowned and focused his attention on the lady. "But if I'm not near her you can't tell me what I'm doing wrong, and I won't have a chance at catching her."

With a beleaguered sigh, Luke turned to his protégé. "You won't have a chance if you join their ranks. Trust me, Will, ladies like Juliet St. Claire are accustomed to gentlemen showering them with attention. Up 'til now you've been chasing her so hard that she takes your affection for granted. But if you suddenly turn your attentions elsewhere... Well, that she'll notice. She won't want to lose one of her many accessories, and she'll scramble to get you back."

Will didn't look convinced, and Luke grinned to himself. Haywood was still such a green lad, though over all a pretty good fellow. It wasn't his fault he'd inherited his father's massive debts along with his title. The young baron was simply trying to put his estates to rights, and he was in over his head.

A few years back Luke had taken pity on Will—fresh from the country with not an ounce of Town polish. The boy had been a complete innocent. Since that time, Luke had tutored Haywood in many things: gambling, whoring, drinking. But helping him with the unenviable task of snaring a wealthy bride wasn't something he was anxious to do. The very idea sent chills down Luke's spine, but he had seen the baron's accounts himself. Marriage seemed the best way to keep the Haywood estates afloat.

Across the room, Lady Juliet dismissed her entourage, one at a time. Two of her penniless suitors fought to retrieve the Ice Princess some refreshment. And it appeared that she dismissed the rest with a flick of her wrist and a cool scowl.

Now she was all alone, and Luke studied her delicate frame. If one had to marry an heiress, they'd be hard pressed to find a more attractive one.

Haywood started to move toward the icy heiress, but Luke halted him with a hand on his arm. "She'll just turn you away, Will. Don't be rash. Don't act without thinking. Just watch her. Study her."

Will snorted. "What's the point? She never joins any group. She just stands there looking down her nose at everyone."

But at the moment, she wasn't looking down her nose at anyone. She was actually smiling at someone who had just entered the ballroom. Both Luke and Will glanced across the sea of people to see who had caught Lady Juliet's attention. If Haywood had serious competition, it would behoove them to know just who it was.

But when Luke's eyes landed on Georgina, Lady Teynham, he grinned wolfishly as luck, once again, smiled upon him. This was going to be like a walk in the park. Lady Teynham, a widowed marchioness, was Lady Juliet's older sister. She also just so happened to be one of his sister Caroline's dearest friends. But most importantly, Georgie had always had a soft spot in her heart for Luke.

He glanced at Haywood and winked. "Do not approach Lady Juliet. In five minutes, join me as I talk with Lady Teynham. Then we'll all end up with the Ice Princess together and Lady Teynham will ease the way for us."

Anxiously, Will looked from Luke to Juliet and back again. With an uncertain nod, he finally agreed. Then after one last look of warning, Luke stepped away from his young friend and toward Lady Teynham. This whole thing would be much easier if Will could just relax and listen to his guidance.

Luke stepped in Georgie's path, with a rakish bow and an outstretched hand. "Well, if it isn't the loveliest widow in all of England."

Georgie smiled radiantly, her blue eyes twinkling. "My dear Lucas, whatever are you doing at Louisa's ball? I mean, the marriage mart is the last place in the world I'd expect to find you."

Luke chuckled and placed her hand in the crook of his arm. "Perhaps times change."

Georgie giggled at that and tapped his chest with her fan. "And perhaps house cats pull Prinny's carriage. Darling, if you were seriously considering finding yourself a wife, news would be all over Town."

"I hardly think I'm that noteworthy," he remarked with a lazy smile.

"On the contrary," Georgie insisted, "Caroline would be shouting the news from the rafters and scoping out any and all eligible candidates for the position."

He chuckled at the image she painted in his mind. Georgie knew Caroline well indeed. If he was searching for a wife, his younger sister would make a complete nuisance of herself— of that there was no doubt. "Well, for God's sakes, Georgie, don't tell her whatever you do. I can manage without her assistance. But what, may I ask, are you doing at a marriage mart ball? You're not replacing Teynham?"

Georgie's marriage had not been a pleasant one and everyone knew it. She'd been married off at the tender age of seventeen to a man that was old enough to be her grandfather and who had the reported temperament of Attila the Hun. Luke would be surprised if she ever replaced the crusty old marquess. Widowhood had saved Georgie from a miserable existence. She wouldn't give up that status lightly.

They were slowly creeping toward Lady Juliet, and Luke surreptitiously glanced around the room. Where the devil was Haywood? He was supposed to have joined them before they reached the Ice Princess' side.

"I'm here with my sister, Juliet. You remember her?"

Luke nodded. "Of course."

Georgie leaned in closely to him and whispered, as if they were conspirators. "Actually, Lucas, I'm hoping someone will strike her interest. Unlike Caroline or myself, Juliet has the luxury of actually picking her own husband."

This was perfect. He could get Georgie to tell him everything. "Oh? And who is the gentleman that's caught her attention?"

With an unladylike grimace, Georgie shook her head and sighed. "No one yet. She's being very obstinate about the entire thing."

Well, that was good to know. Now he just needed to learn what the Ice Princess was looking for in a husband and then help Will discover those traits in himself. "How so?" he asked casually.

But the time for confidences had abruptly come to an end. The Ice Princess herself had stopped before them and kissed Georgie's cheek in greeting. "I was starting to worry about you."

Georgie pulled an unpleasant face and motioned toward the main entranceway, which was adorned in white tulips, where their hostess still stood greeting her guests. "Louisa cornered me and was-" She stopped in mid-sentence, glanced briefly at Luke, and then she cleared her throat. "Jules, you do remember Mr. Beckford don't you?"

Juliet swallowed. Hard. She could never forget Mr. Beckford, and it had taken some amount of courage to approach her sister in his presence. After all, the last time she'd seen him, she'd made a complete ninny out of herself, though she'd only been ten years old at the time. But she could still remember the mortification she felt when he'd overheard her gushing to Georgie about how 'beautiful' he was. He'd chuckled and patted her head in a very patronizing manner, crushing her little heart in the process.

From time to time, Juliet had thought about him over the years, but their paths had never crossed again. Though they both lived in London, they traveled in vastly different circles. Occasionally, she would hear about one of his wicked exploits and wonder what had happened to the beautiful young man he'd been.

What she saw was that he'd grown into an exceedingly striking man. Honestly, no man had the right to be that devilishly handsome. He was slightly taller than she remembered and his golden-blond hair fell rakishly across his brow. But it was his eyes that she found most captivating—just looking into them she felt lost, vulnerable, and fluttery in places she'd sooner die than speak of.

And now he was looking at her, focusing those heart-stopping, green eyes on her. Just like when she was ten, Juliet's mouth went dry in his presence and she didn't think she could speak. But Georgie was staring at her with wide eyes, and she felt certain she was making a cake of herself. So, she stiffly nodded her head and managed to choke out, "Of course."

Luke Beckford took her gloved fingers in his hand and brought them to his lips. Shivers raced down Juliet's spine, and her heart pounded so hard she couldn't think straight or clearly hear what was going on about her. Truly, it was difficult to function as normal when a Greek God was paying her his complete attention.

But the magic between them came to an abrupt end, when without any warning at all, Lord Haywood joined their group, and grinned at her like the idiot he was. She'd been trying to shake his interest for the better part of the last month. "What a surprise to see you, Lady Juliet. And might I say you're simply stunning this evening?"

He was such a toady! A surprise? He'd kept his eyes glued to her ever since she'd entered the room. Did the dolt think she was too featherbrained to have noticed?

After favoring the young baron with a cool expression, Juliet looked back at Mr. Beckford and caught a speaking glance that was obviously meant for Haywood.

Drat!

Realization hit her hard. The two of them were friends. She should have known better.

Lucas Beckford was not the sort to pay her any attention. She wasn't a member of the demimonde, or someone else's wife, or some beautiful widow. However, the reprobate probably would assist his friend Haywood in his untenable quest for her hand. How silly she'd been to think that the handsome devil could possibly find something of interest in her for himself. She felt like that awkward ten-year-old girl all over again.

Juliet found herself frowning at her own foolishness and silently swore not to fall victim to her sensibilities in the future, at least not where he was concerned.

It suddenly became much easier to look at the handsome scoundrel. And since he'd decided to interfere in her life, there were a few things she'd like to say to him. To that end, she turned an icy glare on the penniless, toad-eating baron. "Lord Haywood, would you please fetch me a glass of ratafia?"

"I'd be delighted," Haywood squeaked. Then he scooted off toward the refreshment table, beaming with pride. The fool.

Juliet then focused her attention on her sister. She would have to get rid of Georgie too. As much as her sister loved her, she just didn't understand the situation Juliet was in. Georgie was an incurable optimist and didn't clearly see the dangers that surrounded wealthy heiresses. Georgie honestly believed that all of Juliet's suitors were besotted with her, but Juliet knew better. Her suitors were besotted all right, but with her fortune not her dull, mud-colored eyes.

With a sweet smile, Juliet gestured back to the main entranceway with a delicate flick of her wrist. "Georgie, Lady Ridgemont was just trying to signal you from across the room."

Georgie glanced across the sea of people until she spotted her old friend—who was indeed looking their direction—and rolled her eyes heavenward. "I just finished speaking with her. I can't imagine what Louisa could possibly want now." Then with a sigh of resignation, Georgie made her way through the crowd toward Lady Ridgemont.

When her sister was safely out of earshot, Juliet braved a glance at the striking devil at her side, only to find his green eyes dancing with merriment.

"And just what do you wish to speak with me about, Lady Juliet?"

He knew? Blast him! Her face warmed and she stiffened her back in response as she met his amused gaze. "Take a turn about the room with me, will you, Mr. Beckford?"

He stared deeply into her eyes, and Juliet felt as if he was trying to see straight into her soul. "Wouldn't you prefer to dance?" he asked smoothly.

The first strings of a waltz began, and, fool that she was, Juliet would have preferred to dance with him. But that was not an option so she shook her head. "I never dance, sir." Then she waved her hand airily toward her bevy of suitors and furrowed her brow. "Those dogs would hound me until I danced with every single one of them, and I have no intention of indulging even one of them in that regard."

To her delight, the dashing scoundrel threw back his head and laughed. Then he offered her his arm with a roguish grin. "A turn about the room it is then, my lady."

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and her fingertips tingled from just this simple contact with him. When he smiled down at her, Juliet thought she might faint, which was completely unacceptable—especially for her. So she took a deep breath, steadied her shoulders, and blurted out, "You are tutoring Lord Haywood in how to court me."

The rogue nearly stumbled, but to his credit, he quickly righted himself and glanced down at her in surprise. "That obvious, is it?"

Juliet frowned her answer. She had suspected it, knew it in her mind, but hearing it confirmed was still disheartening. The tiny bit of her that hoped he'd had some interest in her died. "I want you to end it. In fact, I'd like you to convince him to find some other heiress to hound altogether." She began to tick off the names with her fingers. "There's Marian Hampton or Alice Kelston. Oh, Susan Clarke—her father is anxious for her to marry into a title and he's quite plump in the pockets."

One dark golden eyebrow shot up mockingly. "Well, you're certainly mercenary, aren't you?"

Juliet let go a beleaguered sigh as they passed couples who were dancing the waltz nearby. "Better one of them than me. Besides, Mr. Beckford, I'll never marry. So your friend is simply wasting his time—Time that could be spent in courting Lucy Turnbridge perhaps?" she asked hopefully.

Luke grimaced and shook his head. "Isn't she the one with a mustache?"

True, poor Lucy wasn't the prettiest of girls, but physical attributes didn't appear to matter at all to the group of fortune hunting scavengers that were preying on London's wealthy females. "Yes, and isn't Haywood the one with debts to pay?" she asked tartly. "Miss Turnbridge's father has made a fortune in shipping. I'm sure your friend's estates could be set to rights in no time."

Her handsome companion looked skeptical. Juliet had to catch her breath when he towed her a bit closer to him and whispered, "Come now, Haywood's a good fellow. He—"

"Is a gambling, rakish ne'er-do-well—just like you. Only he lacks your easy charm."

He laughed again and he squeezed her fingers with his free hand. "You have a saucy tongue, Lady Juliet."

She shrugged in response. "I can afford it. Do you have any idea how much I'm worth?" Juliet figured that, as Haywood's confidant, Luke would have a fairly accurate guess as to her value. But would he admit to such a thing?

"Hardly an appropriate topic of conversation," he replied with a feigned reproach.

This time Juliet laughed. "Considering your usual conversations are reputed to be highly inappropriate, Mr. Beckford, I'm certain we're in acceptable territory. But I'll save you the trouble of actually answering my question, as we both know that I'm one of the wealthiest women in all of England. The only St. Claire to have more than two farthings to rub together."

There was no point in denying the truth, and thankfully he didn't. Everyone else knew it anyway—the St. Claire coffers were completely empty, except for when Juliet replenished them. She was the only one who had any money to speak of, as her fortune had come from her mother's family.

The history of the St. Claires was a fairly unpleasant one. Much in the same way Henry VIII wanted a son, Juliet's father, the late Duke of Prestwick, had been obsessed with having an heir of his own. And though the duke only had four wives as compared to the six of King Henry, the unfortunate Duchesses of Prestwick hadn't fared any better. Though none of them were beheaded, not one of them had lived past childbirth. The duke had three daughters from three different wives before he finally had the male heir he sought.

Juliet had witnessed two of these unhappy unions, and had no intention of going down that path herself. "I've seen many marriages, Mr. Beckford, from my father's numerous wives, to Georgie's unhappy turn as Marchioness of Teynham. I'm determined never follow in their footsteps. And, thankfully, I don't have a need to. The fortune my grandfather left me will allow me to maintain my independence throughout my life and still repair the Prestwick estates for my brother. My freedom is too important to ever risk falling prey to the parson's noose."

Luke was pleasantly surprised to discover that the Ice Princess was simply enchanting—much more so than his usual companions. And he found himself smiling at her, completely amused. In fact, he was beginning to realize that he'd seriously misjudged Juliet from the onset. For one thing, he now didn't think that she'd care at all if she lost Will's interest. On the contrary she'd probably be elated. But most importantly, cold and frigid weren't apt descriptions of the charming woman on his arm. Smoldering was a more accurate term, and he began to think of ways he could convince Will to give up the chase, and leave Juliet to him.

And that, in itself, should have been a most alarming thought.

Innocent, young, virginal girls were too dangerous to dally with. He'd learned that lesson years ago, when he'd nearly been forced to marry a chit, who wasn't even as innocent as she'd led on. Quite honestly, until now, he thought he'd lost the taste for such creatures, generally preferring much more experienced women of one sort or another.

He should bow and take his leave from her. He should walk away and forget that their paths had ever crossed. Yes, he really should do all those things. "Would you like to join me in the garden, Lady Juliet?" he asked instead.

She focused her intelligent brown eyes upon him and her delicate pink lips upturned to a knowing grin, as if she could read the devilish thoughts in his mind. "Just because I have no desire to marry doesn't mean I wish to have my reputation ruined, Mr. Beckford."

Luke couldn't help but smirk at that. Lady Juliet truly did have a fiery spirit, and he was becoming more intoxicated by her every moment he spent in her company. He dipped his head down toward hers.

"Finally!" came a shrill voice from behind them. "I've been looking all over for you!" Luke knew that voice and nearly winced when he turned around to face the unwanted interloper—Louisa, Lady Ridgemont. Their hostess wore a dark red dress and a forced smile, though she frowned when her eyes fell upon Juliet.

Damn! Things had been going so well. He'd been able to breeze past Louisa when he'd arrived, since she was clinging to her ancient husband's arm. Somehow she'd gotten free, and Luke's stomach churned.

"Lady Ridgemont," he nodded curtly, and prayed in vain that his one-time paramour would leave him in peace to continue his talk with the much more intriguing Lady Juliet.

But that was not to be.

Louisa edged closer to him, with what she must have thought was a seductive look in her crystal blue eyes. "My dear Mr. Beckford, it's a bit stifling in here, don't you agree? Can I persuade you to follow me outside for a breath of fresh air?"

Lady Juliet slid her hand from Luke's arm and stepped away from him. He turned instinctively to meet her big brown eyes. She smiled knowingly up at him and took another step away. "Thank you for the walk, Mr. Beckford, it was most enjoyable."

And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd like an apparition. Luke scanned the room with his eyes, but his princess was nowhere to be found. Damn! He'd much rather have spent the evening matching wits with Juliet than dealing with Louisa.

Louisa—who was now tugging hard on his arm, and trying to steer him thorough the veranda doors to the crisp outside air. Luke wrenched his arm free from her grasp and hissed, "Sweet Lucifer, Louisa, do you want Ridgemont to see you behaving like this?"

She took a deep breath and puffed out her ample chest in his direction. "I don't care what Ridgemont knows, darling. Please follow me outside." Then she whispered, "It's been far too long since I've enjoyed your company."

And she'd still be waiting until the end of time, if Luke had anything to say about the matter. He took a step toward her, hoping to keep anyone else from overhearing them. "Louisa, you have guests to attend to. Pray do so."

Then he turned on his heel and started back toward the crowd of people. He spotted Will immediately, now holding a glass of ratafia at the edge of the room and scanning the throng of guests like an expectant puppy.

However, Will and his problems were the last things on Luke's mind at the moment as he looked the room over himself. But still he couldn't locate Lady Juliet. She was simply gone.

Blast and damn!

A Scandalous Charade 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

A Scandalous Pursuit

A Scandalous Past

My Favorite Major

The English Lieutenant's Lady

To Catch a Captain

Encounter With an Adventurer

In The Stars

Promised Away

A Scandalous Deception

A Scandalous Ruse

A Scandalous Destiny

A Scandalous Vow

> **Regency Seasons Series**

A Counterfeit Christmas Summons

By Any Other Name

My Lord Hercules

A Bit of Mistletoe

The Lady Vanishes

Prelude to a Haunted Evening

The Lady Unmasked

Lady Patience's Christmas Kitten

Lady Hope's Dashing Devil

Lady Grace's Husband Hunt

> **Haunted Hearts & The Heart of an Heiress**

Once Upon a Moonlit Path

Once Upon a Midnight Clear

How to Land an Earl in Ten Days of Less

How to Tempt a Rogue Without Really Trying - Coming Soon

How to Charm the Duke of Your Dreams - Coming Soon

# Ava Stone's New Adult Romance

Live Like You Mean It

Catch Me Now

Hold Me Tight

Like It's The First Time

Stay With Me
