Edmund walked the horse toward the rear of the town house and secured the beast within the private stables. He had eventually spotted the animal wandering through Hyde Park, nibbling on the wildflowers. After smoothing the gelding’s coat with a brush and pitching fresh hay into the stall, he entered the main dwelling.

The storm had passed, yet Edmund’s clothes were still damp with rainwater, sticking to his flesh. He didn’t notice his disorderly apparel, though. He was much too engrossed with thoughts of Amy.

His body still ached for the lass. In an instant, he conjured her fingernails digging fiercely into his arms, imagined her undulating hips, listened to her sultry cries of passion.

He shuddered. He needed to see her again. He needed to be with her again. And not just one more time. All the time. Every day of his life. He had to protect the lass, too, for she might be enceinte. But how to go about it? What would it take to prove to her father he wasn’t just “playing” gentleman? That he had honorable intentions toward the duke’s daughter? That he wanted to marry Amy?

He mounted the steps, needing advice. As he reached the middle of the staircase, he stilled, sensing a presence. He glanced toward the towering figure on the second level, his spine straightening.

James regarded him with a staid expression before he sauntered down the steps, his footfalls strong and steady. Edmund stepped aside, allowing his brother passage. As soon as the captain had reached the lower level, he headed for the door without offering his kinsman a farewell.

At the deliberate disregard, Edmund glared after the surly brigand. Was James ignoring him now? He shrugged. If the despot desired an even greater estrangement, so be it, but one day he’d learn the truth; that he’d pushed away more than just Edmund, that he’d driven off all the subjects in his kingdom with his ruthless ways.

Edmund ascended the rest of the steps.

“The physician was here to see Will,” remarked James in an offhanded manner. “The wound is healing well. There are willow leaves beside the bed.”

Edmund stilled and followed the captain’s movements with his eyes.

As James opened the door, he looked pointedly at his brother. “Mix the leaves in tea and make sure he drinks the tonic every four hours for the discomfort.”

“You’re leaving?”

He bobbed his head. “I am.”

The door closed.

Edmund stared into the empty passageway for a moment, wondering what sort of calamity had appropriated the captain’s attention, for James would never willingly set off from the town house, not with a wounded brother in residence.

Still bemused, he scratched his head. On the second level, he knocked at William’s bedchamber door.

A faint “enter” welcomed him; he stepped inside the warm, dim room.

He eyed his convalescing sibling, resting under the layers of bedding. The drapery in the room masked the two windows, allowing the captain to recover in relative darkness. There was a fire in the hearth; it drew out the dampness in the air and permitted some soft illumination.

“You’re wet,” said William.

“I was trapped in the storm.” He closed the door. “How are you feeling?”

“Smothered,” he returned succinctly, his features sallow. “First Belle served as nursemaid, then James.” He rasped, “Do you know what that does to a man who’s been shot in the chest?”

“Takes your breath away?”

“What little I have of it.”

Edmund settled into a chair at the foot of the bed and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “I saw James a moment ago. He left the house.”

“He’s going home to be with his wife.”

“He’s leaving you?”

“In your care, aye.”

The serpent stirred in the aquarium positioned on the table beside the chair.

Edmund knocked on the glass with his knuckle, a light rap. “Is Sophia all right? His wife, I mean.”

William chuckled. “Aye, she’s fine, but I think James realizes he doesn’t need to be here all the time. I think he trusts you to take care of things.”

“Why?”

It didn’t sound like James, the tyrant. He needed to be in control of every situation. He needed to be in control of all their lives. And yet he had walked away?

“I told him what happened aboard the Nemesis, that you had served as lieutenant to the acting captain in my stead…that you had saved my life.”

As the unsettling ordeal stirred in his mind, Edmund glanced at his hands.

He quickly pressed his palms over the gash in the captain’s chest. He watched the dark blood ooze between his fingers, sensed its warmth as it bathed his hands.

Edmund rubbed his brow, his head smarting. “I didn’t save you. You stepped in front of me, remember? The bullet was meant for me.”

“You stopped the bleeding,” he said in a low voice. “You did your part…and I did mine.”

The gloomy reflection had smothered Edmund’s otherwise buoyant spirit, and he concluded it was not the right time to beseech his brother’s counsel about Amy.

“I’ll let you rest, Will.” He lifted from the chair. “I’ll return in a few hours to serve you the willow-leaf tea.”

“Eddie.”

He paused beside the door. “What is it?”

“I’ve had to write to the Admiralty. I don’t know when I’ll be returning to duty.”

“I understand.”

William eyed him thoughtfully. “What will you do with yourself in the meantime?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You could sail with James again.”

Edmund placed his hands on his hips and looked at the shadows on the floor. “I was thinking about staying on land for a while.”

“Because of Amy?”

He looked at his brother. “Aye.”

“Is that wise?”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Quincy was here looking for you. He wanted to know if you were all right. He told me about Amy and the Marquis of Gravenhurst.”

Who the devil was the Marquis of Gravenhurst?

Edmund’s heart tightened. “What are you talking about, Will?”

“I’m talking about the couple’s engagement.”

Edmund stared at his brother, confounded. He assumed William confused, suffering from some sort of dementia…but he hadn’t a head injury. The bullet had pierced his chest. He had a sound mind, which meant…

“Engagement?”

“The couple will wed in a fortnight, I understand. Quincy had just learned the news.”

Edmund’s head throbbed with vivid images as he remembered the heated tussle in the park, her sweet words and urgent touches. A darkness filled his head, his blood. A cold and cutting pain sliced through his muscles. He gnashed his teeth at the rising pressure in his skull. He wanted to smash something, pound it with his fists.

“Perhaps it’s a good idea if you sail with James for a time,” suggested William.

Edmund raked his fingers through his ruffled hair. That conniving little—He firmed his fists. Why had she come to him if she was going to marry another man? A bloody marquis?

He soon imagined her heavy with child—his child! If she was enceinte, the marquis would likely claim the babe as his heir. He’d have no reason to think it wasn’t his offspring, for the couple would wed in two weeks time.

Edmund’s fist went into the door. A marquis. She was going to wed a fucking lord! He sneered at his own stupidity. What lady of consequence would marry a lowly seaman? He was such an idiot!

“Are you all right, Eddie?”

He took in a deep, seething breath through his nose. Was he all right? He wasn’t so sure about that. One damnable question hounded him. Why? Why had she come to him, the deceiver? Why had she rolled in the mud with him like a common harlot if she was going to marry the Marquis of Gravenhurst?

 

Amy gazed at her reflection in the tall mirror. As it was late, the candlelight glistened in the room, the illumination playing softly across the fluffy, pale blue wedding dress.

The garment swallowed her in a neat ensemble of pleated linen. It was the last fitting before the wedding. She stood on a small stool in her private room, listening to the seamstress, who prattled in French. Fortunately, the Duchess of Estabrooke was also in the chamber and was well versed in the foreign tongue. The two ladies conversed around the bride-to-be, and, as Madame Léger didn’t speak a word of English, Amy relied on her mother’s translation to communicate with the finest seamstress in Town.

“How does the garment fit, my dear?”

Helen smoothed her fingers across the wide skirt in a fond manner, raising Madame Léger’s hackles as the woman’s features burned red. The short, prim seamstress looked as if she wanted to blast the duchess for running her fingers over the pleats and ruffling the carefully stitched garment; however, she refrained from the outburst, pinched her lips in displeasure instead.

“It’s still a little loose in the hips,” returned Amy.

The duchess communicated the alterations to the seamstress, who bobbed her head in understanding and proceeded to pin the garment at the appropriate spots.

“Is something the matter, my dear? You look pale.”

It was the wedding dress, thought Amy. It reminded her of her approaching nuptials. The attire seemed so heavy on her thin frame. It wasn’t really too cumbersome, but as soon as she imagined her soon-to-be-husband waiting for her at the end of the church aisle, the dress weighed on her even more.

“I’m fine, Mama.”

The duchess smiled. “I’ve missed hearing you call me Mama.”

Amy looked at her mother, her heart pulsing with longing. “I remember seeing you at the orphanage in Town a few months ago. Well, I saw your gloved hand. But I remembered the sound of your voice, your laughter.”

“I’ve been involved with such charities for years. After I had lost you, I had always hoped I might find you at such a place: a place for lost children.”

The duchess wiped at her eyes.

“What’s the matter, Mama?”

The older woman sniffed and retrieved a white kerchief from the nearest table. Madame Léger tsked and brandished her fingers, and although Amy wasn’t sentient of her odd-sounding words, she comprehended the seamstress’s meaning, that she wanted the duchess and her briny tears to keep away from the sensitive fabric.

Helen dabbed at her eyes with the kerchief. “I’ve only just welcomed you home and now I have to give you up again.”

Amy simpered. She longed to stay with her parents for a greater time, too. She longed to postpone her marriage to the marquis indefinitely. But…

“But the marquis will make you a fine husband.” Helen’s soft green eyes smiled. “It’s a good match, my dear. Your father negotiated the betrothal with such zest all those years ago. He wanted our two families to be united for many years.”

“Why?”

“It’s a respectable match between two wealthy, distinguished dynasties. As our only child, you were your father’s greatest hope for such a prestigious alliance; it’d been his fondest wish that you wed the marquis.”

Amy said quietly, “And produce a noble legacy?”

The duchess nodded. “It almost didn’t come to pass. The betrothal, I mean.”

Do not think I’ve forgotten your past indiscretions, Gravenhurst. I hope you’ve learned from your former mistakes, that you will do what is right.

The chilling words still hounded her. She wondered, “What happened, Mama?”

“I don’t know the particulars.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t part of the talks that detailed the arrangement, but it all worked out in the end.” She smiled again. “You look so lovely, my dear.”

The seamstress twittered some words in brisk succession.

“Madame Léger wants you to remove the dress now.”

Amy wriggled out of the flowing garment with the aid of the seamstress and her mother before she donned her white frock again. After bussing her mother’s cheek, she parted from the ladies, who remained inside the bedchamber, discussing the bridal dress’s final, finishing details.

Amy headed for the garden. She entered the private oasis with high stone walls. There was no moonlight, but glass lanterns flickered with candlelight. She followed the soft aura through a narrow, winding trail and settled on a curved stone bench, backless, keeping her spine straight as she lifted her eyes to the dark heavens. Without the moon, that faraway land, the sky looked so bleak. The stars didn’t shine through the murky clouds of soot, and Amy looked away from the unfriendly black canvas.

The blossoms and trees and shrubs offered her some companionship, their fragrances pleasing after the brisk rainstorm, their lilting movements in the breeze comforting. But soon her thoughts darkened her spirit as she reflected upon her future husband and his secrets.

What “past indiscretions” had almost prevented their union? Her father was clearly willing to overlook any impropriety to ensure her marriage and subsequent good standing in polite society; however, she wondered if such an indiscretion—made public—might prevent her union now?

It was a wicked desire to go against her father’s dearest wish in such an ungrateful manner, but she wasn’t so sure she could carry the yoke of her duty. She hadn’t the strength to leave the marquis of her own volition and shame her parents; however, if she unearthed her fiancé’s tainted past, and made it public, perhaps the scandal would force her father to break the betrothal contract?

It was worth some investigating.

“Good evening, Amy.”

She started, scanning the shadows in the garden with wide eyes, searching for the source of the familiar voice.

“What are you doing here, Edmund?”

He emerged from between the fruit trees and crossed the pebbled path. The lamplight at his back cast a long shadow over Amy, and she shivered at the man’s sensual presence, his robust strength. Her heart ballooned in her breast. She sensed her blood, her pulse quicken with delight.

“I promised I’d come to see you again.”

He straddled the stone bench beside her, his long legs spread wide as he caged her between his thighs. The sound of his voice, so gravelly, stirred the fine hairs at the back of her neck to sensitive life.

She licked her lips. “You have to leave, Edmund.”

Slowly he brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb, his touch warm, gentle. “You didn’t mind my company in Hyde Park.”

She shivered under the tender gesture, the hotly spoken words. Little goose pimples sprouted over her skin, making her flesh tingle with the memory of their intimacy in the park. In vivid detail, she remembered the heat, the rain, the wild wind as he’d shielded her from the tempest with his body, pressed his sturdy weight between her thighs, offering her pleasure, closeness.

“I don’t mind your company now,” she whispered, a need growing inside her. “But if you’re discovered here—”

He bussed her mouth with a soft, light kiss, curtailing her protest. As the kiss deepened, she matched its sound and steady pressure, offering him the same passion he offered her, feeding his desire as he fed hers.

Would it always feel so good? she wondered. Kissing him? Being caressed by his sensuous mouth? She wanted him. Always. She wanted his lips a hairbreadth away from hers at all times. She wanted to take his mouth whenever the need compelled her, welled within her.

“I need you, Amy.”

A firm hand rubbed her waist, petted her breastbone. She raised her bosom, taking in a deep breath, as he rested his large palm over her breast, her thumping heart. She trembled with a fiery want, a familiar anxiety.

“I need to touch you.”

He stroked the buttons of her dress in a lazy manner, making her shiver with delight at his teasing promise of pleasure. Slowly he unfastened the row of beads and parted the fabric folds. The warm breeze tickled her spine and she trembled under the scoundrel’s sensual seduction, quivered with need as he strummed her boned corset and loosened the lace bindings with ease.

“I need to taste you.”

She gasped at the dark hunger in his voice. “Here?”

“Right here.”

He plumped a swelling breast with his strong fingers, kneaded the soft flesh, so tender. She cooed at the delightful sensations, her heart pounding, her muscles firming, but as soon as he parted his lips and took her stiff nipple into his hot mouth, she groaned, unprepared for the erotic attack on her senses.

“You and I belong with the trees and the flowers,” he murmured, lapping his tongue over the puckering nub. “We belong with nature.”

She moaned and burrowed her fingers tightly into his hair as he undulated his tongue over her hard nipple, drawing her further into his mouth, flicking the rigid, sensitive surface again and again.

“Do I please you?” he rasped.

“Yes.”

She ached for him deep inside her belly, a knotted sensation that constricted the muscles in her body; she felt only warmth and expectation and longing.

He tugged at her corset with firmness, searching for her other breast. “Do you want me to please you like this all the days of your life?”

“Yes!”

Amy chewed on her bottom lip as he took her other breast into his mouth and sucked hard, making her so tight inside, so full of energy. She gasped, a deep craving in her soul; she cried out in need.

He rent the corset slightly, exposing the birthmark between her breasts. He touched the mark with reverence, thrummed his thumb over her taut midriff.

“Do you want me to come to you in the garden and pleasure you every night?”

He bussed the birthmark, matched his lush lips with the smaller configuration. As her heart shuddered, she closed her eyes and sighed.

“Yes,” she said weakly.

“Do you want me to come to you, Amy?” he said fiercely. “After your husband’s finished with you?”

She hardened. It was like a nasty imp had dumped a bucket of icy water over her head. She sensed the goblin’s mordant laughter as a chill seeped right through to her toes.

“After the marquis’s dutifully rutted with you,” he said stiffly, “do you want me to come and give you more fun?”

He knows about the marquis!

She opened her eyes and pushed him away, struggled with her dress. “I know you’re angry with me, Edmund.”

He grabbed her trembling wrists and pinned her hands behind her back. “I don’t think you do, Amy.”

Her breasts still exposed, she was trapped between his thick arms. He pegged her with his steely eyes, his expression darkening.

“I have to marry him, Edmund,” she said, breathless. “We’re betrothed. We’ve been betrothed since I was a babe. It would disgrace my father’s good name if I refused to wed the marquis.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

“I…”

“You wanted me for your lover, is that it? Your poor, lowly lover, who otherwise isn’t fit to be seen in your company.”

“No, Edmund, I—”

“I won’t be your lover, Amy.” He gritted, “If I’m not good enough to touch you as…then I won’t touch you at all.”

Her breath hitched at the implication. If he wasn’t good enough to touch her as her husband…

Her heart cramped at the wonderful thought.

He released her and stalked away, deep into the shadows.

“Edmund wait!”

She grappled with the garment, attempted to fasten the buttons, but her fingers quivered with emotion. In the end, she was too ineffective. She grabbed the material and pressed it against her bust, concealing her breasts. She bounded along the winding path in search of him when she detected the sharp whiff of tobacco smoke.

She stilled and studied her surroundings.

“Do you need assistance, Lady Amy?”

She bristled.

She looked askance and spotted the marquis smoking beside a tree. A creeping chill spread over her limbs, her spine. Had he watched her with Edmund?

“H-how did you get into the garden undetected?” she stammered.

“You didn’t ask your lover that question?”

He stepped away from the tree and approached her as if he might offer her assistance with the garment. She quickly skirted off a short distance. He paused. She shuddered at the thought that he might rub his fingers over her body. She wasn’t his wife yet…would she ever be now? she wondered.

Amy’s heart pumped with vigor. She was ruined. One word from the marquis and her betrothal was finished. She imagined the disgrace, the shame her parents would suffer as the scandal spread across Town. She imagined clobbering the marquis and dragging his carcass into the bushes to rot.

She tamped down the tears that brimmed in her eyes. “What do you want?”

The wretched lord might be persuaded to keep his ogling a secret. If she offered him something valuable, perhaps—

“I want to give you this necklace.” He presented her with a dazzling ruby choker in a velvet-lined box; the gems glistened under the lamplight like hot coals from Hades. “It’s a family heirloom. I’d like you to wear it on our wedding night.”

She stared at the twinkling stones, the bile burning in her belly. “Our wedding night?”

The marquis still wanted to marry her? There had to be a wedding day if there was going to be a wedding night.

She shivered. The black-hearted devil! He had sneaked into the garden, lurked behind the trees, waiting for her, so he might offer her the necklace, an intimate gesture. It wasn’t proper for him to meet her in the sitting room and talk about such private matters…like their first night together.

She firmed her lips. He wanted to torment her. She suspected it pleased him to see the distaste, the resistance in her eyes. He loathed her. Why? And why was he willing to proceed with the wedding after witnessing her lovemaking? Family honor? He had vowed to wed her, and he would keep his word, even if she’d dallied with another man?

“Did you think your transgression with Mr. Hawkins a sin?” He looked at her with stony eyes, the tobacco smoke swirling around his head. “I’m not such a puritan, my lady.”

She clutched the fabric even tighter at her bust, her heart knocking against her breastbone with vim.

“Tell me,” he drawled, “do you like his touch? Does it give you pleasure?”

She shuddered at the whispered words, hissing like wet wood in the firelight.

“In the breeze, your moans sound like sweet music.” He lowered his gaze to her bosom, leering at her. “How does it feel to have him in your arms, at your breasts?”

The warmth of Edmund’s touch soon dissipated, her skin feeling cool and clammy under the marquis’s seedy glare.

“It feels glorious, I suspect. I envy him the comfort he finds at your bosom and warm, beating heart.”

Amy spread her shaky fingers apart, tamping down the nausea in her belly.

“I don’t care if you keep Mr. Hawkins as your lover,” he said slowly, looking back into her eyes through a haze of cigar smoke. “It won’t prevent our wedding.”

She squeezed the velvet box with the ruby choker between her stiff fingers. It welled within her, the desire to cry off and escape the lecherous fiend, but she smothered the unruly impulse. She had her parents’ feelings, their reputations to consider, as well. She needed to make a good match, to squelch the rumors regarding her past, and the only eligible gentleman prepared for the task was the marquis; he’d already committed to the duty.

He pulled away from her. “Don’t despair, Lady Amy. I would never stand in the way of true love, I assure you.”

And with that cryptic declaration, he blended with the garden shadows once more.

True love? What did he know about true love, the creeping devil?

Amy shuddered at the words. She dismissed them, in truth. She hadn’t the wherewithal to sift through her complicated feelings for Edmund. And what about the marquis’s deviant promise that he’d permit an affair between her and the scoundrel?

The situation was too distasteful. She needed to prevent the wedding. She needed to foil the betrothal.