“Don’t look at me like that,” Arabella muttered at the Captain, who smirked at her from the library wall as she paced the carpet. “If anyone has the right to look smug, it would be Lucien. I all but fell into his arms last night.”

She brushed a hand over her eyes and wished she could remove the discomfiting memories. She wished that one moment of weakness, brought on by the excitement of a black, starry night, had never happened.

The worst part of it was that she couldn’t blame Lucien—she had been a more-than-willing participant. Even now, she could taste the passion that had flamed between them and she longed to feel his hands on her bared skin once more.

But it had always been that way. Despite the gap between their circumstances, the physical pull between them was as hot and passionate now as it had been ten years ago.

How could she face Lucien after such an embarrassing display? No doubt he’d spent the better part of the day congratulating himself on his nobility in stopping their lovemaking when he had. “Damn good of him,” she muttered.

She glared at the Captain’s portrait. “This may shock you, but it would have been far better if he had finished what he’d begun. At least then I could have gotten some sleep last night without wishing he’d—” She stopped, her face and neck hot. Thank goodness neither Aunt Jane nor Aunt Emma were nearby to hear her make such an admission; they’d probably burst into tears at the thought.

Arabella crossed her arms and resumed her pacing. She had to keep firmly in mind the fact that she was the only one with anything at stake in this relationship. For Lucien, Rosemont and everything connected with her was a momentary diversion and nothing more. Once the newness wore off, he would be gone.

The only good outcome from last night was that it had forced her to come to a decision. It was time Lucien left Rosemont, and if he did not leave on his own accord, she’d get Lem and Twekes to do the honor for her. The thought brought her some comfort as she imagined all the ways Wilson’s nephews would toss Lucien out on his ear.

The clock chimed a gentle reminder of the hour, and she turned to look at it, frowning. Lucien had been absent from the house since early this morning, not even returning to eat dinner with the rest of the family.

The door opened and Mrs. Guinver entered, a troubled frown on her face. “Sorry to bother ye, missus, but ’tis the constable. He’s come with Lord Harlbrook and he demands a word with ye.”

The constable and Lord Harlbrook. Arabella smoothed her skirt of sprigged muslin, proud to see that her hands did not tremble. “I certainly hope Lord Harlbrook has not lost another pig.”

Mrs. Guinver brightened. “Daresay he has. Shall I show them in here, missus?”

“Yes, that will be fine.”

The housekeeper bobbed a quick curtsy. Arabella tried to still the wild thudding of her guilty heart. She knew it was more than another lost pig. Knew it with a certainty that robbed her of lucid thought. She should be afraid of going to gaol and the humiliation of being arrested, but all she could think about was Lucien’s reaction when he discovered that she was no more than a common smuggler.

She stiffened, her pride returning in a flood. Who was he to judge her, anyway? She was certain that during the course of his sordid life he’d done worse things than sell a cask or two of unstamped cognac.

A heavy step announced the arrival of Lord Harlbrook. He entered quickly, his small eyes assessing her as he approached. Constable Robbins followed.

“Lord Harlbrook. Constable Robbins.” She dipped a swift curtsy. “Pray have a seat.”

“We’ve no time, Miss Hadley,” the constable said.

“Though I’m glad to see ye looking so well. Ye certainly appear—”

“We’ve come on business,” Harlbrook interrupted.

“Important business.”

The constable shot a frowning look at the lord before turning back to Arabella. “I apologize fer inconveniencin’ ye, but I’ve a weighty matter that needs tendin’ to.”

Arabella nodded, gripping her hands tightly behind her back. “I trust no one has been injured?”

“No, no,” said the constable hastily. “Nothin’ like that. We’ve just’ come to—”

The door opened and Lucien walked in. To Arabella’s surprise, he was dressed in evening clothes, his hair brushed back from his face, a fresh white cravat tied about his neck in an intricate weave.

His eyes found hers and, in that instant, she realized that he knew everything. The knots in her stomach clenched tighter. How had he found out? God, what must he think of me now?

She wanted to explain to him what had occurred, why she had taken such a drastic step, but he turned away and nodded a greeting. “Gentlemen. I trust nothing is amiss?”

“This is none of your concern,” Harlbrook said, scowling. “We are here to see Miss Hadley on private business.”

Lucien’s mouth curled into an insultingly brief smile. “What’s wrong, Harlbrook? Indigestion? Try some Italian soda. It is said to be amazingly restorative.”

Harlbrook reddened, but before he could say a word, Constable Robbins managed a ponderous bow. “’Tis good to see Yer Grace in such fine spirits. As old Mr. Hadley is no longer wif us, God rest his soul, and young Mr. Hadley is not in the way of bein’ able to advise Miss Hadley, perhaps ye should stay and hear what we’ve come to say.”

“That will not be necessary,” said Harlbrook, his stocky frame stiff with outrage. “I will advise Miss Hadley myself.”

“Aye, well, I’m thinkin’ she needs someone else,” said Constable Robbins, sending a dark glance at Harlbrook before returning his gaze to Arabella. “’Tis bad news I bring ye, Miss Hadley. Bad indeed. A ship was seen off the coast last night.”

“I see,” Arabella said. “Did it sink?”

Lucien smothered a grin. She was going to make it as hard on them as possible. Pluck to the backbone.

“No, it did not sink,” Harlbrook said impatiently. “It landed at Robin Hood’s Bay in the dark of night and unloaded a considerable shipment of illegal spirits. We have evidence that someone at Rosemont received part of that shipment.”

Arabella lifted her brows, her face just a fraction above chilly. Lucien wanted to step between her and the constable, to shield her from the questions, to protect her from Harlbrook’s insolence. But she would not appreciate his interference. He had to settle with shoving his hands into his pockets and trying to contain a desire to solidly thump the brash lord.

She said in a quiet, calm voice, “Constable Robbins, surely you are mistaken. I’m certain that no one here is involved in such a…a horrendous undertaking.”

“Nonsense,” Harlbrook snapped. “I’ve known Rosemont was involved for weeks. And we know who it is, too.”

Arabella’s only reaction was a slight fluctuation in the color of her cheeks. “Lord Harlbrook, however much you may wish it, you are not responsible for my welfare. And I would thank you to remember that fact.”

Harlbrook’s face darkened, but before he could speak, the constable stepped in the breech, tutting loudly. “There, now, Miss Hadley. ’Tis a horrible business, this is. And ye’ll be jus’ as surprised as I was to discover such shameless happenin’s here in our quiet little corner of the world.”

She placed a hand on her throat and rewarded him with a grateful smile. “I am shocked that anyone would think that free traders would be welcome at Rosemont. I assure you, I will never again travel after dark without both Ned and Wilson in attendance.”

“Wilson? Ha!” scoffed Harlbrook. “As soon take the devil with you, if you look for safety.” He sent a dark glare to the constable. “Tell her the whole story.”

The constable gave a ponderous sigh. “It appears Wilson’s nephews are heavily involved. They were seen rowing away from the ship.”

Harlbrook gave a short laugh. “And if Lem and Twekes are involved, ’tis a fact that Wilson is bound to be in it, too.”

“Nonsense,” Arabella scoffed. “I’m sure there is some mistake. After all, you said it was night when the ship came in. Perhaps it was someone other than Lem and Twekes. Certainly there are many men who could meet their description.”

Lucien gave her credit; even facing overwhelming odds, she still managed to latch on to crucial facts and use them to her advantage. But his admiration was tempered with the heavy knowledge that he’d found far more than cognac in the cave.

The constable swung his head back and forth. “We captured one of the smugglers, Miss Hadley. He identified them right and tight.”

Bloody hell.

“Which is why we’ve come this evening,” Harlbrook said, taking an eager step forward. “We’ve come to arrest Wilson.”

Arabella paled, her hands closing into the folds of her dress. “Surely you cannot be serious.”

“’Deed, we are,” said Constable Robbins in an apologetic tone. “I’m not one as believes ye should track down every free trader ye sees, but in these difficult times we haf to uphold the crown.”

“Are you insinuating that I have anything to do with free trading? The Hadleys have never stooped to illegal trade.”

“No, no,” said Constable Robbins hurriedly, shooting a pleading glance at Lucien. “We didn’t mean to suggest that you—”

“Indeed not!” Harlbrook said in a superior tone. “The thought that a gently bred female as yourself might be involved in something as common as free trading is ludicrous!”

The picture of outraged gentility, Arabella tilted her chin and sniffed. “I should hope not.” Though her tone was firm, Lucien noticed a quiver of emotion in her face, a slight crack in the veneer she so desperately presented.

He moved to stand beside her, placing one hand on the small of her back. The muslin clung to his fingers and he had to fight the urge to place an arm about her and hold her to him.

He settled for training a hard gaze on the constable. “I assume you’ve evidence for this arrest?”

Constable Robbins eyed him for a meditative moment before saying bluntly, “Aye.”

Harlbrook snorted derisively. “Enough to hang the old goat.”

“Indeed?” Lucien slid his hand in a slow circle on Arabella’s back. The warmth of her skin began to seep through the material. “Think very carefully, gentlemen, before you make accusations you cannot prove. You are talking about a servant of the future Duchess of Wexford.”

Beneath his hand, Arabella stiffened and lifted her gaze to his face, but Lucien kept his gaze on Constable Robbins.

A look of acute relief spread over the constable’s face, but Harlbrook turned a vivid red. “Wh-what?” he sputtered. “I don’t believe it!”

“Don’t you?” asked Lucien in a gentle tone.

“I—I—” Harlbrook turned an angry face to Arabella.

“Is it true?”

She clasped her hands, her gaze on the ground.

Lucien waited for her answer, his throat painfully dry. Forget your damnable pride and say yes, he urged silently, holding his breath until his ribs ached.

Finally, after an interminable moment, Arabella nodded. Lucien swallowed a sigh of relief.

The constable made a disgusted noise. “Of course it is true! Why would the dook lie ’bout such a thing.” He turned toward Arabella and offered an apologetic shrug. “Don’t mind Harlbrook. He’s not been the same since the innkeeper at the Roarin’ Lion refused to serve him, sayin’ as how he was havin’ to pay double because of His Lordship’s interferin’ with the free traders.”

“That has nothing to do with it!” Harlbrook glowered at Lucien. “When is this marriage to take place?”

“In a week. At Christmas. You are, of course, invited to the wedding.” Lucien turned his head away and yawned.

“Pardon me. It has been a long day and it is quite late.”

Constable Robbins took the hint. He tugged urgently on Harlbrook’s arm. “There, now, I don’t think we need to be stayin’ any longer. The dook has answered all of our questions. Mayhap we should ask some more questions of our witness. It was dark when he saw the men leavin’ the ship.”

Though Harlbrook continued to protest, the constable led him firmly from the room, stopping at the door only long enough to give Lucien a sharp glance. “It will be several days afore we’re able to return and ask questions.”

Lucien didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Thank you for your assistance.”

The constable sent a hard glance at Arabella, then left.

As soon as the latch clicked into place, Arabella pushed away from Lucien and walked stiffly to the fire. She stared into the flames, her arms crossed over her chest as if to ward off a deep, penetrating chill.

Lucien watched her, his mind a turmoil of facts and emotions. “Bella, tell me about the smuggling.”

She turned her head slowly, her eyes unfocused. “What?”

“I have seen the cave. In fact, I just returned from there.” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I know what you are doing.”

Her mouth trembled for an instant, then she drew herself up. “You don’t know anything.”

Lucien crossed the space that separated them in three wide strides. He gripped her arms and yanked her around to face him. “You little fool! Do you realize the punishment if you are caught? Do you know what they do to smugglers? To traitors?”

“Traitors? I am not a traitor!”

“Don’t play the innocent, Bella.”

“How could I?” Her mouth curved in a bitter smile. “I lost my innocence ten years ago, Lucien. Or don’t you remember?”

Oh, yes, he remembered. He remembered the scent of her hair and how it entangled his hands like a silken net. He remembered the taste of her skin beneath his seeking tongue. He remembered sinking into the very center of desire, his body burning so hotly he’d thought he would die. He remembered every nuance, every shadow, and every perfect inch of her body.

It was the one thing he’d clung to through the years as his life disintegrated, as he realized the price he had paid when he’d married Sabrina, as he struggled to make his own way to save his family from ruin.

Now, staring down into Arabella’s upturned face, her wide brown eyes meeting his unflinchingly, he could see her as she was last night: her eyes dark with excitement, her hair damp and curling about a face flushed with passion. She was everything he desired. Everything except his.

He released her and rubbed his neck wearily, so tired he could hardly think. He was emotionally stretched, his body weary, and his arms ached from rowing the dinghy. They had so much to overcome, so much at stake, and the smuggling was only a small facet of the barriers between them.

He sighed. “I am too tired to think about this anymore this evening. Tomorrow we will decide—”

“We? Tomorrow I will decide what I am going to do. I agreed to say we are to be wed only to remove that fool from my house. There must be a better way to handle this situation.”

Frustration, hot and bitter, boiled through him. “Bloody hell! What do you think will happen if Harlbrook discovers we are not to be wed after all? He will see to it that Wilson hangs.”

She whirled away to pace, her movements desperate. “I can protect him. All I need is some time and I will—” She came to an abrupt halt, her back stiff. A sob wracked her body and she clenched her eyes closed, pressing a fist to her mouth.

Lucien was beside her in an instant. He pulled her close and held her tightly, cupping her head to his shoulder and resting his cheek against her hair. She stood within the circle of his arms, her head bowed as she cried. Though she made no move to break the embrace, neither did she soften in his arms.

Lucien pulled her tighter, stroking her back, her shoulders. “Ah, love, we’ll find a way through this,” he whispered, his cheek against her curls. “I promise.”

She had borne so much, carried so many people in the only way that she knew how. And now she faced the greatest injustice of all—and it wasn’t gaol; it was the thought she might not be able to take care of those who needed and counted on her.

He waited quietly for her to regain control, murmuring words of comfort against her hair. God, it felt good to hold her, her heart beating against his, knowing that for this moment, she was safe and in his arms.

As her sobs quieted to hiccups, she tried to pull away. But Lucien refused to loosen his grip, cupping a hand behind her head and holding her against his shoulder. His shirt was soaked, his jacket wrinkled beyond even Hastings’s ability to straighten, but Lucien did not care. All he cared about was that for once, he was right where Arabella needed him to be.

After a moment, he turned her face to his. Tear-spiked lashes framed chocolate-colored eyes full of pain. But he needed the truth, needed it more now than ever. “Tell me, Bella,” he whispered. “Tell me about the smuggling.”

She stared up at him and her mouth trembled. For an instant he thought she would yield, but her mouth firmed and she jerked herself free. “There is nothing to tell.”

Lucien sighed, every ounce of his tiredness returning. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle. He laid it in his palm and unwrapped the ends of the handkerchief until a small pile of brooches glittered in the lamplight, one long ruby necklace threaded between his fingers. “I found these in the cave, Bella.”

Her eyes widened. “You found them where?”

Every instinct he possessed told him that she was surprised, shocked even, at the discovery. Lucien closed his hand over the jewels and he retied the handkerchief. “They were inside a cask.”

She stared at the small bundle, her breathing ragged, a slight crease between her brows. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she raised her gaze to his. “I didn’t know, Lucien. I swear it.”

He accepted her word without question, not knowing if he believed her because she was indeed innocent, or because he couldn’t bear the thought that she was guilty. “I need to know about the smuggling.”

Arabella swallowed, her throat working before she nodded. “I will tell you everything, but…can we wait until tomorrow? I am so tired. I—I need to think.”

Had it been anyone else, he would have refused, demanded on the spot to be informed of every last detail. But he was not immune to the shadows beneath the haunted eyes, nor the tremor that shook her ever so slightly. “Very well, I won’t tax you anymore tonight. But tomorrow, we will have an accounting.”

She nodded, then turned to leave the room, walking slowly, her slippers moving silently on the carpet. She halted as she reached the threshold and looked over her shoulder. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell my aunts what has occurred.”

“About the smuggling or that we are to be married?”

“Both.”

Now, more than ever, Arabella needed the protection of his name and title, but all he said was, “As you wish.”

Her eyes sought his and she gave an uncertain smile. Then she left, closing the door softly behind her.

Lucien let out his breath in a long, weary sigh. Prickly and defiant, stubborn and unyielding, she would be anything but an accommodating wife. He thought of her frosty demeanor in dealing with Harlbrook and he smiled wearily. One thing was certain—come what may, Arabella Hadley would make one hell of a duchess.