Lucien heaved a heavy sigh of relief as the door shut behind the last guest.

“Tired, Your Grace?” Hastings asked. “Sincerity can be most wearing.”

“Very. Have you moved Her Grace’s things into my room?”

The valet bowed. “May I ask why you didn’t use Her Grace’s chambers? They are considerably larger.”

“I like the view from my room.” Lucien wanted Arabella to realize that she was married. It was time to move forward, for both of them. He only hoped that the memories that he’d created for her last night would help.

Hastings glanced about the vestibule as Arabella emerged from the library with Robert, then leaned forward to say in a low voice, “Sir, a sealed missive arrived for you just before the ceremony.” He pulled a letter from his pocket and handed it to Lucien.

Lucien looked at the greasy paper. Mumferd. Finally, the information he’d been seeking. Once he’d put this last detail to rest, he could spend all of his time doing more productive things—like locating a physician for Robert and reminding Arabella every night of all the pleasures in store for her.

He impatiently tore open the missive. “Bloody hell.”

Hastings raised his brows.

“The sale is this afternoon.” Lucien crushed the note in his hand. “I will have to leave immediately.”

“Does your informant mention where, Your Grace?”

“No, I’m to meet him and he will take me there.”

Hastings frowned, his lips folded in disapproval. “I don’t like that.”

“Nor I.”

“Your Grace, perhaps I should accompany you. It would be a pity if something were to go awry and you were forced to leave Her Grace alone so quickly after the ceremony.”

Lucien fixed a stare on his valet. “Playing on my new-found sensibilities, Hastings?”

Faint color touched the valet’s face. “I only thought it prudent to remind you that you have much more at stake now.”

Lucien glanced over his shoulder at his wife. In the place of a veil, Aunt Jane had pinned a lace mantle to Arabella’s curls. The patterned texture made the chestnut curls appear a warm golden brown and complemented her creamy skin. Hastings was right—he did have more to lose. A lot more. It was yet another reason to bring an end to the jewel smuggling once and for all.

Stifling an impatient sigh, he turned back to Hastings. “Very well. You may go with me. We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

An expression of relief crossed Hastings’s thin face. “Certainly, my lord. I shall have the horses saddled immediately.” He gave one final bow and hurried off as if afraid Lucien would change his mind.

Lucien turned to regard his wife. She stood by the library door, talking with Robert. They were laughing, her hand resting gracefully on his shoulder. The sun glinted off her hair and warmed her skin to cream. Below the overtrimmed bodice of her wedding gown, the skirt flared in soft folds to the floor. Lucien could not look at the full skirt without imagining himself untying the ribbons and letting the yards of silk drop to the floor, pooling at her naked feet.

He was damn glad the ceremony was over. It had been hell standing so close to Arabella, unable to touch her or kiss away the uncertainty he saw in her eyes. He needed to prove to her with more than words what she meant to him, what he wanted to mean to her.

Of course, if she ever realized he had purposely tricked her into marrying him, there would be no reconciliation. Lucien rubbed a weary hand to his neck, the thought weighing heavily. The hard truth was that if he wanted Arabella to trust him, then he had to start by trusting her.

And that meant admitting the falsehood behind their marriage.

But what if it turns her against me all the more? Lucien watched her bend down to hug Robert, her eyes shining with laughter.

It didn’t matter. Once he told her the truth, all that would stand between them would be her pride, but it was as solid and immovable as a stone wall. Lucien was determined to win his way over those walls. Like the constant fall of water, he would wear away her defenses so gently she wouldn’t even know it had happened.

But for now, he had to deal with Mumferd.

Arabella held the door open for Robert as he made his way back into the library. He seemed anxious to return to his books, but she suspected otherwise. Oblivious to onlookers, Robert had watched Lucien’s sister all morning, a strange glint to his eye.

Liza was a puzzle, Arabella decided. The girl regarded her with barely disguised animosity, and for the life of her, Arabella could not figure out why.

She turned on her heel, just in time to see Lucien pull on his gloves. She stopped to watch him through her lashes, unable to still a thrill of pride that this man, this impressive, handsome, virile man, was all hers. At least in name. But perhaps that was enough.

Still…she couldn’t rid herself of the idea that he didn’t really belong in this setting. Dressed in his usual black, his coat fitting tightly to his broad shoulders, the blinding white of his cravat a sharp contrast to his golden skin and black hair, he looked as out of place standing in the foyer as a lion in a rabbit hole. He belonged in London among the ton, where he was welcomed and admired. She wondered how she would fit in there, and decided it didn’t matter. She would make her way; she always had.

A strange sense of unreality hung over her. All day, she’d had the strangest feeling that the marriage had been a dream—from the night of passion they’d shared and the warm intimacy of waking in each other’s arms, to the cold realization that she was standing before Vicar Haighton and pledging away her life.

It was a dream that she’d had many times before—Lucien riding back into her life and demanding to marry her. She gazed at him, noting the determined set of his mouth and the strong line of his jaw.

She swallowed. Please, God, whatever you do, just don’t let me wake up.

Lucien set his hat on his head and turned, coming to a stop when his gaze fell on her.

She colored. “You are leaving?”

He glanced down at a crumpled missive he held in his hand, a slight frown creasing his forehead. “There is some business I must attend to.”

“Now?” Not that she cared, she told herself. After all, this was only a marriage of convenience; Lucien was free to go wherever he wished. As she’d taken her wedding vows, Arabella had taken a silent vow all her own—she would not allow herself to fall in love with Lucien again. Last night had proven that there was a strong physical attraction, but that was all. Now she would be the perfect wife, pleasant and calm, always welcoming, but free to do as she wished, just like her husband.

The image of herself as a capable woman of the world stiffened her wavering resolve, and she managed a smile.

Lucien grinned in return, stepping forward to slip an arm about her waist and pull her to him. He touched the tip of her nose with his, resting his forehead to hers. “I may miss dinner, but I’ll be back in time to tuck you into my bed.”

His proximity sent shivers of awareness down her spine, yet still she managed to say lightly, “Come back whenever you wish. You are free to do whatever you want. I don’t own you, Lucien. And you don’t own me.”

Frowning, he withdrew his hands from her waist. “Bella, don’t—” He stared down at her face, a flicker of something in his green eyes. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned away. “We will talk when I get back. There are things we should discuss.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What?”

He sent her a shuttered look, so fraught with unspoken meaning that her mouth went dry. “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, Bella. No falseness.”

“Then tell me now.”

He hesitated, then leaned over to place a kiss on her cheek, his breath shivering against her ear. “I don’t have time. We will talk tonight and I will explain everything.”

She watched him pull on his coat and walk out the front door. For a long time, she just stood there, fighting an urge to follow him.

“Where is Lucien?” Liza’s voice woke Arabella from her reverie.

Arabella turned to Lucien’s sister and tried to keep her smile from slipping completely off her face. Liza wore a muslin gown trimmed with aqua rosettes, the white skirt parting to reveal a pink satin slip. With her golden hair piled high on her head and a single ostrich feather dyed to match her slip, she looked regal.

“Lucien just left,” Arabella said.

“Already?” Liza swung a baleful glare on Arabella.

“What did you do to him?”

“Nothing. He received a letter and had to see to some business. He’ll be back this evening.”

“What business could he possibly have here in Yorkshire?”

Arabella stiffened. What indeed? She remembered the letter he’d held in his hand and how it had been crushed, as if he’d been none too pleased to receive it. With sudden clarity, she knew the letter had contained information about the jewels.

A plump dandy, with shirt points so high they grazed his cheeks, sauntered out of the morning room and caught sight of Arabella and Liza. “There you are! Been wondering where everyone went. Have all those plaguey guests left?”

Arabella gave a swift nod and refrained from pointing out that Edmund Valmont was a guest, as well.

“Thank heavens. Don’t mean to sound unfriendly, but it was deuced uncomfortable, talking to people I didn’t even know—” He stopped, suddenly aware of the tension. “Oh, sorry. Did I interrupt anything? I’m bad about that, you know, though—”

“Edmund,” Liza interrupted. “Miss Hadley and I were just getting acquainted.”

“Were you, now? There you go, do the pretty to your new sister-in-law. Though you shouldn’t call her Miss Hadley, you know. She’s the Duchess of Wexford now.”

A duchess without a duke, Arabella thought.

The door to the library opened and Robert wheeled out, a book in his hand. “Bella, where is Lucien? He promised to look at this for me.”

“He is gone,” Liza announced. “Your sister has already turned him away.”

Robert regarded Liza with a flat stare. “Are you still holding to that idiotic story?”

Liza bristled, hot color in her cheeks. “It is not idiotic! Your sister tricked my brother into marrying her, and now she has forced him from her door.”

Edmund chuckled. “Lud, Liza, what will you say next? You’ve got it all backwards, m’dear. Lucien is the one who—” He choked to a stop as he caught sight of Arabella’s face. “I mean, I don’t know for certain, but I would suppose—”

She took two steps toward him. “What do you mean?”

He backed away, his hands held palm out as if to ward her off. “Nothing! I was just thinking. Aloud. Do it all the time. Quite silly of me, but there it is.” He edged closer to the door with every word.

Arabella crossed the space between them and poked a finger in the center of his straining waistcoat. “Tell me.”

His eyes widened. “I can’t—I don’t—I haven’t—”

“Now.”

Edmund glanced about for help and met Liza’s darkening stare and Robert’s furious scowl. He sighed in defeat. “Oh, very well. I suppose you would have found out sooner or later, anyway. I mean, it isn’t as if you can keep that sort of thing secret and—” He took a deep breath. “Lucien and Lady Melwin planned the whole thing.”

Robert cursed. “Don’t say another word, you fool!”

“No, explain yourself.” Arabella frowned. “What ‘whole thing’?”

“The wedding. He wanted to marry you, to do the honorable thing. But he said you refused him, so he finagled your aunt into helping him.”

“Surely you cannot mean…”

Everything blurred to a halt. Aunt Jane and Lucien? Her mind froze, only one thought breaking free—she had to see Lucien. And when she did…She turned and dashed up the stairs to her room.

Robert whirled his chair around to face Edmund. “You fool!”

“I had no choice,” Edmund said desperately. “Besides, it is all for the better. No sense in having a bunch of secrets lying around. Bound to stick their ugly heads up sooner or later, and then where would you be?”

Liza placed a hand to her forehead. “I don’t understand. Why would Lucien do such a thing?”

Robert shot her a hard stare. “Why do you think?”

Her answer was interrupted by a clatter on the stairs as Arabella appeared, a shapeless gray coat tossed over her shoulders, worn boats peeking from beneath her gown.

“By Jove,” Edmund exclaimed, his gaze wide. “What are you doing wearing that?”

“Bella,” Robert called, but she didn’t spare any of them a glance. She crossed the foyer, yanked open the front door, and slammed it behind her.

Cursing violently, Robert turned to Edmund. “Go after her, fool! Can’t you see she’s not in any state to be left alone?”

Edmund’s eyes widened and he nervously fingered his shirt points. “But I scarcely know her. Maybe you should go and—”

Robert’s fists slammed onto the arms of his chair. “Damn it! I can’t! Now go and find her, and do not let her out of your sight until Lucien returns.”

Edmund brightened. “There’s an idea! Has the devil of a way with the women, Wexford does. Always did.” He scurried to the door. “Never fear. I’ll stick with your sister like a burr.”

“Wonderful,” muttered Robert, watching the door close yet again. He sat silently, his hands fisted about the arms of his chair, his knuckles white. After what seemed an eternity, he turned a baleful glare on Liza. “Well? Are you satisfied now?”

She colored hotly. “I made a perfectly logical error. Anyone who knows my brother would have done the same. He has always been set against marriage, and it is inconceivable he would wed in such a fashion unless forced to it.”

“No one forced him.”

“I still don’t understand why he would stoop to such a stratagem.”

“Because my sister would have him no other way, and he was determined to have her. He is in love with her—though I doubt he realizes it.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t you? Then explain why he watches her so closely, trying to catch every nuance of her expression. Why does he frown if she is frowning? Smile if she is smiling? Why is he doing everything he can to relieve her of the burdens of her life?”

“He must feel some sort of obligation—”

“Damn it, Elizabeth, listen to reason.” He turned his chair and pushed it until he was within an arm’s length of her. “You know your brother so well—have you ever known him to do anything that he did not want to do? Knowing the way he feels about marriage, do you think anyone could have forced him to the altar?”

Liza’s stomach sank. How many times had she heard their aunt lament the fact that Lucien refused to listen to her? Lucien had done exactly what he wanted for years. Was it possible that he actually loved Arabella?

Liza had watched her brother struggle to hide the lingering scars left by his marriage to Sabrina. Lucien took everything to heart, including his many responsibilities. When his wife had died, he’d withdrawn inside himself, taking blame for Sabrina’s wild, heedless behavior, wondering if he could have done something to stop what was, to everyone else, her inevitable end.

No amount of reasoning had ever been able to alleviate his pain. Then and there, Liza had been determined that her brother would not sacrifice himself again. But this time, perhaps things were different. Perhaps Lucien was in love with Arabella.

And now she’d ruined everything with her spiteful tongue. A great tear welled and slipped down Liza’s cheek. All she’d ever wanted was to see Lucien happy. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop her lips from quivering. She might as well return to her room and pack; Lucien would send her away when he returned, and this time she deserved it.

The tears fell faster and she searched for her handkerchief, finally finding the scrap of lace tucked in her sleeve. If her brother had committed such folly to win Arabella, then he was deeply, irrevocably in love. She only hoped she hadn’t ruined everything for him.

As her tears thickened into a sob, a strong arm looped about her hips and she was unceremoniously hauled down into Robert’s lap. He held her loosely clasped to his shoulder, looking down at her with a fierce sort of anger.

For an instant she sat frozen in his arms, her handkerchief fluttering to the ground. It was the first time any man had ever held her so.

“Clumsy, aren’t you?” he said unsympathetically, pulling his own handkerchief from his pocket. “Must be your height. Has anyone told you that you are too tall?”

She wiped her face. “Not since I was a child, though I know my aunt thinks it will keep me from ever taking.”

“Well, she is wrong. I like a tall woman.” His face softened and his mouth curved in a twisted smile. “If I were standing, I’d say we are of a height.”

She sniffed, trying hard to keep the tears from falling. “Are we?” she asked in a small voice.

He nodded, his gaze fastened on her trembling mouth. “I wouldn’t even have to bend to kiss you.”

Fascinated, Liza stared at him. Was he flirting with her? It was so hard to tell. There was some sort of pull between them; she’d felt it from the beginning. But surely he didn’t find her attractive. She was huge, a giant almost. An awkward thing with a nose that belonged on a Roman statue. But lying here in his arms, his smile almost tender as he stared down at her, a stirring of something other than anger warmed her stomach. It was an amazing thing; in all of her eighteen years, no one had made her feel even the slightest bit pretty. Until now.

Robert smiled. “If you are quite through sobbing, I will tell you something.”

“What?” she asked, blinking away her tears.

He leaned forward and whispered, “I think I know where the Captain’s treasure is.”

Liza had heard about the treasure; Aunt Emma was full of tales of all the places where it wasn’t. “B-but your sister—”

“It is too late to worry about her. Only Lucien can undo whatever damage you and that ridiculous Edmund have done.”

She nodded, a fresh wave of tears rising, her lip quivering. Robert’s gaze locked on her mouth and for one horrifying instant, she thought he would kiss her.

But he didn’t. Just as quickly as he’d scooped her up, he set her back on her feet. “Stop that.”

“I can’t help it,” she wailed, mopping at her cheeks.

“I’ve ruined everything.”

“Nonsense.” As her tears subsided into soft hiccups, he turned his chair toward the library. “Whenever you’re done warbling, come and help me.”

“Help you do what?” she asked, intrigued by his sudden air of mystery.

“Help me discover Rosemont’s greatest secret.” He sent her a strange smile over his shoulder, his gaze flickering across her hips and down her skirt. “Thank God you’ve got such long legs.”

With that cryptic comment, he disappeared through the library door.

Awash in curiosity, Liza followed. She only hoped that she could be of more help to Robert than she’d been to his sister.

 

Arabella yanked open the gate and slammed it behind her.

“Miss Hadl—I mean, Your Grace,” called Edmund.

Arabella walked faster.

The gate creaked behind her and the plump young man stumbled as he came abreast of her, his face damp with exertion. “I say, Miss—Your Grace—where, ah, perhaps I should—do you think—”

“Please do not bother yourself on my account. I would prefer to be alone.”

“Alone? You mean by yourself? I don’t think that’s wise.”

She jerked open the stable door and tromped in, immediately setting about saddling Sebastian.

Edmund stood watching her warily as if he would not have been the least surprised to see her sprout horns and fangs. “May I ask where you are going?”

“Away.”

“Oh. And for how long?”

She leveled a long, hard look at him before gathering her skirts to one side and mounting the horse. Kicking her feet into the stirrups, she turned Sebastian to the open gate and walked him through.

Sputtering, Edmund scurried along beside her. “Miss Had—Your Grace! Lucien will want to know when to expect you home.”

“Lucien can go to h—” Arabella swallowed the rest of the retort. She was wasting her breath; the person she really wanted to speak with was not here. No, her estimable husband was most likely sitting in a cozy tavern somewhere, ignoring his duties as a husband.

With a brief wave at Edmund, Arabella passed through the gate toward the main road and urged Sebastian into his version of a gallop, which was more of a lumpy trot. She rode down the road only a short distance before veering off across the moors. A chill wind tugged at the edges of her cloak and seeped through the thin dress, but Arabella didn’t feel the cold. Warmed by the slow burn of anger, she trotted on.

It was infuriating to think of how she’d been played for a fool yet again. “All those good reasons for getting married—ha!” Arabella muttered.

Sebastian shied at a rabbit hole and Arabella steadied him, turning him onto a narrow path that cut across the moors toward Whitby. “What did that idiot think? That I would never discover his duplicity?”

She could still hear Edmund’s voice explaining how Lucien had conspired with Aunt Jane. Once again, she had trusted Lucien and he had let her down. “Once a fool, always a fool,” she muttered fiercely.

She’d search every tavern on the coast if she had to, but she would find her brainless husband and demand an accounting. By God, she would make sure this marriage of convenience was neither a marriage nor a convenience.

She wondered if Aunt Emma knew of Lucien’s perfidy, then decided that of course she did. I wonder who doesn’t know about it besides me and Liza?

Arabella scowled. First Lucien turned Aunt Jane and then her own brother against her. It was a good thing she’d found out what a scoundrel he was before her heart became engaged.

Though that wasn’t strictly true. Despite her desire otherwise, she cared—far more than she should.

How dare he treat her so? To lie to her—and to marry her under such patently false pretensions! That was the most painful part of all. She had finally begun to hope about life with Lucien by her side. It hurt to watch that small, delicate blossom die, trampled beneath the arrogant boots of the one man she should have stayed far away from.

Sebastian dropped into a grinding walk as the path entered a small grove of trees. Arabella couldn’t help but remember their night in the cottage—the whisper of skin over skin, of seeking lips and hot, drugging kisses. If she closed her eyes, she could see Lucien bent over her, his eyes dark with passion, his jaw tense with tightly controlled need.

She forced the images away, lifting her heated face to the cool air. Damn Lucien Devereaux. He had seduced her with passion and overwhelmed her with logical reasoning.

Sebastian jerked his head up and stumbled a little on the path. Arabella absently soothed him, a crease between her brows.

Why would Lucien have done such a thing? What could he have hoped to gain? Rosemont?

No, as much as she loved Rosemont, she knew it paled beside his other residences. So why had he gone to such elaborate lengths? What was the reason for his ruse? She frowned, absorbed in thought.

“What are ye doin’ here, missus?”

Arabella turned to see Ned ambling up on a broken-backed nag. He was still dressed in his Sunday finest, a black wool coat that he’d worn to her wedding just this morning. His bony wrists stuck out from each sleeve a good two inches and made him look even lankier.

“I was on my way to meet His Grace. He is visiting someone in Whitby.” She supposed she should call Lucien something less formal than “His Grace,” but to do so would imply a closeness she was far from feeling.

“He’s left the party already, has he?” Ned asked, surprise evident. “I jus’ came from my sister’s house and I saw nary a soul on the road. Mayhap he went that way.” He gestured toward a narrow path that led off the main road and into the woods. “’Tis a shortcut of sorts, if ye know where to turn.”

Arabella nodded and nudged Sebastian down the path, calling her thanks to Ned. Her mind was filled with uncertainty, her imagination rampant as she thought of Lucien’s machinations.

Lost in thought, she rode on. Sebastian rounded a wide turn and pulled to a dead stop. Arabella blinked. There, standing beside a narrow stand of brush stood Mr. Francot, his back to her. But it wasn’t the sight of the solicitor that surprised her. It was his companion. Standing beside Mr. Francot, holding on to a small sack, stood Bolder.

Sebastian whickered a greeting to Mr. Francot’s mare, and the solicitor whirled around. Arabella captured a glimpse of his pale face as Bolder yelled a violent curse and ran for his horse.

“Get her!” yelled Francot, leaping on his mare.

Her heart pounding in her ears, Arabella whirled Sebastian and urged him to a hard gallop. Though the old horse was winded, he responded gallantly. Hooves thundered behind her and Arabella leaned closer, whispering words of encouragement. Please, God, just this once, let Sebastian fly.