Regency Temptation

The Greatest of Sins

The Fall of a Saint

Christine Merrill

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CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off of the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming and as a librarian. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

The Greatest of Sins

Dedication

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

The Fall of a Saint

Dedication

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

Copyright

The Greatest of Sins

To James: who is living in interesting times.

Chapter One

Sam was coming home!

They were such simple words to have such an effect upon her. Evelyn Thorne put a hand over her heart, feeling the frenzied beat of it at the thought of his name. How long had she been waiting for his return? Very nearly six years. He had gone off to Edinburgh when she was still in the schoolroom and she had been planning for this day ever since.

She had been sure that, following his education, he would come back for her. Some day, she would hear his light, running step on the boards of the front hallway. He would shout a welcome to Jenks, the butler, and make a joyful enquiry about her father. There would be an answering welcome call from the office at the head of the stairs, for certainly Father would be as eager to hear what his ward had made of himself as she was.

After the greetings were done with, things would return to the way they had been. They would sit in the parlor together and in the garden. She would force him to accompany her to balls and routs, which would all be less tedious with Sam there to talk to, to dance with and to protect from the marital ambitions of other girls.

At the end of the Season, he would return with them to the country. There, they would walk in the orchard and run down the path to the little pond to watch the birds and animals, lying on the rugs that he would carry, eating a picnic from a basket that she would pack with her own hands, not trusting the cook to reserve the choicest morsels for a man who was not ‘truly a Thorne’.

As if to reinforce the thought, Mrs Abbott cleared her throat, from the doorway behind her. ‘Lady Evelyn, would you not be more comfortable in the morning room? There is a chill in the hall. If there are guests …’

‘It would be more seemly to be found there?’ Eve completed with a sigh.

‘If his Grace were to come …’

‘But he is not the one expected, Abbott, as you know full well.’

The housekeeper gave a slight sniff of disapproval.

Evelyn turned to her, putting aside her girlish excitement. Though only one and twenty, she was mistress of the house and would be obeyed. ‘I will hear none of that, from you or any other member of the staff. Doctor Hastings is as much a member of the family as I am. Perhaps more so. Father took him from the foundling home a full three years before I was even born. He has been a part of this house since my first memory and is the only brother I shall ever have.’

Of course, it had been quite some time since she had considered Sam her brother. Without thinking, she touched her lips.

Abbott’s eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed the gesture.

For a moment, Eve considered making a diplomatic retreat to a receiving room. Her behaviour would be less obvious to the servants. But what message would it send to Sam if she made him come to her like an ordinary guest?

She bowed her head, as though she had considered the wisdom of Abbott’s suggestion and said, ‘You are right. There is a draught. If you could but bring me a shawl, I will be fine. And I shall not pace about before the window, for it will be much more comfortable on the bench beneath the stairs.’ From there, she could see the front door quite well, yet be invisible to the one who entered. Her appearance would be sudden and a pleasant surprise.

As she passed it, she glanced in the hallway mirror, straightening her hair and gown, smoothing curls and fluffing ruffles. Would Sam find her pretty, now that she had grown? The Duke of St Aldric had proclaimed her the handsomest girl at Almack’s and a diamond of the first water. But he was so easy in his compliments that she quite wondered if he was sincere. His manners would have required him to say such, once he had set his sights upon her.

In the same situation, Sam would have offered no false flattery. He might have pronounced her attractive. If she had begged for more, wishing to be called beautiful, he would have accused her of vanity and named several girls that he found prettier.

Then he would have eased the sting by reminding her that she was fair enough for the average man. He would say that, for a humble man like himself, she was like a vision from heaven. Then he would smile at her, to prove that they understood each other. And his comment would make all other suitors seem unworthy.

But he’d had no chance to make such observations, because he had not come back for her first Season. He had gone straight from university, into the navy. It had been several years since. She had spent it scouring the papers for news of his ship and taking care to become the sort of woman he might hope to find when he returned. She had crossed days off the calendar and told herself each December that, next year, the wait would be over. He would come home and she would be ready for him.

But the only contact from Sam was a terse letter to Father that had outlined his plans to take a position on the Matilda.

And he had written not a word to her since the day he had left. She had not even heard of his appointment as a ship’s surgeon until after he had set sail. There had been no chance to reason him into a safer plan. He was gone and that was that.

Three years of dragging her feet had kept her in the marriage mart. She could not possibly make a match until she had seen him again. People thought it quite odd that she had not accepted an offer already. If she refused St Aldric, she would be properly on the shelf, too high in the instep for any man. Any save one, of course.

The knock came at the door, sharp and sudden, and she started in her chair. It had not sounded the way she’d imagined it would. Although how much personality could be conveyed with a door knocker, she was not sure. All the same, it startled her.

Instead of rushing forwards to open it for him, she drew back into the little space beneath the curve of the stairs. It was cowardly of her. But the secrecy meant that she would catch the first glimpse of him without his knowing and keep the moment all to herself. She would not need to guard her expression from the servants. She could devour the sight of him, thinking of things that had nothing to do with walks in the garden and picnics by the stream.

Jenks came forwards and opened the door, his tall, straight body hiding the man on the steps. The request for entrance was firm and had a polite warmth, but it was not as impulsive or raucous as she had imagined. She had been thinking of the boy who had left, she reminded herself, not the man he had become. He would still be Sam, of course. But he was changed, just as she was.

The person who appeared in the doorway was a strange combination of novelty and familiarity. He walked with the upright gait of a military man, but was free of the scars and disabilities she had seen in so many returning officers. Of course, he had spent his time well away from the battle proper, below decks, tending to the injuries that resulted from it.

He was still blond, although the reddish highlights in his hair had gone dark, almost brown. The boyish softness had left his cheeks, replaced by a firm jaw line scraped clean of stubble. His eyes were still blue, of course, and as sharp and inquisitive as ever. They took in the hall at a glance, looking at it much the same as she was looking at him, noting changes and similarities. He completed the survey with a brief nod before enquiring if her father was at home to visitors.

The boy she remembered had had a sunny disposition, an easy smile and a hand always reaching out to help or to comfort, but the man who stood before her now, in a navy-blue coat, was sombre. One might call him grave. She supposed it was a necessity of his profession. One did not want a doctor delivering bad news with a smile upon his face. But it was more than that. Though his eyes held great compassion, they were bleak, as though he suffered along with the suffering.

She wanted to ask if his life in the navy had been as horrible as she’d imagined. Had it troubled him to see so many mangled bodies and to do so little for them? Were the successes he had won from death enough to compensate for the brutality of war? Had it really changed him so much? Or did anything remain of the boy who had left her?

Now that he was back, she wanted to ask so many things. Where had he been? What had he done there? And, most importantly, why had he left her? She had thought, as they had grown past the age of playmates, that they were likely to become something much more.

His current disposition, as he passed her hiding place and followed Jenks up the stairs, was a stark contrast to St Aldric, who always seemed to be smiling. Though the duke had many responsibilities, his face was not as careworn, or marked, as Sam’s. He greeted obstacles with optimism. But he had a right to do so. There seemed little that he could not accomplish.

In looks, she could see many similarities between the two men. Both were fair and blue eyed. But St Aldric was the taller of the two and the handsomer as well. In all things physical, he was the superior. He had more power, more money, rank and title.

And yet he was not Sam. She sighed. No amount of common sense would sway her heart from its choice. If she accepted the inevitable offer, she would be quite happy with St Aldric, but she would never love him.

But if the person one truly loved above all others was not interested, what was one to do?

Just now, he had gone straight to her father, without enquiring of Lady Evelyn’s location. Perhaps he did not care. In his silent absence, Samuel Hastings seemed to be saying that he did not remember her in the same way she did him. Perhaps he still thought of her as a childhood friend and not a young lady of marriageable age who might have formed an attachment to him.

Did he not remember the kiss? When it had happened, she had been sure of her feelings.

Apparently, he had not. After, he’d grown cold and distant. She could not believe that he was the sort of youth who would steal a kiss just to prove that he could. Had she done something to offend? Perhaps she had been too eager. Or not enthusiastic enough. But how could he have expected her to know what to do? It had been her first kiss.

It had changed everything between them. Overnight, his smile had disappeared. And, shortly thereafter, he had been gone in body as well as spirit.

Even if she had misunderstood, she would have thought that he might have written a note of farewell. Or he could have answered at least one of the letters she’d sent to him, dutifully, every week. Perhaps he had not received them. On one of his brief visits home from school, she had enquired of them. He had admitted, with a curt nod and a frozen smile, that he had read them. But he’d added nothing to indicate that the messages provided any comfort or pleasure.

It was a moot point now, of course. When one had captured the attention of a duke, who was not only powerful and rich, but handsome, polite and charming, one should not lament over a snub from a physician of no real birth.

She sighed again. All the same, it had been much on her mind of late. Even if he did not love her, Sam had been her friend. Her dearest, closest companion. She wanted his opinion of St Aldric: of the man, and of her decision. If there was any reason that he disapproved …

Of course, there could not be. He would bring no last-minute reprieve with an offer of his own. And she must remind herself that it was not exactly a march to the gallows, becoming Her Grace, the Duchess of St Aldric.

But if he did not want her, the least Dr Samuel Hastings could do was give his congratulations. And that might make it possible for her to move forwards.

‘A ship’s surgeon.’ Lord Thorne’s tone was flat with disapproval. ‘Is that not a job that can be done by a carpenter? Surely a university-trained physician could have done better.’ Sam Hastings faced his benefactor’s dark look with military posture and an emotionless stare. He could remember a time when his actions had met with nothing but approval from this man. In response, Sam had been eager to please and desperately afraid of disappointing him. But it seemed that his best efforts to abide by Thorne’s final instructions to ‘make something of yourself’ were to be met with argument and doubt.

So be it. His need to prove himself had cooled when Thorne’s affection had. ‘On the contrary, sir. On most ships, they are forced by a scarcity of skill to make do with any willing man. While they often employ the carpenter’s mate for the job, no one wants to be the man’s first patient. I am sure both captain and crew appreciated my help. I saved more limbs than I took. I gained experience with many diseases that I might never have seen had I remained ashore. There were some tropical fevers that were quite challenging. The time not spent in action was spent in study. There are many hours in the normal running of the ship that can be devoted to education.’

‘Hmmmpf.’ His guardian’s foul mood turned to resignation, when presented with reasonable opposition. ‘If you could find no other way to get sufficient experience, then I suppose it had to do.’

‘And it was quite far away,’ Sam added, subtly colouring the words. ‘When I left, you encouraged me to travel.’

‘That is true.’ Now Thorne was circumspect, which might be as close as Sam could get to approval. ‘And you have made no plans towards marriage? I encouraged you to that as well.’

‘Not as yet, sir. There was little opportunity, when so totally in the company of men. But I have ample prize money in the bank and a plan to set up practice.’

‘In London?’ Thorne said, brows furrowing.

‘In the north,’ Sam assured him. ‘I can certainly afford wife and family. I am sure there will be some woman not averse …’ He left the ending open, not wanting to lie outright. Let Thorne think what he liked. There would be no marriage, no children, no future of that sort at all.

‘Evelyn, of course, is on the cusp of a great match,’ Thorne said, as though relieved to change the subject. He smiled with obvious pride of his only daughter. For Sam’s sake, the words were delivered with an air of finality.

Sam nodded. ‘So I was given to understand by your letters. She is to marry a duke?’

Now, Thorne was beaming with satisfaction. ‘Despite his rank, St Aldric is the most magnanimous of gentlemen. He is so full of good humour and generosity that his friends have shortened the title to Saint.’

Evie had won herself a saint, had she? It was no less than she deserved. Sam had best keep as far away from her as possible. His own nature proved him to be as far from that lofty state as it was possible to be. ‘Evelyn is the most fortunate of young ladies to gain such a husband.’

‘It is a shame that you cannot stay to meet him. He is expected this afternoon.’ It was as blunt as shutting the door in his face. Being ‘like a member of the family’ was not the same as recognised kinship. Now that he was raised and settled in a trade, Thorne felt no responsibility to him at all.

‘A pity, indeed. But, of course, I cannot stay,’ Sam agreed. It was just as well. He had no real desire to meet this Saint who would marry his Evie, or remain under the Thorne roof a moment more than was necessary. ‘You will give my regards to Lady Evelyn, of course.’ He added her title carefully, to avoid any sign of familiarity.

‘Of course,’ her father said. ‘And now, I do not wish to keep you.’

‘Of course not.’ Sam managed a smile and rose, as though this brief visit had been his intent all along, and his departure had nothing to do with the abrupt dismissal. ‘I only wished to thank you, sir, and to remind you of the difference your patronage has meant to my life. A letter hardly seemed appropriate.’ Sam offered a stiff bow to the man who had claimed to be his benefactor.

Thorne got up from his desk and clapped him by the shoulder, smiling as he had of old. That such approval could only come by his leaving was another bitter reminder of how things had changed. ‘I am touched, my boy. And it is good to know that you are doing well. Will we see you, again, while you are in London? For the wedding, perhaps?’ When it was too late for him to do any harm.

‘I do not know. My plans are not yet set.’ If he could find a ship in need of his services, he would be gone with the tide. And if not? Perhaps there was some distant spot in Scotland or Ireland that had need of a physician.

‘You are welcome, of course. We will have much to celebrate. Little Eve is not so little any more. St Aldric has been quite set on the match, since the beginning of the Season, but she has yet to answer him. I have told her that it does not do to play with the affections of a duke. She will not listen.’ Thorne still smiled, as though even her disobedience was a treasure, which of course, to him, it was.

If he had continued to indulge her every whim, she had likely grown into a wilful hoyden. She would run wild without a strong man to partner her. Himself, for instance … Sam put the thought from his head. ‘She will come round in time, I am sure, sir.’ With luck, he would be gone without seeing it happen. If she had not decided, it would be disaster to hang about here and run the risk of muddying her mind with his presence.

He and Thorne went through the motions of an amicable parting as he walked towards the door of the room, but it went no further than that. They might as well have been strangers, for all the emotion expressed. There had been a time when Sam had longed for a deeper bond of affection. But now that he knew the truth of their relationship, he would as soon have never met the man. It took only a few more empty promises to keep in contact, before the interview was at an end and he was out of the office and retreating down the main stairs of the house he had once thought his home.

Only a few more feet and he would be out the front door and away. But a departure without incident was unlikely, since, as he had climbed the stairs to Thorne’s office, he had known that she waited, scant feet away.

When he had passed through on the hallway, he had taken great care not to look too closely at the place she must be concealed. He did not want to see her. It would make leaving all the more difficult.

But as he’d approached the house, a part of him had feared that she would not be there to greet him. That poor fool had wanted to search the corners for her, to hold out his arms and call out her name. He would be equally foolish to suffer if she did not come to him, or if she had already gone into the arms and the house of another. One could not bring back the past, especially when one found that the happiness there had been based on ignorance and illusion.

The door had opened and he had not seen her. Torn between fear and relief, he had been afraid to enquire after her. But then, as he had passed her hiding place, he had smelled her perfume.

That was not wholly accurate. He could smell a woman’s scent in the air of the hall, fresh and growing stronger as he neared the alcove at the curve of the stairs. He could not be sure it was her. The girl he had left had smelled of lemon soap and the mildest lavender eau de toilette. This new perfume was redolent of India, mysterious, sharp and sophisticated.

He should have simply turned and acknowledged her. He’d have caught her hiding at the base of the stairs, for he was sure that was what she had been doing, just as she had done when they were children. He could have pretended that nothing was amiss and greeted her easily, as an old friend ought. They could have exchanged pleasantries. Then he could have wished her well and they’d have parted again after a few words.

But the fragrance had been an intoxicant to him and he would have needed all his wits for even a few words of greeting. If he could not master himself, there was no telling what his first words would have been. So he had taken the coward’s way, pretending that he was unaware of her presence and hoping that she would have given up in the hour of the interview and gone back to the morning room, or wherever it was that she spent her days.

He could not imagine his Evie, sitting like a lady on a divan or at a writing desk, prepared to offer a gracious but chilly welcome and banal conversation. He had spent too many years brooding on the memory of how she had been, not wanting her to change. He could picture her in the garden, running, climbing and sitting on the low tree branches he had helped her to, when no one had been there to stop them.

Yet she would have put that behaviour aside, just as she had the eau de toilet. She had grown up. She was to be a duchess. The girl he remembered was gone, replaced by a ton-weary flirt with poise enough to keep a duke dangling. Once he had met that stranger, perhaps he could finally be free of her and have some peace.

Then, as he reached the bottom step, she pelted out from hiding and into him, body to body, her arms around his neck, and called, ‘Tag.’ Her lips were on his cheeks, first one, then the other, in a pair of sisterly but forceful kisses.

He froze, body and mind stunned to immobility. With preparation, he had controlled his first reaction to her nearness. But this sudden and complete contact was simply too much. His arms had come halfway up to hug her before he’d managed to stop them and now they poked stiffly out at the elbows, afraid to touch her, unable to show any answering response. ‘Evie,’ he managed in a tone as stiff as his posture. ‘Have you learned no decorum at all in six years?’

‘Not a whit, Sam,’ she said, with a laugh. ‘You did not think to escape me so easily, did you?’

‘Of course not.’ Hadn’t he tried, going nearly to the ends of the earth to do so? If that had been a failure, what was he to do now? ‘I’d have greeted you properly, had you given me the chance,’ he lied. He reached up and pried her arms from his neck, stepping away from her.

She gave him a dour frown, meant to be an imitation of his own expression, he was sure. Then she laughed again. ‘Because we must always be proper, mustn’t we, Dr Hastings?’

He took another step back to dodge the second embrace that he knew was coming, taking her hands to avoid the feeling of her body wriggling eagerly against his. ‘We are no longer children, Evelyn.’

‘I should hope not.’ She gave him a look that proved she was quite aware that she, at least, had grown into a desirable young woman. ‘I have been out for three Seasons.’

‘And kept half the men in London dangling from your reticule strings, I don’t doubt.’ Lud, but she was pretty enough to do it. Hair as straight and smooth as spun gold, eyes as blue as the first flowers of spring and lips that made his mouth water to taste them. And he might have known the contours of her body, had he taken the opportunity to touch it as she’d kissed him.

The thought nearly brought him to his knees.

She shrugged as if it did not matter to her what other men thought and gave him the sort of look, with lowered lashes and slanted eyes, that told a man that the woman before him cared only about him. ‘And what is your diagnosis, Doctor, now that you have had a chance to examine me?’

‘You look well,’ he said, cursing the inadequacy of the words.

She pouted and the temptress dissolved into his old friend, swinging her arms as though inviting him to play. ‘If that is all I shall have out of you, I am most disappointed, sir. I have been told by other men that I am quite the prettiest girl of the Season.’

‘And that is why St Aldric has offered for you,’ he said, reminding them both of how much had changed.

She frowned, but did not let go of his hands. ‘As yet, I have not accepted any offers.’

‘Your father told me that, just now. He said you are keeping the poor fellow on tenterhooks waiting for an answer. It is most unfair of you, Evelyn.’

‘It is most unfair of Father to pressure me on the subject,’ she replied, avoiding the issue. ‘And even worse, it is unscientific of you to express an opinion based on so little evidence.’ She smiled again. ‘I would much rather you tell me what you think of my marrying, after we have had some time together.’

‘I stand by my earlier conclusion,’ he said. It made him sound like one of those pompous asses who would rather stick to a bad diagnosis than admit the possibility of error. ‘Congratulations are in order. Your father says St Aldric is a fine man and I have no reason to doubt it.’

She gave him a dark, rather vague look, and then smiled. ‘How nice to know that you and my father are in agreement on the subject of my future happiness. Since you are dead set in seeing me married, I assume you have come prepared?’

He had fallen into a trap of some kind, he was sure. And here was one more proof that this was not the transparent child he had left, who could not keep a secret. Before him was a woman, clearly angry at his misstep, but unwilling to tell him what he had said, or how he was to make amends. ‘Prepared?’ he said, cautiously, looking for some hint in her reaction.

‘To celebrate my imminent engagement,’ she finished, still waiting. She then gave an exasperated sigh to show him that he was hopeless. ‘By giving me some token to commemorate the event.’

‘A gift?’ Her audacity startled a smile from him and a momentary loss of control.

‘My gift,’ she said, firmly. ‘You cannot have been away so long, missed birthdays and Christmases and a possible engagement, and brought me nothing. Must I search your pockets to find it?’

He thought of her hands, moving familiarly over his body, and said hurriedly, ‘Of course not. I have it here, of course.’

He had nothing. There had been the gold chain that he’d bought for her in Minorca and then could not raise the nerve to send. He had carried it about in his pocket for a year, imagining the way it would look against the skin of her throat. Then he’d realised that it was only making the memories more vivid, more graphic, and had thrown it into the bay.

‘Well?’ She had noticed his moment of confusion and was tugging upon his lapel, an eager child again.

He thrust a hand into his pocket and brought out the first thing he found, an inlaid wood case that held a small brass spyglass. ‘This. I had it with me, very nearly the whole time. At sea they are dead useful. I thought, perhaps, you could use it in the country. Watching birds.’

Any other woman in London would have thrust the thing back at him in disgust, pointing out that he had not even taken the time to polish the barrel.

But not his Evie. When she opened the box, her face lit as though he had handed her a casket of jewels. Then she pulled out the glass, gave it a hurried wipe against her skirt to shine it and extended it and put it to her eye. ‘Oh, Sam. It is wonderful.’ She pulled him to the nearest window and peered out through it, looking as she always had, into the distance, as though she could see the future. ‘The people on the other side of the square are as clear as if I was standing beside them.’ She took it away from her face and grinned at him. The expression was so like the way he remembered her that his heart hurt. She was standing beside him again, so close that an accidental touch was inevitable. He withdrew quickly, ignoring the flood of memories that her nearness brought.

She seemed unmoved by his discomfort, sighing in pleasure at her improved vision. ‘I will take it to the country, of course. And to Hyde Park and the opera.’

He laughed. ‘If you actually need a glass in town, I will buy you a lorgnette. With such a monstrous thing pressed to your eye, you will look like a privateer.’

She let out a derisive puff of air. ‘What do I care what people think? It will be so much easier to see the stage.’ She gave a sly grin. ‘And I will be able to spy on the other members of the audience. That is the real reason we all go to the theatre. Nothing in London shall escape me. I share the gossip the next day and show them my telescope. In a week, all the smart girls will have them.’

‘Wicked creature.’ Without thinking, he reached up and tugged on one honey-coloured lock. She had not changed a bit in his absence, still fresh faced, curious and so alive that he could feel her vitality coursing in the air around them.

‘Let us go and watch something.’ She took his hand, her fingers twining with his, pulling him back into the house and towards the doors that led to the garden that had been their haven.

And he was lost.

Chapter Two

He ought to have known better. Before coming, Sam had steeled himself against temptation with prayer. His plan had been to resist all contact with her. Just moments before, he had assured her father that he would be gone. And yet, at the first touch of her hand, he had forgotten it all and followed her through the house like a puppy on a lead.

Now he sat at her side on a little stone bench under the elm as she experimented with her new toy. It was just like hundreds of other happy afternoons spent here and it reminded him of how much he missed home, and how much a part of that home she was.

Evie held the spyglass firmly pointed into the nearest tree. ‘There is a nest. And three young ones all open mouthed and waiting to be fed. Oh, Sam, it is wonderful.’

It was indeed. He could see the flush of pleasure on her cheek and the way it curved down into the familiar dimple of her smile. So excited, and over such a small thing as a nest of birds. But had she not always been just so? Joy personified and a tonic to a weary soul.

‘You can adjust it, just by turning here.’ He reached out and, for a moment, his hand covered hers. The shock of connection was as strong as ever. It made him wonder—did she still feel it as well? If so, she was as good at dissembling as he, for she gave no response.

‘That is ever so much better. I can make out individual feathers.’ She looked away from the birds, smiling at him, full of mischief. ‘I clearly made the best bargain out of your empty pockets today, sir.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘If you had reached in and pulled out a snuff box, I’d have had a hard time developing the habit of taking it. But a telescope is very much to my liking.’

‘Was it so obvious that I did not bring you anything?’ he asked, sighing.

‘The look of alarm on your face was profound,’ she admitted and snapped the little cylinder shut to put it back into its case. ‘But do not think that you can get this away from me by distracting me with a necklace. It is mine now and I shan’t return it.’

‘Nor would I expect you to.’ He smiled back at her and felt the easy familiarity washing over him in a comfortable silence. With six years, thousands of miles travelled and both of them grown, none of the important things had changed between them. She was still his soul’s mate. At least he could claim it was more than lust that he felt for her.

She broke the silence. ‘Tell me about your travels.’

‘There is not enough time to tell you all the things I have seen,’ he said. But now that she had asked, the temptation to try was great and the words rushed out of him. ‘Birds and plants that are nothing like you find in England. And the look of the ocean, wild or becalmed, or the sky before a storm, when there is no land in sight? The best word I can find for it is majesty. Sea and heaven stretching as far as the eye can see in all directions and us just a spot in the middle.’

‘I should very much like to see that,’ she said wistfully.

He imagined her, at his side, lying on the deck to look at the stars. And then he put the dream carefully away. ‘Wonderful though some times were, I would not have wished them on you if it meant you saw the rest. A ship of the line is no place for a woman.’

‘Was naval life really so harsh?’

‘During battle, there was much for me to do,’ he admitted evasively, not wanting to share the worst of it.

‘But you helped the men,’ she said, her face shining when she said it, as though there was something heroic about simply doing his job. ‘And that was what you always wanted to do. I am sure it was most gratifying.’

‘True,’ he agreed. He had felt useful. And it had been a relief to find a place where he seemed to fit, after so much doubt.

‘If it made you happy, then I should like to have seen that as well,’ she said firmly.

‘Most certainly not!’ He did not want to think of her, mixed in with the blood and death. Nor did he want to lose her admiration, when she saw him helpless in the face of things that had no cure.

She gave him a pained look. ‘Have you forgotten so much? Was it not I who encouraged you in your medical studies? I watched you tend every injured animal you found and dissect the failures. I swear, you did not so much eat in those days as study the anatomy of the chops.’

‘I could just as easily have become butcher, for all I learned there,’ he admitted. ‘But working over a person is quite a different thing.’ Sometimes, it was its own form of butchery.

‘You learned human anatomy in Edinburgh,’ she said. ‘Through dissection.’

He suppressed a smile and nodded. Evie was as fearless as she had always been, and no less grisly, despite her refined appearance.

‘You did many other things as well, I’m sure.’

‘I observed,’ he corrected. ‘It was not until I left school that I could put the skills to use. Now I am thinking of returning to Scotland,’ he said, to remind them both that he could not stay. ‘I still have many friends at the university. Perhaps I might lecture.’

She shook her head. ‘That is too far away.’

That was why he had suggested it. She was clinging to his sleeve again, as though she could not bear to have him taken from her. He considered detaching her fingers, but it was very near to having her touch his hand, so he left them remain as they were. ‘You will be far too busy with your new life to waste time upon me. I doubt you will miss me at all.’

‘You know that is not true. Did I not write you often in the last years? Nearly every week, yet you never answered.’ Her voice grew quiet and, in it, he could hear the hurt he had caused her.

‘Probably because I did not receive your letters,’ he said, as though it had not mattered to him. ‘The mail is a precarious thing, when one is at sea.’ He had received it often enough. And he had cherished it. In the years they’d been apart, her correspondence had grown from a neat ribbon-bound stack to a small chest, packed tightly with well-thumbed missives, so familiar to him that he could recite their contents from memory.

‘You had no such excuse at university,’ she reminded him. ‘I wrote then as well. But you did not answer those letters, either. It rather appeared to me that you had forgotten me.’

‘Never,’ he said fervently. That, at least, was the truth.

‘Well, I will not allow it to happen again. Edinburgh is too far. You must stay close. And if you must teach, then teach me.’

He laughed, to cover the shock. It was not possible, for so many reasons. While he was not totally unwilling to share the information, he did not dare. She was a grown woman and not some curious girl. Discussing the intimate details of the human body would be difficult with any female. But with Evie, it would be impossible.

And if she was to marry, their circles would be so different that even casual conversation would be infrequent. Next to a duke, he would be little better than a tradesman.

‘You know that is not proper,’ he said at last. ‘Your father would not allow it. Nor would your husband.’ They both must remember that there would be another man standing between them.

And more than that.

He was forgetting himself again—and forgetting the reason he had to stay away. They could not be friends any more than they could be lovers. He had spent years away from her, known other women and prayed for a return to common sense. Nothing had dulled his feelings for her. The desire was just as strong and the almost palpable need to rush to her, catch her in his arms and hold her until the world steadied again. If she married, it would be no different. He would still want her. He would simply add the sin of adultery to an already formidable list.

He patted her hand in a way that showed a proper, brotherly affection. ‘No, Evie. I cannot allow you to spin wild plans, as you did when we were children. I must go back to my life and you to yours.’

‘But you are staying in London for a time, aren’t you?’ she said, looking up at him with the bluest of eyes, full of a melting hope.

‘I had not planned to.’ Why could he not manage a firmer tone? He’d made it seem like he might be open to persuasion.

‘You must stay for the engagement ball. And the ceremony.’

As if that would not be the most exquisite torture. ‘I do not know if that is possible.’

Her hand twisted, so that her fingers tightened on his. ‘I will not allow you to go. Even if I must restrain you by force.’ She should know that she had not the strength to do so. But she had tried it often enough, when they were young, tackling him and trying to wrestle him to the ground in a most unladylike fashion.

The idea that she might attempt it again sounded in his mind like an alarm bell.

‘Very well,’ he said with a sigh, if only to make her release his hand. ‘But I expect I will leave soon after. Perhaps, instead of Scotland, I shall return to sea.’

‘You mustn’t,’ she said, gripping him even more tightly before remembering herself and relaxing her hold. ‘It takes you too far away from me for too long. And although you did not speak of it, I am sure it must have been very dangerous. I would not have you put yourself at risk, again.’

It had been quite dangerous. He was sure that he could tell her stories for hours that would have her in awe. Instead, he said, ‘Not really. It was a job. Nothing more than that. Unlike St Aldric, I must have employment if I am to live.’ The words made him sound petulant. He should not be envious of a man that had been born to a rank he could never achieve.

She ignored the censure of the duke, which had been childish of him. ‘You must have a practice on land. I will speak to father about it. Or St Aldric.’

‘Certainly not! I am quite capable of finding my own position, thank you.’ In any other life, an offer of patronage from a future duchess would have been just the thing he needed. But not this woman. Never her.

‘You value your independence more than our friendship,’ she said, and released his hand. ‘Very well, then. If there is nothing I can say that will change your mind, I will bother you no further on the subject of your career.’

There was one thing, of course. Three words from her would have him on his knees, ready to do anything she might ask.

And since they were the three words neither of them must ever speak, he would go to Edinburgh or the ends of the earth, so that he might never hear them.

Chapter Three

There was really nothing more to say. She had all but dismissed him, with her promise not to meddle in his affairs. Yet Sam was loathe to take leave of her. When would he get another such chance just to sit at her side, as they always used to? She was examining the box that held the spyglass, as though it were the answer to some mystery.

And he was watching her hands caress it. Had they been so graceful when last he’d seen them? He could remember stubby fingers and ragged nails from too much time running wild with him. Today, she had not bothered with gloves and he could see the elegant taper of each digit that rested on the wood. He could sit there happily, staring at those hands for the rest of his life.

‘This is where I find you? In the garden, flirting with another. I swear, Evelyn, you are harder to catch than a wild hare. I cannot leave you alone for a moment or you shall get away from me.’

The words came from behind them and Sam flinched as he guessed the identity of the intruder. The voice marked the end of any privacy they might have this afternoon. Or possibly for ever, assuming the duke had any brains. If Sam had been Evie’s intended, he would never have allowed another man near her. He rose and turned to greet his newfound enemy face to face.

If Sam had been called to give a professional opinion on the man approaching them, he’d have proclaimed him one of the healthiest he had ever seen. Under his expensive clothing, St Aldric’s form was symmetrical. There was not an ounce of fat and no sign that the perfection was achieved with padding or cinching. His limbs and spine were straight, his muscles well developed—skin, eyes, teeth and hair all clean, clear and shining with vigor. Likewise there were no wrinkles on his brow, of age or care, and no evidence in expression of anything but good humour. His gaze was benevolent intelligence, his step firm and confident. If Sam had been forced to express an opinion of another man’s looks, he’d have called this one exceptionally handsome. From the toe of his boot to the top of his head, the fellow was the perfection of English manhood.

It made Sam even more conscious of how he must look in comparison. Lord Thorne might think him a threat to Evie’s happiness. But with his worn blue coat, thin purse and modest future, a duke would hardly notice him. Unless Evelyn had grown to be as foolish as she was beautiful, she would have no trouble choosing the better man.

As if to prove his point, Evie rose as well and held out her hands to the duke. She smiled warmly and greeted him with genuine affection. ‘St Aldric.’

‘My dear.’ He took her hands and held them for a moment, and Sam felt the uncomfortable pricking of jealousy and the punishment of being forgotten. She was pulling the other man forwards by the hand, just as she had lured Sam to the garden to sit beside her. It was yet another proof that the communion he had felt between them was nothing more than the warmth she showed all living things.

Now she was smiling back at him with proper, sisterly pride. ‘I have waited long to introduce the two of you and now I have my opportunity. Your Grace, may I present Dr Samuel Hastings.’

‘The one of whom you speak so fondly. And so often.’ There was a fractional pause between the two sentences, as if to indicate jealousy, or perhaps envy of the attention she paid to him.

‘Your Grace?’ Sam bowed, giving a peer the required respect.

The duke was watching him in silence and Sam was sure, if they had shared something as egalitarian as a handshake, it would have become a test of strength. In it, St Aldric would have felt the roughness of the calluses on his hands made by a firm grip on a bone saw, then he would have been dismissed as not quite a gentleman.

‘Doctor Hastings.’ But it had not taken something so common as physical contact to do that. The less-than-noble honorific had been enough. The duke’s frosty demeanour thawed into a handsome smile, now that he had assured himself of Sam’s inferiority. Then St Aldric gave Evie another fond smile. ‘I have been quite looking forwards to meeting this paragon you have been describing to me. I swear your face fairly lights up when you speak of him.’

‘Because he is my oldest and dearest friend,’ Evie said dutifully. ‘We were raised together.’

As brother and sister. Why would she never say it? It would make life so much easier if she would understand the significance of that.

‘We spent very little time apart until he went to university,’ she added.

‘To be a leech,’ the duke replied blandly. It made Sam feel like a parasite.

‘A physician,’ Evie corrected, protective of his dignity. ‘He was ever so clever when we took lessons together. Good at maths and languages, and fascinated by the workings of the body and all things natural. Sam is a born philosopher. I am sure he is most wonderful at his job.’

‘And you have not seen him in all these years,’ the duke reminded her. ‘I shall try not to be too jealous of your obvious affection for him.’ Then he stated the obvious, so that there might be no confusion. ‘If Dr Hastings has not come back to sweep you up before now, the man has quite missed his chance.’

‘I suppose he has,’ Evie answered. She sounded unconcerned, but Sam suspected the words were a goad to action.

‘Suppose?’ St Aldric laughed again, willing to pretend that she had been joking. ‘That is not nearly as confident as I wish you to be. Do you expect us to duel for you? I will call him out and we will see who is the better.’ This too was more joke than threat.

‘Do not talk nonsense,’ Evie said hurriedly. ‘I would think you both very foolish if you fought over me.’

‘If it displeases you, then I shall not attempt it. He is a military man, after all. It would be even worse should Dr Hastings prove skilled enough to defeat me with a pistol.’ The duke smiled at Sam, as though inviting him to join in the fun and prove that he had no feelings for her. ‘With my luck, I would end with a ball in my shoulder that would have to be removed by the man who put it there. He would be doubly the hero and I would lose you twice as fast.’

‘You have nothing to fear,’ Evie repeated.

‘Nor do you,’ St Aldric reminded her softly and kissed her on the forehead.

There was no passion in it. It was delivered almost as a benediction. But Sam saw it for what it was. Even if there had been no public announcement, the woman between them was spoken for. In response, Sam gave St Aldric the slightest nod to prove that the message was understood.

Evelyn paid no more attention to the kiss than she would have to any other salute. But she was staring at the duke with the same teasing affection that she had shown to Sam only moments before. ‘I see you have arrived empty handed again.’

Rather than chide her for her greediness, St Aldric laughed as though this was another old joke between them. ‘I know you better than that, my dear. You would send me packing if I came without some sort of gift.’

Once again, Sam cursed himself for not being able to say those words to her himself. But it might ease his jealousy if St Aldric proved to be as shallow as Sam hoped, and gave her something that did not suit her.

It appeared that was not to be the case. The bulging pocket of his coat trembled slightly, though the duke did not move.

‘What is it?’ Evie said, eyeing the lump with curiosity. ‘Give it to me this instant. It does not appear to be very happy where it is.’

‘And that is why I brought it to you. I am sure it will be much happier, in your care.’ He reached two fingers into the coat and withdrew a sniffling ginger kitten, placing it gently in Evie’s lap.

‘Oh, Michael.’ Instantly captivated, she set Sam’s spyglass aside and scooped the little thing up so that she could look at it, eye to eye. It blinked back at her, before letting out a nervous mew and settling down into the hollow of her hand. She stroked its head and nuzzled it to her cheek, smiling. ‘It is too perfect.’

And Sam had to admit it was. Like the telescope, it held her attention in a way that a necklace never could. But unlike Sam’s desperate good luck in finding something suitable already in his pocket, St Aldric had learned her preferences and planned in advance for this surprise.

She rewarded him with a smile so warm that Sam could swear he saw the duke colour with humble pleasure. It was sickening. Could not this interloper have behaved like the peer he was, pompous and demanding, blustering into this sacred space and defiling it so that Sam might hate him in good conscience? Could he have been a slightly less imposing physical specimen, with the beginnings of a paunch, or some spot or blemish?

Instead, he continued to be perfect. And he was looking down at Evie and the kitten as though he had never seen a lovelier sight.

‘What shall I call you, little one?’ She held it up again, staring into the grave green eyes. ‘Something to suit your nature, for I am sure you shall be a great hunter, when you are old enough. Orion, perhaps.’

St Aldric cleared his throat. ‘I should rather think Diana would be more appropriate.’

He was educated as well? A cursory knowledge of mythology and feline anatomy was not an indication of genius. But at least it proved that he was not some inbred dolt.

Evie turned the kitten in her hands and gave the underside a second look. ‘I think you are right.’ Then she turned it right way up and kissed it upon the head by way of a christening. ‘Diana it is. And you shall have the run of the garden, a bowl of cream and, when you have lost your milk teeth, you shall have all the mice you can eat.’

‘You will spoil it horribly,’ Sam said, trying to be the gruff and grumbling older brother.

Evie gave him a disgusted look. ‘It is not possible to spoil a thing by giving it too much affection. If I coddle her a bit, I am sure she will only become more devoted and do her job better. You could learn by that and not neglect your family for years at a time.’ Then she smiled again at the kitten and the man who had given it to her.

It was like watching her hold out a gift of her own and then turn and give it to someone else. She was punishing him, deliberately favouring the duke. And though he was filled with the jealousy she wished for, he could do nothing to show it. He should not have come here. If her smiles were all for St Aldric, that was as it should be. There was no place for him any more.

And much as Sam might have wished to find fault with his rival, he could not. He was worthy of Evie. Evie was obviously fond of him. He had but to step out of the way and let nature take its course. These two would be married by summer’s end.

All the more reason not to be trapped in the garden with the happy couple and sick to his stomach at the sight of love in bloom. He prayed for an excuse that might allow him to escape.

‘Evelyn!’ Lord Thorne called from the house, hurrying out to be with them. At any other time, Sam would have thought an interruption of his foster father as a sign that the situation had gone from bad to worse. But today it was a welcome relief.

‘You have found her, then, your Grace?’ Thorne gave a self-deprecating laugh and answered his own question. ‘Of course you have. She was not lost, after all. And Sam?’ His eyes widened with surprise that was actually annoyance. ‘You are still with us? As I recall, you said you would be leaving.’

‘I had other plans for him,’ Evelyn said triumphantly. ‘He tried to get away without so much as a hello. But I stopped him.’

‘I am sure he could have escaped you, had he but tried.’ Another warning from Thorne to mind his place. Sam could feel his normally placid temper stretch to a breaking point. He had a mind to tell the man aloud that he would leave immediately, if only to put an end to these continual reminders of his obvious inferiority.

‘And he is staying at an inn, and not with us, as he should. It is truly horrible of him. I will not stand for it,’ Evie added, in the same playful scolding tone she had been using on St Aldric.

‘If the good doctor wishes to stay at an inn, it is not our place to correct him,’ Thorne answered, putting the blame on Sam.

‘Of course it is,’ Evie said, unbothered. ‘We are his family. I will allow nothing less than his sending for his baggage and moving back to his old room for the duration of his stay in London. I will have the space aired and made up for him immediately.’ She rose and set the kitten on the bench, twining her arm with her father’s. Though she might be his affectionate and loving daughter, she had a will of iron and was used to getting her way. If Sam did not go soon, she would work on Thorne without mercy until he gave her what she wanted. ‘Come along, Papa, and add your voice to mine. I am sure Mrs Abbott will be quite cross with me for the sudden change in plans.’ She was fairly dragging her father by the arm and back towards the house, lecturing him on hospitality while she was neglecting both her guests.

She tossed a smile in their direction, as though that would be more than enough to keep them, until she returned. ‘If you gentlemen would spare our company? You must know each other better.’

‘Of course,’ St Aldric said, speaking for both of them. ‘I am sure that Dr Hastings can entertain me in your absence.’

‘I will leave Diana with you as well,’ Evie said, as though she was not sure that Sam’s company would suffice on its own. Then she fixed him with a cool stare. ‘And do not move from this spot, Samuel Hastings, without taking leave of me. I still have not forgiven you for the last time you did.’

Nor had he forgiven himself. This time, he owed her a goodbye, if nothing else. He gave a grudging nod of agreement and she returned to take her father’s arm. ‘Do not fear. I will not be long.’

Chapter Four

‘What is the meaning of this rudeness, Evelyn? You left St Aldric alone, when he came specifically to see you.’ At her side, Evelyn could feel her father puffing in indignation like a tropical fish.

She smiled at him and added a loving hug and a doting look, ashamed of herself for this blatant manipulation. She had been taught by Aunt Jordan that a lady must use honey to catch flies. But sometimes she could not help but envy men their ability to catch flies with a reasonable argument. ‘I did not leave St Aldric alone, Father. Sam was there.’

‘That hardly signifies.’ His grumbling was a last desperate attempt to rein her in. But since he had not been successful in twenty-one years, she had no real fear of punishment.

‘I believe it does,’ she said, quietly, still smiling, but renewing her grip on his arm and leading him down the hall to the library, shutting the door behind them so that there was no chance for a servant to hear what she wished to say. Then she checked the window that looked out on the garden to be sure that it was closed. No word of their conversation must reach the men talking there until she had confirmed her suspicions.

‘A physician and a duke?’ Father was shaking his head like a dog worrying a bone. ‘The only reason that the two of them should speak is if the peer is ill, and you know for a fact that he is not. Unless … You have no fears, have you?’ As usual, her father was thinking ahead to a future that she had not yet agreed to.

‘Are you worried about my widowhood before I am even a bride?’ she said with a raised eyebrow. ‘It is nothing like that. St Aldric is perfectly healthy, as is obvious to all who see him. But Sam is a member of the family. I think it is important that the two get to know each other. Don’t you?’ She looked expectantly at her father, hoping that he would not force her to badger the truth from him.

‘If you assume that Hastings will play a part in your future, you harbour a misapprehension. We have discussed it and he is leaving London shortly. I doubt you will see him again.’

The finality of this statement was in direct opposition to her desires, so she ignored it. ‘Hastings?’ she chided. ‘Really, Father. Now you are the one who is being rude. When did you cease to think of him as Sam? And for what reason? If there is some breach between the two of you, then I beg you to heal it, for my sake.’

‘There is no breach,’ her father insisted, probably afraid that she would resort to tears. ‘But we have an understanding, he and I. And what has been done is all for your sake, I assure you.’

As if she needed protection from Sam. The idea was quite ridiculous and not worth mentioning. ‘I am more concerned with Sam and his future, Father. So should you be.’

‘He is seeing to that well enough, without my help,’ her father said. Perhaps he was simply hurt that the boy he had raised could manage to prosper without him.

‘His success is a credit to your early tutelage, I am sure.’ She must turn the topic, for she wished to close the breach and not widen it. Her father appeared somewhat mollified at the thought that he had contributed to Sam’s obvious success. ‘And I see no reason that he cannot stay here with us, while he is in London.’

‘He does not wish to,’ her father said, firmly.

‘I am happy to see that you have no objection,’ she said with another smile. One thing did not imply the other. But it was better to let him think her illogical than to allow argument. Then she added, as though in afterthought, ‘Once he is here, it will give you a chance to tell him what you know of his true parentage.’

‘I?’ That had caught him unawares, she was sure. He was flustered out of countenance and almost beyond speech. It took several seconds for him to manage a proper denial. ‘I know nothing. And whatever Samuel Hastings has told you on the subject is clearly a lie.’

‘He … told me?’ She gave a bat of her lashes to reinforce the innocence of her discovery. ‘He did not tell me anything. But I needed no great wit to draw my conclusion. I have my own eyes, if I wish to see the truth. You had best give him the whole story, if you have not already.’

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ said her father, in the slow and deliberate way that people sometimes used to deny the obvious.

Eve sighed and gave up on honey, preferring to catch this particular fly with a swatter. ‘Then I will explain it to you. I have had suspicions for quite some time. But it was only until just now, in the garden, that I was sure. When they are seen together by others, someone will remark on the resemblance between them. From there it is only a short step to seeing that the Duke of St Aldric and Dr Samuel Hastings are as alike as brothers.’

‘Evie, you mustn’t meddle in this.’ It was the same weak prohibition that he tried whenever she stepped out of bounds.

Since she knew there were no consequences to disagreeing, it would meet with the same lack of success. She continued. ‘You were a good friend of the old duke when he was alive, were you not?’

‘Of course, but …’

‘And mightn’t he have asked you a favour, at one point in your life, when you and mother feared that you would be childless?’ In case she had been too direct, she larded the question with more feminine sweetness. ‘I only ask because I know there will be gossip.’

‘There will be none if Hastings leaves, as he is promised to,’ her father said stubbornly. He had not affirmed or denied her theory. But evasiveness was an answer.

‘It is hardly fair to Sam, if you make him leave London just because of the duke.’ Nor was it fair to her. She would not lose him again, over something that should not matter to anyone. ‘If the estrangement between you is nothing more than a fear of making this revelation, you had best get it over with. Since I love both men, I mean to keep them close to me for as long as I am able.’ She smiled again and offered a bait that she doubted her father could resist. ‘I am sure that St Aldric would welcome the news. He has spoken frequently of the burden of being the only remaining member of his family. You would gain much favour by telling him what he longs to hear.’

‘Revelation of a natural son …’ her father stopped himself before revealing the truth ‘… if there were such, would do nothing to change his status as the last of the line.’

‘It would change the contents of his heart,’ Eve argued. ‘I know his spirit; it is generous to a fault. He would want to share his wealth with his father’s son. And it would at least make him cease his jokes about duels between them. Imagine his reaction, should they fight for some reason, and not learn the truth until after one of them had been injured.’

‘For some reason?’ She had pushed too far. Her father had spotted the hole in her argument and made his escape. ‘Really, Evelyn. Do not play the naïf. You know perfectly well that they would be fighting over your attentions. If an accident occurs, it will be your fault and not mine. You must send Hastings away. I have assured myself that the man is too sensible to harbour false hope on a match between you. And neither should you.’

‘I am not offering false hope.’ There was nothing false about it. After the time spent in the garden, the hope she felt was quite real. As was her conviction about the identity of Sam’s father. ‘I am simply attempting to right a wrong, before it goes further. It pains both men and does no credit to you.’

‘You are meddling in things you cannot understand,’ he said, patting her on the hand and treating her like the child he still believed she was. ‘If this is the reason you were impolite to St Aldric, then I am sorry to disappoint you. I have nothing to say on the matter, because there is nothing to say.’

Had she failed to persuade him? This happened so rarely that, for a moment, she suspected she might have been wrong. Perhaps there was no secret to reveal. ‘Father …’

‘Go!’ He pointed a finger back towards the garden, once again secure in his control of the situation. ‘Send Dr Hastings on his way before the duke tires of his company. Visit with St Aldric, as he desires. I have no intention of helping you out of the muddle you are making. This discussion is at an end and will not be repeated. Now, go.’ Her father’s lips were set in a firm line, as if to show her that no more words would pass between them until she had fulfilled her obligation to him, to society and to the duke.

But he was giving no thought to Sam’s needs. If he would not, then someone must, or he would be back on a boat and out of her life for ever. ‘Very well, then. I will talk to St Aldric. But you are wrong about the rest, Father. We will speak of this again and, next time, you will tell the truth.’ She would worry him with it night and day, if necessary. But she would have her way, and Sam would know his brother.

In Evelyn’s absence, an awkward silence had fallen between the two men. It was hardly surprising. Sam seldom had cause to speak to a man of such great rank and no right to initiate conversation. The duke had no reason to speak to him. It left the pair of them staring morosely at the kitten on the bench until the thing stumbled to the edge and off, wandering into the grass to stalk and pounce on crickets.

Now there was not even an excuse for the silence. It seemed that St Aldric was not content with this, for he was searching about him as though expecting to see an opening to a conversation. At last he offered, ‘Evelyn says you were educated in Scotland, and after you took to the sea.’

‘Indeed, your Grace.’ Sam shifted uneasily, clasping his hands behind his back.

‘The navy is an unusual choice for such a well-educated man. But I cannot fault your adventurous spirit.’

Sam was tempted to announce that he had not requested an opinion, but he had only one reason to dislike this man and no reason at all to be rude to him. Excessive fondness for Evie was no excuse for a lack of respect to the peerage. ‘The navy is an economical way to see the world,’ Sam admitted. ‘The prize money from ships taken was sufficient to make up for the lack of a medical practice.’ It would be nothing to the holdings of a duke, but it had been more than satisfactory for Sam.

The duke nodded approval. ‘The captain of the Matilda was ambitious.’

It was the truth, but St Aldric had stated it as though he already knew. Had he made an effort to discover this, or had Evie revealed it to him? ‘A very ambitious captain indeed, your Grace.’ He’d made enough to retire and return to land, and to have a house and family, should he wish for one.

‘Your record is admirable,’ the duke continued. ‘Other than a brief flirtation with the church of Rome, while you were in Spain.’

So he had read the record, then. And the warning put there by the captain, for the time he had spent conversing with priests. ‘It was curiosity. Nothing more.’ And a desire to find a cure for his spiritual affliction, or at least absolution, from a clergy that was bound to secrecy. In the end, the priest had looked at him with pity and disgust, and given him beads and prayer, almost as Sam might have prescribed a pill.

It had done no good.

‘It is strange that you have taken such an interest in my interest.’ Sam allowed himself the candid observation. The meddling in his affairs by this stranger annoyed him. ‘I do not mean to bother Evelyn with it, if that is what you fear.’

‘Not at all, sir,’ the duke said hastily. ‘I merely wished to take your measure.’

‘Then consider it done. I am what you see before you. No more, no less. In the future, if you have a question, you might ask me directly and I will answer it honestly and to the best of my ability. For Evelyn’s sake, if for no other reason.’ Did invoking her name make the words sound any less rude?

‘I see,’ the duke said.

‘I wonder if you do?’ Sam said, too tired of the games they were playing to dissemble. ‘I might as well have sworn to you on all that is holy. Such an oath would have had no more strength than my wish for Eve’s continued well-being. No matter what you might suspect, I want what is best for her.’ And then he admitted grudgingly, ‘If what I am hearing is true, she is on the verge of a fortunate match.’

Rather than answer this, the duke merely shrugged. It was a strange, rather boyish response from one so confident. ‘I have hopes. But it is up to the lady, is it not?’

‘I wish her well,’ Sam added. ‘She deserves the best that life offers. I have no reason to think she is not about to receive it.’

The duke gave him a long, slow look in response to this, as though trying to decide if he believed it. At last, he answered, ‘I am happy to hear you say so. Should I be the future you predict, I shall do my best to be worthy of her.’

This made Sam respond with an equally probing look. He could have understood a warning to stay away. But this behaviour seemed to indicate that the duke sought this approval. It was not necessary.

The silence fell between them again. It was even heavier this time, like the exhausted rest of men who had fought each other and were waiting between rounds to regain their breath.

Into the tense pause came Eve. As though she had not been between them the whole time, thought Sam with an ironic smile.

She was smiling as well, totally unaware of the direction their conversation must have gone. ‘I have returned to you,’ she announced. ‘I hope that my absence has given the pair of you a chance to become acquainted.’

‘You were gone barely ten minutes, Evelyn,’ the duke responded. ‘It was hardly enough time to establish a lasting friendship.’

‘But you spoke,’ she said as though prodding a wayward child through his lessons. ‘And you found him to be all that I have said?’

It made Sam wonder just what Eve had said of him.

‘I did not doubt your description,’ St Aldric answered. ‘But, yes.’

‘Then did you tell him what we discussed?’

‘I was a topic of discussion?’ Sam interrupted. He did not like being talked about. It was almost as annoying as being the subject of an enquiry.

‘I simply made clear to St Aldric how your career worried me,’ Evie replied, sitting between them in the space the kitten had occupied. She reached out and clasped his hand. ‘You were gone so long, Sam. I missed you. And do not tell me the navy is not dangerous. Even with Napoleon defeated, it must be. There are storms and pirates, and all manner of accidents that might befall you. Suppose you took ill? Who would treat the physician?’

‘Evie.’ Now she was coddling him and doing it in front of the duke. He added embarrassment to the host of other discomforts she caused.

‘I wondered if something might be done to persuade you to stay ashore.’

‘Do you not think that I am best able to decide for myself?’ Sam said, as gently as possible.

‘I told her as much,’ St Aldric said with a sigh. ‘But she did not wish to hear it.’ For a moment, they were brothers in arms against a foe as tenacious as Bonaparte. But having fought both, Sam credited Evie as more stubborn than the whole French army.

‘I am tired of people ignoring my letters and dismissing my fears,’ Eve said, eyes narrowed and jaw set. ‘Samuel Hastings, you are risking your life at sea and there is no reason for it. I have been quite beside myself, praying for your return. A practice on land will be safer. Something must be arranged for you.’

Sam took a breath before speaking, trying to keep his temper for her sake. ‘As I told you before, I prefer to make my own way. My early life was spent beholden to your father and it was difficult.’ More difficult than she could possibly imagine. ‘The debts of gratitude I incurred are something that can never be repaid.’

‘You need not be grateful for a job,’ she snapped back. ‘I am sure you are skilled enough to merit this position. It is an opportunity, nothing more. You will prove your worth by your service. I have spoken to St Aldric and he is agreed.’ She gave the duke a warning look that said this had best be the truth, if he knew what was good for him. And then her expression changed to sort of smile that no man could resist and she took the duke’s hand, giving it the same warm squeeze that she had given Sam. ‘It is all settled. You will come to Aldricshire with us and act as Michael’s personal physician.’

For a moment, the anger was stunned out of him. Any doctor in England would be overjoyed with such a post. St Aldric was young and strong, and of an amiable nature that bespoke a long and pleasant career in his service. It would mean a life of comfort and a chance to keep a wife and children in luxury.

As long as he was willing to keep Evelyn’s husband fit and healthy. Perhaps he would be required to watch over her, as she grew big with another man’s child, and stand by in approval as their brood increased. And now she was holding both their hands and looking from one to the other as though it would be possible to make the three of them into one happy family.

‘No.’ He made no effort to hide his disgust as he pulled his hand out of her grasp and stood, turning and backing away from the pair on the bench. ‘You ask too much of me, Evie.’ He looked to the man beside her, trying to maintain a frigid courtesy. This idea was no fault of the duke’s, but it explained his rude questioning of moments before. He probably feared that Sam was the sort of man who would use Evie’s fondness to his own betterment. ‘I apologise, your Grace, but I must respectfully refuse the offer.’ Perhaps St Aldric could explain it to her. The man must have guessed his feelings, if Thorne had not already explained the situation.

He looked at Evie, whose beautiful eyes were beginning to fill with tears, and then he backed away from her, towards the house. ‘And I should take my leave as well. It is long past the time I meant to go. You persuaded me to tarry. But I should not have listened.’

Lead us not into temptation … The words of the prayer echoed in his mind.

But they offered no protection from the stricken look on her face. ‘Sam, wait …’

If she spoke another word, he would weaken. He would wipe those tears and agree to anything that might make her smile again. She would have him moved into the house by evening, sleeping scant feet from her bedroom door.

‘I cannot.’ Must not. ‘Not another moment. Good day to you, Lady Evelyn. And you as well, your Grace. And goodbye.’

Chapter Five

Evie watched the London streets passing by outside the carriage window and tapped her foot impatiently on the boards beneath the seat. It was really too much to bear.

Before making her come out, it had been drummed into her by Aunt Jordan that her future depended on her ability to be pleasant. It was almost as important as looks and much more important than intelligence. Men might marry a beautiful ninnyhammer, as long as she hung on their words and did not correct them. But a shrew would be a shrew, long after looks faded.

So Eve had done her best to be good company. And though she could not keep herself from arguing, she always did it with a smile on her face. Perhaps that was why the men in her life were treating her like a child, alternately scolding and humouring her, thinking that they could render her agreeable to what they wanted. Because she did not look angry, they did not believe she was serious.

Father was clearly lying about what he knew of Sam. Sam was equally evasive when it came to the truth of his feelings for her, changing from hot to cold and back again so suddenly that she could hardly understand him.

And St Aldric? She smiled in spite of herself. He would appoint the devil himself as a personal physician if he thought it would bring her any closer to accepting his offer. At least the man was consistent. But since she did not love him, his opinion hardly signified.

The carriage pulled to a stop outside the inn where Sam was staying. It was another piece of nonsense that he had refused his old room, remaining aloof in a place that could not be half as nice as home. Even worse, she had been forced to worm the location of it from the coachman who had taken him away. Sam had left no direction for her and her father had announced that he had no idea where to find the man, nor was he bothered by his ignorance.

Now that she was here, she told her Ban-bury tale to the hostler and was shown to the room where Sam had gone to ground. She knocked smartly on the door and heard the answering ‘come’ from the other side. Perhaps he was expecting a maid with his dinner.

She smiled to herself. He was certainly not expecting her. But he must learn to like surprises. She opened the door and swept into the room, her smart day dress swirling around her. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Hastings. I have come to continue our discussion in private.’

‘Evie.’ He rose from the desk where he had been seated and a prayer book tumbled to the floor, brushed from the table in front of him.

She had not known him to be particularly religious, but people altered with time. He probably did not think of her as a sophisticated débutante. When he’d left, she had been a scapegrace companion with manners no better than his. But the change in her should not have shocked him this much. He was backing away from the door as though he meant to brace his shoulders against the wall. He had the look of a startled animal.

But a thoroughly masculine animal, if she was to be honest. He was out of his coat, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to keep the grime from his cuffs. She could see muscles in those arms, and shoulders more broad and strong than she’d imagined. She swallowed and remembered, for just a moment, why one did not court impropriety by forcing one’s way into a gentleman’s room for a private interview.

But the gentleman was Sam. And no matter what might happened between them, she did not fear it.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, wary. ‘And why were you even allowed above stairs? The innkeeper will think you a common trollop for behaving so.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said and gave him a wink, trying to coax a smile from him. ‘I told him that we were family. Is it not natural for a sister to visit a brother?’

He made a strange, strangled noise, as though he could not quite master his speech, and then said weakly, ‘It was still very wrong of you.’

‘But I could not allow you to leave me in anger. I do not want to part this way. I do not want to part at all.’ She glanced at the sea chest on the floor. It was clear that he was packing again. ‘And I certainly do not want you to go as you did before, without a word.’

For a moment, her voice sounded strange as well. If she was not careful, she would break down in front of him and beg him to stay. Excess emotion was effective against Father. But Sam would likely think she was shamming and put her out of the room.

She conquered the tears, before they could escape. Running down the back of her throat, they tasted very like the ones she had shed when he’d first left her. She did not cry any more. Gentleman might be moved by a weeping woman, but they did not like her nearly as well as a smiling one. She dropped her head a bit so that she might appear demure and properly sorry for getting above herself. ‘I will talk no more of finding you a position. I will not meddle at all. But you promised you would stay for the wedding. Remember? You promised. You cannot break your word to me, just because of a silly misunderstanding. Forgive me.’ She looked up through her lashes and held out a hand to him. Contrition, helplessness, and a hint of flirtation should bring him round.

He ignored the hand, back still firmly against the wall. ‘There is nothing to forgive. What you did was out of concern for me and I thank you for attempting to help, even if I must refuse. I will do as you ask and stay for the wedding. I will even buy a new coat and have my neckcloth properly tied for it, so that I do not shame you before St Aldric.’

His expression was frozen and his tone wooden. He looked and sounded as false as she felt, trying to snare him with her feminine wiles. He paused, wetting his lips before speaking again, as though it had been necessary to prepare himself for the answer. ‘Now when is this wedding you are so eager for me to attend?’

She smiled in triumph. ‘I really have no idea. I have not said yes, you remember. But if you mean to leave as soon as I am wed, I suspect it shall take me some time to decide.’

He lurched forwards as though about to give her a good shaking for her impudence, then regained control and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Evelyn, I swear, your behaviour is enough to drive a sane man to madness.’

‘So I have been told,’ she said with another smile. ‘It is good to see that you are not unaffected by it.’ She took a step closer to him, pressing her advantage. ‘We were quite close at one time, though you work very hard to deny it.’

‘Like siblings,’ he said firmly.

She shook her head. He must have known how she’d felt about him. She had made no effort to hide her love. But he had given her no chance to elicit some promise from him, before he went off to school, so that she would know to wait for his return. Now that they were alone, there would be no better time. ‘You were always more than a brother to me, Sam.’

‘But you were always my dear little sister,’ he said, stubbornly. ‘And I am very proud to think that I will soon have to call you “Your Grace”. Or I will once you stop stringing poor St Aldric along.’

‘I cannot accept him while there is still a question as to where my heart might lie,’ she said.

He flinched. ‘Surely such questions were answered long ago, Evelyn.’

‘When you left me with no explanation?’ she supplied.

‘You knew I was to go away to school.’

‘But I did not expect you to run the whole way. Nor did I expect you to run again today, in the middle of a simple conversation about your future.’

‘A future you wished to choose for me,’ he reminded her.

‘And you are seeking a different one?’ Perhaps it was with some other girl that felt the same way as she did. If it was another woman, why could he not just tell her? If it was to spare her pain, he had misjudged the situation. A simple answer for this rejection was bound to be better than not knowing.

And if there was another, the key to his absence was right here in the room with him. The other woman, if she was smart, would not have wanted him to forget that someone waited for his return. There must be a lock of hair, a miniature or some other token of her affection. Eve had but to find it and understand. And there before her was the sea chest and doctor’s bag, waiting to be explored.

She trailed her fingers along the edge of the open chest and then turned to it suddenly, dropping to her knees to examine the contents.

There was no sign of another woman here. The box in front of her contained nothing but the tools of his profession.

It was novel enough that he had a trade, for most gentlemen did not. Eve tended the folks around their country home quite efficiently without a doctor’s help, but she did it with little more than instinct, herbs and a needle and thread from her sewing box. It was charity and not real work at all.

But here before her were all the things that a trained physician might have at his disposal. To Eve, it was a revelation. She had read about the uses of such instruments in the books on medicine that she had got, but she had never seen them.

These were arrayed neatly, carefully, immaculate in their cleanliness and as ordered as idols in a temple. Lancets with smooth tortoiseshell handles, the gleaming steel of bone saws and drills, the terrifying razor edge of scalpels and the curved needles threaded with silk and gut. Beneath them, in neat rows, were cobalt-blue medicine bottles and the weird globes of the leech jars.

The third layer was a collection of more esoteric items, harder to pack, but obviously well used. A syringe made of hollow bone, ivory-and-silver medicine spoons and forceps. She examined each one in turn.

‘Are you searching for something, Evelyn?’ Sam had been so silent that she had almost forgotten him as she explored. But it seemed that her curiosity had relaxed him. He was no longer pinned to the wall, but standing just behind her. His voice had changed as well. The strangled desperation had changed to a familiar combination of disapproval, amusement, resignation and affection.

She wanted to turn and answer honestly. Yes, I am searching for the key to understanding you. Instead, she was almost as truthful. ‘I am curious about your profession.’ She turned to face him and sat on the floor, her legs tucked under.

‘And once again, you prove that the years have not changed you. You always were a horrible little snoop.’ He relaxed enough to sit down on the end of the bed. ‘Is there anything you wish me to explain?’

‘I know most of them,’ she admitted.

‘You do?’ This seemed to surprise him.

‘I have studied,’ she admitted. ‘I ordered the same texts you used in Edinburgh and read them cover to cover.’

Another man might have questioned her ability to understand them. But all that Sam said was, ‘Does your father know?’

It was difficult to meet his gaze and admit the truth. Eve had not thought of herself as a deceptive person, when he had left her. Although she often disagreed with her father, she never set out to disobey him. But she had suspected in this it would be necessary and had kept the extent of her knowledge a secret from him. ‘You know he does not. He would never have approved of it. He thinks I tend to the sick in the same way other women do, by bringing broth and good wishes, and the sort of herbal tinctures that Mother would have used had she survived. But I prefer to be more scientific about it.’ Then a thought occurred to her. ‘You will not tell him, will you?’

Sam laughed. ‘Of course not.’ And then he grew serious. ‘Nor will I tell St Aldric. I doubt he is expecting a wife with such outré hobbies.’

If Sam loved her as she hoped, he could use the information to his advantage and spoil her chances with the duke. Instead, he was being noble. She sighed. ‘The ways of men are very confusing. They have no care if we women meddle with illnesses, as long as we do it in ignorance. Do they not want people to recover?’ She tipped her head to the side and watched Sam for an honest reaction as she asked the next question. ‘What do you think of my dabbling? Am I wrong to want to practise what I can read clear on the page?’

He thought for a moment. ‘I do not think I approve. There are many things I have seen in the service of medicine that I would not wish upon you. But I also know how difficult it is to dissuade you when you take an idea into your head. You have your own mind, Evie. No amount of disapproval on my part is likely to change it.’ But the fact of the matter did not seem to frustrate or anger him. He was looking at her with the calm acceptance that she had hoped to see.

‘Do you think I might make a decent physician?’

‘The colleges will not train you, of course,’ he said. ‘But if they would, you are quick witted enough. You say you know the contents of my bag?’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’ She held up a tool. ‘Forceps, to deliver babies. They are unnecessary, you know. The majority of births can be sorted out in other ways, if one is patient and has small hands.’

His eyes widened. ‘You speak from experience?’

‘Do you not remember our old country home? Thorne Hall is quite remote. The nearest doctor is miles away and we have learned to manage without a physician. I have grown to be quite a capable midwife, Dr Hastings.’

‘And you limit yourself to that?’ She had feared censure from him. But the question was asked with good-natured resignation, as though he already knew the answer.

‘Perhaps I am more deeply involved in care than some people would wish,’ she admitted. ‘And perhaps I go more frequently to sick beds and birthing rooms than propriety requires. It is not as if I take money for the things I do.’

‘Well, then …’ he said, with an ironic smile. ‘As long as you are no threat to my business.’

‘No threat at all. And I suspect you have little practice with childbirth, if you have been on a ship full of men.’ She set the forceps aside. ‘Especially if you rely on these things. There is a place for them, of course. But most times I can do without them.’

He bowed his head to hide his smile. ‘Then I yield to your superior experience in that part of the field. What else do you think to teach me?’

She pointed to the drill. ‘This is for the trepanning of the skull. And here are the implements that scrape away the scalp and lift the bones from the wound.’ She picked it up and gave the handle a turn. The thought of saving a person by drilling holes into their head was really quite amazing. ‘Did you ever have to do such a thing?’

He laughed again. ‘You have not changed at all, Evie. Your curiosity is as gruesome as ever. Yes, I have used it. Once successfully. Once not.’ As though he wished to change the subject he advanced to the chest and pulled out an ebony tube. ‘But I am sure you will not recognise this.’

She turned it over in her hands, looking for some clue to indicate its purpose. ‘I have no idea.’

‘That is not surprising. I suspect I have one of the few in England. I got it off a French surgeon on a prize ship we took. It takes the place of the percussion hammer, when sounding the lungs and listening to the heart.’

‘How wondrous. You must show me.’ She leaned forwards on her knees and held it out to him.

Something about this alarmed him. He stared at it for a moment and then at her. Then he took a breath, swallowed and placed one end against the bare skin above her bodice, then gingerly put his ear to the other. He moved the tube to several locations on her chest, requested that she breathe deeply each time and, with a scholarly nod, pronounced her sound. He withdrew with obvious relief.

So the nearness of her frightened him, did it? He had put on his best professional demeanour before attempting to examine her. But she had been well schooled in breaking down a man’s objections. Those lessons would do for a drawing room, but with Sam she could be more direct. She smiled, sweetly. ‘Now I must do you.’ She took the tube away from him without waiting for permission. Then she undid several of the buttons on his waistcoat and spread the opening of his shirt hiding under the cravat.

‘Evelyn!’ He tried to back away from her and bumped into the headboard of the bed behind him.

She laughed. ‘Oh, Sam. Do not be such a girl.’ And then she leaned forwards to listen.

The sounds were strange and hollow, compared to simply putting one’s head to the chest of the patient, but the clarity was uncanny. As she listened, she heard the slight hitch in respiration, as though he could not manage to breathe normally. His heartbeat, compared to what she considered normal, was hard and rapid. For a moment, it worried her. Perhaps he was ill. Had his absence concealed some physical problem?

Or the rapid beat might be the sign she had hoped for. She put her hand on the bare skin of his chest to steady the tube and felt his breathing stop all together, even though his heart was racing.

It was her. He might pretend otherwise, but to have her near affected him in ways he could not control.

To test the theory, she moved her hand again and felt his heart jump. Then she looked up at him with a long slow smile.

He looked back with an expression she might have described as shattered.

‘Why, Dr Hastings …’ she removed the tube, but left her hand flat against the warm bare skin of his chest ‘… you are most excitable today.’

‘Evie.’ It was the warning tone of someone afraid of getting caught in an indiscretion.

She ignored it. ‘Samuel?’ She scratched her nails lightly against the skin of his chest, amazed at her own boldness, and waited for his reserve to crack.

Instead, he gripped her hand and removed it from his person, arranging his clothes to hide the place she had touched. ‘Do not behave nonsensically. If someone were to discover you touching a man that way, it would do no good to claim it began as an interest in medicine. You would be quite ruined.’

‘I am not touching any man,’ she explained patiently, kneeling at his feet. ‘It is just you.’

‘Just me.’ He let out a resigned sigh. ‘You must remember we are grown now, Evelyn. The games that might have seemed quite natural twenty years ago are no longer proper.’

‘Are there other games that might be more appropriate?’ It was a daring question and she wondered how he might answer it.

‘No.’ He wet his lips and swallowed, as though it was an effort to talk to her.

‘Just what is it that makes you so afraid of me, Sam?’

‘Afraid?’ He was parroting back her words, stalling for time, but it was clear from his expression that she had been right. He was terrified.

She leaned closer and put her hands on his knees, to look up into his face. If it was rejection he feared, he would not receive it. ‘Have I changed so much, Sam? Because I never used to frighten you. You even kissed me once,’ she reminded him.

‘Did I?’ He looked away from her, at the sea chest on the floor. ‘I hardly remember it.’

‘I remember it all too well. It was a week before you went away. We were in the garden. It was a morning, in summer. We were playing at games. I hid. When you caught me, you held me by the waist. Your eyes went very serious for a moment, then you pulled me close and kissed me on the mouth.’

‘Ah, yes.’ If possible he looked even more uncomfortable.

‘And shortly after that, you left me to go to school.’

‘It was but a bit of foolishness on my part. We were both very young, were we not?’

‘I was fifteen,’ she reminded him. ‘Some girls are already married by then.’

‘And now you are twenty-one. And likely to make a much better marriage than you might have, had you rushed into it at such a young age.’ He said it as though he was trying to convince himself.

‘I might be married to a physician now, had he asked me.’

‘Evie.’ Was that all he could manage to say to her? This time her name sounded just as sad, but full of longing as well.

‘Since you will not speak plainly, I must,’ she said, ‘so that you cannot pretend to misunderstand me. If you offer, I will accept. If you wish it, I will go with you to Gretna tonight.’

‘St Aldric …’ he said, almost choking on the name.

‘Is nothing to me,’ she said, laying a hand against his cheek. ‘Not compared to you.’

Finally his strength failed. He laid his own hand over hers, pressing her palm to his mouth. His lips were hot against her skin. Even hotter as they met hers when he released her hand and pulled her forwards to take her lips.

And if she had thought this kiss would be like the one that they had already shared, she was proved wrong. He opened her mouth with a steady pressure and his tongue touched hers, advancing and retreating. At first it was a gentle tide, but it grew to a storm and she gave herself to it, trembling. She clung to his body and he held her there, between his legs so that she could feel his manhood growing against her belly. The thought of it pressing into her made her moan into his mouth.

He was aroused. She had but to give in to him and soon he would be beyond control. There would be no hesitation on her part. When the moment came, she would succumb. Once they had lain together, he would never leave her again.

She pressed his hand against her breast, urging him to stroke it through her gown. At the merest touch, he grew harder. He raised his other hand, kneading both, as if to prove that every inch of her body belonged to him. His kisses took on a desperate quality, as though he was trying to reach into her soul with each thrust of his tongue so that he might claim that as well.

She had imagined giving herself in passive submission, but suddenly she needed more than that. She wanted his hands on her bare skin and his body filling the wet empty place between her legs. As she knelt before him, he trapped her body between his thighs. So she ran her hands over them, back and forth, each time growing closer to their apex.

Her palms itched to caress him. It would not take much more than a touch, she was sure, and he would be irrevocably hers. Her fingertips grazed him, once, twice, three times through the cloth, and then they settled on the buttons of his breeches.

He pushed her away suddenly, scrambling back on the bed as though he could not put enough distance between them. His expression was wild, eyes fixed and staring, lips drawn back, as his head shook once in an emphatic ‘no’. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was as gesture of revulsion.

He pointed towards the door.

‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered. She was near tears again. She swallowed hard to stop them. Crying was the lowest type of female trick. She would not give in to it with Sam, no matter how much she hurt. ‘If you love me …’

‘It is not love,’ he said with finality, cold and professional again. ‘I doubt I am even capable of the feeling. But if you value me, as you say you do, get up off your knees and get out of this room.’

‘Leave you?’ Now that she had finally found him, he wanted her to go?

‘Marry St Aldric. Be safe and happy. But for God’s sake, woman, go away and leave me in peace.’ He stood and grabbed her again, but it was not for another kiss. Instead, he hauled her up off the floor and spun her away from him. Then he opened the door and pushed her through it and out in the hall.

The oak panel slammed behind her, cutting off her words of apology.

You must understand, my boy, it is quite impossible …

Sam looked wildly around the room, searching for the bottle that he had already packed. Rum. Stinging, harsh and nothing like her kiss. He pulled the cork and took a mouthful, swished it and spit it into the basin, expelling the memory of her taste.

Nothing he had seen in his studies at land or at sea could explain the feelings coursing through him now. He understood the pumping of the blood, the mechanical and chemical processes and increases in humour that led to arousal and release.

But none of it explained the demon that possessed him, the maggot in his brain that made him want the one woman he could not have.

It is my fault really. I should not have raised you together, as I did. At the very least, I should have made clear the relationship between you, to prevent this misunderstanding …

Lord Thorne’s words were as fresh in his mind now as they had been on the day he had heard them. And they offered no more comfort now than they had then.

Your birth was the mistake of a youthful man. My wife was understanding, of course. She agreed that we should take you in. A natural son might ease her loneliness. We had no child of our own. And when, finally, we were blessed, she did not survive long enough to know our Evelyn.

Why could they not have left him where he was? If duty needed to be done, it could have been done at a distance, with a series of discreet and anonymous payments to guardians and schools.

And then he might never have met Evelyn Thorne. A life with no Evie in it was his greatest desire, and his worst nightmare, hopelessly mixed.

I could have acknowledged you. Perhaps I should have …

Before puberty, perhaps. Sam laughed bitterly at the thought, and took another swig of the rum to wash the bitterness away. If he had understood what Evie was to him, then he would never have fallen in love with her.

And as he had done so many nights before, he went to the desk and took up his beads and a Bible so worn from use that it fell open automatically to Leviticus.

The nakedness of thy sister, the daughter of thy father, or the daughter of thy mother, whether born at home, or born abroad even their nakedness thou shalt not uncover.

He prayed, as he always did, for strength and for forgiveness.

Chapter Six

‘Evelyn! Stop tormenting that poor kitten and see to your hem. I swear, girl, you cannot keep the stitches straight if you allow a beast to swipe at the edge of the linen.’

‘I am sorry, Aunt Jordan.’ Evie glanced at the work in her lap and tried to raise any interest in it. These sessions of needlework were another concession to her father’s wish that she behave like a young lady. On the few evenings when she had no other engagement, she was forced to endure them, along with critiques of her deportment. As usual, they were a trial both to her and the poor aunt charged with teaching her.

She set the shirt aside and lifted the kitten into her lap, offering it the end of the string to chase. ‘It is hardly fair to blame Diana for my indifferent needlework. I was equally bad at it before she arrived.’

‘Your manners have improved much in the last years,’ her aunt reminded her. ‘And you are on the cusp of success with St Aldric. Snaring a peer is much more challenging than plain sewing. Your stitching would improve as well, if you would but make an effort at it.’

If it was put to some other purpose than making shirts, then perhaps she would try harder. She remembered the pages in Sam’s text books that explained suturing and wondered if large wounds were more difficult than the cuts she had closed. The stitches would need to be bigger, of course, and more numerous. As she poked at the linen, she imagined the resistance of skin, and the difficulties created when the subject flinched …

‘Evelyn!’

The needle slipped and she pricked her finger instead of the cloth. She waved her hand in the air for a moment, trying to shake the pain away, then held it high to keep the drop of blood that formed from falling on the work. This sent her mind to the various methods to staunch bleeding, and the efficacy of causing it when one had an excess of certain humours.

Not that she would need any of this information as the wife to a duke. But that had never been her plan, not even from the first. She had studied and prepared so that, on the day that Sam finally realised his mistake and came home to her, she might prove herself a useful helpmeet to him. If she understood his work, then they would always have something to talk about.

But he had barely given her time to display any of her hardwon knowledge to him. While in his rooms, she had allowed the physical side of the conversation to come to the fore, proving to him in a most unladylike way that she understood biology.

Perhaps she would have fared better if she had put the stethoscope back into the chest and turned the conversation to the use of leeches and cupping as the old Evie would have. Or behaved as the charming and witty young lady Aunt Jordan had taught her to be. Instead, she had tried to combine the two and it had been a disaster.

She had offered herself to the man she loved—and he had rejected her. Though she might deny it to herself, it was what she had feared might happen. Sometimes, six years of silence meant exactly what they appeared to. Girlish sureties might owe more to fairy tales and fantasy than they did to truth. There had always been a chance that the kiss she remembered as loving and passionate was nothing more than a peck on the cheek. She had been prepared for that.

But not for what had occurred. If anything, she had remembered the past too innocently. Or had his passion grown to conflagration during their separation?

And yet he denied it. He did not seem to know love from lust. She was sure, after all they had been through together, that she did. Why else had she waited so many years for him to come back to her? She was still a maid, in heart and mind. While she was sure that physical attraction played a part in her feelings for Sam, it was not the only reason she wanted him.

She thought of the kiss.

She must admit that, after the recent interlude in his arms, lust played a stronger role than it had a few days ago. So that was what poets wrote about, and why men had fought for Helen at Troy. It was a quite different feeling than she’d had last week. Much more urgent. The feelings were as clear in her mind now as when he had been kissing her. She had but to think for a moment about them to feel the desire renew itself.

It made her feelings for St Aldric all the more unworthy. She had hoped that it would be easier to make the decision between them, once she had talked to Sam. And it certainly was. There would never be anyone in her heart of hearts but Sam Hastings. What she felt for Michael was but a pale imitation.

Why could Sam not understand that?

Aunt Jordan gave up a small yawn and Eve encouraged it with a yawn of her own and a stretch of her arms. She held out the poorly finished shirt for approval. The older woman inspected it and sighed, still disappointed in the work. ‘We will try again, next week,’ she said. ‘And I will be attending the ball at the Merridews tomorrow, as your chaperon.’

‘Yes, Aunt Jordan.’

‘The duke will be there as well.’ Her aunt gave her a significant look. ‘It will give you another chance to demonstrate graces that do not come so difficult to you.’

It meant that the time for indecision was nearing an end. He might offer again. If he did, what reason did she have to refuse him? After this afternoon, it was likely that Sam would leave her again before he could learn the truth of his birth. She owed him that, at least.

When her aunt was safely stowed in a carriage and on her way back to her own town house, Eve turned from the door to search out her father. He might have claimed to be intractable this afternoon. But in her experience, even those edicts set in stone could be worn down by begging, pleading and promises to be the best possible daughter, and to never bother him again.

She found him in the study and, as he always did, he looked up from the book he had been reading and smiled as though her interruption was welcome.

‘Father?’ She smiled to show that the conversation would be a pleasant one and no real disruption. She bent to kiss him on the cheek.

‘My dear.’ He gave a curious cock of his head, as though already suspecting her intentions. ‘Did you have a pleasant evening with your aunt?’

‘Of course, Father. She is just gone home,’ she said.

‘But no visit from the duke this evening,’ her father said with a slight frown.

‘He was here earlier,’ she said, with a little sigh of impatience. She did not wish to discuss Michael. Those conversations always ended with her father hopeful and her searching for a way to postpone capitulation. ‘I will see him tomorrow at the Merridews. He cannot spend all his time with me, you know.’

‘As long as he was not put off by the presence of another man in the garden with you this morning,’ her father said.

‘You are speaking of Sam?’ She managed an incredulous smile. But she could not very well argue that he was not ‘a man’. He had removed any doubts on the subject as he kissed her. ‘He is family, Father. And surely it was good to see him after all this time.’

To this, her father responded with a blank look, as though the matter was practically forgotten. ‘He has not performed as well as I had hoped. Despite what he says, he hardly needed a university education in the navy.’

‘Perhaps he felt the navy needed him,’ she suggested. ‘He was always an altruist at heart. And I am sure it is better, in the aftermath of a battle, to have a skilled man dealing with the injuries.’

‘If that is what makes him happy, then I wish him well.’ Her father gave a tired sigh, as though he hoped this concession was sufficient to end the discussion.

‘Happy?’ she responded with a worried frown. ‘Content, perhaps. But to me, he seemed rather unsettled.’

‘Because he is no longer comfortable in this house,’ her father said. ‘He had planned to leave immediately after speaking to me.’ He frowned back at her. ‘I was surprised to find him still with us when the duke arrived.’

‘Because I would not let him go,’ Eve said. ‘It is ridiculous for him to stay at an inn when his old room is here and prepared for his return.’ She was very close to pouting, which always felt silly, but it had been effective in the past.

‘If he showed discontent, perhaps it was your fault for keeping him here.’ Her father gave her a candid look. ‘There comes a time when one must recognise one’s place in society and know when one is intruding.’

‘But he was not an intrusion. He belongs here.’ Perfectly true, but too insistent. She moderated her tone and held out a supplicating hand. ‘He was like a son to you.’

‘Like a son is quite different from being a son,’ her father reminded her. ‘He was my ward. But Sam Hastings is no one’s child.’

‘Of course he is,’ she said. ‘Unless you would have me believe that he was hatched from an egg, or some other such fantasy. He came into the world in the usual way, from a union between man and woman.’

‘Evelyn! Do not speak of such things. They are unseemly topics for a young lady.’

‘I would not have to, if you would be forthcoming with what you know.’ She was giving him a full-on pout now, she was sure. She would follow it with tears, if she had to. It was the height of foolishness. But if topics were continually being put off limits to her because of her gender, a reasonable argument would not be possible. And she must have her way.

‘Are you going on about that again?’ her father said with a sigh. ‘Really, Evelyn, you must realize that this is no business of yours.’

‘It is my business,’ she said and allowed her lip to tremble. Then she pinched the needle prick on her finger, which gave a fresh throb of pain and made her eyes water. ‘Because I love and care about …’ she paused to gulp back a sob ‘… both of the men involved.’ Let her father think it was not just Sam that she sought to help. She gave him a hopeful smile through the tears. ‘St Aldric would be most grateful, I am sure. He has told me often, in candid moments, how sad it is to know that nothing else of his father has survived. He would welcome any family that he might find.’

‘It is not up to me to make such decisions,’ her father said a little less confidently. ‘I promised, when the boy was merely a baby …’

There. The tears were doing the tick. He was almost ready to admit the truth. ‘Any oaths spoken to the old duke can no longer be binding now that both he and his duchess are dead. It is only Michael now. And he is so very alone. If his father had known that telling him would be a mercy, I’m sure he would relieve you from your oath.’

This approach, which did not seem so focused on Sam’s happiness, was having its effect. She could see her father’s resolve fighting with his desire to impress the duke. ‘There are other things that would make St Aldric happy, you know. He will not be alone with a wife and children.’

‘He will have those,’ she said dismissively.

‘When?’ her father said, bringing the conversation to a halt. ‘You know what he wants, Evie. And what I expect from you. He has waited for months, yet you will not give him an answer.’

‘I will, soon,’ she said. But perhaps she would not have to. Sam clearly thought himself unworthy. If it was because he lacked money or status, surely it was better to be half-brother to a duke then a barely acknowledged ward.

‘Soon, you say? Then I will tell the duke about his brother, at that time.’

‘So! You admit the truth, then?’ It was hardly a victory if he admitted it to her, but would not tell Sam.

‘Yes,’ her father said, with another sigh. ‘I fulfilled my part of the bargain by seeing to it that the child was educated and launched in a profession. And by keeping my mouth closed, until you came to me, to pry it open.’

‘I knew it. I had but to look at them together to be sure.’ For a moment, her own triumph overcame all else.

‘And now, I suppose, you think you can blurt the story to them at the first opportunity,’ her father said, with a disapproving shake of his head.

‘I will, if you will not,’ she said, stamping her foot like a child.

‘And you will hurt them both. If they must be told, as you think they must, it should be done quietly, privately, and by me. It will be shock to both men, even if it is a favourable one. I have documents to show that this is no idle claim and there can be no doubt in the minds of the parties involved.’

He was right. Random assertions by her would mean nothing. She must allow her father to do it in his own time. ‘As long as it is done soon,’ she said.

‘I will do it when you agree to end this nonsense of indecision.’ He was looking at her directly, obviously unmoved by her histrionics. ‘I have been far too lax with you, Evelyn, and have only myself to blame for this. You are behaving like a spoiled and wilful girl. In all other things I might demur. But in this, I will remain adamant. You are my only child and all that remains of my beloved Sarah. You are my heart and my life. I cannot sleep easy until you are settled. And for you, nothing less than a duke will do.’

So this was the impasse. She had known there would be a day when all the girlish wheedling she could manage would not be enough. And it had finally come. Father would release the truth, if she surrendered her hopes.

She weighed the situation as rationally as she was able. Both St Aldric and Sam would know their connection. They deserved it. On their last meeting, Sam had made it quite clear that she could wait for ever and never have him. He expected her to marry the duke.

But he had also kissed her, which negated his other behaviour.

She would accept the duke, as her father wished. Betrothed was quite a different thing from married. Many things might happen before they got to the altar.

Then she would write to Sam, tell him of her intentions, and give him one last chance to stop the engagement. If he did nothing, she would go forwards, just as Father wished her to. There were many things right with having Michael as a husband, but only one thing wrong. The fact that she did not love him was hardly an obstacle. She would love only one man in her life. If she could not have him, better to choose someone that she liked.

But everything must be accomplished soon, before Sam took it into his head to leave London for Scotland or the sea. She took a breath, held it for a moment and committed to a plan.

‘If you promise that you will tell them both, I will accept St Aldric the very next time he suggests it, which is likely to be tomorrow evening.’ Now that she had agreed, it was simply a matter of scheduling and giving Sam a strict timetable in which to change his mind. She glanced at the calendar on the writing desk. ‘We shall have an engagement ball next week. The banns will be read starting next Sunday. The ceremony shall follow shortly thereafter. The whole business shall be settled by next month, if that is to your liking. As long as you swear to tell them.’

Her father was looking at her in amazement, as though trying to decide whether to upbraid her for setting standards or show the happiness he felt at getting his way.

‘It is all I want for a wedding present from you,’ she coaxed. ‘And I doubt I would keep the secret for long, now that I have wormed it out of you. I am but a woman, you know.’

He smiled in response to her joke, though she was not being the least bit funny. ‘You are probably right. You are a fickle creature, my dear, and I cannot expect you to keep mum. Accept the duke and set a date for the engagement ball. Invite Hastings to it and we shall settle it all on the same night.’

Chapter Seven

‘I do not wish to alarm you, Lady Evelyn, but there is an enormous spider crawling on your shoulder.’

Without thinking, Eve reached to brush it off, realised that she felt no such thing and stopped to stare impolitely at her dance partner.

St Aldric smiled affectionately back at her. ‘I have managed to gain your attention at last, have I? A point for me, then. And minus one for you. When faced with such a horror, a young lady is expected to shriek and throw herself into the arms of the nearest gentleman. She is not supposed to settle the matter for herself.’

‘I … am sorry.’ She tried to remember where they were in the pattern of the dance, so that they could continue without a misstep. She had managed to march through it so far without thinking. But clearly the duke had noticed that he did not have her full attention.

‘Is there anything the matter?’ he asked.

Yes. Everything. ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I am merely distracted.’

‘As always, you know to call on me, if there is something I might do to aid you.’ He was giving her a surprisingly direct look. Though it was still masked in his characteristic smile, she was sure that he was actively concerned with her and would truly do anything, should she ask.

Let me go. And make Sam love me again. Now there was a request that one did not make of one’s future fiancé. Besides, she was not even sure the second half of it was possible.

‘Was your visit with your old friend a disappointment?’ St Aldric asked, cutting right to the heart of the matter. ‘You seem changed since he has come. More sombre.’

‘I am sorry,’ she repeated, forcing a smile. ‘I will try to be more cheerful.’

‘Do not change for my sake,’ he said. His hand, when next it took hers in the dance, gave hers an encouraging squeeze. ‘You cannot help what you feel. But I take it that your Dr Hastings was much altered since you saw him last. That is bound to be disappointing.’

‘Yes,’ she admitted. Confusing would have been a more accurate way to describe it. There had been nothing disappointing about his kiss.

She glanced at St Aldric, who epitomised disappointment in that particular area. She was being unfair to him. His kisses were as polished and correct as everything else about him. Perhaps it was some flaw in her own character that left her untouched by them.

He continued to smile at her.

She smiled back and felt a wave of the kind of sisterly affection that Sam had tried to thrust upon her, until she had broken his will. This was what it was like, to feel nothing for a man, but to like him well enough not to wish him pain.

‘And now that you have seen him, is your mind altered on the subject of our marriage?’

‘I … don’t understand what you mean.’ She tensed and missed a beat, though he corrected easily to compensate for it. The duke had caught her flat footed, again, both in mind and body. She had not expected his next proposal to include any mention of Sam.

His smile was more sympathetic than jolly. ‘I am not so dense as all that, Evelyn. You had a tendre for the man. I expect you lost your heart to him at a very young age. And that is not an easy thing to forget.’

‘You are too perceptive,’ she said. ‘It is your only fault.’ That was not true. He did not miss a beat when they danced. He was never nonplussed or flustered. If perfection was a flaw, he had it in spades.

‘I will work to rectify it, once we are married,’ he said. ‘If you agree to wed me, I shall be as dense as you wish me to be.’

Was he giving her permission to be unfaithful to him? Surely not. But she could not help but think that, when one’s heart lay elsewhere, there might be certain advantages to a husband who had announced his willingness to turn a blind eye.

If she had wanted that sort of a marriage, she should be satisfied with the response. But it was likely to destroy the respect she had for him, knowing that he did not care enough for her to be hurt by infidelity.

She thought again of the interlude in Sam’s room and tried to focus on the end of it, when he had claimed it nothing more than unworthy lust. On his part, perhaps it had been. But she would have happily died in his arms to give him the peace he requested.

As long as it had occurred after a consummation.

‘Will there be any response to my comment? Or are you to keep me guessing?’

‘Comment?’ She dragged her mind away from Sam and glanced back at the duke again.

‘On my willingness to conform to any demands you might set, should you marry me.’

He had made the offer that she had promised to accept and she had been so preoccupied on thoughts of another that she had not heard him. This did not bode well for the future.

‘I will offer in another way, if you seek something less businesslike. There could be moonlight, candles and your pick of the jewels in my lock room. I could purchase something new for you, if you do not fancy them. I will get down on one knee. Although I have no experience in it, I will serenade you. Write poetry. I will do anything to see you smile. But you know my feelings on the subject of matrimony. I am eager to hear yours.’

Father was right. She had kept him waiting long enough. If she truly wished to have Sam’s approval, it had been given, repeatedly. He proclaimed St Aldric an excellent match. He had also told her, emphatically, that there would be no marriage between the two of them.

Then he had kissed her. Her mind kept coming back to that. She suspected it would, for the rest of her life. Just as she had spent six years thinking of the last kiss, she might spend sixty on this one.

Would the memory of that be enough to sustain her, or would it become a bitter reminder of how a marriage might feel, if it was to the right man?

It did not really matter. Sam had thrust her from the room and was probably still planning to leave the country. And all because she had forced him. If she continued to do so, she would lose his friendship along with his love.

She turned to St Aldric, this time with her full attention, or very near to it. ‘I am sorry. I never meant to be cruel to you, or to keep you waiting so long. You are right. It is time that I answered.’

To her surprise, the man at her side looked eager to hear her response. And there was a flicker of doubt in it, as though he was not sure what it might be. She had been so focused on herself and her own wishes that she had been tormenting him with her indifference.

He deserved better.

‘Of course I will marry you. At the time of your choosing.’

‘A special licence is the thing, I understand,’ he said. ‘Brides all want them, to show that the groom is ardent and has some pull with court. I will procure one. But the actual ceremony need not be hurried. We must allow enough time to celebrate the event …’

He continued to plan, as eager as a bride, while Eve retreated to a place where life was simpler, endings happier and kisses as passionate as she knew they could be.

Sam roused to the sound of a knocking at the door. Or perhaps the hammering was in his skull. It was no less than he deserved. Life at sea had inured him to strong drink. But the quantity he had taken in the last day and a half was enough to send a sailor’s brain to pounding.

‘Doctor Hastings.’

Without another thought he was out of the bed, his hand on his case of medicines. ‘What is it? Am I needed?’ He shook his head to clear it, ready to face whatever emergency awaited him.

‘Nothing so dire, I’m sure. There is a letter for you, sir.’ The innkeeper waited nervously in the hall, a liveried footman from Thorne Hall beside him.

Probably a cheerful missive from Evie, expecting him to dance attendance on her, as though nothing had happened between them. But he would not forget the sight of her, kneeling between his thighs.

He shook his head again, harder, and let the pain it caused be a distraction. The girl was far too headstrong for her own good. And naïve as well. The best way to protect that innocence was to stay far away from it. Sam rubbed a hand over his dry eyes. ‘Whatever it is, tell him he can take it to the devil.’

The footman looked alarmed, but did not budge. ‘I am to put it into your hand directly and wait for an answer, Dr Hastings.’ Tom had been an underfootman when Sam had left the Thornes. He had been younger than Evelyn, no more than a child and already in service.

Had she chosen him for this, sure that Sam would remember the boy with sympathy and not wish to give him trouble? She was a demon to torment him with tricks like that. But it was another proof that she knew him as well as he knew himself. He sighed. ‘Very well, then.’ He held out his hand for the letter. ‘Wait.’ Then he closed the door on the pair of them and broke the seal.

He could recognise the hand in an instant, for he had seen it often enough, coming to both love and dread her regular letters. It appeared this one could not be avoided. He could not very well climb out a second-storey window in an attempt to get away from it, and by sending Tom she had made it impossible to deny its receipt.

Sam.

He held his breath. The start was innocent enough. But there was not a thing he could stand to hear from the girl, after the shame of what had happened between them.

Firstly, let me apologise for coming to your rooms and upsetting you as I did. I had no right and no invitation.

And no reason to apologise, since the fault and the sin had been totally his.

I must offer a second apology for trying to control the course of your life and choose your future to suit myself. I have no doubt that you are quite capable of surviving without me. It is pure selfishness on my part to try to manage you.

But I beg you, with all my heart, not to return to the sea. Above all, do not go there on my account. I swear, I will do what is necessary to keep you safe, even if that requires me to cease communication with you.

Dear Evie. She was frightened for him and willing to do anything to preserve his unworthy life. He felt the tightness in his chest, half-joy, half-regret, that came with any thought of her. He smoothed the letter in his hands and read more.

On your recommendation, and that of my father, along with the continued requests from the duke himself, I have agreed to St Aldric’s offer of marriage. To celebrate the engagement, Father is giving a ball this coming Wednesday. I must remind you, you promised to attend. And despite all that happened after, I hold you to that promise.

Damn the girl. He had promised. And despite what reason demanded, he did not want to go so soon.

If it is truly your wish that I marry, I need your strength to help me carry it through. And if, for any reason, it is not, then you must tell me before that time.

I await your answer …

Et cetera.

For the first time in her life, Evelyn Thorne had done exactly as he’d told her to. It was a trap, of course. She’d finished the letter with a reminder that he might stop the proceedings at any time. He had but to ask and she would cry off.

And in that, she had created the perfect hell for him. It was no less than he deserved, he supposed. He had revealed all to her, or as much as he ever would. Now that she knew he had feelings for her, she sought to inflame them with jealousy. He had given her reason to hope, even as he had pushed her away.

But before that, he had approved her match and promised to attend her wedding. As her older brother, he owed her as much. If he did not want her to think of him, ever again, as anything more than that, he had best learn to play that part.

He went to the table, took up his pen and wrote.

Evie,

You have nothing to apologise for. It is I who am at fault. As to what happened yesterday, it is best that we never speak of it again. I will forget if you shall.

As to my going to sea again? It is clear that this distresses you. My plans are not set. If it is so important to you, I will forgo the navy and practise on land.

But be damned if he would go to work for St Aldric. That was too much to expect of him.

As to your wedding, I am supremely happy for you, and send my congratulations to his Grace as well. I will remain in London and attend your engagement ball and wedding, just as I said. You have my word. Eagerly awaiting the day that I might call you her Grace, instead of my dear little Evie …

He scribbled a signature at the bottom, then blotted and sealed it before opening his door and calling to the footman, who was still waiting in the hall.

There. It was done and the letter was on its way. It might as well have been written on black-bordered mourning stationery, for all the satisfaction he felt. Even though the situation had been hopeless from the first, he could not help feeling a fresh sadness at losing her, any more than he could keep from wanting her.

But in medicine he had found that it was sometimes necessary to give the patient poison to counteract a more serious malady. Attending her wedding would be so to him. Swallowing this bitter pill would be the first step towards a cure for his affliction.

Chapter Eight

Evie was beautiful. Sam had known that already, of course. He had never seen her decked in finery. He had thought her lovely in a simple day frock, but tonight she was magnificent. The silk of her ball gown was as blue as her eyes, and as smooth as her hair. A necklace of gold and diamonds lay, like a collar of stars, about her lovely white throat.

Perhaps Thorne had been right all along. Even without the complication of blood, the creature that stood before him could not have been his. The necklace alone was worth a year’s salary. He could never have afforded to put it there. And to her, it was nothing more than her mother’s necklace that she had never been old enough to wear. With St Aldric, she would have this and better. A different jewel for every month of the year and a room full of ball gowns to wear them with.

With the duke at her side, the picture was complete. He was tall, handsome and nearly as golden as she. He smiled at her as though it was an honour for him to have won her. They were like two pieces of statuary, designed to complement each other. As a duchess, she would glitter, as she did tonight, from without and within. She was already so bright that it hurt to look upon her.

Yet he could not seem to stop. Once he had fulfilled his promise to her, he would be gone for good. If memories were all he had for sustenance, he would burn each detail into his brain so that he might never forget. As he waited to be presented to the happy couple, he did his best to mask the hunger he felt for her and arrange his face in an expression of brotherly pride.

‘Sam.’ She reached out and took his hands in hers.

‘Evelyn.’ She leaned in, presenting her cheek to be kissed. He could not very well avoid it without looking silly. He leaned forwards as well, kissing the air a scant inch from her skin. Even then, his lips tingled as if a spark sizzled between them, bridging the gap.

‘It is so good to see you here. I feared you would not come.’ She whispered it in his ear as he leaned close to her. When he leaned back, she searched his face with worried eyes. ‘It has been almost a week.’

Since he had very nearly ravished her in his rooms. He still woke each night from a dream where the ending to that interlude had been different and he had felt her gasping in passion beneath him. ‘I promised I would be here, to celebrate your happiness.’

‘That is most kind of you,’ St Aldric said. He was still at her side, quietly possessive.

‘My felicitations to you as well, your Grace.’ He bowed, feeling stiff and awkward.

‘Thank you, Doctor.’ St Aldric was better at managing a gracious response.

Evie was staring at the pair of them, as though hoping that there could be anything more than cordial dislike between them.

‘And now, if you will excuse me?’ Sam raised a genuine smile at the thought of escaping. ‘I must not keep you from the other guests.’

There. He was through with the first challenge. Now he must manage a few hours of courtesy and then he could be on his way again. But when Evie was involved, nothing was ever that easy. Was it just because she was the hostess that she seemed to be everywhere he turned? Or was she actually following him through the gathering, showing up where he least expected her, to flash a smile or blow a kiss?

Each time, he turned away, pretending that he did not notice, or had not seen, or was too busy in conversation with another to speak to her. At last she caught him standing alone by the dance floor, with no excuse to avoid her.

‘Dance with me.’ She was holding out a hand to him, sure he would come to her, as he always had, and swing her easily in his arms.

‘I do not think that is wise,’ he replied. Just the thought of touching her made his palms begin to sweat.

‘Dancing, not wise?’ She laughed. ‘Is that your professional opinion? I assumed that such harmless exercise would be recommended by a physician.’

‘You know that is not what I mean,’ he said in a harsh whisper, glancing around to be sure that no one else could hear.

She gave him a coquettish flutter of her fan. ‘I really have no idea. If you mean something specific by the refusal, you had best tell me directly.’

‘If you truly mean to marry St Aldric, I think it is unwise for the two of us to dance,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘My commitment to him has not stopped me from standing up with every other man in this room. Save yourself, of course. You have been avoiding me.’

‘I have not,’ he said, wishing that it was not such an obvious lie.

‘I am sure that St Aldric has no objection to it.’

‘What he wishes does not concern me.’ And now he sounded like a jealous fool.

‘If not him, then whom? What reason could you possibly have that would prevent you? If people notice you avoiding me, they will wonder. And they will talk.’

Now she had trapped him. She was probably right. Someone would remark at how strangely he behaved around her. Above all else, there must be no talk.

She continued to pressure him, sure that he could not refuse. ‘I am open for the next waltz. Stand up with me and stop being silly about it.’ She gave him a sly smile. ‘It will be over before you realise and, I swear, no harm shall come to you.’

‘No! Not a waltz.’ He’d said it too loudly and a matron a few feet away gave him a sharp, disapproving look. But the idea was simply too much to bear. ‘I will stand up with you, if you insist. But let it be some other dance.’

‘All right,’ she said, giving him a disgusted sigh. ‘La Belle Assembly. It is starting now. And we will stand up with St Aldric and another, so you need have no fear of upsetting him.’

Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is not from fear of him that I refuse you.’

‘Fear of me, then?’ She gave a toss of her head. ‘That does little to improve my opinion of you.’

The letter had been a lie. She did not need moral support to make this decision. She merely wished another opportunity to torment him. He seized her hand with no real gentleness, as he had done when they were children, and dragged her towards the centre of the room. ‘Come on, then, brat. The sooner it is begun, the sooner it will be done. Then you must leave me in peace for the rest of the night.’

He had been right. This had been a mistake.

She had thought that a public temptation might force a commitment out of him. At the very least, it would give her one last chance to be with him. But this was not the memory she wished for. It was too painful.

They shared the set with St Aldric and his partner, a lady of great beauty and little wit, but she was a skilled dancer and little more was required of her now. They traded bows and curtsies, and the dance began.

Sam swung her to a place opposite him and circled. And though he followed the steps to the letter, it felt as though she was being stalked by a wolf. In comparison, St Aldric’s pass was easy, relaxed and confident. He smiled at her, enjoying the dance, enjoying her company.

She turned back to Sam, who was watching her too intently, a frown upon his face. His eyes bored into hers, taking in her every movement to the point where it became alarming. And past the frown and the beetled brow, she saw the truth.

Jealousy. Frustration. Rage. It was not distaste that kept him away. He wanted her as much as he had on the day that they had kissed.

And now she danced with St Aldric again. In his eyes, she saw nothing of importance. He possessed her already, or very nearly did, and thus he was thinking of something else.

But each time Sam took her hand, it was as if he never meant to let it go. The release was stiff and graceless, as though he’d forced his fingers open to let her escape. He was gritting his teeth in concentration. He did not need to count the steps, for he seemed to have no trouble keeping track. His posture was rigid, as though he suffered pain at each touch of her fingers.

Yet he could not seem to get enough of it.

When they finished, she allowed him to escort her back to the place they had been standing. Then he walked away without a word.

She stood for a moment, in indecision, then she followed, out of the ballroom and through the halls of the house, to the place she knew he must go.

It was dark in the garden, smelling of night-blooming flowers and the beginnings of the still heat that would drive the ton to Bath or the country. They had not bothered to light the yard, so no one had strayed from the house. But someone who was familiar with it would need no light to find the garden bench under the elm. He was there, of course, a dim outline against the darker bark of the tree.

She sat down beside him. He did not acknowledge her presence, so they sat in silence for a time, not wanting to spoil the moment. Then he said, ‘You promised, Evie. You promised that it would not come to this if I stayed.’

‘You were right, before, when you said we could not waltz.’ If they had, she’d have made a fool of herself, clinging to him on the dance floor. If she was in his arms, how could she do else?

He sighed. ‘You feel it as well, then? I hoped perhaps you had been spared and that the other day, in my rooms, had been an aberration.’

She nodded, wondering if he could see. ‘If it is not possible to master the feeling, then perhaps we should not try.’

He did not move to look at her, sitting as still as he had when she’d joined him. ‘You do not understand. Not truly.’

‘I understand that there are scant minutes left, before my choice is irrevocable. If there is any reason to change my mind, I will take it.’ She reached for his hand and squeezed it, hoping that he would feel the urgency.

‘You must trust me to know what is best for you,’ he said with his best physician’s tone, ‘And I tell you that there is no reason for you not to marry St Aldric. In fact, I insist that you do.’

‘Why must you keep playing the tiresome older brother?’ she said with an amazed shake of the head.

‘I have not done it enough in recent years.’ he replied. ‘You need someone to talk some sense into you, since your father cannot seem to manage it.’

‘Sometimes, I wonder if you are just thick, despite all your fancy education, or if you are joking with me. You know that brotherly wisdom is not what I want from you.’

‘What else can I offer?’ He sounded so hopeless, she wavered between pity and annoyance. It seemed that if she wanted words of love, she would have to speak them herself.

‘Let me put it plainly, since you refuse to. I love you, Sam. I always will. I wish you to offer for me. But you are pretending that you do not understand. Please, Sam. Please. Declare yourself. I will speak to Michael, and to Father.’ She gave his hand another urgent squeeze.

She shifted her body, ever so slightly, towards his and turned so that their faces were only inches apart—and suddenly they were kissing in a moonlit garden. In an instant, it was as it had been in his rooms.

She tried to remember where she was. And when. There were people waiting for her in the ballroom. And a man who wanted nothing more than to make her his bride.

But she could not stop wanting the man who would make no promises. There were so many things wrong with the moment that she could hardly enumerate them.

So she thought of none of them and opened her mouth.

She could hear the rustle of her own satin gown as he crushed her body to his and feel the rapid flutter of her tongue in his mouth. His circled to still it, filling her mouth with the taste of him.

His hand was at the back of her neck and he hesitated, stroking once, carefully, so as not to disarrange the curls. Then he smoothed over her neck, her shoulders, her throat, and very carefully slipped inside the bodice of her gown.

The man she loved was touching her breast. She caught her breath and held it, giving him more room to touch her as he kissed. His hand was gentle, even as his mouth was not, warm on her skin, his fingertips barely touching the puckering tip as his teeth grazed her lips and his tongue pushed deep, retreated and returned.

If this was what he wanted from her, she would gladly give it. Her legs trembled and her centre was wet, as she knew it would be when the time was right to join with a man. If she had the nerve to touch him, as she had in his room, she was sure that he would be hard for her and just as eager as she felt.

Her hands were beneath his coat, on his waist. It was improper, but wonderful. She slipped them under the bottom of his waistcoat and could almost feel his ribs through the linen of his shirt.

In response, his fingers closed on her nipple and tugged. She gasped, biting at his lower lip, wanting more. He must give it to her. He simply must. She needed his tongue on her breast, and his body in hers, so that they might be one in flesh, as they had always been in spirit.

Her hands dropped lower, clutching him firmly by the backside. And she pulled herself upwards, forwards, into his lap. And for just a moment, she felt the bulge of him pressing against her through her gown. The trembling seemed to come from inside her now, like the expectant rumbling at the beginning of a storm.

He pulled himself away from the kiss and whispered into her ear. ‘Is this what you want from me?’ He thrust his hips against her.

She nodded eagerly, digging her fingers into the muscles of his body and pressing herself against the hardness, praying that this was the answer he wanted, the one that would make him continue.

‘Because it is what I want from you,’ he said. The hand that caressed her breasts squeezed to the point of pain. ‘It is what I have wanted from you since my first desire. To taste your body with my mouth. To push myself into you. To spill my seed.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, closing her eyes. ‘Yes. Yes.’ She could imagine him there and the moment of helpless surrender when she became his.

‘This is what I want,’ he whispered, his breath in her ear even hotter than his kiss. ‘And it has nothing to do with a romantic declaration, or a marriage. I want to have you, right now, here in the garden, naked like Eve. I want to use you for my pleasure, without a thought to what is right or good.’

He was making something that would be wonderful sound sordid. But she wanted it all the same.

The hand that had been at her waist pressed her head to his mouth so that he might continue to whisper, ‘I want your body, Evie. That is all. I want to ruin you. I want what I want. I do not care if it destroys us both. That is why I left you six years ago. And that is why I must leave now.’

And then he pushed her away, out of his lap and on to her side of the bench. The night air had grown cold. She could feel it against her exposed breasts and the constriction of the bodice pulled low under them.

‘Compose yourself. And then go back into the house and find your betrothed.’ His voice was as cold as the air, passionless. ‘As I have told you before, I am not the man for you. Marry St Aldric, Evie. Please. He will care for you. I cannot. But you must stop this pointless hoping that there will ever be another choice.’ He stood then and walked away. Deeper into the garden or back into the house? She was not sure.

She tugged the bodice back into place and laid a hand against her cheek, waiting for the blush to subside. If she sat here a while longer, she would be as cold as he was, but not as emotionless. She was angry.

Sam Hastings was all she had ever wanted. She had tricked him into coming here and followed him like a fool, only to be refused again. He had brought her to the brink of fulfilment. And then he’d delivered nothing more than threats and speeches, like some Drury Lane villain.

Did he not realise that she might have taken some pleasure in the act that he found so base and unworthy? Her body still seethed with desire. It was as if she was waiting for some gift that only Sam could give her. He had shown it to her, held it close and then snatched it away at the last minute. Then he behaved as though she was the one who was cruel.

Well, it would not happen again. Tonight, she would make her choice once and for all. She would go to another man and would never turn back. At least St Aldric would not reject her without even trying to love her.

She would tell herself that what she felt for Sam had been a childish infatuation. And now, as he claimed, it was nothing more than lust. Neither of those things had a place in her future. She would leave the memories of the good Dr Hastings in the nursery where they belonged.

And some day she would revisit the memory of this night and find it as brittle and faded as a dried flower. She would look at her children, hers and Michael’s. And she would wonder why she had ever been so silly as to want another man.

But not today. Today it would be difficult. She thought of St Aldric and his many good qualities. And, slowly, she felt the ardour subside. Michael was handsome. He was kind. He had an excellent sense of humour. When he saw her, he would walk towards her, not away. And there would be a smile on his face that showed promise and a joyful anticipation of their future together.

She stood and took a breath. The air was clean and cool, and if it smelled of a man’s cologne, it was probably just her imagination. Then she straightened her dress and went back to the house.

Chapter Nine

‘Lady Evelyn has made me the happiest man in London.’

Sam had returned to the ballroom in time to see the announcement. St Aldric was grinning like an idiot, oblivious to the fact that the woman beside him was still flushed from the kisses Sam had given her.

As he had for so much of his life, he stood by mute, struggling with his own base desires, and allowed it to happen. He had stood in the garden for a time, waiting to see that Evie got back to the house without help. There were no tears from her, no passionate cries that he return. A profound silence seemed to emanate from the spot they had been. A few minutes later, she had got up and walked away from him.

It felt like the day he had first put out to sea and watched England retreating until it was a dot on the horizon. He had seen the water as nothing more than distance between him and the woman he could not help but love. It was the same now. The ballroom seemed to stretch before him as couples filled the dance floor for a waltz. And Sam was on the only solid spot, losing her all over again.

He took a sip of his drink, wishing that it was something stronger. Another hour, perhaps, and he could make his excuses and depart. But he did not have to stand here, watching her be happy without him.

It had been so easy in the garden, when all innocent, brotherly thoughts had fled like animals before an advancing fire. She wanted him. He must have her, or he would go mad. He felt the pressure building, the desperation to drag her to the ground, throw up her skirts and lose himself in the softness of her body.

He imagined entering, in one quick thrust, the tightness of her, the rush. Her cry of shock at the loss of her maidenhead.

And discovery. Thorne’s shout of outrage. The discovery of the truth.

Disgusting. Obscene. Profane.

He’d pushed her away, horrified at what he had done, but secretly, sinfully triumphant. She was his in all ways that mattered. She would marry the duke. But each time he touched her, she would be thinking of this moment and how much she had wanted another.

It must never happen again. He would go to the Americas this time. Or Jamaica. With luck he would succumb to a fever and his suffering would end.

He turned away from the crowd, hoping to find diversion, in cards, brandy or perhaps a pretty face that might distract him from the only woman he really cared to look at.

Instead, he found their father.

‘Doctor Hendricks.’ Lord Thorne had tracked him in the crowd of well-wishers and Sam checked the height of his raised glass, the fullness of his smile, searching for any telltale signs in his person or behaviour that might show him to be less than enthusiastic for the match.

‘Sam.’ Now Thorne’s tone was as it had been, when he had still been a favoured son. Before he had made his stammering offer for Evie.

‘My lord,’ he said, with a half-smile that he hoped was not too strained.

‘St Aldric and Evelyn have nearly finished their dance. There is no reason to wait longer.’

For what? he wondered. Was he expected to depart already?

But it seemed Thorne was speaking more to himself, than to Sam, as though there was some duty that he had been delaying. ‘I … we … wish to speak to you, in my study.’ If anything, Thorne looked as uncomfortable as Sam felt. It was odd that he could not match his mood to the festivities. Surely, this must be a moment of triumph.

‘Of course, my lord.’ Sam glanced at the clock. ‘On the half-hour, perhaps? That should give enough time for the crowd to settle.’

‘Twenty minutes.’ Thorne seemed to see this as some sort of reprieve. ‘An excellent idea. Until then.’ He moved off through the crowd again and Sam watched him absently accepting congratulations for his daughter’s successful match.

It was damned odd.

And there in the centre of the dance floor was Evie. Dear, sweet Evie, looking almost as overwhelmed as Thorne. As she spun past him, in the arms of the duke, her eye caught his, if only for a moment. She gave him a smile of triumph, her eyes shining not with tears but with an almost evil glee. She had done what he’d requested. She hoped he was satisfied.

If he must lose her—not that she had ever been his—it was better that it be this way. She was angry with him and would be so for some time. If she had doubts about this decision, he would be gone before she expressed them.

But all there proclaimed St Aldric an exemplary man, truly a golden child, who had not allowed the ease of his success to taint his innate goodness. He was worthy of Evie. And he obviously adored her. He would treat her as she deserved to be treated. Sam doubted he could ever bring himself to like the duke. But he would have no cause to see the man again, so it did not matter.

The dance ended. And the precious St Aldric was not at her side, damn him. He had won. The least he could do was enjoy his prize. But Sam had seen Thorne part the couple as soon as the music stopped, whispering something to the duke.

Evelyn had watched. And though she would not have been able to hear what was said, she nodded. There was the strangest look upon her lovely face, as though she was remembering some troublesome detail that rendered the moment less than sweet. Then she had turned back to the crowd, perfection again.

Something was afoot. But damned if Sam could imagine what it might be. The clock ticked out the minutes until his appointment.

When the requisite time has passed, he made his way up the stairs to find Thorne.

And here was St Aldric as well, waiting in the office of his mentor, looking almost like an errant schoolboy, although he had no reason to. The self-deprecation was all the more annoying in its effectiveness. Had he been any other man, Sam would have been instantly in sympathy with him.

But he was not just any man. And Sam could manage nothing more than the expected courtesies. He smiled and bowed to the peer, and to Thorne. ‘My lord. Your Grace.’

‘Sam.’ And there was the old familiarity from Thorne again. Sam greeted it with a cynical smile. Now that Evelyn’s fate was sealed, he was to be a favoured son again? Not bloody likely.

‘I suppose you are wondering … you are both wondering … why I have asked you here,’ Thorne said, unsure which man to look at first. ‘It is at Evelyn’s behest,’ he said.

There was another awkward pause. ‘She realised the truth, you see. And has convinced me that, if it was obvious to her, it might be to others. She thinks that perhaps it would be kinder to settle the matter, before there was any speculation. And since you would be here, tonight …’

Then he paused again, as though the previous statements might mean something and need no addition.

St Aldric was looking back with a crooked grin, as though he could not quite contain his amusement. ‘As it stands, Thorne, the only speculation occurring is between the two of us. It is clear that you wish to share some information and that it is coming difficult for you. Please, speak. Doctor Hastings and I are quite in the dark.’

Thorne looked back and forth between the two of them now, like a rabbit caught between two foxes. ‘I must first say that I mean no disrespect to you, your Grace, or to your father, who was a dear friend of mine. Nor was it ever my wish to betray his confidence.’

‘Since he has been dead nearly ten years, he is unlikely to call you out on it,’ St Aldric said, with an encouraging smile. ‘But I take it that he swore you to some secret or other and that it is weighing heavily on you, now?’

‘It is nothing so very serious,’ Thorne said, encouragingly. ‘Nothing that many other men have not done. There was no real disgrace in it. And you must know that your father was always the worthiest of men.’

‘It pleases me to think so,’ St Aldric said with a nod.

‘It is only because the truth is likely to come forth with or without my help, that I am speaking now,’ Thorne said.

‘Then out with it, man,’ St Aldric said, with another smile. ‘The good doctor can attest that, when pulling a splinter, there is no point in drawing slowly. It only prolongs the pain, as this prolongs suspense. What is this not-so-terribly-dark truth that you have been concealing from the world?’

‘This happened when you were just an infant, obviously. And your mother still quite fragile. There was …’ another dramatic pause ‘… an indiscretion.’

Sam’s attention had begun to wander. It was clear that, whatever the problem might be, it was St Aldric’s concern and not his. Perhaps he was here in case the shock proved too great and a physician was needed. If that was the case, he would have done better to bring his bag.

But there was nothing about the duke that made him think the man would be prone to fits at receiving bad news. His colour was high, of course. But considering the reason for the evening, it was only natural.

‘Since both my mother and father are gone from this planet, I see no reason that such information should be concealed any longer. Speak with my blessing. Immediately, in fact.’ Even a saint had limited patience. It appeared that St Aldric had reached the end of his.

‘There was issue, from this indiscretion,’ Throne said hurriedly. ‘The child survived.

A boy.’

‘But that would mean …’ St Aldric gave a surprised shake of his head. ‘I have a brother?’

‘A half-brother,’ Thorne said hurriedly.

St Aldric was forwards in an instant, gripping the man’s arm. And for the first time since meeting him, Sam saw what he must look like when angry. ‘You knew of this? And did not tell me? Damn it, man, I must know all.’ He calmed himself just as quickly. But it was clear that he was eager for more news. ‘Did my father reveal anything about him? For I would like to know him. No. I must.’

‘It will not affect the succession,’ Thorne said hurriedly. ‘You are the elder. And he is a bastard.’

‘I do not care,’ St Aldric insisted. ‘He is my blood, whoever he is. He is both kin and responsibility to me. He will not want. I shall be sure if it. I have a brother.’ His face split into a grin of amazement.

As usual, St Aldric was proving himself to be the most admirable of men, showing not an ounce of jealousy or outrage at this sudden revelation. There was no sign that he viewed it as an embarrassment. To be gifted with a bastard brother was not an inconvenience to him. On the contrary, he seemed to think it a marvel. Despite his charmed life, the duke had lacked but one thing: a family. And, of course, God had granted him that. Now he was complete.

It was just one more depressing sign that he was the perfect mate for Evie. The man was as kind and generous in private as he was in public. Sam supposed that it was just another sign of his debased character that he still wanted to choke the life from the fellow.

‘He has not wanted. Not for a moment,’ Thorne said hurriedly. ‘Your father put him in my care from the first and swore me to secrecy.’ Now he looked past the duke, to Sam. ‘I raised him as my own. I told him nothing of his actual parentage. I misled him …’

And now both men in the room were looking at Sam, Thorne giving a shrug of apology.

‘I do not understand.’ But, of course, he did. This meeting had been about him, all along.

‘I did not get you from a foundling home,’ Thorne said. ‘Your mother was a seamstress named Polly Hastings, who lived in the village of St Aldric. She was struck with childbed fever and could not care for you. I took you away, shortly before she died.’

‘My mother.’ He’d known he had one, of course. But he had not thought of her in years. And his father …

‘You told me …’ He could not manage to finish the sentence, for the implications of it, though they had been horrible before, were becoming all too clear.

‘What I told you before does not matter,’ Thorne said in warning, as though he would be likely to blurt out the story he had been told, in all its repellent detail. ‘This is the truth: the old duke was your father.’

And that changed everything. In one sentence, he had gone from monster to man. His desires were neither base nor sinful. They were a perfectly natural affection towards the most beautiful of women. There was no impediment to realising them.

The room was spinning. Or perhaps he was. The sudden lightness of spirit might have set him turning like a windmill. It had certainly unsettled his brain. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could not seem to call for the brandy he so desperately needed. Or the air, which he could not manage to take into his lungs.

When Sam opened his eyes again, he was staring at the ceiling. Thank God, Evie had not been in the room to witness this or she’d have teased him ‘til his dying day. It was bad enough to have fainted in the presence of St Aldric and Thorne. There was no point in arguing that he had weathered battle without incident. He had been ankle deep in blood and severed limbs, the screams of the wounded and the smell of death close about him, and had never had such a reaction as this. They must think him weak, easily overwrought, sensitive and emotional.

But it was worse to think of Evie standing over him, laughing at his discomfiture, while the man who was his half-brother weathered this news with good humour and sang-froid.

‘Are you all right?’ St Aldric was looking down at him with a bemused expression that split into another grin. An oddly familiar expression, for it was rather like the one that Sam saw when shaving. Now that he was encouraged to see the similarities, it was plain that they were brothers. Colouring, eyes, the height of the forehead and position of the ears—all were similar to his. There could be no doubting it.

The Duke held out a hand, ignoring his silence. ‘I suppose this comes as rather a shock.’

‘You have no idea.’ It had been the rush of knowledge that had done for him, just now, the new facts pushing the old certainties from his head. And the knowledge that he had been wrong, so very wrong, about the one thing he had been most sure of.

Evie could never be his. She was his sister. His feelings for her, no matter how powerful, were vile and fetid. All his adult life, he had known himself for a sick dog, or a base sinner, unworthy of the company of the one he most wanted. No amount of distance, violence or Bible thumbing had offered relief.

Then, in an instant, he had been washed clean. The well-manicured hand still hovered before him, blurring slightly as the last of the swoon cleared itself and his pulse returned to normal. Sam gripped it and allowed himself to be pulled upright.

‘It was a great shock to me as well,’ St Aldric supplied, trying to put him at ease. ‘I had grown quite used to the fact that I was the last leaf on a dead family tree.’

‘I am a natural son,’ Sam said, still confused by the man’s joy at this news. ‘I hardly think that counts me as part of your tree. A weed beside it, perhaps.’

‘Better that than blasted, bare ground.’ St Aldric was staring at him with a strange hunger, then pulled him forwards into a brotherly hug.

Sam felt the hand that had lifted him clapping him firmly on the back, then the duke gripped him by the shoulders and held him apart, staring into his face as Sam had to the other, a moment ago. St Aldric was memorising the features, cataloguing, comparing, finding the agreements just as Sam had done and nodding in revelation. ‘You have no idea what a relief it is to find kin of any kind, when one has resigned oneself to being alone.’

There was no response Sam could offer to this but a blank stare. He had never felt the need of a brother and certainly did not want the father and sister that he’d thought he had. It was better, so much better, to think oneself alone than to have those. Now, he had been thrown into yet another family that he did not wish for.

His feelings must have shown on his face, for St Aldric looked away in embarrassment. ‘I am sorry. I did not think. You know all too well what it is like to be alone. But that has changed for both of us. I will acknowledge you, of course. And I will help you in any way I can. I’d have done it for Evelyn’s sake, of course. But there is so much more reason now.’

Evie.

He had forgotten the events of the past hour. Lady Evelyn Thorne was now engaged to the Duke of St Aldric, who was, apparently, his brother. It was like losing her, only to think he had won her, and then lose her again. Everything had been settled between the three of them. It would be most unworthy of Sam to spoil the happiness of his brother and steal Evie’s best chance at a match.

The decision took little more than an instant to make. It might be unworthy, but he would do it in a heartbeat. Evie loved him. Her words and actions had proved it, just an hour ago. Sam owed nothing to this interloper. Despite what St Aldric might think, they were still enemies. All the good will and kittens in the world did not change the fact.

‘As I said when we first met in the garden, your help will not be required,’ Sam said, softly.

St Aldric’s eyes widened in surprise, as though he had never considered the possibility that someone might refuse him. ‘What reason would you have to deny me? Surely I can open doors for you that you could not open yourself.’

‘I have been content with making my own way thus far,’ Sam reminded him.

‘Sam.’ Thorne’s voice held a fatherly warning to mind his manners and accept the charity of his betters. It gave him an hysterical desire to laugh in the man’s face. There was no earthly reason he need follow the advice. Thorne might have raised him, but the pretences were so false as to render the relationship without value.

‘And now you might be more than content,’ St Aldric said. ‘You must be my personal physician, as Evelyn suggested. It would be little more than an honorary position for many years, I assure you. I am young and healthy. But there would be a stipend attached to it. And the honour of association. You are still unmarried. I suspect that there would be many women who would actively seek you out.’

‘Evie.’ He was struck dumb yet again, and, if he was not careful, he would faint for the second time in his life, right here on the office carpet.

‘And you said she knows of this already?’ St Aldric looked to Thorne for confirmation. ‘It makes her actions so much clearer. The eagerness that we meet. The suggestion that I take you on.’ St Aldric was grinning at him again. ‘For a time, I quite thought that there was something else to it. But now it is clear. You will be as a double brother to her. And dear to both of us.’

If St Aldric had his way, Sam would be just as separate as he had always been from the one woman he wanted and forced for ever into her company. ‘You presume far too much, your Grace.’ He pulled away from the man who held him and shook the wrinkles from his coat as a distraction from the thoughts racing in his head.

‘You are an ungrateful brat, Sam.’ After what he had done, Thorne seemed to think he had a right to an opinion.

Sam turned his anger on the more deserving target. ‘You have no right to lecture me on it, now that the truth is out. What are you to me, sir, after all this time?’

‘Only the man who raised you,’ Thorne said.

‘And fed me on lies like they were mother’s milk,’ Sam snapped back. ‘For Evie’s sake, we will not discuss the extent of your perfidy. But do not think I forgive you for it.’

Thorne’s eyes widened. ‘She is my only child. I did what was best for her and for you as well.’

From the other side of the room, Sam heard a soft clearing of a throat and remembered that they were not alone with the argument. He turned back towards the duke and stared at the man in silence. Did St Aldric really think it was an honour to be so abandoned by one’s father that one had no identity at all? Then Sam had been wrong about him. The man was a fool.

‘I can see that it will take some time for us to get used to the knowledge that has been imparted, and to digest the change and decide what best to do about it,’ St Aldric said, still the soul of diplomacy. It was clear that he did not think himself in need of delay, but he meant to hold his tongue and bide his time for the sake of his brother. He reached out a hand and patted Thorne upon the back. ‘Thank you, for my father and myself, for the service you have done my family and for revealing it to us now.’ They were the right words for the circumstance and it made Sam feel all the smaller for his petulance, no matter how justified it might have been. ‘And now, if you gentlemen will excuse me?’ He gave a gracious nod as though he had already heard the affirmative response and excused himself from the room.

Thorne stared at Sam and let out a hiss of disapproval. ‘You might be the son of a duke, Hastings, but it is clear that you have inherited none of that family’s grace. Evelyn was right to choose St Aldric over you, for you are behaving just as I assumed you would.’

‘Thank you for confirming that,’ Sam said.

‘Her happiness has been all that mattered, to me, from the first. And you were never meant to be a part of that.’ Thorne was smiling in triumph, like a priest in the throes of religious mania. ‘Go ahead. Run to her. Tell her everything. Try to turn her against me. See if she thanks you for it.’

Evie looked at her father with the adoration of an only daughter. In her eyes, he could do no wrong. To hear otherwise would crush her. Sam shook his head. ‘No, Thorne. I do not think so. I would have to be willing to break Evie’s heart and claim it is for her own good. The day I do that is the day I prove I am truly your son.’

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