The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

His Wicked Revenge Vanessa Kelly

Wapping, London

It started with a woman and it would end with a woman. This woman. The one Anthony Barnett had been dreaming about for thirteen years. The one who would now be the instrument of his revenge.

Lady Paget — Marissa, to her close friends and family — studied his sombre office, taking in the dark, heavy furniture and the stacks of bound shipping ledgers. She looked everywhere but at him.

Not that he could blame her. His summons to her brother, Lord Joslin, had been carefully worded, but the threat had been clear. Marissa was to appear at Nightingale Trading by noon today or the entire Joslin family would suffer the consequences.

Anthony maintained his silence, knowing victory would be sweeter when Marissa finally came to him of her own volition. Step by reluctant step. She had already taken the first one by coming down to his dockside warehouse. The next would be when she worked up the nerve to look him directly in the eye.

The casement clock by the door ticked out the seconds as she inspected everything in the room worth inspecting. Eventually, like a disobedient child dragging her feet, she slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. Her pale eyes, the colour of a clear winter sky, fixed on him with reluctant attention. A hint of shame pooled in those cool blue depths. At the sight of it, a grim satisfaction settled in Anthony’s chest. She could no longer ignore him, and had now stepped willingly into his carefully laid trap.

He finally had Marissa where he wanted her, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

“The light is poor in here, but I think you are greatly changed,” she said in a flat, toneless voice. “I hardly recognize you.”

He frowned. What had she expected? The last time she had seen him, he’d been a callow youth, and a weedy one at that. Years spent at sea had toughened him — hardened him in ways she couldn’t imagine. She had changed as well, and in ways he had not expected.

Marissa retained the feminine power to command his complete attention, of course. But she had always chattered and sparkled like a rippling brook, full of laughter and mischief. Now she was subdued, even colourless — a muted reflection of her youthful self.

Reluctantly, he recalled the last time he had seen her, the night his life reached both a beginning and an end. Then she had been full of life and beauty — so joyously in love that his heart had well nigh burst with glory of it. The beauty remained, with her tall, slender figure and hair spun from moonlight. But the glow that had lit up his world had faded. Now her allure had become unearthly, even remote. Lovely but cold, like an Alpine lake before the spring thaw.

Anthony abandoned his post by the window that overlooked the docks and his growing shipping empire. He prowled across the room, halting in front of her, deliberately crowding her against a bookcase. This close, he could inhale her perfume — faint and scented with jasmine — and the sweetness that had always been Marissa. That, at least, had not changed. His body recognized the subtle scent, responding with a flash of heat and a sharpening of all his senses. Almost unconsciously he leaned into her, wanting more.

As she flinched and stepped back, Anthony scowled. Marissa had never trembled before anyone, not even her bastard of a father in one of his towering rages.

He waged a brief internal struggle to ignore the long and lamentably ingrained impulse to protect her. She had forfeited such a right years ago, and his current plans called for exactly the opposite of protection.

“Lady Paget, please sit down. I’m sure you’re as eager to begin our discussion as I am.”

She muttered something under her breath and stepped around him to the hard cherry-wood chair in front of his desk. With a spine as straight as an oak mast, she perched on the edge of the seat, looking as if she were facing a roomful of Barbary pirates.

He wasn’t a pirate — he was her first lover. The man she had sworn to love for ever but instead had betrayed, breaking all the vows they had made so many years ago.

Rather than settling into his own leather chair, he leaned against the edge of his massive desk, deliberately looming over her. She edged back in her seat, trying to put distance between them. But distance between them, at least of the physical sort, wasn’t part of his strategy.

Marissa took a deep breath and raised her gaze to meet his. Heat infused those eyes now, fire and ice clashing to a devastating effect. It jolted him that look, sending a heady lust roaring through his veins. He smiled, knowing he wouldn’t wait much longer to bed her.

His smile seemed to discompose her. She cleared her throat.

“Mr Barnett—” she began.

“Captain Barnett,” he interrupted, nodding towards the window. “Those are my ships out there in the Thames.”

Frost clashed with the fire in her eyes, dousing the heat. Her lips curled in an aristocratic sneer. “Forgive me. I had no idea you had done so well. As I was about to say, I would be grateful for an explanation behind the missive you sent my brother. He was not well pleased to hear from you. It was only with great reluctance that he agreed to your demand that I come to your office, unescorted but for my maid.”

“I do like to observe at least the appearance of propriety,” he replied sardonically.

Obviously, Lord Joslin had not seen fit to explain to his sister why he was forced to accede to Anthony’s demands. Marissa likely had no idea just how far in debt her brother really was.

With a puzzled shake of her neatly trimmed bonnet, she continued. “Since I am here, I would like an explanation. Your business is clearly with Edmund — Lord Joslin, rather. I fail to see why I must be brought into it. Whatever it is.”

With that last phrase, some of the old defiance came back into her voice. Time to switch tack and keep her off-balance.

“You have a daughter, I understand,” he said, stretching out his legs so his booted feet almost touched her shoes.

She froze, gloved hands clutching her large reticule in a convulsive grip. Long-lashed eyes searched his face, as if looking for the answer to a question she didn’t want to ask. “Yes,” she replied in a hesitant voice.

“How old is she?”

She paused. An odd expression, one almost akin to panic, flashed across her features.

Bloody hell.

You’d have thought he’d asked her to strip down to her shift, right here in his office. Not that the idea hadn’t crossed his mind. He’d already calculated how long it would take him to unfasten the long line of buttons that marched up her elegant but severely tailored pelisse. That pleasant task, however, must wait for another day.

She pressed her rosy lips together, as if holding in a great secret that longed to escape. “My daughter is not yet twelve,” she admitted grudgingly.

Anthony gave her a disdainful smile. “You didn’t waste any time, did you? How long were you married to Paget before you whelped?”

She flared up at him, just like the Marissa he used to know. “It’s not like I had any choice in the matter,” she retorted. “I was engaged to be married to Sir Richard, as you recall.”

“Oh, yes. I recall everything,” he said. “I remember how desperate you were to break your engagement. So desperate you begged me to elope with you to Gretna Green.”

She closed her eyes, fighting to regain her control. After a few moments, she opened them. Her stare was once again cool and remote.

A reluctant admiration stirred within him. Marissa would never have reined in her temper so quickly. Lady Paget was obviously made of stern stuff.

“What is your daughter’s name?” he asked abruptly.

A muscle in her cheek jumped, but she gave him a fierce scowl. “Why these pointless questions, Captain? Please get to the business at hand and be done with it. I have no intention of spending the entire afternoon in Wapping.”

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “My point is simple. I assume that you would do anything to protect your daughter, is that not correct?”

Marissa had always been pale, but what little colour remained in her cheeks leached away. Her perfect features froze into immobility. Except for her blazing blue eyes, she might have been carved from alabaster.

“Why … why would you ask me such a thing?” she stuttered. “Of course I would do anything to protect my child.”

“Then we shall deal very well together,” he said, not bothering to hide the triumph in his voice.

She gasped, swaying in her chair. He launched himself up from his desk and caught her by the shoulders as she began to slide off the polished seat.

“Damn it, Marissa!”

Anthony kept a firm grip on her shoulders, letting her head rest against his stomach. Guilt lanced through his gut. He clamped down hard, resisting the compulsion to sweep her out of the chair and into his embrace.

Her slender body trembled under his hands. He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t even tell if she had actually swooned. The rim of her bonnet not only obscured his view, it was poking him in the gut.

Carefully, he slid her across the polished seat of the chair to rest against the high ladder-back. With a quick tug, he untied her bonnet and dropped it to the floor. Her corn silk hair, coiled around her head in tight braids, gleamed in the dull November sunlight coming through the window. Like her simple pelisse, her grey kid gloves and her sturdy reticule, her glorious tresses were as neatly contained as her emotions.

Until he had made his thinly veiled threat against her daughter, that is.

He hunkered down before her, taking her hands in a gentle clasp. “Would you like a brandy? It will help to revive you.”

She gave a small shake of her head. “No. Please give me my reticule.”

He plucked it from the floor by her chair, where she had dropped it. “What do you need? Smelling salts?” He began to rummage around in the voluminous bag.

“My handkerchief, please,” she said in a thin voice.

Pushing away the growing remorse that threatened to destroy all his exacting plans, he dug around in the overstuffed reticule until he felt a square of starched linen. “What in God’s name are you carrying around in this thing?” he grumbled as he extracted the handkerchief. “You could store a frigate’s cargo in here.”

She ignored him, keeping her eyes closed as she blotted her forehead, cheeks and then her full, ripe lips.

His mouth suddenly went dry. He remembered those lips very well. They could take a man to heaven. “Marissa, are you sure you don’t want a brandy?” Of its own accord, his voice had fallen to a deep, husky note.

She opened her eyes. A gaze as hard as diamonds — and just as cold — stared back at him. She jerked her hands from his loose grasp. “I did not give you leave to use my name, Captain Barnett. Do not do so again.”

The treacherous warmth stealing over him fled under her withering look. Anger — his daily companion — took its place. He welcomed it.

He rose to his feet, resuming his perch on the edge of the desk. “Now, Marissa,” he chided. “We’re the oldest of friends. Why should you stand on ceremony? You never did before.”

“I was young. I didn’t know any better,” she retorted.

Her temper brought the roses back to her cheeks and the heat back into her eyes. For the moment, the ice maiden stood in no danger of fainting.

“And neither did I,” he said in a hard voice. “But you came to me, remember? You begged me to save you from marriage to Paget. You swore your undying love. Your eternal devotion if I eloped with you to Gretna Green.”

“I was only seventeen,” she protested.

“And I was but eighteen.”

In the world’s eyes, Anthony had been a man when he and Marissa lost their virginity to each other. But he had been so sheltered, raised by his widowed father in a small country parsonage. When he was ten, his father had died and Anthony had been dispatched to live with his distant cousin, Lord Joslin, and his family. He spent the rest of his youth on their estate in Yorkshire, deep in study, preparing to follow in his father’s clerical footsteps.

Through those years, he had also fallen in love with Marissa, and she with him. Or so he had always thought. Anthony’s mouth twisted into a sour smile, remembering how young and foolish he had been. In many ways, Marissa had always been more worldly than he.

“Do you want to know what happened that night?” he asked. “After Edmund discovered us together in my bed? After your father horse-whipped me and drove me from Joslin Manor?”

She blanched and, for a moment, he thought she might faint after all. But she took a deep breath and regained her composure.

“I don’t know what kind of cruel game you are playing, Captain,” she replied with quiet dignity. “But if reciting your tale will bring this tawdry scene to a conclusion then, yes. I do want to know.”

Anthony gave her a humourless smile. “I’m sure you’ll find my tale of woe edifying, Lady Paget.”

He pushed up from his desk, tasting the bitterness in his mouth and throat. It was always thus whenever he recalled those months after he first arrived in London — those months spent waiting for her to come and find him. Those months of back-breaking work and near starvation, his life barely a step up from the mudlarks who scavenged along the Thames.

“After discovering us naked in each other’s arms,” he said, prowling around his office, “your brother ran straight to Viscount Joslin. Your father had two grooms hold me down, then he beat me until my back was shredded raw.”

Marissa made a choked sound, but held her tongue. What could she say to soften such a painful and humiliating memory?

“Did you know Edmund stood there grinning while he watched your father beat me?” he asked, curious to find out how much she knew about the scene that remained burned into his memory.

“No,” she said, her eyes betraying her shock. “And Father forbade me to ever mention your name again.”

He resumed his prowl around the room.

“After he beat me half to death, your father threw me out of the house without a shilling to my name. Thank God the housekeeper took pity on me and gave me some coin to make my way to London. Her brother was a clerk at Nightingale Trading. She said he would find me work if he could, or at least give me a few days’ shelter while I looked for means to support myself.”

“Was there no one else you could turn to?” she asked, looking miserable.

“I had no friends who could be of assistance. As for relations,” he said dryly, “that would be your family. The Joslins were the only relatives I had left in the world after my father died. Not that the Viscount had wanted me. He only took me in because your mother insisted.”

She gazed down at her lap. “I’m truly sorry.”

Anthony paused, surprised by the heartfelt sorrow in her voice. Perhaps she did regret betraying him after all.

But he hardened his heart. Marissa had always been able to twist him around her little finger. He wouldn’t let that happen again, not when he was inches away from his vengeance against her and her pig of a brother.

He resumed his pacing. “I made my way to London — some of it on foot, by the way. From Yorkshire.”

She winced, but he kept ruthlessly on.

“I came to Wapping, and to the housekeeper’s brother. He found work for me on the docks. It wasn’t steady, but it gave me enough to rent a garret and to eat. Not often, mind you. And never enough. But I had something else to keep me alive. Something to give me hope that things would get better.”

With a quick step he moved in front of her, reaching out to grasp the back of her chair, caging her in with his body. She gasped and shrank away in startled retreat.

He lowered his head until he could stare directly into those amazing eyes. Her pupils dilated, her breath coming in rapid pants. She smelled sweet, like sugar plums and mint.

“Do you remember your promise to me?” he whispered.

Her lips opened on another gasp, and he watched fascinated as the tip of her pink tongue slipped out to wet her lips. His groin took notice, as did every other part of his body.

Soon, he promised himself. He would take her — body and soul — and slake his never-ending thirst.

“I know you remember,” he breathed, hovering just inches from her pretty mouth.

She ducked, sliding out from under his arms. In a flash, she was by the door to his clerk’s office, her ridiculously large reticule clutched in front of her like a weapon. Which, given how heavy it was, it very well could be.

He let out a reluctant laugh. She had always been as quick as a lark spiralling over a meadow in springtime.

“Obviously, you do remember,” he said. “You made a promise — a vow — that you would never abandon me. That we would never abandon each other. No matter the separation, you would find me, or I, you.” He paused, waiting for a response. But her face was a blank, revealing no emotion. “I waited for you, Marissa. For months. Certain you would find me. I worked like a slave, putting away every shilling I could against that day. I thought that when you finally found me, we would leave England for America, where we could start a new life.”

An acid taste rose in his mouth as he thought of the idiotic boy he had been.

“There was nothing I could do,” she replied in a bleak voice. “Father made sure of that. I didn’t know where to look. What to do. And then …” She trailed off.

“And then you married Sir Richard so you could be the pampered wife of a wealthy baronet, didn’t you? Only four weeks after I was run off like a mangy cur. But I didn’t hear of the wedding until six months later. Six months spent slaving on the docks, going hungry, saving every coin I earned for you — for us.”

The old sense of loss rushed in on him, squeezing his chest with iron bands. Suddenly, he found he had backed her into the corner of the room.

Her back stiff and straight against the wall, Marissa tilted her head to meet his gaze. The coldness in those blue depths thrust leagues of distance between them.

“What would you have me say?” she challenged. “That I’m sorry? Of course I am. More than you’ll ever know. But I can’t do anything about it, nor can I erase the terrible things that happened to you.”

He shrugged, feigning indifference. “No, you can’t, and thank God for it. When I heard you were married and had been for months, I realized what a fool I was. That I meant nothing to you. All those expressions of undying devotion were meaningless — just smoke in the wind.”

This time she did flinch, turning her head away. He waited for her to say something, but her lips remained pressed together in a thin, unforgiving line.

Anger and an odd sense of disappointment pulsed through him. What had he expected? That she would profess her undying love for him? After all these years? Disgusted with himself, he retreated behind his desk and sat.

“Don’t you want to hear the rest of the story?” he asked, affecting a bored voice.

Without a word, she walked to the chair and sat down again. Her weary eyes seemed full of shadows and ghosts.

After a short struggle to repress a stirring of pity, Anthony resumed his tale. “After I learned of your marriage to Sir Richard, I had no more reason to stay in London. I signed up as a deckhand on one of Nightingale’s ships. Oddly enough, I discovered I had an aptitude for the sea, and I moved up quickly. The company made me captain of a frigate by the age of twenty-six — their youngest ever. Nightingale Shipping prospered, especially during the war years. By twenty-nine, I was rich, and able to buy out Thomas Nightingale when he was ready to retire.”

He turned, looking out the window at the sea of masts on the river. “Those beautiful ships are mine,” he said with intense satisfaction. “And Nightingale is one of the finest trading companies in all of England.”

Her soft voice held a wistful note. “You’ve done well, Captain. I’m happy for you.”

He swung around, putting her directly in his sights. “But that’s not the best part, My Lady. As you can imagine, I never forgot what your family did to me. To my regret, your father died before I could settle with him, but your brother will stand in quite nicely. After all, it was he who betrayed us to your father in the first place. Because of him, I lost everything.”

She stiffened, her lovely face now wary. “What do you mean, ‘settle’?”

He smiled, showing his teeth. “You didn’t think I would forgive and forget, did you? I have thought of all of you constantly since I was driven from Joslin Manor. Two years ago, fate and circumstance showed me the way.”

He opened a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of notes, tossing them on to the polished desktop. “Edmund never did have a head for commerce, did he? After your brother came into his inheritance, he invested very poorly, particularly in high-risk trading ventures.”

“Which I’m sure you knew all about,” she interjected in a hard voice.

He bowed his head in silent acknowledgment, enjoying the furious snap in her ice-maiden eyes.“Edmund’s financial bumbling forced him to take out substantial private loans to cover his losses. I won’t trouble you with the details. Suffice it to say that I’m now the sole holder of those notes.”

He waved a negligent hand over the papers on his desk, as if it were not a great matter. As if it had not taken months of horse trading, greasing palms, and one or two carefully applied threats of business reprisals to get his hands on every last note. But it had been worth every shilling, because it gave him what he wanted most — control over Marissa.

She grew still, as understanding dawned. “How much does my brother owe you?” she asked in a hollow voice.

“Fifty thousand pounds.”

She took in a huge breath, working to pull the air into her lungs. Her eyes seemed to blur, as if she couldn’t focus on anything but the thoughts in her head.

Anthony drank in the moment he had worked so long and hard to achieve. Marissa would be his, and she was now beginning to realize it.

A full minute, measured by the casement clock, ticked by. Neither of them broke the silence.

Then she stirred, an alabaster statue coming to life. “You want your revenge against my family for what they did to you.”

He hesitated, puzzled that she didn’t include herself with the rest of the Joslins. Then again, why did it matter?

“Revenge is an ugly word, Marissa. I prefer to call it justice.”

“As I said, I did not give you leave to call me by my first name,” she snapped. “You will not do so again.”

He smiled, sprawling back in his chair. Anger made her even more beautiful — driving the blood to her face. It made her flushed and ripe. Within a few days, he would be taking all she had to offer, and then some.

“You’ve given me leave before, Marissa. In fact, you gave me a hell of a lot more than that, as we both know.”

In her frustration, she actually bit down on her plump lower lip, like an actress in a melodrama. He became hard thinking of all the ways he was going to put those lips to good use.

“I prefer not to recall the past,” she said in a haughty voice.

He let out a harsh laugh. “Indeed. So would I, but that luxury has been denied me. There is, however, one thing I don’t mind remembering, and you know what that is.”

She glared back, refusing to respond.

“How you felt beneath me,” he purred. “I remember your naked body squirming in my arms. You were slick and hot, and so very tight. All softness and silk, and begging me to take you.”

Perspiration misted her face. She turned from him, pressing a gloved hand to her brow. “Anthony, please,” she said in a suffocated voice.

A sharp wave of pleasure took him at the sound of his name on her lips. “Ah. That’s better. You actually brought yourself to use my name.”

She jumped up from her seat and slapped a hand on his desk. “Enough of this! What do you want from me?”

He rose slowly, feeling the power uncoil within him. She would be his war prize — his by right — and he would no longer be denied. “I thought it was obvious, Marissa. I want my revenge, and I want it now.”

Marissa had never forgotten Anthony’s eyes. How could she? A pair exactly like them gazed up at her every day. Her daughter Antonia had eyes like Russian amber — golden and full of fire.

Antonia had Anthony’s eyes. Her father’s eyes.

Eyes that could blaze with emotion, as Anthony’s were right now. His gaze swept over her, burning so fiercely Marissa half expected it would scorch the clothing from her body.

Tamping down her frustration and fear, she answered him in the same calm voice she used with her daughter. “Perhaps I misunderstood you, Captain. I thought you were seeking justice, not revenge.”

He strolled around the desk, closing the distance between them.

Ignoring the urge to flee, she held her ground. Anthony had always been tall, but now he was also brawny from his years at sea. A man, when she had only ever known the boy. And this particular man — with his dark hair, rough-hewn features and broad shoulders — was so intensely masculine that it made her tremble.

“In this case, justice and vengeance are one and the same,” he answered, his voice a dark, menacing purr.

She shivered, sensing his implacable will, but was irresistibly drawn to his sensual power. That hadn’t changed. As a young girl she had been madly in love with Anthony, willing to do anything to be with him — even turn her back on the family and elope with him.

If only she had.

Marissa took her seat, keeping her spine straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap. If a long and unhappy marriage had taught her anything, it was how to mask her emotions. And ever since Anthony’s note arrived yesterday, Marissa had been trying to hide everything she felt — from Edmund, from Antonia, even from herself. But deep inside she could hardly breathe, swamped by waves of emotion she had repressed for years, and secrets long stashed away.

Too many secrets, ones Anthony would never forgive. Not after all he had suffered and lost.

Her insides twisted with anxiety, but she calmly met his gaze.

“Again, what do you want from me?” she asked.

He loomed over her, his face a grim, brooding mask. It hurt to look at him, for no trace of the sweet boy who had loved her remained. Her father and brother had destroyed that boy’s life, just as they had destroyed hers.

“I want you,” he growled.

Her heart lurched. “I … I don’t understand.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “If you consent to be with me, I will extend Edmund’s loans until such time he can afford to pay me back. You have my word on it.”

She gaped at him. “You’re saying you want to marry me?”

He laughed so harshly she cringed.

“You’re such a romantic, Marissa. Why would I want to leg-shackle myself to you for the rest our lives? No. I want you in my bed — for as long as I want, and in any way I want. Do that, and the Joslins are safe.”

Her stomach cramped and, for a moment, she thought she would be sick. She tried to think, but her mind was stuffed with cotton batting. “You’re not making sense,” she finally managed.

“It’s quite simple. You live with me as my mistress, and I will not call in your brother’s debts.”

“But … but everyone will know,” she stuttered. “Think of the gossip. We couldn’t possibly keep such an arrangement a secret.”

He snorted. “Of course not. That’s the point. I will escort you to the theatre, the opera, the Royal Academy … whatever amuses me. You will be my companion, both in public and private. I’m rich now. Very few doors are closed to me, and with you by my side I might be able to open a few more.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she blurted out. “The scandal will ruin me.”

He shrugged, as if he didn’t care.

She could barely speak past the panic and anger clutching at her throat. “I have a child. If I’m ruined, I won’t be able to provide for her.”

“You can’t provide for her now. That’s why you moved back to Edmund’s house after your husband died, isn’t it? You were Paget’s second wife. His estate was almost entirely entailed to his oldest son, leaving only a small widow’s portion to support you and your daughter.”

Anthony didn’t know the half of it. Her husband had drastically reduced her portion after their first year of marriage when he finally realized Antonia wasn’t his child. It left Marissa poor, completely dependent on her brother’s support.

She closed her eyes, trying to get past the fear, searching to find a way out. If not for Antonia, she might have agreed to Anthony’s demands — if for no other reason than to atone for her family’s sins against him. But she wouldn’t give up on her daughter. Not for him. Not for Edmund. They could both go to hell before she would sacrifice Antonia.

She opened her eyes. “Yes, that’s true,” she grudgingly acknowledged. “But I must still protect her.”

He remained grim and silent, his mouth pulled into a tight line. “Very well,” he finally said. “I’ll not make your daughter a victim of your brother’s arrogance. She’ll be provided for. I’ll draw up the necessary contracts, giving her a generous allowance and stipulating that Edmund must always provide a home for her.”

Marissa gasped. She had to clutch the seat of the chair to keep her balance. “Absolutely not! You will not separate me from my child.”

“Then she can live with us,” he said impatiently. “You may be certain I will provide for both of you — you have my word. But either way, Marissa, you will come to me, or see your family in ruins.”

The room spun in a dizzying whirl, dark and cold. She took a deep breath, allowing the rage to clear from her mind. Somehow, she had to fight back. “Tell me, Captain, would you have forced me to be your mistress if my husband were alive?”

He frowned and slowly shook his head. “No. I may be a devious bastard, Marissa, but I wouldn’t have made you betray him.” His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “One betrayal in a lifetime is more than enough. And this is so much better. I’ll have you without the annoyance of any minor scruples, and I get the added benefit of shaming your family. Your brother will be in my debt and, at the same time, he’ll suffer the knowledge that his sister is in my bed. Without the benefit of clergy.”

Marissa clenched her hands into fists. If she needed any proof that Anthony must be kept away from Antonia, this was it. The loving boy she had known was dead, and a cold-blooded monster had risen in his place. God only knew what he would do if he ever found out he had a daughter.

“Why must you do this?” she challenged. “You’re successful now. You can have anything you want.”

All traces of cold-blooded amusement disappeared from his features. His eyes glittered with an anguished fury that wrenched the breath from her body. “Your family forced this on me. They ripped me from the life I was meant to have. The one thing I truly loved and wanted, your father and brother denied me. As did you, Marissa.” He flung the words at her. “But now you have the chance to atone for that by finally giving me what I deserve. If you don’t, I’ll see every last one of the Joslins rot in hell.”

His words sliced through her like shards of broken glass, his pain so raw and immediate that it became her pain, too. She swallowed a sob and a vital part of her — the one that had never ceased loving him — reached out, yearning to heal the wounds that marked his soul.

“I never meant to hurt you, Anthony,” she whispered.

He surged up from the desk with lethal, masculine grace. Big hands curled around her shoulders and he pulled her straight up from her chair.

“I think you lie,” he growled.

He looked wild and dangerous as fury blasted through his shell of cynical detachment. But in those golden eyes she saw his grief and longing — saw him, the Anthony who her father had torn away from her, leaving her alone and incomplete.

She let her hand drift across his tanned cheek. “No, Anthony. You weren’t the only one who was hurt,” she murmured. “I longed to go after you … I was desperate to find you. But Father kept me locked away in my room, and he continually threatened to beat me. He said he’d send me to live with strangers if I didn’t marry Richard.” Her voice broke as his fingers dug into her arms and his gold-shot eyes searched her face. “I missed you so much, but I was still a child,” she pleaded. “I didn’t know what to do.”

A different kind of heat, forbidden and dark, flared in his eyes. His big hands moved down her arms and slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him. She gasped at the feel of his erection pushing hard against her belly.

“But you’re not a child any more, Marissa. And I’ve waited for this for too damn long.”

She clutched at his waistcoat as he swooped to capture her mouth in a punishing kiss. Her head fell back and his tongue slipped between her lips to plunder her mouth. She whimpered, giving him everything he demanded. There was no resisting him — no resisting the passion he’d ignited. The passion unleashed for both of them after years in solitary exile.

His bold tongue tasted her, stroked deep inside to claim her with a searing hunger. Marissa had forgotten the fierce beauty of Anthony’s kiss. But now everything came back in a blazing rush. The heat, the wet slide of a greedy, open-mouthed kiss, the feel of his strong hands moving over her body.

She stretched up on her toes, winding her arms around his neck. A raw need throbbed deep within as her body came alive to his touch. Her breasts grew full and heavy as she rubbed against him, her nipples pulling tight with a prickling ache.

Anthony murmured a low growl of approval as his hand drifted down to squeeze her bottom in a kneading grip. Gradually, his kiss grew softer, and his tongue slowly traced her lips before slipping back into her mouth. It was sweet and hot and reckless — just as it had always been.

As she slid into total surrender, he broke the kiss. Marissa murmured a confused protest, and his hand came up to hold her chin. She panted, struggling to shake off the confining grip, eager to taste him again. His fingers tightened on her jaw.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered in a husky voice.

She did. His face was flushed under the bronzing of his complexion, and sexual hunger flickered in his rapacious gaze. But she saw something else in those golden eyes, something wary and very determined.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“I want your decision, Marissa. Of your own free will. Do you agree to be my mistress, or shall I send word to your brother that I intend to collect the fifty thousand pounds he owes me?”

For a moment she froze, stupefied, then she wrenched herself free of his grasp. Anger and shame flooded her body in equal parts. “Go to hell,” she blurted out.

His lips curled back in a predatory grin. “Most likely I will, but I don’t care. As long as you do what I ask. You have until tonight to make up your mind. I’ll send my carriage to Joslin House to fetch you. Eight o’clock, shall we say?”

She snatched up her bonnet and reticule and stumbled to the door.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said.

His mocking laugh followed her from the room.

Berkeley Square, London

It had taken her thirteen years, but Marissa finally acknowledged how much she hated her brother.

Edmund lumbered across his richly appointed study, his jowly face red with ill-contained fury. He halted before her, smelling of port, snuff and outraged dignity.

“I will be ruined, I tell you,” he blustered. “Forced to sell everything if that bloody bastard calls in those loans. This is your fault, Marissa. You should have been able to talk him out of it. He was your lover.”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Do you want everyone in the house to know that?”

He gave her a sizzling glare but his voice subsided to a dull roar. “Father should have killed Barnett years ago, when he had the chance.”

Marissa dug her nails into her palms. “You almost did. You and Father. And for what? The only sin Anthony ever committed was to love me.”

“Is that what you call it?” he sneered. “I never understood how you could let him touch you, much less rut on you like a barnyard animal. You, the finest catch in London during your first season. What a fool you were, to have debased yourself with that country bumpkin.”

She itched to slap him, but refused to sink to his level. “I loved him, and he loved me, Edmund. Anthony was the only person who loved me after Mother died. God knows I never had a tender word from Father or you.”

“What did you expect after you behaved like a whore? If Father hadn’t acted decisively, no respectable man would have married you. As it was the damage was done, but at least it was too late for Paget to do anything about it.”

He cast her a black look, then flopped into a leather club chair, which creaked ominously under his weight.

“Not that it did us any good to marry you off to Paget,” he whined. “I still have to support you and your daughter. And now I stand to be ruined, all because you succumbed to your craven lusts.”

Marissa thanked God there were no pistols within reach, because she likely would have added murder to her list of sins. Edmund had flung these horrid accusations at her more times than she could count. They had always made her sick with shame and regret, beating her down until she almost believed them herself.

But not any more. She was done with shame — and with her brother if he didn’t own up to his own failings, and the mess he had made of the family finances.

“What do you intend to do?” she asked. “Anthony wants an answer by tonight.”

His jowls actually quivered with indignation. “Not a thing. You created this problem, Marissa. It’s up to you to save the family. If you can’t persuade Barnett to forgive the loan or give me sufficient time to pay it back, then you must give him what he wants. Family honour demands it.”

His callous words sent anger and shock surging through her body.

“Family honour! Are you mad? I shall be ruined.”

“You were ruined long ago, dear sister. It pains me that the world will now be made aware of that fact but, thanks to you, we have no other choice.”

The taste in her mouth was so foul, she could have spit. Her brother would rather abandon her to a sordid fate than take responsibility for his own foolish mistakes.

She forced herself to remain calm, though her heart banged against her ribs. “Edmund, there’s always a choice, good or bad. You chose all those years ago to destroy Anthony’s life when he was little more than a boy. Your present situation is of your own making. I am not the person who drove the estate into debt, and I am not the person who should beg for Anthony’s forgiveness. You should.”

He regarded her with contempt. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t soil my good name by going anywhere near the man. But since you’re already damaged goods, I suggest you do whatever you can to avert this disaster. For your family’s sake.”

He looked over at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. “You’d better get ready. Barnett’s carriage will be here soon enough.” Edmund heaved himself up from his chair and crossed to his desk. Without giving her a second glance, he began shuffling through some papers.

A cold disgust settled in her chest. Anthony was right. Edmund had earned his destruction and, if not for Antonia, Marissa wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help her brother.

“Edmund.”

He looked up, irritation wrinkling his balding pate. “What now?”

“I will do as you insist, but let us be clear about my daughter. You and your wife will care for her as if she were your own. Anthony has offered to settle a handsome allowance on her, but Antonia must have a home, is that understood? She cannot come with me.”

Edmund seemed genuinely shocked. “Of course not. I wouldn’t let the girl anywhere near that bastard. He’s already done enough damage to the family’s good name, as have you. Antonia will be much better off with us.”

The old shame threatened to creep back into her heart, but she beat it back. Antonia had always been loved and protected, much more than Marissa ever was.

She turned on her heel and marched from the room, slamming the door behind her with a satisfying bang. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes until she could fold her rage into a neat little bundle and put it aside for later. But, as the anger faded, the implications of what would happen next swept through her like a howling gale, sucking the air from her lungs.

A small, sharp voice brought her up short. “Mamma, are you ill?”

She spun around to see Antonia standing in the curve under the entrance hall staircase. Her daughter inspected her, eyes wary and bright with concern.

“Antonia, what are you doing there?” Marissa asked more sharply than she intended. “You weren’t eavesdropping again, were you?”

Those golden eyes widened, the picture of offended innocence. “No, Mamma, of course not,” Antonia protested. “I was just coming up from the kitchen. Cook made gingerbread today.”

Her beautiful girl held up a thick piece of fragrant cake. She looked so pious that Marissa gave a reluctant laugh.

“Very well, my love. I believe you. This time. But you know very well you shouldn’t be snooping about the entrance hall.”

Her daughter’s face split into an enchanting grin. She took a healthy bite of the gingerbread, ignoring the motherly reprimand.

Antonia’s slight figure went fuzzy as Marissa blinked away the tears blurring her vision. How in God’s name could she ever leave her own child behind? The pain of it just might kill her.

She silently scolded herself for the momentary weakness. What she did, she did for Antonia. To keep her safe, untainted by the mistakes of her family. It was Marissa’s choice, and the only one that made sense.

“Come along, darling,” she said, forcing a smile. “I must go out soon, but there’s still time for us to read a story together.”

Antonia slipped a warm hand into hers as they mounted the stairs. “What were you and Uncle Edmund talking about, Mamma?”

Marissa frowned, trying to look stern. “Nothing you need to know. You’re far too curious, Antonia. It’s not at all ladylike for you to pry into other people’s affairs, especially those of your elders.”

Antonia looked aggrieved. “But no one ever tells me anything.”

Marissa ran a gentle hand over her daughter’s glossy curls. She would have to tell the child everything, and soon enough. But not tonight.

The words caught in her throat. “You should be happy that they don’t.”

Russell Square, London

Marissa stood quietly before him, garbed in a grey, modestly cut evening dress — a perfect example of an aristocratic widow, so untouchable she might as well have been on the moon. But touch her Anthony would, and soon. In fact, it would be a miracle if he didn’t pull her down on to the carpeted floor of his study and shred every article of expensive clothing from her body.

Even if it made him feel like the most callous brute in England.

“There’s no need to stand on ceremony,” he said. “Please have a seat.”

She frowned and remained where she was, likely because his suggestion came out sounding like a command.

He sighed. “Marissa, I would rather you not stand there like a disobedient child waiting for a scold.”

She made a small, scoffing noise but took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the sofa. Her trembling fingers betrayed her nervousness. He thought he should be deriving some satisfaction from that, but he wasn’t.

Ever since she left his offices that afternoon, he had been struggling with a growing sense of remorse. He didn’t like it. But her outburst had forced him to consider that Marissa probably had been a target of her father’s retribution, just as she claimed. He was a fool for not realizing that sooner, but the wounded boy of thirteen years ago had lacked the understanding that came with being a man.

Not that Anthony was ready to forgive her — at least not yet. The possibility still existed that she was trying to manipulate him with her tale of woe. Better to wait and hear what she had to say.

And he hoped to God she said yes. He had been in a painful state of arousal all afternoon, all because of one damn little kiss that hadn’t lasted much more than a minute.

“Something to drink? A sherry, perhaps,” he offered. Whatever she had to say, alcohol would make it easier for both of them.

She took her seat, perching on the edge of the sofa, ready to bolt. Clearly, it would take more than one drink to settle her nerves.

“I’ll have a brandy. And please make it a big one,” she said in a clipped voice.

He bit back a smile and poured out two glasses of the finest French brandy his ships could smuggle into England.

After handing her the glass, he settled into a chair opposite the sofa. As much as he wanted to crowd her, something held him back. That damned remorse, he supposed, or the strained look around her eyes and the slight quiver of her pink mouth. Marissa had always been pluck to the backbone, but tonight she seemed as fragile as a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

“Have you reached your decision?” His voice came out on a husky pitch.

“I have,” she said, her air both tragic and dignified. “I will agree to your terms if you will defer my brother’s debt to his satisfaction and provide appropriately for my daughter.”

His heart stopped, then started again, thumping out a painful tattoo. His intellect had told him she would agree — she had no real choice — but his bone-deep sense of her had expected more resistance.

“I’m gratified by your decision,” he said, struggling to keep the sound of relief from his voice. The last thing he wanted was for her to realize the power she still wielded over him.

He came to his feet and moved to sit next to her. She stiffened, but didn’t shy away.

“I’m curious, though,” he continued. “Why did you decide to agree?” He was more than curious. Suddenly, it seemed imperative he know the reasons why — as if his future depended upon it.

“Not for Edmund’s sake, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said with a scowl. “You were right about him — he’s not worthy of the sacrifice. I do this to provide for my daughter.”

Her azure eyes briefly met his. She looked pathetically valiant, like a tragic queen in a melodrama. Or Joan of Arc consigning herself to the flames.

Frustration had him clenching his teeth as it dawned on him that he had no desire to take a martyr to his bed. Not even if that martyr was Marissa. Her noble self-sacrifice would freeze him more thoroughly than a winter storm in the North Atlantic.

“Is that the only reason?” he growled.

Her startled gaze flew to his. He didn’t bother to hide his irritation.

She studied his face, probing for answers to unspoken questions. Then she blushed an enchanting shade of pink and dropped her gaze.

“No,” she whispered. “It’s not the only reason.”

He waited impatiently. “Well?” he finally prompted.

She met his eyes, and he saw a hint of her old fire. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

“So, you’re offering yourself up as a means of atonement, is that it?”

Her mouth kicked up in a wry smile. “Something like that.”

He took a gulp of brandy, feeling gloomier by the minute. This was not how he had envisioned the scene playing out. He should be feeling triumphant after all those years spent developing his schemes, step by careful step. Vengeance against the Joslins — against her — had given his life purpose. And now, when he had prevailed and Marissa was finally under his thrall, what did he truly feel?

Not triumph. Not even simple satisfaction. What he felt was … hollow. As if he’d lost something important he could never get back.

Anthony captured her elegant chin between his fingers. “Did you mean what you said today?” he asked harshly. “That you were desperate to find me?” She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I want the truth, Marissa. No more lies or secrets. Not any more.”

Her pupils dilated as she drew in an unsteady breath. She seemed almost frightened.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, giving in to the compulsion to reassure her. “You can tell me.”

Her eyes grew soft and misty. “Yes. I would have given anything to find you. My heart was broken with the thought of never seeing you again. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said my father locked me in a room for a month. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape. And no one would help me.”

Her gaze filled with anguish, an anguish that became his. He brushed her cheek, wiping away a single fallen tear.

“Then what happened?”

“When I told Father I would never marry anyone but you, he lied to me. He said you had boarded a ship to America and were never coming back. He threatened that if I didn’t marry Richard, he would exile me to one of his smaller estates in the country — indefinitely.”

His heart ached with guilt and he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her. All these years he had failed her, never knowing the truth but choosing to believe the worst.

She sniffed and tried to look brave. Anthony extracted a handkerchief and handed it to her.

“Father was determined I not break my engagement to Richard. I know I was weak, but I simply didn’t have the strength to fight him any more,” she said with an unhappy shrug. She scrubbed her cheeks with her handkerchief, finishing with a prosaic wipe of her nose. “What happens now?” she asked, looking wary.

He got up and crossed to the mantel, needing to put distance between them. “Nothing,” he said. His chest ached, as if someone had punched him in the ribs.

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re free to go. I’ll write to your brother tomorrow, setting out reasonable terms to pay back what he owes me. You have my word that no harm will come to your family.”

He forced himself to look at her. She seemed dazed, frozen into immobility. He should have derived some satisfaction from that, but it only confirmed she had expected the worst of him.

“I’ll ring for my carriage.” He felt like the lowest kind of villain. “You may return to Berkeley Square immediately.”

He crossed the room, reaching for the bell-pull. As his fingers wrapped around the cord, a slender hand touched his forearm.

“Anthony, don’t,” she murmured.

He pivoted. She gazed up at him, her cheeks flushed with colour and her eyes luminous with unshed tears. Never had she looked as beautiful as she did in that moment.

“Don’t send me away.” Her voice was throaty. “I couldn’t bear it. Please … I don’t want to lose you again.”

Anthony gazed down at her, looking stunned and at a loss for words.

“Are you sure?” he finally managed in a hoarse voice.

Marissa pressed a hand over her pounding heart. Taking a deep breath, she stepped off the cliff.

“I’m not sure about anything except my feelings for you. I want to be with you, Anthony, more than you could ever know.”

Shyly, she placed a hand on his chest. His heart pounded drumlike beneath her fingertips. With renewed courage, she stretched up and pressed a kiss on a jaw carved from stone.

As if her touch had unleashed a genie from a bottle, his powerful body roared to life. Arms lashed about her waist, pulling her up flat against his chest. She shuddered, relishing the feel of all that solid muscle plastered along the length of her body.

“That’s all I needed to know, my sweet.” He trailed a pattern of shivery little kisses across her cheek. “I’ll take care of everything else.”

She wriggled her arms free and took his face between her hands. For long seconds they simply gazed at each other, drinking in the wonder of the moment. His bright stare smouldered with passion and a fierce, complicated love.

That look tore through her, blasting away the heartbreak and suffering of all those lonely years, infusing her with a joy so transforming it almost frightened her.

“I love you, Anthony,” she whispered. “I never stopped loving you.”

His lips covered hers in a kiss so raw and needy she could have wept. This was the Anthony she had known. Loving, claiming, protecting her. She had forgotten for a while — they both had — but now they remembered. Now they had at last found their way back to each other.

She clung to his neck, opening her mouth to draw him in. Energy, hot and carnal, flowed between them. Desire licked through her body, settling deep in her womb.

Anthony reached up to gently grip the tidy braids of her hair, pulling her head back as he kissed his way down from her mouth. She pulled in a sobbing breath as his lips fastened on her neck with a teasing suck.

“Anthony,” she moaned.

He gave a soft, guttural laugh, then licked the base of her throat as he gently pulled her back into an arch. Her breasts, aching in the confinement of their stays, rubbed against the silk of his waistcoat. Sensation streaked out from her nipples, gathering in the cove between her thighs. She whimpered and shamelessly rubbed herself against his erection. It was all so delicious, so overpowering, her senses swam.

“Wait,” she gasped, clutching his shoulders.

He growled in frustration but eased her away from his body. “Damn it, Marissa! I’ve been waiting thirteen years for this. And you want to stop me?”

If she hadn’t been so light-headed, she would have giggled at the aggrieved masculinity in his voice. “Anthony, my legs feel like jelly. Can we please sit down?”

A predatory grin curled the edges of his sensual mouth. “I’m yours to command, My Lady,” he purred.

He swept her up — this time she did giggle — and carried her to the sofa. He set her down and began to pull her clothes off with impatient hands.

“Anthony,” she squeaked as one of her buttons popped, ricocheting off the low table in front of the sofa.

“I’ll buy you a new dress. I’ll buy you a hundred new dresses,” he said through clenched teeth. “But right now I’m getting you out of this one.”

A moment later, he tossed her gown over a chair. A few moments after that, her stays and chemise followed. Leaving her stockings on, he lifted her in his arms and carefully placed her on the sofa.

“Now you,” she murmured, reaching for his waistcoat. “I want to see all of you.”

He pulled off his coat, ripping a seam in the process, and then divested himself of the rest of his clothing. As he turned to her, candlelight flickered along the hard vaulting of his ribs, his broad shoulders, and the dense, tightly knit muscles of his chest and abdomen. She caught her breath at the impressive size of his erection — that part she had somehow managed to forget — and her innermost flesh grew soft and damp.

He came down on her, pressing her into the velvet cushions of the sofa.

“Open for me, darling,” he whispered, as he settled between her spread thighs.

Marissa groaned and let her head fall back. Draping her arms loosely around Anthony’s shoulders, she gave herself up to all the fantasies she had ever had about him.

But the reality was so much better.

He propped himself on his elbows, studying her body through slitted eyes of gold. Marissa panted as her breasts quivered and her nipples stiffened under his gaze. She squirmed, trying to increase the contact between their bodies.

A long breath hissed out between his teeth. His dark head lowered to her breast and his tongue flicked one nipple. Once, twice, three times.

“Please,” she gasped, arching up into his chest. “Anthony, I can’t wait.”

“God, Marissa,” he groaned, “neither can I.”

He clamped his calloused palms around her face, holding her still for his devouring kiss. As his tongue slid between her lips, hot and demanding, he pressed his length against her. He slipped one hand down to her bottom, tilting her hips up to meet him. Then, with a long, low thrust, he pushed inside.

She cried out, breaking free of his kiss to thrash her head against the velvet pillows. It was like nothing she remembered. He filled her, possessed her, as he had never done before. Anthony was no longer a boy, but a man, with a man’s power and a man’s way of loving a woman.

He flexed his hips, moving slowly at first until she heard her own voice — breathless and needy — begging for more. And he gave her everything she needed, taking her with long, powerful strokes. The end came quickly, like a rip tide, driving her to a shattering climax.

Anthony came with her, growling out her name as he thrust into her one last time. She gripped him with her arms and legs, curling around him as joy flooded her soul, obliterating years of shame and denial in an overwhelming rush of emotion.

He collapsed on to her, big, sweaty and heavy. Marissa didn’t care. She wanted to lie there all night, with him inside, loving her as it was always meant to be. She was safe, home at last.

Her eyes flew open.

Home. Where Antonia was. Anthony’s daughter.

Suddenly, he was crushing her. A surge of panic squeezed her chest and throat. “Anthony,” she gasped. “I can’t breathe.”

His head came up. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, but he moved, shifting their bodies so that she came to rest between the back of the sofa and his chest. One big hand stroked down the length of her spine as he murmured soothing words and planted soft kisses on the top of her head.

Under the influence of that comforting voice and hand, her breath slowed and her reason returned. Of course she had to tell him that Antonia was his daughter. He would know it, anyway, as soon as he caught sight of her eyes. Unless Marissa intended to hide Antonia away — which would be well nigh impossible — he was bound to meet her sooner or later.

She squeezed her eyes shut, snuggling into the warmth of his body as his arms tightened around her. She should tell him, right now, but she couldn’t force the words past the lump in her throat.

Tomorrow. She would tell him tomorrow. Or the next day, after she’d thought about the most sensible way to break the news. After all, Anthony might not want a ready-made family. Or he might be furious that she hadn’t already told him. Marissa couldn’t bear the thought of ruining this moment between them — not when they had just found each other after so long apart.

And she had to think about Antonia, too. What in God’s name would she say to her daughter about all this?

Anthony’s deep voice rumbled through his chest and into her body, startling her out of her uneasy reverie. “What troubles you, my sweet?”

She looked up. He gave her a loving smile, but his eyes were sombre and watchful. Her heart twisted at the idea that he might reject Antonia. He might reject her, too, for keeping such a dark secret.

Tomorrow, whispered the coward’s voice in her head.

She stretched up to kiss him. “Nothing, my love. Everything is just perfect.”

Anthony strode along Bond Street, feeling as light as a gull skimming over the whitecaps. For the first time in years, all was right with the world.

As he skirted a pair of dandies preening at their own reflections in a shop window, he patted his waistcoat to check that the small box from Phillip’s jewellers remained safely stowed in his pocket. Marissa’s engagement ring was a stunner — a large sapphire surrounded by diamonds. The stone matched her eyes. That made him a sentimental fool, of course, but he didn’t care. He would propose to her this evening, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

As he made his way to a hackney stand on Piccadilly, he spied a woman walking hand in hand with a young girl as they turned into Hatchard’s bookshop.

Marissa. He’d recognize her graceful figure anywhere. The girl must be her daughter.

He smiled. No time like the present to meet his future stepdaughter. Not that he would drop any hints, but surely Marissa couldn’t object to introducing him, especially under these circumstances. Meeting her might even be easier this way — running into them in a casual fashion. And he had to admit he was eager to meet the child. Marissa obviously adored her, and Anthony had every intention of loving her, too.

He crossed the street and followed them into Hatchard’s. After a short search, he found them looking through a pile of books, their backs to him as he approached.

“Lady Paget,” he said, affecting surprise. “How do—”

Marissa spun on her heel. She gasped, all the colour leaching from her complexion as she stared at him in horror. The girl turned with her, lifting a questioning gaze to his face. Her big amber eyes opened wide and her mouth gaped into a surprised little oval.

Anthony’s mind whirled as he stared into a living picture of himself as a child, especially her eyes. He had never seen eyes like that anywhere but reflected in the mirror.

After he managed to pound his brain into a semblance of order, he dragged his gaze to Marissa’s dead-white face. Her desperate eyes pleaded for mercy.

“How old is she?” he rasped. “She’s older than you told me, isn’t she?”

Marissa pressed a hand to her mouth, looking like the world had just come to an end. Maybe it had — for him, anyway.

“I’ll find out, whether you tell me or not,” he threatened.

“My daughter is twelve,” she finally whispered.

He could barely comprehend the words, or even hear them through the roaring in his ears. Not that he needed to. Proof was in that childish gaze, darting back and forth between the two adults.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he growled at Marissa.

She cast an anxious glance around the store. “Captain Barnett, please keep your voice down.”

The girl tugged on her mother’s arm. “Mamma, what’s happening?”

Marissa dredged up a weak smile. “Just a small misunderstanding, darling. Don’t worry.”

Anthony gave a harsh laugh. “Is that what people call it these days?”

“I’ll explain everything later,” she replied, looking frantic. “But I beg you, don’t make a scene.”

Anger and a sickening sense of betrayal lifted him on a cresting wave. “Beg all you want, Lady Paget. But tell your brother I expect payment in full by the end of the week, or I’ll see every last Joslin rotting in debtors’ prison.”

How could he have been such a bastard?

Anthony paced from one end of his office to the other, re-enacting the disastrous scene at Hatchard’s in his head. What a brute he’d been, making threats in front of a little girl — his own daughter. No matter what Marissa had done, it could never excuse such unforgivable behaviour.

He came to a halt by the window, thoroughly disgusted with himself. A small fleet of ships — his ships — floated on the Thames. They might as well have been toy boats bobbing around in a tub for all it mattered. The only thing he could focus on was the face of a little girl, staring up at him with amber eyes.

And Marissa’s eyes, too, pleading for understanding. The worst of it was that he did understand, now that his fury had cooled. What else could she have done when she discovered her predicament? Pregnant and alone — her lover supposedly on the other side of the ocean. She had protected her daughter — their daughter — in the only way she could.

But she hadn’t trusted him with the truth, and that knowledge twisted in his gut.

A knock sounded on the door, and a clerk stuck his head into the office. “There’s a young lady to see you, Captain. Says she’s Lady Paget’s daughter.”

He jerked around. “What? Who’s with her?”

“She’s alone, sir.”

Anthony muttered a curse and strode to the outer office.

The child sat on his clerk’s high stool, her feet swinging inches above the floor. She looked like she hadn’t a care in the world as she twirled her little beaded reticule around her fingers.

He glowered at her. What was she thinking? Coming all alone to Wapping — home to sailors, thieves and whores. “Good God, child! What are you doing here? Where’s your mother?”

She scrambled off the stool and gave him a polite bob. “Good afternoon, Captain Barnett. I was hoping to have a word with you. Is there someplace we can be private?”

He eyed her, reluctantly impressed by her audacity. Pluck to the backbone, his daughter was, and full of brass. “Step into my office,” he growled.

She sailed past him, a dignified miniature of her mother — except for the eyes. Those were all his.

“I don’t have much time,” she said. “Mamma thinks I’m taking a nap.”

He sighed. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I heard Mamma talking about you to Uncle Edmund. Then I snuck out of the house and found a hackney.”

He stifled a groan. Clearly, his daughter was both precocious and in need of supervision. He’d have to talk to Marissa about that.

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t even know her given name. “Forgive me if I sound rude, but what’s your name?”

“I’m Lady Antonia Paget. But you can call me Antonia.”

His heart lurched. Marissa had named their child after him. With effort, he marshalled his wits. “Best get on with it, then. I’ve got to get you home before your mother discovers you missing.”

She studied him, as serious as a parson in a pulpit. “You’ve made Mamma very unhappy. She cried. I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

He blinked. Were all little girls so blunt?

“I’m sure I haven’t,” he managed.

“You have. It’s not very nice of you, especially since she loves you.”

That hit him low and fast.

“Ah, I don’t think that can be right,” he replied. Not after today, anyway.

She impatiently tapped her foot. “Oh, no. I’m right. She told Uncle Edmund she did.”

He wished his heart would stop jerking about in his chest. It made it difficult to think. “You heard her say that?”

The look she gave him clearly expressed her opinion of his intellect, and not a favourable one, at that. “Are you really my father?” she demanded.

His brain, as heavy as an overloaded frigate in a gale, struggled to keep up with her. “Why would you think that?” he hedged.

She looked thoughtful. “I’m not surprised. My other father, Sir Richard, that is, was never really fond of me.”

A flare of anger cleared the fog from his brain. “Did he mistreat you?”

“Not at all. He was a perfectly adequate father, under the circumstances.”

He’d lost her again. “What circumstances?”

She sighed dramatically. “The very large circumstance that I wasn’t his daughter. You’re not very bright, are you? I do hope I take after Mamma, in that respect.”

He choked back a laugh. It wouldn’t do to encourage her. “Did Sir Richard tell you he wasn’t your father?”

“Of course not. But I overheard him fighting with Mamma a few months before he died. It was about me, but I didn’t really understand what he meant. Of course, now it’s all perfectly clear. How silly of me not to have realized before.”

Anthony wondered if someone had knocked him on the head when he wasn’t looking. His daughter, however, seemed completely at ease with the bizarre conversation.

“You seem to do quite a lot of eavesdropping for a little girl,” he said, latching on to the one thing in this whole muddle that seemed clear.

She shrugged. “I know. Mamma says it’s my greatest fault. But how else am I to know what is happening? Adults never tell children anything. Not anything interesting, that is.”

He really couldn’t let that one pass. “Well, stop it. It’s not at all becoming in a young lady.”

She crossed her hands in front of her, looking as meek as a Spanish nun. Except for the mischievous smile playing around the edges of her mouth, of course. “Yes, Papa. Whatever you say.”

He shook his head, dazed by the odd creature already fastening herself like a little barnacle on to his heart. “You’re rather terrifying, Antonia,” he said thoughtfully. “But I suppose you already know that.”

Her smile widened into a grin. “Then I do take after you — at least a little.”

He laughed. “I refuse to believe you were the least bit frightened by that scene in Hatchard’s.”

“Not really. I was a little nervous in the hackney coming down here, though. I’ve never been to this part of London.”

He was about to deliver a stern parental lecture on that subject when he heard a commotion in the outer office. A moment later, Marissa, looking like a wild woman, came bursting into the room.

“Antonia,” she cried, clutching her daughter by the shoulders. “Thank God! You scared me half to death!”

Anthony crossed his arms over his chest and, with some effort, wiped the grin from his face. He was a wicked man, but he couldn’t help taking his revenge on the two females who would no doubt lead him a merry dance for the rest of his life.

And thank God for that.

“Ah, Lady Paget, come to collect your errant child. I’m amazed you allow her to wander about town like a street urchin. You really shouldn’t unleash her on the unsuspecting citizens of London without any warning. Mayhem would no doubt ensue.”

Marissa pokered up, just as he had known she would. “I beg your pardon, Captain,” she said in a cold voice. “She won’t trouble you again. Come, Antonia.”

Antonia resisted her mother’s efforts to drag her from the room. “Mamma, I don’t want to leave yet. Papa and I were just getting acquainted.”

Marissa stumbled to a halt. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She looked stunned, anxious and defiant, all at the same time. But mostly, she looked like the woman he loved.

He couldn’t tease her any more, not even for the fun of it. Crossing the room, he took one of her trembling hands in his. “My love, I’ve been a brute, and I beg your forgiveness. But why didn’t you tell me about Antonia last night?”

Her beautiful eyes filled with remorse. “I wanted to. But I was afraid you would hate me for the lies I told. And for not remaining true to you all those years, no matter what the consequences.”

When her voice broke, Anthony pulled her into his arms. She put up a token struggle before relaxing against his chest.

“And I didn’t know what to tell Antonia,” she whispered. “What would she think?”

He nodded grimly. “You were ashamed of me. Of what I had become.”

“Never!” she exclaimed, giving him a fierce hug. “You’re the finest man I’ve ever known.”

He let out a tight breath. “Then what were you afraid of? You should have known I would never let anyone hurt you — either of you.”

She looked woeful. “I was afraid Antonia would despise me. My life was a lie, and I made hers a lie, too.”

Antonia propped her hands on her hips and gave her mother a severe look. “Mamma, I worry that your mind is as disordered as Papa’s. How could you think such a thing? I love you more than anything in the world.”

Marissa extracted herself from Anthony’s embrace and gently grasped her daughter’s shoulders. Mother and child gazed into each other’s eyes, seeming to communicate in some mystical, female way.

“Then you don’t mind that you have a new father? Your real father?” Marissa finally asked.

Antonia looked puzzled. “Why would I? He seems nice, and you love him. Plus, he’s rich. You are rich, aren’t you, Papa?” she asked, suddenly looking worried. “Mamma and I wouldn’t be happy if we had to live with Uncle Edmund, instead of with you.”

Anthony pulled the two most important people in the world into his arms. Each fitted snugly against him, as if they’d both been there from the beginning of time.

“No man could be richer,” he said.

And with the prizes he had captured, no man ever would.