Whirlwind Affair

Chapter 11

The moment the carriage halted in front of the Bradford town house, Robert knew something was amiss. It appeared as if every chandelier and candle in the entire household were lit, for light blazed from every window. Before he and Mrs. Brown had made it halfway up the cobbled walkway, the double oak doors opened. Carters stood in the swath of light, his normally blank features lined with distress.

Fear hit him. Now what? Had something happened to Elizabeth? To the babe? He all but propelled Mrs. Brown up the steps and into the foyer. "What's wrong?" he asked Carters, forcing himself not to shake the man by his lapels. "The duchess?"

"No, Lord Robert." Unmistakable anger flashed in Carters' eyes. "But someone has attempted to rob us again."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"No, sir. Indeed, nothing was taken. The scoundrel tried to enter Mrs. Brown's bedchamber from the balcony, but was scared off when Clara screamed. She'd just turned down Mrs. Brown's bed and was seeing to the fire when the French windows leading to the balcony opened. And there he stood, dressed head to toe in black, she said. Never heard a woman scream like that in my entire life. Gave all of us quite a turn, of course, not so much of a turn as poor Clara suffered."

"Then what happened?" Robert asked.

"I was the first to arrive in the bedchamber, where I found Clara still screaming and brandishing the fire poker. Apparently she'd scared off the brigand. He'd vaulted over the railing to the ground. By the time I'd gotten the story from her, the bloke had vanished."

"Where is Clara now?"

"Gone to bed, sir. Cook prepared her a restorative toddy to calm her nerves. Nearly fell to pieces afterward, but Clara quite saved the day."

"Indeed she did," Robert murmured. "When did this happen?"

"Not more than half an hour after you departed, sir. As soon as I'd turned Clara over to Cook, I sent for the magistrate. Mr. Laramie interviewed Clara, then departed. He advised me to tell you that he'd inform you of any news, and to make certain all the doors and windows are locked. I've already been through the entire household checking. We are all secured."

"Thank you, Carters." Robert turned to Mrs. Brown, who had remained silent throughout his exchange with Carters. She stood still as a statue, her face devoid of color, her eyes twin pools of distress. He noted the slight tremor of her bottom lip, and the way her fingers were twisted together.

She was hiding something, damn it, and he'd had quite enough of it. He hadn't pressed her last evening, but tonight things would be different.

"I believe we need to have another conversation, Mrs. Brown," he said softly.

Allie stood in front of the drawing-room fireplace, staring at the flames, trying to absorb the heat to chase away the chill that had invaded her bones at Carters' disturbing news.

Dear God, it wasn't over. The ring, the box, they were both gone, yet still someone wanted something from her. Or simply wanted her… gone.

She clasped her hands tightly in front of her but could not stop their trembling. She could not recall a time in her life when she'd been more frightened. Or felt more alone. And not only frightened for herself. This menace no longer threatened just her. Lord Robert had already been hurt, and the town house ransacked and robbed. If she traveled to Bradford Hall, could her presence there bring danger to Elizabeth and her family?

She couldn't risk such a thing. The best thing would no doubt be for her to return to America. Immediately. Her heart balked at the idea, but she wouldn't forgive herself if further harm befell someone because of her. Because of her connection to David. For that was the only explanation. This person who wanted something from her had to be someone from David's past. Someone must have followed her from America. A sense of weary bitterness invaded her. So now you will steal something else from me, David. My chance to see Elizabeth.

Hot tears pressed behind her eyes. Dear God, she felt so alone-with a stabbing ache she'd never before experienced. And she was so tired of being alone.

"Are you all right?"

Lord Robert's deep voice sounded directly behind her. Turning, she found herself staring up into eyes not dark with anger, as she'd anticipated, but steady with unmistakable concern.

Reaching out, he cupped her shoulders. Warmth from his wide palms seeped through her gown. "It is obvious that you are not all right," he said softly. "It is also obvious that there is more going on here than you've told me." His fingers tightened and an edge entered his voice. "Whatever is going on, it's placing not only you, but me and everyone and everything in my brother's household, at risk. I do not want anyone to get hurt."

"Neither do I," she whispered. "Which is why the best thing is for me to return to America. On the first available ship."

He seemed to freeze for several seconds. An indecipherable look flashed in his eyes, then his fingers tightened on her shoulders. "No," he said in an emphatic tone. "That would not be best. We can solve this problem. Whoever is behind this will be apprehended. In the meanwhile, Bradford Hall is very secure, and once we arrive, I'll see to it that extra safety precautions are taken."

His confidence wavered her resolve. God knew she did not want to leave. Of course, if she were to go, she wouldn't be forced to confide the humiliating details of her marriage. She could simply sail home without him ever having to know.

He lightly shook her shoulders, regaining her attention. "You must abandon this idea of leaving. Not only would Elizabeth never forgive me if I allowed you to do so, but you cannot make such a trip alone. If, after seeing Elizabeth, you are still determined to cut your visit to England short, we will arrange for a traveling companion to accompany you." His compelling blue gaze bore into hers. "But you do not strike me as the sort of woman who would run away."

His statement struck her as both compliment and challenge, strengthening her determination not to allow David to rob her. of anything else. All of Lord Robert's arguments to stay were sound, while the thought of leaving filled her with an ache she could not name.

"I'll stay," she said. The instant the words passed her lips, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from her heart.

Lord Robert expelled a long breath, and his grip on her shoulders relaxed. "Excellent. Now you must tell me what is going on. I've pledged to do my utmost to protect both you and my family, but I cannot do that until I know everything."

Everything. He was right, of course. There was more at risk here than simply her own safety. Her silence might be placing him in danger. Indeed, it already had. If further harm were to befall him-

No. She couldn't allow that to happen.

He gave her shoulders another tiny shake. "Let me help you. Trust me."

She swallowed the humorless laugh that rose in her throat. Yet even as her mind scoffed at the notion of trusting him, her heart reminded her that this man had proven himself trustworthy, at least as far as protecting her was concerned. He'd rescued her from her abductors, and had watched over her since she'd arrived.

Let me help you. She briefly squeezed her eyes closed. To have an ally… someone to talk to. Confide in. Lean on. But what would he think of her once he knew the truth? The thought of seeing the warmth and admiration fade from his gaze saddened her. But she owed him the truth. With his safety at risk, she had no choice.

"It's rather a long story," she said.

His gaze never wavered. "I have as long as you need." His hands slid down her arms, and he clasped her hands in a reassuring grip. "Come. Let's sit." He led her to the settee, and once they were settled, she drew a deep breath.

"Did Elizabeth tell you anything about… my husband?"

He appeared surprised. "No. Only that he'd died."

"She didn't mention how he died?"

"No. I assumed an illness of some sort."

"David was killed in a duel." She longed to look away from his penetrating gaze, but forced herself to look him straight in the eye. "By his lover's husband."

It clearly took several seconds for her words to sink in, but then there was no mistaking his stunned reaction. Unable to stand the pity she saw brewing in his eyes, she rose and began to pace in front of the fire.

"I had no idea," she said. "One minute I thought I had a husband who loved me as much as I loved him. The next minute I found out he was dead. Before I could even assimilate that news, I learned he'd been unfaithful to me… almost from the moment we'd wed."

Now that she'd begun, the words seemed to pour from her, as if she'd lanced a wound, letting out the poison. "I was still reeling from that blow when I realized that adultery was the least of David's sins. While packing away his belongings, I discovered a journal. After reading it, I learned exactly what sort of man I'd married."

She pressed shaky hands to her stomach in a vain attempt to calm her inner trembling. "He was a thief. A blackmailer. A criminal. The journal listed, in great detail, hundreds of items he'd stolen and then sold. Of sums he'd extorted." A fresh onslaught of pain rushed through her at the memory, tightening her throat. "I was sick. Literally sick. Every comfort I'd enjoyed as his wife-our fine home, the beautiful furnishings, my exquisite wardrobe-were all at the expense of other people."

She turned to him and spread her hands. "I didn't know," she whispered. "I didn't know. And once I found out, it nearly destroyed me. So many emotions churned through me, I thought I might lose my mind. I spent an entire week locked in my room. First crying over what I'd lost-my husband, my security, my future. Then I cried over what a fool I'd been. I'd trusted David absolutely, with my whole heart. He'd fooled me so completely. Had fooled everyone. Except Elizabeth. She'd tried to warn me. Cautioned me I didn't know him well enough, but I wouldn't listen…"

Pausing long enough to draw several deep breaths, she continued, "After a week of indulging in tears and self-pity, I couldn't stand myself anymore. That is when anger replaced the self-pity. Anger at myself for being such a naive fool. And with David for all his lies and deceit."

Turning from him, she started to pace once again, the words flowing even faster. "Once I stopped feeling sorry for myself, I decided I would not, could not, allow David to rob me of my self-respect. He'd stolen everything else, but he wasn't going to have that. And there was only one way I would ever have a chance of feeling good about myself again. I decided to return all the monies he'd stolen.

"To that end, little by little, I sold everything. The house, the furniture, my jewelry, and eventually even my clothing. As soon as the house sold, I moved away. The gossip and scandal surrounding David's death at the hands of his lover's husband… well, you cannot even imagine how unbearable it made my life. I settled in a small town outside Boston. David had lived in the city for several years, and according to his journal, the majority of the people he'd stolen from were from that area. Living close by enabled me to ensure that the funds safely reached those I needed to repay. As Brown is a common surname, and I did not tell anyone my husband's name had been David, everyone simply regarded me with the respect due a young widow. I earned a bit of money taking in sewing. With that independence, and the feeling of doing something useful to right the wrongs David had wrought… I eventually started to heal."

Memories flashed through her mind. Her modest rooms. Long nights that had eventually ceased to seem quite so lonely. Her self-respect slowly seeping back as, one by one, she anonymously paid back David's victims.

"I found one item among David's belongings," she continued, "that was not mentioned in his journal. It was a small rusted box containing a coat-of-arms ring. I thought it odd that there was no mention of the piece, especially given how meticulously all the other ill-gotten items were listed. Candlesticks, jewelry, snuffboxes. With the exception of perhaps a dozen items, he'd sold the wares as fast as he stole them, therefore I could only return the money he'd sold them for, rather than the actual goods." Another humorless laugh escaped her. "While I couldn't explain why there was no mention of this ring in the journal, I of course had good reason to assume it was stolen. If it was, I wanted to return it to the owner. If it actually had belonged to David, I planned to sell it, then donate the money to charity. I wanted all traces of him gone."

She stopped pacing and glanced at him. He sat on the settee, leaning forward, his forearms braced on his spread legs, his hands clasped, watching her intently. Questions lurked in his intense gaze, but he said nothing, clearly waiting for her to continue.

Clearing her throat, and pacing once more, she plunged on. "I consulted with an antiquities expert in Boston, but was only able to learn that the ring was old, of English origin, and probably belonged to a member of the peerage. Which meant, of course, that David had almost certainly stolen it, no doubt before he sailed to America. I left the ring as my final item to return, deciding to combine my search for the owner with a visit to Elizabeth. It took me three long years to locate, then repay, David's victims, but I finally succeeded. The only things I kept were my silver wedding band, which I no longer wore, and my mourning gowns, which I wore every day. I couldn't afford other clothing, and the black kept any suitors at bay. And both the wedding band and the gowns served as daily reminders of what I'd lost… and a harsh warning to never allow myself to be put in a similar situation again." She stopped in front of the fire and stared into the flames, her hands fisted at her sides. "Never again," she whispered fervently. "Never again."

"Does Elizabeth know all this?" he asked.

Turning to face him, she shook her head. “No one knows. All Elizabeth knows is what I wrote to her in my very first letter where I told her that David had been killed in a duel. Because she deserved to know she'd been right about him, I informed her about the circumstances surrounding his death. I begged for her forgiveness and I asked her if I could visit her, to apologize in person. She wrote back, readily offering her forgiveness and inviting me to come to England."

"What about your family? Did you not tell them?"

"Only about David being unfaithful, which of course everyone learned about upon his death. No one knows the rest." She raised her chin a fraction. "Except you. Nor does anyone else know of my financial situation. If I'd told my family, they would have insisted upon helping me. But paying those people back… it was something I had to do on my own." She slowly shook her head. "I do not expect you to understand…"

A shadow passed over his face. "Actually, I understand perfectly."

She sincerely doubted he could, but when their eyes met, there was no mistaking the empathy in his gaze. Curiosity nudged her, but she forced herself to push it aside and finish her own tale. "By the time I was ready to travel to London, I could barely afford the passage. But I didn't wish to delay my trip any longer and be forced to endure a winter ocean crossing. And I had to come. I had to find out more about the ring so I could put the last remaining piece of the past behind me, and I needed to see Elizabeth. To make amends to her. Through the letters we'd exchanged, I knew she generously forgave my horrible treatment of her, but I wanted, needed, to express my sorrow in person." She pressed her hands tighter against her middle. "I was hateful to her. She was my best friend, with nothing but my best interests at heart, and I pushed her away. That's the reason she came to England, you know. She'd been living with my family after her father passed away. But when she warned me about David, told me not to marry him, I told her to leave."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she could barely speak around the lump that settled in her throat. "I accused her of wanting David for herself. Accused her of being jealous of my happiness. I told her that I did not want her at my wedding or to be a part of my life any longer. When she left my family she had nowhere to go, so she sailed to England to visit her aunt." She closed her eyes. "She warned me… dear God, if I'd only listened to her."

She heaved a deep sigh. "Because my funds were so limited, I hired myself out as a companion to Lady Gaddlestone to pay for the voyage. But once on board the ship, the mishaps I told you about occurred. When you met me at the pier, I was terrified. I had the strongest feeling someone was watching me. I couldn't wait to get away from there." A shudder ran through her. "Yet the strange happenings followed me here, as you know. I thought it was over-the coat-of-arms ring is gone, as well as its box."

"Yet clearly it's not over," he said, his voice grim. "The fact that someone tried to break in this evening clearly indicates that whoever it is still wants something. Do you have any idea what it could be?"

She briefly considered not telling him, but decided there was no point, as he already knew all her other humiliating secrets. "There's nothing left… except this." Crossing to the settee, she opened her reticule and withdrew the folded paper. "I found this just today. Hidden in a false bottom in the ring box."

"What does it say?"

"I don't know. It's written in some foreign language. I'm afraid it might have information about David… information I wouldn't want anyone else to know, which is why I did not put it back before I gave the box over to Lord Shelbourne."

"May I take a look at it?"

She wordlessly handed him the delicate paper. Moving to the fireplace, he crouched on the stone hearth and held the note at the best angle to capture the light. After a minute he remarked, "I think this might be Gaelic."

Her stomach knotted. "I thought so as well, in which case it most likely does concern David. He was familiar with the language."

He nodded in an almost absent manner, then said, "This word… how odd." He pointed to a word. "That looks like 'Evers.' "

Crouching down beside him, she squinted at the cramped, faded letters. "Yes, it does," she agreed. Something tickled her memory, but remained just out of reach. "Does that mean something to you?"

"Only that it is my friend Michael's surname."

Recognition hit her. "The pugilist fellow who bandaged us."

"Yes." He continued to examine the letter. Nearly a minute passed where the only sound breaking the silence was the snapping of the orange-red flames in the hearth.

"Look at this word," he finally said, pointing to another faded group of letters. "I swear it looks like the name of the town in Ireland where I recall that Michael grew up." He turned to her, his eyes dark and serious in the firelight. "I'd like to show this letter to Michael."

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could utter a word, he said, "Being from Ireland, he might be able to translate the words. I give you my word that he is discreet."

She debated saying no, but a wave of weariness washed over her, nearly drowning her in its wake. She wanted so badly for this to be over…

"Very well," she agreed in a tired voice.

Robert watched as the strength seemed to simply seep out of her. Setting the note on the mahogany end table, he stood, then reached down to help her up. She stared at his hands for several seconds, and he thought she was going to refuse his help. But then she grasped his palms and allowed him to assist her to her feet.

No more than two feet separated them. Her hands felt small and cold clasped in his, and her eyes… they appeared enormous in her pale face, shadowed with ghosts of the past and inner weariness. She looked emotionally and physically spent.

His chest tightened, and all the anger he'd held steadfastly at bay while listening to her tale bombarded him. A violence such as he'd never before experienced rose in him, and he deeply regretted that he'd never have five minutes alone with David Brown. Now he knew where the girl in the sketch had gone. And he couldn't help but marvel at the determination and inner strength that had kept even a tiny flicker of that girl alive.

Looking at her now, however, his anger faded as quickly as it had flared, snuffed out by a swell of sympathy. Bloody hell, what this young woman had endured… and how she'd fought back. And how difficult it clearly had been for her to tell him.

She suddenly stiffened and pulled her hands from his grasp.

"Another reason I moved away," she said, "was to distance myself from my family. Not only did I not want the scandal to touch them any more than it already had but I simply couldn't stand their pity any longer. I knew they loved me, yet every time they looked at me, all they saw was 'poor Allie.' They all stared at me with that same expression that's on your face right now." She lifted her chin, her gaze steady. "I do not want your pity."

"I understand. Yet I cannot help but feel sorry for what you've suffered. If it makes you feel better, I can tell you that pity is actually only a small part of what I'm feeling right now."

She pressed her lips together, then raised her chin another notch. "I imagine you're quite disgusted."

"Indeed, it disgusts me to know that not only do people such as David Brown exist but they hurt people… kind, trusting people, like you."

"I meant disgusted with me. For being so stupid as to love such a man. For not being able to see his true nature."

"No. God, no." Reaching out, he cupped her shoulders. "You did nothing wrong. You were victimized-in the crudest of ways. I feel the deepest admiration for you, for the way you paid back his other victims. You're very brave."

A short, humorless laugh blew from between her lips. "Brave? I'm frightened all the time. Unsure of… everything."

"Yet you go on. Trying your best. Bravery isn't being without fear-it's overcoming your fears. Moving forward in spite of them. Facing them down." When she continued to look unconvinced, he continued, "I cannot tell you how much I admire your strength. How you've worked so hard to right wrongs that weren't even yours."

Confusion flickered in her eyes. "Giving back things that did not belong to me, returning money that David had stolen, that did not take strength."

"Didn't it? How many other people do you honestly think would have done it? Especially if it left them on the brink of financial ruin?" His gaze roamed her lovely, pale face, and his heart, quite simply, turned over. "I believe you're the bravest and strongest woman I've ever met. And I give you my word that whoever is behind these 'accidents' and abductions and robberies will be apprehended. I'll not allow anyone to harm you again."

A wealth of expressions flitted across her features. Surprise. Doubt. Uncertainty. Then gratitude. And all of them shadowed by an underlying vulnerability that made him want to wrap his arms around her and protect her from anyone or anything that would be foolish enough to attempt to hurt her again. Her bottom lip trembled slightly, drawing his attention to her mouth… her full, beautiful mouth.

Desire slammed into him-low, hard, and undeniable. She was so achingly beautiful. A sudden flush of color washed over her cheeks. Clearly she'd recognized the hunger he knew burned in his gaze. He remained perfectly still for several seconds, giving her the chance to move away, but she stood her ground. That beguiling blush beckoned him like a siren's call, and slowly, as if in a trance, he raised his hand to her face and gently brushed his fingertips over her cheek.

Velvet. Her skin was like cream velvet. Or was satin softer? Or silk? He didn't know, but she was most definitely whichever was the softest. A tiny, breathy sound escaped her, once again drawing his gaze to her lips. And suddenly he could not recall one reason why he shouldn't give in to the longing that had plagued him since even before he'd met her, and kiss her. She didn't mourn… Her heart was free.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, he slowly drew her to him until they touched from chest to knee. Her eyes widened slightly, but there was no mistaking the awareness glimmering in her golden-brown depths. Or the stirrings of desire. He inhaled, and her scent wrapped around him like a seductive vine. Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth over hers.

At last.

That same intense rush of feeling he'd experienced at the pier enveloped him, and for several seconds he couldn't move as the words reverberated through his mind. If it had been possible, he would have laughed at his strong reaction. Bloody hell, he'd barely touched her…

He pulled her tighter against him. No woman, ever, had felt this right. As if she'd been fashioned precisely for him and no one else. Rising up on her toes, she strained closer to him, pressing her lush curves against him, instantly evaporating any hopes he might have foolishly harbored about remaining in control. A low growl rumbled in his throat. He touched his tongue to the seam of her lips, and she opened for him with a husky sigh of want that ignited him, racing his blood through his veins.

She tasted like heated wine. Smooth and warm, delicious and intoxicating. While he explored the dark mysteries of her mouth, she explored his with equal fervor, her tongue rubbing against his with exquisite friction. Need, hot and increasingly demanding, ripped through him, and if he'd been able to think clearly, he would have been appalled at his lack of subtlety.

He tunneled impatient fingers into her soft hair, scattering pins, until a curtain of flowery-scented tresses rained over his hands. Soft. God, she was so soft. And smelled so damn good. Her thick hair rippled through his fingers like cool silk, a stunning contrast to the fire burning through him. A fire made all the more intense by her reactions. For as impatiently as his mouth claimed hers, she pressed against him. For as eagerly as his hands combed through her hair, her fingers raced through his.

A moan vibrated between them. Him? Her? God help him, he didn't know anymore. Desperate to feel more of her, his hands smoothed down her back until he cupped her rounded buttocks. Every muscle strained with wanting her closer, and he cursed the barrier of their clothing that kept their skin from touching.

He didn't know how long that frantic mating of lips and tongues continued before a semblance of sanity returned, along with a modicum of finesse. He gentled his kiss, somehow finding the strength to abandon her lips and explore the delights of her slender neck. He ran hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw to the rapidly quivering pulse at the base of her throat. He gently touched his tongue to the spot, savoring the long, low moan vibrating in her throat.

"That fragrance," he whispered against the shell of her ear. "What is that incredible scent you wear?" He captured her lobe between his teeth and lightly tugged.

"Honeysuckle," she breathed, the word ending on a husky groan.

Honeysuckle. The luscious aroma that had embedded itself in his mind had a name. Honeysuckle. Hell, it even sounded luscious. Sensual. Like the woman in his arms.

Slowly he raised his head and looked at her. Shiny strands of chestnut hair lay about her shoulders in wild abandon. Her eyes were closed, her face flushed with arousal, her full lips damp and swollen from their frantic kiss. Next time he would go slower. Savor her. Take the time to memorize every exquisite nuance of her. He would certainly have been appalled at himself for all but devouring her if not for the fact that she'd been as voracious as he. Indeed, they'd fed each other's hunger. But next time he would-

Next time? He paused to consider the import of those words. Yes, next time, for he knew, without a doubt, there would be one. To consider not touching her again… unthinkable. Kissing her had felt like coming home after a long journey. Like finding shelter after being lost in a storm. He'd once doubted, indeed had scoffed at the notion that this woman made him feel that "certain something." By God, he couldn't doubt it or scoff any longer. One kiss had practically brought him to his knees. He wanted her. With an intensity that, quite literally, left him shaking.

Her lids fluttered open, and he swallowed a groan at her dreamy, languid expression. Her eyes looked like brown velvet, their depths soft with sexual want. For the first time he could recall, he was utterly speechless. No jest or joke sprang to mind, no laughing remark tripped off his tongue. He'd suspected-no, damn it all, he'd known-that kissing her wouldn't be just a simple kiss.

Allie slowly emerged from the sensual fog enveloping her, with a sigh of pure pleasure. She felt so wonderfully alive. Every nerve ending tingled, pulsing need through her. It had been so long since she'd been kissed. And she'd never been kissed quite like that… like he'd wanted to simply absorb her. Like he couldn't hold her close enough. Taste her deeply enough. And Lord help her, she hadn't wanted him to stop. The instant he'd touched her, after telling her how brave and strong he thought her, it was as if she were dry kindling and he were a match. She'd flared to life under the onslaught of a kiss that changed in a heartbeat from gentle to devouring.

His large hands still cupped her buttocks, while her fingers remained tangled in the thick hair at his nape. Her eyes finally focused on his, and her breath stalled at the intense heat blasting from his gaze. She shifted slightly in his embrace, the movement rubbing her against his arousal. He inhaled sharply, and heat flared in her. Fierce and aching.

And unwelcome.

Sanity returned like the slap of a cold, wet blanket. What on earth was she doing? Kissing him. As you've wanted to since that first evening, when he coaxed you into that amusing duet. Yes. And giving in to the temptation only proved how unwise a decision it was. For with one mere kiss he'd inflamed her, resurrected tormenting needs and desires she'd thought she'd buried. Thoughts and feelings she never wanted or expected to experience again. But here they were, pounding through her, harder and stronger than she ever recalled them being in the past. And God help her, that frightened her.

Disentangling her fingers from his hair, she took two shaky steps back, away from him. His hands slid slowly from her buttocks. It was nearly impossible to stand her ground and look at him when everything cautious inside her screamed at her to flee. Now. Before she gave in to her body's cravings and threw herself against him.

The coward in her longed for him to speak first. To say that what had passed between them was a mistake… a lapse in judgment that would not be repeated. But when silence stretched between them, she decided it would have to be her.

"Lord Robert-"

"Robert." One corner of his mouth lifted. "I believe we are officially on a first-name basis now… Allie."

The way he said her name, in that husky voice, rippled a warm shiver down her spine. Clearing her throat, she said in what she hoped passed for a brisk tone, "I accept my full share of the blame for what just happened. I think we can both agree that it was a mistake. One that will not be repeated."

"Oh, but it was not a mistake," he said in a soft voice completely at odds with the dead seriousness in his gaze. Reaching out, he clasped her hands, shooting tingles up her arms. "And it will happen again. Surely you realize that."

She wanted to deny it, to open her mouth and refute his frightening statement, but the words refused to form in her throat.

"You felt it, too," he whispered, his eyes steady on hers. "Just as I did. That 'certain something.' I know you did. You might not want to or be ready to admit it to yourself, but I felt it in your response. Tasted it in your kiss. It's there, between us. And it's not going away. Indeed, it's only gaining momentum."

His honesty and obvious acceptance of something so completely unacceptable stilled her. She moistened her dry lips. "If we ignore it-"

"Impossible." He squeezed her hands and stepped closer to her. "And why would you want to?"

"Why? How can you even ask?" There was no disguising the anguish sneaking into her voice. "To involve myself with another man…" Her words trailed off, and a shudder ran through her.

"But I am nothing like David." A muscle jerked in his jaw and his eyes narrowed. "But you think I am. You've told me so. Twice. And I believed you were paying me a tremendous compliment." An incredulous sound burst from his lips, and he released her hands, stepping back from her with a half-baffled, half-angry expression. "May I ask exactly what I've done to give you any reason to think so badly of me?"

"I did not mean that I believed you to be a criminal-"

"Very kind, I'm sure," he murmured dryly.

"But you do remind me of him in other ways. Ways that are difficult to describe."

"We resemble each other?"

"Physically, no. David was very handsome."

"Ah. I see. Well, that splat you just heard was my manly ego hitting the floor."

Embarrassment flooded her. "I did not mean to imply… what I meant was… oh, botheration." Annoyance shoved her embarrassment aside. "The truth of the matter is that while David was very handsome, you are even more so. But it's your manner that is just like him. You possess the same carefree, fun-loving, never-take-anything-seriously personality."

"I'm afraid I must beg to differ. There are a number of things I take very seriously."

"Perhaps. But it matters not. I refuse to risk myself again. To any degree. For any man. Clearly no one has ever betrayed your trust."

"Not in the way yours was betrayed, no."

"Then you cannot possibly understand the humiliation and despair."

Something flashed in his eyes. "I know despair," he said quietly. "But what either of us has experienced in the past has no bearing on this… attraction we feel for each other. I want to show you something." Reaching into his cream brocade waistcoat, he withdrew a piece of vellum, which he carefully unfolded and handed to her.

Allie looked down and stilled. It was a sketch. Of her.

" Elizabeth gave this to me," he said, "so I would recognize you at the pier. I believe she sent you one of me for the same reason."

"Yes." And I've looked at it every day.

"I've looked at that sketch every day, Allie," he said softly.

Her gaze snapped back up to his. Before she could react to his words, which so eerily mirrored her own thoughts, he went on, "I've been enchanted by that woman from the moment I saw her."

Allie stared at the laughing young woman in the sketch, and a lump settled in her throat. Handing him back the drawing, she said, "She doesn't exist anymore."

"Yes, she does. She's just hiding." He reached out and trailed a single fingertip down her cheek. "We simply need to coax her to come out and play."

A confusing mixture of fear and longing shook her. "Why would you want to?"

"Because I want to know her. I think I'd like her… Indeed, I already do. And I think she'd like me."

God help her, she already does. Far too much.

He refolded the sketch, then slipped it back into his pocket. "You are welcome to try to ignore your feelings, resist them, if you like, but I can promise you won't be able to. Not for long."

The sheer arrogance of his statement-combined with the fact that she feared he was correct-irked her. A pique of pride lifted her brows. "How can you be so certain?"

"Because unlike you, I'm not afraid of how our kiss made me feel. Because I cannot even imagine not exploring those feelings further. Because you think I'm handsome, and I think you're absolutely beautiful. And because, if it's the last thing I ever do, I will make you realize that I am nothing like David." He stepped toward her until they almost, but not quite, touched. Then he leaned down to whisper directly in her ear, his warm breath tickling across her sensitive skin, "You won't be able to ignore what's between us, Allie, because I won't let you. And you'll never again doubt that I can be a very serious man."

Closing his bedchamber door behind him,-Robert leaned back against the oak panel and drew in a much-needed deep breath. Her luscious taste lingered on his tongue, and the memory of her flowery scent teased his senses. God help him, he wanted her. And was determined to have her.

But her words drifted back to him. I did not mean that I believed you to be a criminal…

He squeezed his eyes shut against the guilt battering him. What would she say, how would she react, if she knew about his own criminal past? Images of the fire, the damage he'd caused, of Nate, all collided in his mind, and he dragged his hands down his face. He'd denied he was anything like her thieving late husband, and he wasn't-but would she believe that if she knew about his darkest hour?

The years rolled away, and he vividly recalled that night. Visiting a pub on the outskirts of London. His surprise at seeing Cyril Owens, the blacksmith from the village near Bradford Hall. Cyril drunkenly bragging to a group of sailors about a girl he'd recently had, and how he'd used his own brand of charm to "convince" her. Filled with disgust, Robert had turned away. But then Cyril had said her name. Hannah.

He'd realized with horror whom Cyril meant. Hannah Morehouse, Nate's daughter. Nate Morehouse was more than just of one of Bradford Hall's longtime grooms-more than just a servant. Robert admired and respected the man; he considered him a friend. He recalled Nate mentioning how concerned he was about Hannah, how withdrawn and quiet she'd become over the past several weeks. And now Robert knew why.

The urge to wrap his hands around Owens' neck was strong, but he managed to control the impulse. There were better ways to see justice served. So he'd gone to Nate. Told him what he'd overheard. He'd then assured the stricken man that he would handle the situation, in his own way, vowing that justice would be done. Dear God, he'd been such a young, impetuous fool. All my fault…

He dragged his hands through his hair and blew out a long breath. His stomach clenched as he imagined Allie's reaction to the story, given her disastrous history with David.

It was not a chance he was willing to take.

Not yet. Damn it, he wished he could tell her the truth. Wished he wasn't bound by his promise. He couldn't avoid forever telling her the version of the story everyone knew, but surely he could put it off a while longer.

Yes, surely there was no harm in waiting a while longer.