Marc strode through the servants’ entrance at Staveley House and immediately bumped into Caroline’s cook. The excitable woman from the previous night. He prepared himself for another ear-shattering scream.

“Pardon me,” he muttered.

The woman’s eyes rounded in her face, but she blessedly did not wail as she’d done before. And a moment later, a relieved smile spread across her face. “I am sorry about last night, milord. You did take ten years off my life, though.”

Who knew how many she had left, then. “I certainly didn’t mean to frighten you.”

The cook shook her head as though she readily accepted his apology. “Will you be coming in that way—” she gestured toward the servants’ entrance with her head “—all the time?”

More likely than not. “I hardly have a pristine name,” he began. “And I’d hate for it to tarnish Lady Staveley’s, should anyone see me calling.”

“After you brought Miss Benton back to us, your name is golden as far as I’m concerned,” she told him. “I have some fresh biscuits, if you’d like.”

He wasn’t dying for any biscuits, especially after dropping by the Sugar Plum Shoppe earlier for another tin of lavender drops and sampling a few candies himself, but if taking one would help the excitable cook keep his comings and goings a secret, he’d done worse to garner someone’s silence in the past. “How kind you are.”

She preened slightly as she rushed off to her work table and returned with a warm biscuit on a plate for him. “There you go.”

Marc took a bite and…it actually was a very decent biscuit. Better than his cook’s in any event. “You have outdone yourself,” he said as he wiped a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “Quite remarkable.”

She grinned up at him. “Oh! Lady Staveley does have guests at the moment, in case you don’t want them to see you.”

And just that easily, one biscuit, one compliment and Caroline’s cook was now in his corner. Marc nodded a thanks to the woman. “You are a gem.” Then he quietly made his way to the main part of the house and could hear feminine laughter from inside Caroline’s white parlor.

He had no idea who her guests were, but it was probably better to avoid anyone. So Marc silently made his way to the library to pass the time until Caroline was alone once more. But upon entering the room in question, he found Rachel curled up in an overstuffed leather chair, her legs tucked up under her like she was a little girl, and flipping through the pages of some tome in her lap.

She scowled when she noticed him. “I see you’re back again.”

“I see you’re outside your chambers again,” Marc countered. “A millennia earlier than I would’ve allowed.”

Rachel glanced back down at the book in her lap and snorted. “You make it impossible for anyone to like you.”

And she made it so easy. “Luckily, I don’t care if anyone likes me or not.” Marc strode further into the room and tugged an old leather tome from a shelf. Bacon’s Novum Organum Scientiarum, which sounded like something Staveley would peruse for a little light reading. Marc turned back around to find Rachel’s hazel eyes level on him once more.

“You care if my mother likes you.”

She had him there. Marc didn’t even try to hide his smile as he said, “Well, your mother is hardly just anyone, now, is she?”

“Rachel, Adam sent a letter if you want to read it,” Emma’s little voice sounded from the doorway right before she strode inside the library with a note in her hand. But then she noticed Marc and a very sweet smile spread across her face. “Oh, Lord Haversham!”

“Miss Emma.” He smiled back at her.

“Oh.” Rachel pushed out of her seat and reached a hand out to her little sister. “Let me see what he says.”

After Emma handed Rachel the letter from their brother, she turned back to face Marc. “I didn’t know you were visiting. Mama’s in the parlor. I can take you to her.”

Like she had the other day? Marc would like to avoid a duplicate of that experience, especially as he had no idea who was visiting Caroline at the moment. “Actually,” he began, and reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve the little purple tin he’d gone out of his way for. “I did promise I’d have some lavender drops when I saw you next.”

Her warm brown eyes twinkled with glee. “You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered,” he told her. “You don’t think I go around making promises I don’t intend to keep, do you?”

Rachel glanced up from perusing her brother’s letter to eye Marc briefly. But he paid her no notice at all as he handed the candies to her little sister.

“Edmund broke his arm?” Rachel muttered aloud.

“Mmm.” Emma agreed as she popped a lavender drop into her mouth. “Someone said something awful about Felicity.”

Rachel frowned at her sister. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Which made Emma stick her tongue out in response.

This was what Marc had missed being an only child, what Callista had missed too for that matter. At the moment, he wasn’t certain if they both weren’t better off for it due to their circumstances.

“Oh, Lord Haversham,” Emma began, turning her attention on Marc. “I painted a picture of one of the trick riders today. Do you want to see?”

“Is he standing on the horse’s back?” Marc asked, remembering their earlier conversation on the subject.

“She is,” Emma corrected and Marc couldn’t help but smile at her. She did, in so many ways, remind him of his daughter.

“She? Well, in that case, I absolutely want to see your painting,” he said.

Emma bolted from the room, and Rachel returned her brother’s letter to the envelope, though she kept her eyes leveled on Marc. “You bought her with candy,” she accused.

Shamelessly. And he would do so again without a moment’s hesitation.

“I can be bought just as easily, “she said with a sigh. The enterprising little chit.

“Can you, indeed?” He frowned, having a very good idea where this conversation was headed. Honestly, Marc shouldn’t have been surprised by her. After all, this was the same girl who’d snuck out in the middle of the night and traveled to Covent Garden on her own, all in the hope of unmasking a dagger-wielding guardian.

Rachel’s face brightened for the first time since he’d seen her that day. “Just one little name, is all.”

Just one little name of a certain dagger-throwing idiot. “No,” he said without giving a moment’s consideration to her offer.

“I don’t know why you won’t tell me,” she complained. “I said I wouldn’t go out again.”

“Unless you want the fellow apprehended, you won’t go out again,” Marc agreed. That was the deal they’d made, after all. “But one has nothing to do with the other.” When her brow furrowed, he added. “I’m not certain with whom you normally negotiate, Miss Benton—”

“My Uncle Luke,” she replied, sounding slightly indignant.

And at that, Marc couldn’t help but laugh. Certainly, Beckford was a better negotiator than this. “Then he has been making it too easy on you for too long. You’ll find I’m not your uncle. And the last things I’m willing to negotiate are your safety and your good name.”

“You don’t even like me,” she muttered.

“You haven’t shown me a great deal to like,” he said with a shrug. “But I do care about your mother and she loves you. So…” he let his voice trail off.

“What’s this?” Caroline’s voice came from the threshold.

Without missing a beat, Rachel started toward her mother, a most radiant smile on her face. “Adam sent a letter.” She offered the folded up note to Caroline.

And she was just as good an actress as her mother. If one didn’t know better, they’d never suspect Rachel Benton had just been trying to blackmail Marc into giving up the name of the Covent Guard.

* * *

Caroline had seen her son’s letter. In fact, she’d given it to Emma before Bethany Carteret and Hannah Astwick had come to inform her, under the guise of a social call, that she and Marc had appeared in some gossip columns the last couple days. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised by that. Marc was, after all, often fodder for printed gossip. While Caroline wasn’t at all certain what to do about that situation, at the moment, she was much more concerned with whatever had been transpiring in the library when she walked in. She wasn’t as big a fool as her oldest daughter seemed to think she was. Honestly, who did Rachel think she was duping with her feigned serene smile and the bashful drop of her eyes? Something was definitely going on.

Caroline turned her attention on Marc who…Well, he quite took her breath away, standing in the library, the way his dark jacket stretched across the expanse of his shoulders, the way his light trousers hugged his thighs, the way that familiar twinkle in his eyes could make her heart race, even in the light of day and even when she knew it shouldn’t. “I didn’t know you’d returned.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.” Which his entrance would surely have done.

The slow smile that spread across his lips made her knees just the slightest bit weak, though she was still going to find out what was going on when she’d walked into the library. Of course, she’d probably have a better chance finding out from Marc than from Rachel, surprising as that was. But he could at least be reasonable. On occasion.

Caroline noticed a familiar book resting in the overstuffed leather chair that had been her husband’s favorite. “The Faerie Queen again?” she asked her daughter as she and David had read that collection together more than once over the years.

Rachel nodded. “Britomart has just won her joust.”

Perfect. The tale of the lady knight did appeal to Rachel. Her daughter could read that particular volume a million times over and never tire of the story. “We’ll leave you to it, then.” She lifted her hand out to Marc. “I’m hoping you have a moment for me.”

“You can have all my moments,” he said, taking her hand in his without haste.

Heat washed over her from the contact, but Caroline was determined to focus on the matter at hand. Once in the corridor and away from Rachel’s ears, Caroline glanced up at him. “All right, would you like to tell me what that was about now?”

“What exactly?” he asked.

That was the question, wasn’t it? “You’re not willing to negotiate Rachel’s safety and good name? I’m fairly certain that’s what I overheard.”

An exasperated expression settled on his face. “Your daughter is extremely stubborn.”

That went without saying. “Yes, well, she does come by it naturally. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“The Covent Guard,” Marc breathed out. “She wants his name and was offering her approval of me in exchange for the information.”

Caroline’s mouth fell open. Of all the ridiculous things! She wasn’t even sure where to begin with all of that. In the first place, Marc didn’t need Rachel’s approval and in the second… “Why would she even think you know his identity?”

“Because I do,” he said calmly. “His mask fell off last night when I—” he seemed to search for the best way to say something “—Well, when I knocked him to the ground. I did recognize him.”

They’d seen the Covent Guard last night? Why was this the first she was hearing about it? She spun to face him directly. “And…?”

“And I beat him nearly to death,” he added with a shrug. “The man threw a dagger at me, Caroline. There are consequences for such actions.”

That wasn’t what she meant, but… “He threw a dagger at you?”

“Almost had a new scar,” he said a bit lighter. “Something else for you to touch.”

How could he make light of such a thing? Caroline swatted his chest. “Marcus Gray! Is there a reason I’m just now hearing about all of this?”

His brow furrowed just slightly. “No one was hurt…well, neither Rachel nor I were hurt. And you know how exhausted we all were last night.”

Exhausted, indeed! Caroline scoffed. “I would have managed to stay awake to hear tales of the Covent Guard throwing daggers at you and Rachel.” Heavens! What was wrong with the man? And what was wrong with her daughter that neither of them thought this might be information that should be shared with her?

“He only threw one at me. He thought I was kidnapping her, if that makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t.” Caroline scowled at him.

Marc heaved a sigh. “It’s neither here nor there anyway. I took care of everything. So there’s nothing for you to worry about, my dear.”

He took care of everything? “What in the world does that even mean?”

“It means that if she should go in search of the man again, I’ve threatened to whisper his name to Mr. Blackaby and send him to Newgate. And if he should even think of approaching her in the future, he won’t live through our next encounter. I’ve made it all very clear to both of them.”

She wasn’t even certain what to say to that. And then…Blackaby. That was an idea. “If you know who the man is, you must tell Blackaby.”

“And lose my leverage with your daughter?” He shook his head. “Not a chance.”

Was he serious? Caroline gaped at him. “Marc, the man is a criminal. He threw a dagger at you.” Heavens! He could have been killed. Rachel could have been killed.

“He thought he was helping her,” Marc said softly. “And crime in the area isn’t as rampant since he started his crusade. He’s done more than Blackaby has, I daresay.”

“But—”

“Sometimes it takes fellows living in the shadows to right the world,” he continued. “Caroline, if the man gets out of hand in the future, I do know who he is. We can deal with him then. But for now, we should leave him be. Besides—” a little smile tipped his lips “—it’ll be quite some time before he’s recovered enough to don a domino and hide in the shadows of Drury Lane.”

“You beat him nearly to death?” she echoed his earlier words.

“He will not forget me,” Marc assured her.

Heavens, he was so different than anything she was used to. She couldn’t imagine David doing or saying any of the things he did. Robert either for that matter, and…well, perhaps Luke to some extent. Still… “I do believe we see the world completely differently.”

“Do you?” Marc cupped the side of her face with his hands, sending tingles racing down her spine. “We probably do.” His light blue eyes twinkled a bit roguishly as his gaze drifted to her lips. “But I believe we complement each other perfectly.”

They just might. A sigh escaped her right before he lowered his lips to hers. His thumb caressed her cheek, so softly, so adoringly, she couldn’t help but melt against him. And she was fairly certain that her heart fluttered.

* * *

Marc was severely tempted to scoop her up in his arms, climb the steps two at a time, fall into her bed and ravish her the rest of the night, but… the sound of little slippered feet on marble, some distance away registered in his consciousness. So he lifted his head and smiled down at the most amazing woman in the world, still not certain how he’d ended up with her in his arms. But he wasn’t about to question his good fortune.

Caroline blinked her eyes open and swallowed hard. He tried not to notice how the movement in her throat made his cock stiffen. “Still don’t know what to do with me?” he asked.

She tipped her head back slightly and her hair tickled his fingertips where he still held her. “I have some ideas.”

“Can’t wait to hear all about them.” But those slippered feet were getting closer, so Marc released his hold on her and took a step away.

A moment later, little Emma bounded down the corridor, holding a piece of parchment in her hands. “Mama,” she said, barely audibly around a mouthful of lavender drops, “Lord Haversham wanted to—”

“Emma,” Caroline chastised. “Do not talk with your mouth full.” Then her gaze flashed back to Marc. “I suppose this is your doing?”

He tried not to smile, but he couldn’t help it. “I might have made a stop at the Sugar Plum Shoppe today.”

“You just happened by there?”

Marc shrugged. “She liked them so much, Caroline.” Then he chanced a glance at Emma. “But they’d last longer if you just had one at a time, my dear.”

The little girl shot him a radiant smile. Then she waved the parchment in the air. “My painting!”

“Of the trick riders,” he said. “Oh, do show me.” He lifted his hand out for her picture, but she slid her hand into his instead and began to tow him somewhere down the corridor.

A moment later, Marc found himself sitting on a settee in the parlor, looking at…well, an awful painting, really. Emma Benton might be a very sweet little girl, but she was not Rembrandt. She wasn’t even Rembrandt’s talentless third cousin. The whole thing was one big mess of watercolors with a brown spot near the bottom that might or might not have been a horse. “Very nice,” he lied.

Caroline stopped just inside the threshold, watching them. Marc winked at her.

“And see how she’s standing on his back?” Emma asked, drawing Marc’s attention from Caroline back to her painting, pointing at a glob of blue.

He saw nothing of the like, but he nodded anyway. “Oh, I do,” he said squinting at the painting. How awful for the girl not to have any sort of artistic skill at all, especially if she liked to paint.

“Mama.” The little girl glanced up at her mother. “Is Lord Haversham coming with us to Vauxhall tonight?”

Vauxhall? Marc could definitely be talked into Vauxhall and the dark walks and perhaps getting lost with Caroline somewhere along the way.

“I don’t—” Caroline began.

But Marc quickly said, “I wouldn’t miss it.”