Stone’s heart had dropped right along with his wife’s body. With no women to gainsay him, he installed his wife in their bed and sent for the doctor. He alone tended to her as she lay unconscious. Shallow but even breathing on her part and the repetitive action of dampening her brow with a wet rag helped him stay calm. After a few moments alone, her lashes fluttered, and then she looked up into his eyes with her deep-blue gaze.

“Thank God, you’re awake.” Relief rushed through his veins, a heady cocktail that had his head spinning. His heart tumbled as his breath snagged. Hands shaking with the need to touch her, yet fearful of her rejection, he forced his words past numb lips. “I need you to know that I bought the land next to your orphanage—for you. I was having the land cleared and a playground installed. I wanted to show that I understand you. That you matter to me in a way no one else ever has or ever will. I love you, Theodora Denton, Countess of Stonemere.”

His heart thumped in a terrifying rhythm, but her only response was to capture his mouth with hers. He sank into her welcoming vibrant heat and relished her response. The softness of her tongue as she explored his mouth had ripples of pleasure running through him all the way to his toes. The heady scent of woman and lilies filled his nose as the sweetness of her taste collided with his desire. After a moment of the passionate exchange, he drew back and grinned at his headstrong wife.

“I love you, Achilles Denton, Earl of Stonemere. You are my rock and my heart.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, her taste the sweetest ambrosia he’d ever known. Their tongues tangled as he pressed her back into the mattress. A sharp knock was all the warning they were given before the door opened and the doctor and Stone’s mother walked in on their steamy kiss. “Well, I’d say our patient is feeling better,” the doctor commented as he rounded the bed to where Stone sat with his wife in his arms.

“Doctor Sullivan, thank you for coming so quickly. She fainted earlier after a rather large upset, and I was worried, as she tends to have an unusually robust constitution.” Stone let go of her and moved back to allow the doctor access.

“Stone, you did not tell me you called Doctor Sullivan.” Theo looked balefully at him as she crossed her arms. “Doctor, I am quite well. I merely fainted when I realized my husband had been shot, which, I might argue, is not an unreasonable thing for a wife to do in such a case.”

The doctor looked back at Stone, brows raised.

“My wife waited to faint until after she had accosted an armed assailant with a fire poker, so you may understand my trepidation at such feminine hysterics. She has a fortitude unlike most women.” Exasperation with both the doctor and his wife—whom he loved to the very depths of his soul—had him ready to simply demand they all do as he wished. Of course, he was coming to understand that approach was not a winning proposition when it came to his wife.

Theo looked at the doctor and motioned him closer with her finger. They had a short whispered conversation, and then the doctor straightened, picked up his bag, and started out the way he had come. He paused by the dowager and said something to her, and then they both left the room. Stone looked from the closed door to his wife in surprise. “What in the world was that all about?”

“Stone, sit.” Theo patted the mattress beside her.

“Theo, you are terrifying me.” He knew fear. He’d lived through it in India, the worst being at Cawnpore. Sitting in the marsh by the river, floating downstream to avoid the mutinous native army, and then discovering he was, in fact, the Earl of Stonemere. But none of those events compared to the soul-crushing fear he felt right in that moment. The terror was prompted by the possibility that the woman he loved, the woman he couldn’t take his next breath without, might be about to tell him she was sick or dying.

“Stone, do sit down. I am not dying.”

Her annoyance snapped him out of the paralysis that had gripped him like a vise. He sank to the bed and cupped her face. “I can’t possibly lose you when I just found you.”

The tensile strength of her slim hands wrapped around his wrists reminded him that she was both alive and resilient. Whatever was happening, they would survive together. He never had to tackle any endeavor alone again. His intrepid wife would be at his side.

“Stone, I’m carrying our child.” She smiled at him.

The softly spoken words sounded muddled in his chaotic mind. Child. The single word stood out and grabbed his attention as no other word could have. “Pregnant?”

She nodded as tears welled in her eyes.

“We’re having a baby?” He blinked rapidly. Something seemed to be clouding his vision, and he couldn’t see his beautiful wife clearly. “I’m going to be a father?”

She nodded again, or he thought she did. His vision was off. And then something tickled his cheek. He reached up to brush it away, but his fingertips came up wet. He looked down and realized he couldn’t see his wife through his tears. Tears of pure unadulterated joy. The woman he loved was gifting him with a child. Their child. “I must be the luckiest man in the world.”

She laughed. “And me, I’m the luckiest woman. However did a runner-up earl and a hand-me-down countess get so lucky?”

“It was fate, my love. Fate and the love of a headstrong woman.” Then he scooped her up and hauled her into his lap before he slammed his lips down on hers. No kiss could ever express all the emotion raging through him, but he decided it was certainly a good place to start.

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Robert Cooper, the Earl of Brougham must marry in order to fulfill his duty to the title. He’s decided on a rather mild mannered, biddable woman who most considered firmly on the shelf. But, her family is on solid financial ground and has no scandals attached to their name.

Lady Emily Winterburn, sister of the Earl of Dunmere, is not what she seems. With a heart as big as her wild streak she finds herself prepared to protect her brother from his bad choices, even if it means committing highway robbery. But marrying their way out of trouble is simply out of the question. What woman in her right mind would shackle herself to a man, let alone one of the notorious Lustful Lords?

Cooper’s carefully laid plans are ruined once he must decide between courting his unwilling bride-to-be and taming the wild woman who tried to rob him–until he discovers they are one and the same. And when love sinks its relentless talons into his heart? He’ll do anything to possess the wanton who fires his blood and touches his soul.

August 1860

Lady Emmaline Winterburn sat in the far corner of the ballroom, content to be surrounded by the women—not unlike herself—who found themselves unwanted or forgotten. In the beginning, she'd been terribly upset to be relegated to the wallflower community. It was her first season, after all, the time every well-bred girl dreamed of. But as that first season marched along, she’d been left behind. Most of the girls who’d come out with her were now married, and by her second season a few were already producing the all-important heirs and the requisite spares. As a young woman whose parents had died tragically in a house fire, she’d dreamed of marrying into a large family where she would be surrounded by love.

Upon the start of her fifth season, all hope had been lost, and she’d come to accept her lot in life. That was about the time she discovered the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft and a world of opportunity opened to her. Through her readings, and the debates she regularly attended, she developed a sense of self-worth and value that extended far beyond being some lord's wife and brood mare. At the ripe old age of twenty-eight, she was quite sure she’d been saved from a life of servitude, and that suited her just fine. Even if it meant sitting with the wallflowers, because she certainly couldn’t tolerate sitting with the matrons and listening to them lord their offspring over each other. She shuddered at the thought of it.

Having resigned herself to life among the forgotten of society, she was rather surprised to see one of the ton's more eligible bachelors approach. Of course, this was remarked upon in a flurry of whispers darting from one homely yet hopeful miss to another. It came as an unwelcome shock when the notorious Lord Brougham stopped before her and bowed with a flourish that would’ve done Beau Brummell proud in his heyday. "Lady Emmaline, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

Nonplussed by his request, and frustrated by the interruption of her plans, Emmaline hesitated a moment. But in the end, her good breeding won out. "That would be lovely, Lord Brougham."

She rose from her chair and placed her hand on his thick forearm. All the while she refused to meet his gaze. She’d seen enough of the mockery that often resided in the gazes of men to last a lifetime. Well-meaning mamas liked to send their mean-spirited boys over to the wallflower section, which often ended in further damaging the victim of the good intentions.

Leading her on the floor, he said, "I do hope you enjoy the waltz."

She slowed her pace, confused by his question. "But a waltz just played."

On the floor, he pulled her into his arms and smiled wolfishly. "Which is why I arranged for the orchestra to play another."

And then the music started, and he swept her into the dance. Her gaze flew up to meet his, surprise causing her eyes to widen. For a moment he seemed transfixed by something, though what Emily could not be certain. Self-preservation had her dipping her gaze back down somewhere below his chin to a nice safe location.

"Tell me, Lady Emmaline, when you’re not attending social events how do you entertain yourself?" The man offered the most dashing smile she'd ever encountered, and surprisingly she believed for a moment that he cared about her answer. But then she reminded herself that men of his ilk, particularly a member of the distasteful group known as the Lustful Lords, would only have one interest in a woman such as herself.

Worried about what his interest signified, she replied as they spun through the waltz. “I read books, my lord.”

All the while, she reminded herself this wasn’t what she sought. Marriage wasn’t for her, because she’d never be a quiet woman who went along with a husband’s wishes and produced an heir. She was a woman of principle—though some might question her unusual code of ethics—and a woman of action, regardless of where she sat during a ball.

Their waltz continued in awkward silence as the large man led her about the dance floor. Never before had she felt like a diminutive woman, but in his arms, she experienced what it felt like to be delicate. Between his good looks and all the effort expended reinforcing her lack of interest, she was a bit surprised when the music ended. Nevertheless, she curtsied with enough grace not to be awkward as he bowed to her and then led her back to where he'd found her amongst the wallflowers.

He bowed once more over her hand. “Thank you for the dance, Lady Emmaline.”

“Thank you, Lord Brougham.” She curtsied and then watched him retreat as she repressed the urge to swear like a sailor. He had appeared just in time to thwart her plan to slip away from the crowd.

She needed to remain anonymous, forgettable. Dancing with a scandalous Lustful Lord, did not achieve that end. While she’d danced with him at a previous ball, she found his renowned charm to be anything but charming. The man wore a thin veneer of respectability and politeness that could not hide his fake smile or his presumably feigned interest in her person. Add to that his ostentatious display of wealth—arranging, she snorted, more accurately paying the orchestra to play a waltz, who did such a thing? And of course, his association with the notorious Lustful Lords put him just on the edge of acceptable in polite society. Were it not for the recent social rehabilitation of Lord Stonemere, leader of the Lustful Lords, Lord Brougham might not be received in the better ballrooms.

In her mind, it put him out of bounds. Not because of polite society’s disdain, but because licentious men were dangerous. Particularly when they sought a wife. And she’d no intention of ever being married. A quadrille started up, and her dance card—as usual—was empty, which suited her purposes. Rising, she wafted her fan as though overcome with the heat of the ballroom and made her way toward the ladies retiring room. Once away from the regular hustle and bustle of the ball, she found a dark hallway to slip down.

Being a spinster had its advantages, namely invisibility and no need for a chaperone, and tonight she would take advantage of both. Quickly, she found the back stairs to the upper floors and made her way into the living area of the family. Lord Harrington and his wife had far more money than good sense if the lavishness of the ball was a measuring stick. Chances were Lady Harrington would be just the kind of lady who’d leave her expensive baubles lying about.

After opening a few doors, Emily found what appeared to be Lady Harrington's chamber. The room was dark with only the stream of moonlight filtering through the window to serve as a guide. The lady's dressing table was strewn with sparkly bits of jewelry, which delighted Emily. With a keen eye, she quickly spotted the two most valuable pieces and nestled them in the inner seam of her petticoats. After smoothing her skirts back down she returned to the ball along the same path she’d come. The dark hall leading back toward the noise of the ballroom was cool and quiet, which had her pausing a moment to appreciate the solitude.

Unfortunately, a maid appeared unexpectedly. "My lady, this area is not for guests."

"Oh, please excuse me. I just needed a moment away from all the hub-bub." Emily straightened from the wall she'd leaned against and started back toward the noise. The maid sped off to complete whatever task she'd been assigned. Alone again, Emily took her time returning to the crush. She'd sit for another song and then she’d make her excuses. A headache would be sufficient to affect an escape while her brother Arthur continued to try and ruin the family name.

Despite being certain he knew she was paying off their debts—though certainly not the details of how—he continued to behave as though their pockets were flush. Granted, she could’ve managed the various bills from the tailor, the haberdasher, and the cobbler. And she might even have managed the membership fees associated with being a member of White's, but it was his incessant gambling debts that infuriated her. His gambling had depleted the family fortune and left her practically a beggar.

All the while her brother lived as though their coffers were bottomless. She’d gotten herself caught in a vicious circle by bailing him out the first time she'd found him snookered and weeping in the middle of the night. Oh, he had spilled his tale of woe about the gambling and how he couldn't pay the debt because he'd lost the family fortune. And when she'd promised to help him out by liquidating a few valuables, he’d brightened immediately. Then a few days later a bill collector appeared on their doorstep demanding payment, and she’d once again dug into her resources to cover the debt. Before long she realized just how badly her brother had been managing things. But the last straw came when her dressmaker refused to take an order for a new dress on credit.

That was the moment Emily realized she could sell off every item of value in their possession, but it would never be enough. Her brother had zero sense of fiduciary responsibility, and he would continue to beggar them both. That was when it occurred to her that if she could lift an item of jewelry from each ball or house party she attended, she could keep their debt at bay while maintaining appearances. And so she found herself sneaking about dark hallways, a veritable thief in the night.

Pushing away the awful truth of her life, Emily decided sitting for one more song wouldn't improve her situation. Determined to slip away from the ball, she headed for the front entrance. The foyer of the Harrington's home, packed full of ball-goers, could’ve rivaled Hyde Park’s Serpentine during the fashionable hour. As much as she wanted to escape, she knew better than to draw attention to herself.

This was the first time she'd taken two items, and her nerves drew thin. Palms clammy, she was certain her brow was covered in perspiration as she tried to shuffle through the crowd. The front door loomed ahead, a symbol of salvation in her racing mind. She was nearly to the door when someone called out her name. Heart pounding and blood rushing through her veins, she knew she'd been caught. She would be strung up by her peers, or at the very least paraded through the streets of London before being thrown in jail and forgotten. Again, her name was called out, but this time it galvanized her to action. She refused to be arrested in the middle of a ball. Digging deep for the energy she needed, she pushed her way through the throng and out on to the front steps. Confronted by a steady stream of carriages and still more people wandering around the grounds, she wanted to cry out in frustration.

She would have to walk.

She made it three steps closer to freedom and then a large, but vaguely familiar hand landed on her shoulder and drew her around to face an unwelcome figure. "Lady Emmaline, are you well?" The Earl of Brougham peered at her as though she acted queerly, which she probably had.

"I fear I have a headache, my lord." She pressed her fingertips to her temples and hoped he either didn't notice how badly her hands shook or chalked it up to her not feeling well.

Brow creased as he looked about, he asked, "But where is your carriage?"

Double damn. She wanted to curse aloud but managed to keep the swearing in her head. "The crush was so great I feared I might expire before my carriage could be brought around. I assumed I could walk off a bit and then hail a handsome cab to carry me home."

The blasted man frowned. "I couldn’t allow you to do such a thing. Where is Lord Dunmere?"

Growing more annoyed by the moment, she resisted the urge to snap. "I did not wish to disturb him in the card room. I sent a note informing him of my departure. Truly, my lord, I shall be fine." She tried to step away, but he refused to let her go.

"Nonsense, my carriage is nearby. I shall see you safely home." He tucked her arm through his and escorted her—however reluctantly—toward the line of carriages.

To her horror, she had no way to stop the overbearing Lord Brougham without calling unwanted attention to both of them, so she allowed him to whisk her into his nearby carriage. With each passing moment, the weight of the stolen items grew leaden in her secret pocket making her skirts feel akin to an anchor dragging her under.

The infuriating man looked extremely pleased with himself as the carriage rumbled away from the ball. "Where may I drop you?"

There was no reason to hide her address. "13 North Audley, Grosvenor Square, please."

"Very good." He knocked on the roof and relayed her direction before focusing on her once again. "How are you feeling, Lady Emmaline?"

How was she feeling? Her skin burned like a living flame, her brow soaked with fear, and her stomach proclaimed the very real possibility that it would cast up her accounts at any moment. In answer, she pulled out her fan and proceeded to work it in a slow, steady pace. "I believe I’m a bit over warm, my lord."

Brougham let one of the windows down and a rush of cool air swept into the cabin to bathe her simmering cheeks.

"Thank you. How very thoughtful." She glanced at the door and considered the ramifications of leaping from a moving vehicle. Of course, she nixed the notion almost as quickly as it occurred.

He frowned at her. "Well, no one of any good temperament enjoys seeing a lady in distress."

She wanted to roll her eyes. "Of course not. Nevertheless, I appreciate the gesture."

They both fell silent as London rolled past their windows. Settling deeper into the shadows, Emily sought what little solitude she could muster for the moment. Brougham, however, held far more concern for her than an acquaintance ought. And the possibilities associated with his interest caused her to forget about the stolen artifacts in her petticoats long enough to worry that the man had some design on her person.

Nestled along with the jewels was a small two shot Derringer that she wouldn’t hesitate to use if needed. Surreptitiously, she slid her hand through the slit in her gown to the secret pocket and palmed the small weapon. Should he decide to attempt to avail himself of her charms, she would shoot the cad. But, just as she’d convinced herself of his nefarious intentions—though a wholly unjust characterization she would admit under less stressful circumstances—the carriage came to a halt.

"I believe we’ve arrived." He popped the door open, let the steps of the carriage down, and then helped her from the cab.

Grateful to be home, she swept past him and up the steps of her home. As he followed her, she turned to stop him. "Lord Brougham, I appreciate your assistance this evening, but I shall have to say goodnight here as I’m still not feeling just the thing." She offered a limp smile and then slipped inside the house, closing the door in the man's rather surprised face. Though she could not understand why he might think she would invite him inside. It was scandalous enough that they rode alone in his carriage, though no one would believe her if she told them.

With a small shrug, she headed upstairs to change her clothes and make a better assessment of her booty. The barely respectable Lord Brougham slipped from her thoughts with little more than a passing appreciation of his classical good looks. She had far more pressing concerns than the odd and sudden interest of a Lustful Lord.

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