Heath might or might not be the most fortunate man alive, but he was certainly the happiest. He smiled to himself as he slowed his landau in front of his town house. Soon, he would not be returning to an empty home, but one filled with love and laughter. In the future when he came home, it would be to Nora.

Three weeks of banns seemed like an eternity.

Before his groom could arrive to take the reins, the door to the town house burst open and one of Heath’s footmen raced down the walkway to the carriage.

“Got a name,” Larkin said as he fumbled for something deep in his pocket.

Heath’s head was still so full of Nora’s kisses and smiles and heated touch that at first the words did not make sense.

“A name?” he queried, trying to look like he was paying attention.

“The caricaturist.” Larkin dug in a different pocket. “Or at least his emissary.”

The caricaturist.

Heath’s mind cleared at once and all his senses immediately focused on his footman. “Don’t tell me you found the name and lost it.”

“Win-something,” Larkin muttered as he abandoned his coat pockets in favor of his waistcoat pocket. “Winston? Winslow? Winfield?”

Winfield.

All the air emptied from Heath’s lungs.

No. It was a coincidence. Nora would have nothing to do with such a terrible thing.

“Here it is!” Larkin squinted at a scrap of parchment. “The sketches arrive to the intermediary courtesy of a Mr. Carter Winfield of the West Midlands.”

Mr. Carter Winfield of the West Midlands. It was not a coincidence.

It was a conspiracy.

“This Winfield fellow isn’t the actual artist,” Larkin continued. “He never divulged the name, but one of the letters I glimpsed mentioned a ‘she.’ If you wish to send me to the West Midlands, I’m certain I can ferret out who ‘she’ is.”

Ice filled Heath’s veins.

He reached for the parchment. “No, Larkin. Such a mission won’t be necessary.”

Heath already knew who the culprit was.

Someone connected enough to be present at Society gatherings. Someone inconspicuous enough to fade into the background. Someone cruel enough to use the secrets she witnessed to line her pockets.

Someone who had made love to him not an hour earlier as if she had nothing at all to hide.

He stared blindly at the letters printed on the page. His head was already too full of words. Winfield. West Midlands. Nora.

There could be no mistaking that his intended bride was the villain he had sworn to capture. Nora was not the sweet country innocent she presented herself to be. She was Heath’s sworn nemesis. The ton’s worst enemy.

And she’d accepted his marriage proposal knowing exactly who and what she was.

He crumpled the parchment in his trembling fist.

She had lied to him. He had believed her because he wanted to believe her. Because he’d needed to believe in her. Because he loved her.

Or rather, loved the façade she’d used as her disguise.

He almost couldn’t think over the roaring in his ears.

The woman he’d just made love to was the self-righteous, anonymous coward who had been mocking Heath and his peers all Season.

The woman he’d just made love to was the arrogant caricaturist who thought nothing of exploiting the likenesses of Heath’s own family for her personal profit.

The woman he’d just made love to was a complete stranger.

Vibrating with disappointment and rage, he lifted his reins and turned his landau toward the Roundtree town house to confront his erstwhile bride.

He wouldn’t trust a word from Nora’s deceitful lips ever again. She had already shown her true colors. His body shook with anger. There would be no more lies.

It was time to unmask the caricaturist.