The carriage traveled through the London streets with all due haste. The meeting had gone longer than Westcliffe had anticipated it would. It was only because he wanted to ensure that his sister by marriage felt welcomed that he’d urged the driver not to dally. It had nothing to do with the fact that his wife had seemed to want him there. He couldn’t have cared less what she wanted. But still he was determined to be a good host.

Usually he enjoyed the meetings with the other investors. Today he’d found it tedious. He’d been anxious to leave. It was strange to find himself arranging his time around someone else. He had made one stop following the meeting: to purchase the bracelet that matched the necklace he’d given Anne earlier in the week. He’d not seen her since.

Last night, he’d had dinner with Claire, then retired to his library to read. It had begun to rain just before evening, and he found little more comforting than losing himself in a good book while the rain pattered against the windows. So he’d indulged. Although mostly he’d heard the moving about of furniture in the rooms above his head. What was it with Claire and this constant rearranging of things?

And why did it amuse rather than irritate him?

This morning, when he’d emerged from his bedchamber, the fragrance of flowers in the hallway had nearly knocked him off his feet. He’d never seen so many vases filled with assorted blossoms, sprinkled throughout the residence as though his wife wished to bring the gardens indoors. He supposed she was doing what she could to offset the dreary earth colors that he preferred. In retrospect, perhaps he was doing the same as she, only he was striving to mimic the country. At times, he missed Lyons Place. It wasn’t enough to visit only once or twice a year. But the women were not as abundant. So he’d chosen London and left Claire at the estate.

From a practical standpoint it worked well because it made it convenient when Parliament was in session. Being in London also gave him leave to take a more active interest in his investments. The meeting this morning involved a small company of a dozen investors, their railway line only one of many that crisscrossed over the countryside. Years ago, it was the small companies that had provided the means to establish railways through Britain, but now the larger companies were buying them up. They’d had an offer and were divided regarding whether or not to take it. He suspected they would discuss, argue, and contemplate for months. But in the end, they would sell. And then he would look for something else in which to invest. He enjoyed the challenge of determining the perfect investment.

But still, just like his encounters with women, something was lacking.

He glanced out the window as his carriage turned into the circular drive in front of his residence and he nearly choked. Three coaches were lined up, each bearing trunks. He could see his footmen struggling to remove one from the first vehicle. Was Claire’s sister traveling with an entourage? He was accustomed to peace and quiet in his household. Claire had disrupted it enough. And now this.

Reminding himself it was only temporary, he shored up his resolve to bring a hasty end to Beth’s search for a suitable husband.

He caught a glimpse of Claire standing off to one side, her arm around a young woman he didn’t recognize. Beth, no doubt. He’d not seen her in years. She’d not attended their wedding.

His carriage rolled to a stop. As he disembarked, he saw Claire draw her sister protectively against her side. Dear God, did she think him a monster? He shortened his stride to give himself more time to approach and observe the newest addition to his household. She greatly resembled Claire. Her hair was slightly lighter in shade, but as he neared, he could see that her eyes were just as blue. She had Claire’s small dollop of a nose, but her lips were neither as full nor as generous. Still, there could be no denying they were sisters—whereas he and his brothers hardly favored each other at all.

“My lord,” Claire began, “you remember my sister—Lady Beth.”

So damned formal. Because they were not family. They were not intimate. They were not even friends.

“Naturally. Lady Beth, welcome.” He bowed slightly, took the young lady’s hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, which caused her to roll her shoulders almost to her chin and giggle.

“My lord, thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your residence. Claire informs me that I’m not to disturb you at all, and I swear to you that I shan’t. I shall be as quiet as a mouse.”

“I’ve never known a mouse to be quiet.”

Her eyes widened, and she giggled again. “I suppose they aren’t, are they?”

“As quiet as a pillow perhaps,” Claire said, coming to her sister’s rescue, and he realized there was a protectiveness about her. He didn’t know why he didn’t comprehend the extent of it sooner. It was the reason she was here—to save her sister from Hester.

“Oh, yes, a pillow,” Beth repeated with more exuberance than he thought the comment deserved. “A much nicer image, really, as opposed to a mouse.”

“Or a grave,” he said solemnly, and she blinked with incomprehension. “I’ve heard ‘quiet as a grave,’ ” he explained.

“That’s rather macabre.”

“Then quiet as a pillow shall suffice.”

She smiled, an innocent smile, the smile of a child. How old was she? Older than Claire on the day they married? Had she been that young? “Then quiet as a pillow I shall be. But you must alert me if I disturb you in the least. I am simply so excited to be here that I can barely contain my joy.”

He was on the verge of telling her to try when Claire said, “Come, dear, let’s see to getting your trunks inside.”

“Are all of these hers?” he asked.

“There are only three,” Beth said. “And a few smaller bags. I need a proper wardrobe for the Season.”

“Obviously, I know nothing at all regarding what a lady needs for the Season.”

“Not to worry. I have it all well in hand.”

“Come along, Beth.” Claire took her sister’s arm as though words were not sufficient.

Beth had taken two steps before spinning around so quickly he was surprised she didn’t get dizzy and swoon. “We will see you at dinner, won’t we?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Splendid.”

He had no reason not to follow, but he waited until both ladies had disappeared inside. God help him, he thought it would be an improvement if she were only as quiet as a mouse.

“I can’t believe I’m here! You should have seen my eyes on the journey. I’m certain they were as round as saucers. I was so young when I visited London with Father that I barely remember it. I want to see everything while I’m here.”

They were sitting at the dining table with Westcliffe at one end, Claire at the other, and her sister between them. He was astounded that she managed to eat with her incessant prattling. He wasn’t particularly irritated; simply amazed that she could speak for so long about absolutely nothing of any consequence. He was growing weary simply from listening. He couldn’t imagine trying to carry on a conversation with her.

“Oh, I do hope that I have good fortune in finding a suitor. I don’t suppose you know which of the lords are available.”

He was taking a healthy swallow of wine when her attention came to bear on him. Setting his glass aside, he reached into his jacket pocket. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I’ve compiled a list.”

His gaze darted to Claire, and he saw a flash of gratitude in her eyes. He wondered, if like him, she was already longing for a quieter dinner.

“Oh, this is absolutely marvelous. Claire, look.” Beth set the paper on the table between her and her sister. “There are so many. Surely, surely I shall find one who suits.” Tears glistened in her eyes when she glanced back at him. “I cannot thank you enough.”

He wasn’t quite comfortable with her appreciation. “I cannot vouch for their willingness to marry.”

“I want someone who is pleasing to the eye,” Beth said. “Do you consider all of these men handsome?”

He fought not to scowl. “I take little notice of their appearance.”

“Do you know them, Claire?” she asked.

“I fear I do not, so we shall discover together if they are men of character.”

“I prefer that they be men of wealth. Westcliffe, do you know of their financial situations?”

“No.”

“You have a nice dowry, Beth,” Claire said. “You do not need to concern yourself with their finances.”

“Of course I do. I do not want a man to marry me for my money. If he has wealth, then I shall know for certain that he is marrying me for me.”

“Whether he be rich or poor, Beth, he shall want to marry you for you.”

“Father doesn’t share your confidence.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. He’d have not given you a Season otherwise.”

The ladies settled into silent eating for all of fifteen seconds—he knew because he counted. He’d made a wager with himself that they’d not reach a minute of quiet before dinner was over.

Then Beth announced, “I can think of nothing worse than being married to Lord Hester.”

“He’s quite well-off as I recall,” Westcliffe said. “And I believe he’s only forty.”

Beth glared at him. “My life will be ruined.”

Such drama. Perhaps he would move to a hotel for the Season.

“I notice that Ainsley is not listed,” Claire said, her eyes dancing with amusement. Was she teasing him? Or was she sensing his impatience with the banality of the situation? Granted, Hester was not particularly charming, but neither was the man an ogre.

“I can vouch for his unwillingness to marry,” Westcliffe informed her.

“That is unfortunate,” Beth said. “What fun we’d have if we were all in the same family!”

“I can scarcely imagine it.” He heard a cough designed to cover a laugh coming from the other end of the table. He glanced at his wife. She was far too amused, and he found himself wishing that she’d released the laughter.

“Beth, dear heart,” Claire began, “I believe you must curb your enthusiasm somewhat lest you frighten the young men away.”

“Oh, I shall behave with the utmost decorum in public. But we’re family. Surely a bit more levity is allowed.”

“As long as we are not upsetting Westcliffe’s digestion. I daresay he’s not accustomed to the flightiness of young ladies.”

“I daresay he is if the rumors I’ve heard from Cousin are to be believed.”

He watched as Claire took great interest in the food remaining on her plate while her cheeks burned a bright red.

“I assure you, Beth,” he said quietly, but firmly, “there is no truth in the rumors regarding me and young ladies.” Older ladies, mature ladies certainly. But young ones? No, not for some time now.

Beth took the paper he’d given her earlier, folded it up, and tucked it beneath the sash at the waist of her dress. “I’m so grateful to hear it. I didn’t believe them. Not really.” She gave him a pointed look. “Truly, why would you seek out the company of another when you have Claire?”

Why indeed? And he realized that while she’d heard rumors of his indiscretions, she wasn’t aware of her sister’s. Not unusual. As those who knew about it—the members of his family—were not prone to gossip.

“When Claire showed me around the residence, I noticed that you had a pianoforte. To show my appreciation for all you’ve done for me thus far, may I play it for you this evening?”

Surely she couldn’t speak while she played. “I would like that very much.”

Within five minutes, Westcliffe realized that he shouldn’t make assumptions about young women. Beth could indeed play and speak at the same time, and she seemed intent on revealing the history of each tune that tripped lightly from her fingers.

“Did you think she would be silent while playing?” Claire asked quietly as she handed him a snifter of brandy.

“The thought had occurred.”

She smiled with obvious amusement and something inside him shifted, teetered, made him feel as though his world were tilting. He’d always liked her smiles, but he felt as though this was the first truly genuine one she’d given him since she’d arrived. He didn’t know what to make of it or his feelings about it. He held tightly to the snifter, knowing he was in danger of crushing the glass, but he needed something to anchor him. Her eyes were soft, as though they were friends sharing an intimate secret, and he wondered if they’d appear the same if they were sharing darker intimacies. He felt an absurd desire to take her mouth, to—

“Claire, please come turn the sheets of music for me. It ruins my playing to have to do it myself. You could even sing while you’re over here. Have you heard her sing, my lord? She has the voice of a nightingale.”

Claire’s luscious mouth twisted as she rolled her eyes. Was she embarrassed by the praise? Or was she simply unaccustomed to receiving it? He’d certainly never complimented her. Anne could barely stand to go five minutes without hearing words of adoration, and if he wasn’t extolling her virtues, she was—constantly reminding him of her worth.

Claire took her place, standing near enough to where Beth sat so she could easily follow along with the music and turn the pages aside. Observing the sisters so closely together, he noted that Beth possessed a youthfulness that had long since left Claire. He thought of the manor and how much more efficiently things were managed there now. No leaking roofs. No dirty windows. No overgrown gardens. She’d even purchased a couple of mares. According to the groomsman, she loved to ride. He’d never gone riding with her. Had done nothing of any consequence with her actually.

His musings were interrupted as the sweetest voice filled the room. Claire was singing. He’d never thought anything would be more beautiful than her laughter. He’d been wrong. Of late, he was discovering that he’d been wrong about a great many things. Her broad smile was almost a perfect match of Beth’s, and yet Claire’s seemed brighter. There was a joy, an easiness about her that he’d never seen. She was still wary of him.

He’d never played with her, he’d barely spoken to her. She’d always seemed like a child. Last night, when she’d spoken of the years separating them, she was correct.

He’d only recently begun to recognize her as a woman. Even on the day they’d married, he’d considered her a young girl, barely a woman.

Swallowing his brandy, he found himself wondering if he was as responsible for the debacle of their marriage as she.

Unbelievably weary, Claire walked through the garden in the moonlight, with the occasional gaslight illuminating her way. She’d forgotten how Beth could wear her down. For a while, she’d feared her sister’s excitement would not calm enough for her to fall asleep. But eventually she’d closed her eyes, and soon after she’d ceased her prattling. Growing up, they’d shared a bed, and it had always amazed Claire that Beth would fall asleep talking and immediately upon awaking, begin speaking again. Sometimes even completing a sentence or thought from the night before.

She’d also forgotten how delightful it was to sing. With no audience, she’d stopped lifting her voice in song. Only tonight had she realized that she was audience enough. She came to a startled halt at the sight of the shadowy figure sitting on a bench near the roses. “Westcliffe. I thought you’d left.”

When she returned downstairs after seeing Beth to bed, she’d not seen him in the library, a bit perturbed with herself because she’d actually been seeking his company. She’d assumed that he’d gone to spend the remainder of his evening with Lilac—or whatever the deuce her name was. It had astounded her that he’d stayed in residence the night before. She’d warned herself not to grow accustomed to his presence, and yet she couldn’t deny the spark of gladness at the sight of him.

“No, just out for a walk with Cooper. This is as far as he can get these days.”

She’d taken her turn about the garden going in the opposite direction. She wondered how long he’d been sitting on that bench. “Where is he?”

“Lying beneath the rosebush over there. Not certain why he favors it, but he does.”

“Perhaps he has a bone buried in the vicinity.”

“I suppose that’s as good an explanation as any.” To her immense surprise, he slid over and said, “You’re welcome to join me.”

She considered excusing herself and going on, but it was such a lovely night. And they seemed to have reached some sort of truce. She sat, but the bench was narrower than she realized. He lifted his arm and set it along the back, the action seeming to free up a little more space for her. “I’m sorry about Beth,” she said softly. “She’s simply so excited about London and her Season. She won’t talk quite so much once she settles in.”

Feeling his fingers stroking the sleeve of her dress, she wondered if he always felt a need to touch a woman when she was near. She wished it was she he desired, wished she knew how to bring that result about.

“She seems so remarkably young. How old is she?” he asked.

“She’ll be eighteen come November.”

“Considerably older than you when you married.”

He seemed mystified by the knowledge. “Not so much. Half a year or so.”

“Still, you did not appear so young. Perhaps because I was as well.”

“And now we are so terribly old.”

His smile, so white, flashed in the shadows. She wished it had stayed longer so she might have had a chance to commit it to memory.

His fingers continued to thrum over her arm, and she wished she were wearing the gown that had no sleeves. Oh, it did seem to be a night for wishing. But the evening air was cool, and she’d have been shivering by now.

“Willoughby informs me you arrived with only one trunk,” he stated as though she’d been involved in something untoward.

She was taken aback. “Why ever would he discuss my trunk with you?”

“Because I inquired. Your sister requires three trunks for the Season, and you do not?”

She laughed lightly. “She is in the market for a husband. I am not. I have a gown to wear to the balls, one for dinner. It’s enough.”

“Have another made. Have half a dozen. My wife doesn’t need to wear the same gown to every affair.”

“I don’t need them. No one will be paying any attention to me.”

“I care not. I can well afford it.”

She fought back her disappointment because she’d secretly hoped that he’d confess that he would pay attention to her. She saw no point in arguing further. She’d simply not go to the dressmaker’s. “At the estate, I can see the stars so clearly. The same cannot be said here. When the fog is not in the way, the lights seem to be.”

Silence eased in around them. She found comfort in it. She could scarcely remember what it was about him that she’d feared.

“I can’t recall if I ever told you how much I appreciated how you managed the estate,” he said.

“I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“I noticed.”

She sensed true gratitude in his voice, but he also seemed uncomfortable offering the praise, so she sought to put him at ease. “I enjoy it. It fills my days, gives me purpose.”

“Perhaps the next time I visit, you’ll not go into hiding.”

She fought back her smile. “Perhaps I’ll give you a tour. I suspect there are things you overlooked.”

“I doubt it. What I noticed most was the … warmth.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it, but I can feel it happening here. Must be the heat from the friction generated by you moving all that furniture around.”

Was he teasing her? She was startled by the pleasure she took in it. Releasing a light laugh, she admitted, “I don’t know why I do that so much. But I always have. I think perhaps it’s because the placement of furniture is something I can control. I could never control my father’s temper or the force of his hand when he struck me—”

“He struck you?”

She felt the heat of shame burn her cheeks. “When he was not pleased with me, yes.”

“Did you think I’d strike you? Is that why you feared me?”

“Oh, no. You terrified me but not in the manner my father did. With you, it was more … an uncomfortableness regarding the intimacy we’d share. I simply wanted to know you a bit better.”

His hand came up, settling at the nape of her neck, his thumb coming around to stroke the delicate underside of her chin. Heat traveled down to her toes. The gown without sleeves might have sufficed after all.

“Tell me, Claire, if you’d had a Season, what would you have looked for in a suitor?”

She peered over at him, surprised by his interest. She wondered to what degree Beth’s arrival had put their situation into a different perspective for him. “I would have wanted someone who made me laugh, I think.”

“Strange you should say that as I always thought your laughter was your most compelling feature. Stephen was adept at making you laugh.”

“Yes, he could. His was such a fun-loving nature, although he could be a bit of a scamp.”

“A scoundrel, more like. But he has always charmed the ladies.”

“No more than you.”

“I seem to have failed in that regard when it came to you.”

“I think only because I was still on the cusp between being a girl and a lady.”

Curling his fingers, he grazed his knuckles lightly over her cheek. “Observing your sister tonight made me realize exactly how young you were when we married. But now you’re certainly no longer a girl.”

They sat there for what seemed like forever, the only motion his slow stroking of her face. They were enclosed in shadows, only a hint of distant light to outline their silhouette, and yet she could feel the intensity of his gaze—as though he were striving to understand every aspect of her, as though nothing mattered more than this moment between them. She thought she was beginning to understand how women fell so easily under his spell.

When a lady had his attention, she had all of it.

“We should probably go in,” he said quietly.

She nodded.

“The fog should roll in soon,” he continued.

She nodded again, not at all anxious to leave, wanting to explore what was happening between them without any words, as though they were communicating on a more primal level. Her heart thumped erratically, and she desperately wanted him to lean in and kiss her.

Was he nearer? Was he going—

“It’s late,” he said, abruptly standing and breaking the spell.

For an insane moment, she almost flung her arms around him, lifted up onto her toes, and kissed him. He’d said he no longer wanted her, even though his recent actions seemed to indicate otherwise. But if he rebuffed her, she’d die of mortification.

He gave a low whistle, and she heard the rustling of plants as the dog limped out and fell into step beside his master. She was amazed at the consideration Westcliffe gave Cooper, his steps shorter, slower.

“Why not carry him?” she asked.

“When stairs are involved I do. Otherwise, well, the old boy has some pride.”

Like you, she thought. She’d never considered before what it had cost him to need her dowry, then to find his brother in her bed. How was it that in only a few nights, she was coming to understand him far better than she had in all the years that had come before?