When Gabriel entered the stable, the new stable hand was attaching the final leather to the gig.

Ziyaeddin stood beside it.

“Mrs. Hook tells me you are leaving,” Gabriel said.

Ziya gestured for the lad to go and took up the horse’s lead to draw it and the carriage from the building. “With the moving of furniture and the invasion of my library—”

“My library.”

“—and the screaming women being tossed from windows, peace has gone from this place.”

“The house in Leith is too small for your canvases.”

“The chimneys function and the butcher delivers weekly. In comparison to a skiff in the middle of the sea, it is a palace.”

They passed into the sunshine. Ziyaeddin climbed into the gig, set his cane beside him, and took up the reins.

“You, I suspect, will remain here as long as she will. You are a fool, Scot.”

“Possibly.” He smiled. “Probably.” But she wanted him. Of that he was now certain. “Godspeed.”

“Peace be with you, my friend. If at all possible in present circumstances,” Ziya added, and flicked the reins.

“Mick,” Gabriel said to the lad emerging from the stable. “Bring me the saddle you’ve just polished. An’ my horse’s blanket.”

“Off to the trenches, Captain?”

“I am.” He took Beelzebub’s bridle from a hook. “Am I to understand by this obsolete title that you’ve an interest in the navy?”

“Aye, sir. I dream o’ it. Spent my younger days on the sea with my uncle. He was a fisherman. I miss it fiercely, Captain.”

“How old are you, Mick?”

“Nineteen next month, sir.”

The night before, the lad had done Gabriel’s bidding with good humor and without question. He was young and strong, and not unintelligent. Ziya could use a man like this at the house at Leith, and the lad would be close to the docks.

“Just the laird I’ve been looking for!” Tate’s voice boomed through the stable.

“Good morning, Mr. Tate. Miss Cynthia.” Gabriel bowed.

The girl dipped him a swift curtsy, her gaze shifting swiftly to the youth hefting the saddle.

Glancing up, Mick’s eyes widened.

“Mick, be about your business now,” Gabriel said, taking the saddle.

“Aye, Captain.” Darting another glance at the girl, he went.

“Papa,” she said, “May I go see Mama now?”

“Go along.”

She hurried away.

“How does Mrs. Tate do this morning?” Gabriel said.

“Perfectly well! Ankle’s swollen up. But the doctor’s dosed her with laudanum.”

Gabriel buckled the girth. “An’ Miss Cynthia?”

“As you’ve seen, the poor lass be all nerves.” Tate shook his head. “Now, my Janie, she’s a jewel. Never frets nor pesters nor says a contrary word to a man. An exemplary female.”

Gabriel repressed a yawn.

“An’ she’s a sight for the eyes,” Tate said.

If a man liked conventional, somewhat listless beauty.

Gabriel drew his horse from the stall. On the drive, he mounted.

“My Janie would make a fine duchess.”

And there it was: the offer Gabriel had anticipated since the moment the Tate family had arrived at Haiknayes. Neither parent had been subtle.

“What do you say to that, Your Grace? Tate an’ Hume Mercantile!” he said, making an arc with his arm as though spelling it out in the sky. “Your friends in the navy an’ my gold. Men in ports from Leith to Bridgetown’ll envy the partnership.”

“You’ve sufficient influence at many o’ those ports already, Tate. You hardly need a partner. Nor does the Royal Navy require that British merchants be former commanders in order to have reason to protect their ships.”

“O’ course,” Tate blustered, waving his hand again. “But a man’s wise to shore up every advantage he can. ’Tain’t lad’s play, this business.”

“I’m certain you canna be suggesting, sir, that I am a lad,” Gabriel said. “Or that I consider a ship a plaything.”

“No, no!” He made a jovial scowl. “Come now, Loch Irvine,” he said with an abruptly forthright air. “She’s a little beauty, an’ docile as a tulip. ’Twould ease our negotiations to be family.”

The man was clever—much cleverer than Gabriel had understood before. This was not an offer. It was a condition.

“Mr. Tate, I’m no’ searching for a wife at present.”

“Ha ha! What vigorous young man is? I’m no’ insisting you rush to the altar, lad. Sew your wild oats before we finalize matters. After that . . . a man’s private concerns are his own.” He offered a confiding poke of his forefinger. “I wouldna be eager to do business with you if I didna trust in your discretion.”

“I am honored by your trust, sir. But I dinna care for ultimatums, nor for men who neglect their wives—whatever the justification.”

Tate’s smile looked painted on. “You’re a savvy negotiator, Duke. I expected as much from a man o’ your experience.”

Now the blackguard was trying to sweeten him up.

“I’ve matters to see to. I look forward to continuing our conversation about cargo, shares, an’ fees after lunch.” He gave Beelzebub the rein.

In keeping with her new vow to be at all times forthright and honest—however wretchedly confusing it was—when early morning became late morning and still the duke had not appeared in the company of his guests, Amarantha donned cloak and bonnet and left the fortress in search of him.

She was only halfway along the drive when he appeared at its end, riding his great big black horse toward the castle.

He wore no intimidating black coat today, instead a duster of unremarkable hue and breeches and boots suitable to the countryside. Yet even the manner in which he sat astride the creature and held the reins as though he barely needed to touch the magnificent animal for it to do his bidding seemed to proclaim his dominance of everything about.

“Off to church again, lass?” he said, touching the brim of his hat. “Memories o’ your last visit there so fine you canna stay away, no doubt.”

“Not at all,” she said, tucking her hands into her pockets. Best to keep them far from where they might grab him. “But I suspect it would do your blotched soul good to revisit church this morning.”

“Blotched, hm?” The smile hitched sideways.

He dismounted with great control yet an entire lack of concern for ducal elegance. He was a strong, virile man-beast, not remotely like the English noblemen that filled her mother’s letters. He removed his gloves and laid them atop the saddle, then took his hat into his hand.

“I dinna recall committing any sins o’ late.”

“Oh, you have.”

“I also dinna recall you being quite so concerned with the state o’ a man’s soul.”

“I knew very little about religion then.”

“You’ve had your catechism since?”

“And then some.”

He fixed the reins firmly at the base of the animal’s mane and patted the great, muscular stallion on the haunch. It started forward, and then trotted directly into the stable.

“There is a diabolical talent, to be sure,” she said. “Does every creature on this estate do its master’s bidding, without even a spoken word?”

He came forward and stood before her.

“No’ every creature,” he said rather low. “But I am working on it.”

He smelled like heaven, like the wind and the coming spring and some subtle hint of cologne.

“You are not my master,” she said.

“True. An’ I would never want you to do anything without words anyway,” he said with an almost-smile. “No’ for me. Or even to me. I am particularly fond o’ your voice. As well as other bits o’ you.” His gaze dipped to her breasts. “A weary horse that sees home will always go toward it eagerly.”

“You should lift your eyes now.”

“An’ an enchanted man that sees the woman who has enchanted him will take a long look just as eagerly.”

“I have no enchantments. You, recall, are the dark lord who reads books on magic potions.”

“I would like to have a potion now that would wipe the care from those pretty eyes. What is amiss, lass?”

“How swiftly he forgets.”

“Never,” he said emphatically.

“Your blotched soul is amiss.”

He seemed to rest back on his heels, comfortable in his big, powerful manner.

“All right, this mystery ought to be easy enough to solve by running through the usual sins. Let us see . . . I’ve no’ committed gluttony lately.”

She allowed herself to peruse his shoulders, chest and legs. If he could ogle her, it seemed only just.

“You do seem fit,” she said.

He was watching her ogling him. “’Tis all the climbing on roofs an’ chopping wood.”

“Chopping wood? Are you so short of funds that you cannot afford to hire a man to chop wood?”

“Well . . . ’tis a wee bit complicated.”

“Which I know you will not explain. So, perhaps we should return to your sins.”

“Rather, lack thereo’.”

“I will be the judge of that, Urisk.”

“Call me Gabriel again.”

“I do not believe I shall. Avarice?”

“No. In fact, no’ three hours ago I proved my resistance to avarice quite impressively.”

“You did?”

He placed a palm over his heart. “On my honor.”

“I am not certain that is firm enough grounds to convince me of anything. But we can return to avarice later. Envy?”

He laughed. “What reason have I to envy another man?”

She shook her head. “You truly are astonishing.”

“My point exactly.”

“Which brings us to vanity.”

He smiled beautifully. “I suppose you will now add pride to that.”

“I am on the fence about pride, actually. It is clear that you care about your estates.”

“Thus the roof repairing,” he said, “which serves to strike sloth off the list too.”

“But I do not think you are proud of them.”

Abruptly he sobered. “No’ at present. But I will be.”

“And just there, behind those words, is the concealment. Your sin of choice, Urisk, seems to be dishonesty.”

He said nothing for a moment, only looked steadily into her eyes that he had ridiculously—wonderfully—called cloverleaves. Finally he spoke.

“How did lust fall off the list?”

She blinked. “Lust?”

“You made it through six o’ the Seven Deadly Sins, then skipped lust an’ went straight to the Ten Commandments. Due to your gauntlet, I canna put lust into action at present. But I was looking forward to at least discussing it with you.”

“You are impossible.”

“Aye. Impossibly happy that you’re standing here on my land, Amarantha Vale.” He smiled the lovely smile, the gentle, contented smile she had once believed he reserved only for her.

“Dishonesty, Urisk, is an unkindness to those to whom you lie.”

“Concealment isna dishonesty, lass. But it is, on occasion, necessary.”

“Perhaps there is a gray area.” In which she had lived for five and a half years. “I suppose you consider it necessary to conceal your betrothal to Miss Jane Tate?”

He frowned. “I’m no’ betrothed to Miss Tate.”

“Last night, when you were in the church trying to seduce me, she told Mrs. Aiken that she is betrothed to you, and, incidentally, that she is terrified of the prospect.”

“Well,” he said upon a great exhale. “’Tis remarkable how many insults a woman can pack into a single sentence.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“An’ well you should beg it.” Moving away he lifted his hand to pass it up and over his face, and into his hair. Finally he dropped his arm and turned again to her. “Firstly, I am no’ betrothed to Miss Jane Tate. I’m no’ betrothed to anybody.”

“But, why would—”

“Forgive me for interrupting, lass. But I am about to engage in a bit o’ grand speechifying in my defense. I prefer to make the speech in one go, if you dinna mind?”

She shook her head.

“Much obliged.” He nodded. “Now, where was I?”

“You are not betrothed to anybody.”

“Aye. Secondly, to protect the guilty I’ll no’ supply names an’ dates as proof, but I can say with great certainty that ’tisna entirely unknown for lasses to misrepresent the truth o’ such matters. But even had I no personal experience with this, I would surely know if I were betrothed at this time.”

He paused as though expecting her to comment. Amarantha pulled her lips between her teeth.

“Excellent,” he said. “Now, thirdly, at the risk o’ displeasing you with ungentlemanly frankness, I will admit that whether a timorous mouse is terrified o’ me or no’, I couldna care less. I’ve already told you how little I care o’ the opinion anybody has about me—present company excepted. An’ fourthly . . .” He walked toward her until he was very close. “Last night in the church I didna try to seduce you. I didna even touch you—though that was, admittedly, a challenge. An’ I dinna intend to touch you again, no’ until matters in that pretty an’ damnably complicated head o’ yours take a turn. What do you have to say to that?”

“I may speak now?”

“Aye, but my speech includes a fifthly, so make it brief.”

“I concede your fourth point,” she said. “My susceptibility is surely at fault. Candles notwithstanding, I realize that the ease with which you succeed in seducing me does not mean that you intend it. So I suppose that in some ways I have changed very little in five and a half years.”

His eyes arrested. “Your suscepti—succeed—Clarify those words now.”

“I thought you had a fifthly.”

He looked up at the branches of the trees above and she heard him pull in a breath. His gaze met hers again.

“I intend you no harm, Amarantha,” he said cleanly. “I thought I made that completely clear last night.”

Her foot fell back, enlarging the space between them. “Yet I remain unconvinced.”

His jaw muscles flexed rather dramatically.

Then he started toward the stable.

She followed. “Is that all?”

“What else would you have me say? You’ve no right to be angry with me.”

“I am not angry with you about the betrothal—rather, the not-betrothal. I was not even angry before the first three points of your speech.”

He halted at the door. “No?”

“No. Generally I believe anger springs from hurt—”

“That sounds about right,” he growled.

“—and I am not hurt. That is, I was not. I was not even surprised when I heard the news.”

“You werena surprised?”

She shook her head.

“No’ even after last night?”

“No.”

His brow cut downward. “Go.”

“Go? Again?”

“Aye.”

“From the yard here?”

“From my house. From my land.”

Treacly heat rushed through her. “You are throwing me out?”

“It seems I am.”

“After you said that you are happy I am here?”

“No’ under these circumstances. An’ you want to go. You are eager to go.”

“I am?”

“Aye. An’ as you have made your purpose here clear, but I have no further concealed matters to reveal to you, you may as well. Mick!” he called through the open stable door.

The young stable hand appeared.

“Aye, Captain?”

“This lady intends to depart Haiknayes shortly. Make any animal or vehicle available to her as she requires, to go anywhere she wishes. She will give you instructions.”

With an abrupt bow reminiscent of the young naval officer he had been, the duke said, “Godspeed, ma’am.” He strode past her toward the castle.

In her pockets, she made her hands into fists.

“I am not leaving Haiknayes, Mick.” Not until she had got what she came for. “But I would enjoy a ride now. A saddle horse, if you please.”

He would wring Tate’s neck. Then he would wring his own, for good measure.

He had thrown her out.

By God, he’d been feeling astonishingly good before that moment there on the driveway. Better than he had in months. Years.

He had thrown her out.

When would he cease being a coward—sending away the woman he wanted for the second time—because he was afraid of what? Having his heart crushed again?

“Pour a dram of that for me, too, Your Grace.” In the corner of the sofa before the hearth, cocooned in shawls, Miss Alice Campbell looked like a little bird tucked into a winter’s nest. He carried a glass of whiskey to her.

“You’re fond o’ spirits, Miss Campbell?”

“And equally fond of requiring young, handsome gentlemen to wait on me. Once I was occupied with doing so day and night, but now of course I have little occasion to.” She accepted the glass. “To your prosperity, Your Grace.”

“An’ to yours, ma’am.” He took a long swallow.

“It is frankly unbelievable that Mrs. Tate tripped out of that window,” she said.

“Aye?”

“But Cynthia Tate is several inches shorter and considerably slighter than her mother. However lacking in character I feel the girl to be, I do not believe she was physically capable of pushing Mrs. Tate over that sill.”

“Your conclusion, Miss Campbell?”

“That you worked your black magic to be rid of Mrs. Tate so that you might have free rein of her maidenly progeny.”

He bowed.

“You do not deny it?”

“I can neither deny nor confirm, ma’am.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“Six o’ one . . .”

“Your Grace,” his footman said from the doorway. Gabriel turned away from Miss Campbell’s merry eyes and looked upon the face of a ghost.

“Greetings, cousin,” Jonah said. A familiar grin lurked about his mouth. “Have you missed me?”