“I thought that went exceedingly well!” Lavinia’s mother exclaimed with a bright smile as soon as Sir Martin had left. She’d sat in the corner, her hawk-eyed gaze trained on Lavinia and Sir Martin as they’d talked. After a quarter hour, Lavinia had asked him to take a turn in the garden in order to alleviate the constancy of her mother’s attention.

“Yes,” was all Lavinia would say.

“What did you discuss in the garden?” the countess asked as Lavinia stood from the settee.

“Science.” That would ensure Mother wouldn’t ask for details. And really, they had discussed science—astronomy mostly, although Sir Martin did ask some questions about the Charlton Sand Pit. He asked her where else she’d like to visit and seemed interested in accompanying her. That should have filled her with happiness, if not excitement, for it seemed a union with him would allow her to pursue her passion for geology.

And yet, she felt a bit…empty. She’d thought of almost nothing but Beck since yesterday. The way he flirted with her. The way his stare seemed to bore straight into her soul. The way he touched her—with an intoxicating combination of reverence and need. The way her body came alive in his embrace.

“You’d accept him, then?” Mother asked.

“Oh yes,” Lavinia said, her mind wholly focused on the blond-haired, gray-green-eyed rake who’d stolen her heart.

Her heart? Had he done that?

“Lavinia!”

She blinked, drawing her head from the clouds. “Yes?”

“You need to get ready to go to the park.” Her mother rolled her eyes. “Goodness, girl, sometimes I think you live in another world.”

Because sometimes it is preferable to living in yours.

Lavinia offered her a sweet smile and dashed upstairs to change into a walking gown for the park. Would Beck be there? She hoped so.

After choosing her gown with far more care than usual, she met her mother downstairs and they walked to Hyde Park. Sir Martin would not be there and had apologized for his absence. Lavinia expected another gentleman or two to approach her, but only watched for Beck.

She didn’t immediately see him, but then she was without her glasses, so most people were a blur. Still, she’d come to recognize his stature and stance, even with her myopia, and it seemed he wasn’t there.

Ah well, it was early yet. She did, however, see Jane Pemberton, who approached her with a smile. “Good afternoon, Lady Lavinia. Can we take a short walk?” She shot a glance toward Lavinia’s mother.

Lavinia didn’t care what her mother thought. In any case, the countess was still riding a wave of giddiness from Sir Martin’s call, so Lavinia would take advantage of it. “Yes.” She looped her arm through Jane’s, and they started along the path.

“You’ve become quite popular,” Jane said. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about yesterday’s picnic excursion. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“I am too. It was great fun.” Her mind drifted toward the best part, and she quickly reined it back lest she fall completely and irretrievably down the rabbit hole.

“Still, most people are talking about that poem in the Chronicle this morning.”

“What poem?” Lavinia hadn’t read it, and her mother hadn’t mentioned anything. So she doubted it was one of Beck’s. And yet, who else published poetry in the Morning Chronicle?

Jane’s eyes widened. “You didn’t read it?”

“I rarely read the Morning Chronicle.”

“Not even since you were the subject of the duke’s poems? I check every day to make sure he hasn’t written about me again. It’s so peculiar that he wrote about me only that one time. I think I’m the only one who only had one poem, not that I mind, of course. In fact, it’s almost as if he realized I didn’t like the attention and stopped.”

Lavinia kept her expression from revealing that Jane had the right of it. “Wouldn’t that be enterprising of him?” She diverted the topic away from the Duke of Seduction. “Was today’s poem about someone new?”

“Most assuredly. It was a new sort of poem altogether. In fact, it may not have been written by the Duke of Seduction, for the author didn’t sign it.” She sent Lavinia a knowing glance. “However, I have to think it was. The cadence and word usage are too similar.”

What had Beck written? She wanted to rush home and read the newspaper for herself. “Who was it about?”

“The author didn’t make that entirely clear, but the use of initials and the description of the subjects’ behavior has led most to believe it was written about Lady Abercrombie and Lady Kipp-Landon.”

They were close friends and two of the worst gossips with the nastiest tongues in London. Lady Kipp-Landon could be pleasant, especially in the absence of Lady Abercrombie, but Lavinia sought to steer clear of them.

She was still confused. He—if it was Beck—obviously hadn’t written about them to help them find husbands. Both women were married with children and in their middle thirties. “You said it was a different sort of poem.”

“It’s called The Evisceration of a Pair of Vicious Parrots.”

Lavinia’s breath stalled in her chest.

Evisceration. Her word. That was most certainly Beck. Why had he written it? She glanced about, wondering if she’d see him today—hoping she’d see him.

“Well, that sounds rather unpleasant.”

Jane’s lip curled. “They deserve it, in my opinion. They are two of the most judgmental harpies in all of Society. Lady Abercrombie doesn’t even pretend to be nice in most cases. She’d sooner give someone the cut direct. Two years ago, I saw her trip a young lady who was deemed one of the Season’s brightest jewels. I tried to go and call her out for it, but my mother wouldn’t allow me.” Jane waved her hand. “Anyway, we shouldn’t waste time talking about them, even if it is to revel in their well-deserved public humiliation.” She turned her head toward Lavinia. “What we should discuss is Phoebe Lennox.”

Lavinia was glad for the change of subject even though her brain was likely to hold on to that poem—at least until she had a chance to talk to Beck about it. “Oh? Isn’t her wedding tomorrow?”

“It is. I saw her last night, and she was rather distressed. She said she’d seen Sainsbury speaking rather intimately with another woman.”

There was no harm in speaking. “What do you mean by intimately?”

“They were very close, touching hands and so forth. Phoebe said she saw him lean in to whisper in her ear, and he kissed the woman’s neck.” Jane’s mouth turned into a deep frown. “If it’s true—and why would Phoebe lie—he’s disgusting.

“What is Phoebe going to do?” Lavinia asked. “It’s not as if she can cry off. The wedding is tomorrow.”

How horrid to have to marry a man you suspected of being unfaithful. It happened, of course, and plenty of women were unfaithful too—Lady Fairwell came to mind—but Lavinia hoped it wouldn’t happen in her marriage. A feeling of unease crept over her. Beck, for all his pleasing attributes, had helped many a woman be unfaithful.

“I don’t know,” Jane said with concern. “She was rather in a dither about it last night. I was hoping she’d be here today, but I don’t see her.”

“Perhaps she’ll be at the Sutton ball tonight.”

“I doubt it since the wedding is in the morning.” Jane’s eyes narrowed. “But I shall be on the lookout for Sainsbury, and he’d better behave himself.”

Lavinia arched a brow at Jane. “This time, you won’t be held back?”

Jane blew out a breath. “If my mother is in the vicinity, she will try. But so will I.” She winked at Lavinia, who smiled in response.

They returned to Lavinia’s mother, who waited with Mr. Chapman, one of the gentlemen who’d displayed interest in Lavinia the day before. He was a widower with two small children and a small estate in Kent. He’d liked hearing that Lavinia enjoyed the outdoors, since his children did too.

Lavinia wasn’t certain how she felt about taking on an entire family, particularly without meeting his offspring. Still, he was nice enough and possessed a charming smile even if he did lack hair, which she knew because his hat had been knocked askew at one point yesterday.

During their promenade, she continued to look for Beck and continued to be disappointed. She also didn’t see Sarah or Fanny, and by the time she returned to her mother, she was more than ready to go home. She knew she’d see her friends at the ball tonight. She only hoped she’d see Beck too.

They had much to discuss, not the least of which was whether he’d eviscerated two of Society’s worst gossips. Lavinia was eager to learn why.

* * *

The poem about Lady Abercrombie and Lady Kipp-Landon was the buzz of the Sutton ball. It seemed no one held any doubt as to whom the author had been writing about.

Good.

Beck hadn’t wanted to name them, but neither had he wanted to shield their identities. He’d no idea what would come of it, but he was glad everyone was discussing the misdeeds of two of Society’s worst gossips.

He’d heard the following exchange between two middle-aged women shortly after arriving:

“It’s about time someone took them down several notches. I daresay their social calendars will be rather sparse, and really, that’s as it should have been for some time.”

“But everyone’s been so afraid of them and their ilk. I suspect others like them may find themselves similarly cut.”

“Then perhaps they’ll adjust their behavior.”

“One can only hope.”

Indeed.

Still, he didn’t feel truly satisfied. None of this helped him learn the identity of the man who’d pursued Helen.

But perhaps his dissatisfaction was also due to a second source. He’d heard another snippet of conversation this evening:

“Sir Martin called on her this afternoon. It seems a betrothal is in the offing.”

“The Duke of Seduction manages success again!”

He didn’t feel very successful. He felt hollow as he watched Lavinia dance with Sir Martin.

She was beautiful, even when she spent half her time squinting across the ballroom. He hoped to God, Sir Martin would allow her to wear her spectacles after they wed.

After they wed?

Hell, he couldn’t think of her the way he did if she was married to another man. And he sure as hell couldn’t look at her on another man’s arm for another moment.

Spinning on his heel, he left the ballroom and went in search of Sutton’s library. It was at the back of the house on the ground floor through a sitting room, which made it quite far removed from the festivities upstairs. That suited him spectacularly.

Even better, Sutton had a fully stocked sideboard. Beck helped himself to a tumbler of whiskey, which he downed in short order.

What the hell was he doing? Why hadn’t he just left instead of coming in here? He’d no reason to stay. He didn’t have to pretend to court Lavinia any longer, and frankly, being in her orbit and knowing she was on the verge of marrying someone else was enough to take him back to the age of sixteen when Priscilla had been beyond his reach.

Setting the glass back on the sideboard, he turned to go. The door to the library, which really looked as though Sutton used it as an office, opened.

Suddenly, he had his answer as to why he’d not only remained, but why he’d come here.

Lavinia stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “I knew I’d find you in the library.” She looked toward the bookshelves. “Any good books on geology?”

“I didn’t look.” He couldn’t keep himself from looking at her, however. He devoured her from the top of her cinnamon-colored hair to the toe of her persimmon-colored slipper. Christ, was he hungry again? Yes. For her.

She came toward him, her eyes relaxing the closer she got. “I read what you wrote in the paper.”

He should have realized she would know he’d written it. “How do you know I’m the author?”

She cocked her head to the side and gave him a dubious stare. “I doubt I have to answer that. I’ve read your poems dozens of times. I know your writing. And so do others.”

He inwardly winced. He’d been afraid of that, but what did it matter? It wasn’t as if anyone knew he was the Duke of Seduction. He shrugged. “I don’t particularly care. It needed to be done.”

She stepped in front of him and took his hand. He felt the heat of her through their gloves and wished he could toss the garments away. Her gaze found his. “Why?”

“They hurt my sister. Years ago. They told her she’d be better off dead.” He didn’t know why he told her. The words simply tumbled from his mouth.

Her forehead creased, and she touched his face, her white cotton-clad fingertips grazing his cheekbone and jaw. He closed his eyes briefly, relishing her caress.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Standing on her toes, she brushed her lips against his.

He edged backward. “Lavinia. You said it yourself—we can’t keep meeting in libraries.”

“That was before yesterday.” Her eyes were dark with desire, and his body reacted, hardening and tightening with lust. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened. What you did.”

“Yesterday was a grievous mistake. I vastly overstepped.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I asked you to.”

“Yes, well, I shouldn’t have listened to you. And I especially shouldn’t now. Not when it seems your betrothal to Sir Martin is imminent.”

“It isn’t.”

His stomach dove into the floor. “You’re already engaged?”

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “No, but would that help? You don’t seem to have a problem conducting affairs with women who are married.”

It was a punch to his midsection, and it took his breath away. “Lavinia, I am not going to have an affair with you.” Even as he said the words, he wondered if he’d really be able to say no. She was right; he’d had no trouble carrying on with married women. He was suddenly and thoroughly disgusted with himself.

She exhaled and relaxed her arms at her sides. “How am I supposed to marry someone else after everything that’s gone on between us?”

The pain in his midsection spread through him. He wouldn’t let it take over. Straightening, he inhaled a deep breath. “I wish I could change what happened. You deserve far better. I’ve enjoyed our friendship, but that’s all it can be. I am not the marrying kind, Lavinia.” He corrected himself. “Lady Lavinia.”

She stared at him a long moment. “I don’t think we can maintain a friendship. You see, I don’t want to change anything that happened, and knowing you do will only make me sad. Furthermore, it seems clear to me that we share an attraction, and you just said you enjoyed our friendship. I think you could be the marrying kind if you wanted to.” Her gaze was dark with disappointment and something else he didn’t want to consider. “I’m afraid this must be good-bye.” She turned and went to the door, turning her head to look at him before she left. “Good-bye, Lord Northam.”

The moment she was gone, he went to the door and rested his forehead against the wood. He wanted her. But he couldn’t see past the darkness just now. It engulfed him until he felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but eventually, he opened the door and escaped the house. He went home and buried himself in a tangle of words and whiskey.

Gage roused him early, speaking softly and encouraging him to go upstairs to bathe and dress. Why was Gage bothering him? Beck didn’t want to go anywhere. He’d passed out on the chaise in his office plenty of times.

Blinking his heavy eyelids open, Beck looked about at the empty decanter and the tumbler lying on its side near the chaise on the carpet. Sheets of foolscap littered the floor and the end of the chaise.

“The wedding is this morning, my lord,” Gage said softly.

Wedding. Oh God, she was getting married already? Anguish and regret pulsed through him with astounding force, pushing him to a sitting position. His head pounded in concert with the thumping of his heart.

“Where?” Beck rasped.

“St. George’s, of course.” Gage looked at him with concern as he always did after a night like the last.

Wait. Last night. He’d just seen her last night, and she said she hadn’t been betrothed. Not yet anyway. And he certainly hadn’t given her a reason not to be.

He put his hand to his head and began to massage his temple. “It’s not Lavinia’s wedding.”

The creases in Gage’s brow deepened. “No. It’s Miss Lennox’s wedding.”

Beck sagged with relief, and the ache in his head lessened a degree. Of course it was Miss Lennox. He meant to watch her leave the church and see that she was off to a happy life.

“You don’t have much time,” Gage said. “Cook is preparing a headache tonic. I’ll bring it upstairs while you dress.”

Beck rose from the chaise with considerable effort. “Thank you.” As he wove his way upstairs, he thought of Lavinia. He was afraid he’d been an ass. No, he had been an ass. What he’d said was true—he wasn’t the marrying kind. And yet when he thought of her marrying someone else, he simply couldn’t bear it. The fear he’d just felt when he’d thought it was her wedding this morning… He didn’t want to feel that again.

Once he’d downed the tonic and was bathed and dressed, he went back to his office and scrawled out a note. His horse was waiting outside, but instead of taking him east toward St. George’s, Beck turned west toward Grosvenor Square.

After stashing the note in the tree, he cut over to Park Street to tie the ribbon tucked into his coat around the railing across from Lavinia’s house. He stood there for a moment, staring up at her chamber, willing her to come to the window. But it was still early, and she didn’t.

Now, he rode east, and when he arrived across from the church, he waited. His heart had begun to lift once he’d written the note, and he’d felt better when he’d put the ribbon across from Lavinia’s house. Seeing Miss Lennox happily wed would readjust his mind and bring him back from the dark.

He continued to wait.

After some time, he began to grow concerned. Then people—a small group—filtered from the church and climbed into their coaches and drove away. Alarm gripped his chest.

Beck climbed from his horse and tied him to a post before crossing the street. A gentleman leaving the church looked toward him. “Northam?”

Pulling his attention from the doorway, Beck turned to the man. It was Lord Haywood. Knowing what Beck knew now, he had to fight the urge to hit the man in the face and knock him to the ground. And then kick him for good measure.

“If you came for the wedding, don’t bother.” Haywood’s tone was heavy with scorn.

“No, just passing by,” Beck said, masking his dislike for the man in the interest of obtaining information. “Whose wedding?”

“My cousin, Sainsbury. His bride called it off, the ridiculous chit.” Haywood’s lip curled. “A gel shouldn’t be allowed to do that.”

What had happened to change Miss Lennox’s mind? The anticipation Beck had felt a few moments earlier dissolved in a cloud of unease. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a commitment,” Haywood said. “And commitments should be honored.” He had the gall to prattle on about making a commitment and seeing it through after leading the Duchess of Kendal on the way he did?

Beck had to hold his hands at his sides lest he hit the man. “I have to imagine she had good reason.” Beck’s feeling of discomfort increased, and it had nothing to do with Haywood’s lack of self-awareness.

Haywood snorted. “She’s convinced herself she has. Silly chit will regret this, however.” He looked back toward the church. “Ah, here’s my cousin, then.” He turned, and Beck took the opportunity to leave.

Climbing back on his horse, he rode home, his mind churning with what could possibly have happened to cause Miss Lennox to cry off. He handed off his mount to a groom and walked up the steps as a footman opened the door.

Gage stood inside the reception hall. “The Earl of Ware is in the sitting room.” He held his hand out for Beck to deliver him his hat and gloves.

“What the devil is Felix doing here this early?” And he’d waited for Beck to come home?

“He’s rather insistent upon seeing you.”

The disquiet simmering within Beck increased yet again. He turned and went into the sitting room to find Felix standing in front of the window. “I was about to come out into the hall.”

“What’s so bloody important that you’re here at this hour?”

“What’s so bloody important that you weren’t?”

“I went out.” Why not just tell him? He already knew Beck’s secret. “I went to see Miss Lennox leave the church after getting married. Only she didn’t get married. She cried off, apparently.”

Felix’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I ran into the groom’s cousin—Haywood—and he didn’t offer a reason.” Beck had to wonder if she’d never really wanted to marry in the first place. He couldn’t help but think of Lavinia’s initial outrage at his interference in her and the other ladies’ lives. He should have left them alone. The darkness he’d managed to banish earlier slithered back over him.

Felix frowned, his expression grim. “You don’t look happy.”

“She became engaged to Sainsbury because of me.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed. “That’s absurd. Did you throw them into a compromising position that required them to wed?”

“When you put it like that, it does sound absurd.” He was letting the darkness take over, and he—usually—knew better. However, he was in a rather deep dither after the way he’d mucked things up with Lavinia last night. “Still, I played a part. If not for my poetry, she might not have attracted Sainsbury, and whatever happened to cause her to cry off may not have happened.”

“Instead of concerning yourself with something you may or may not have affected, let us turn our attention to something that is entirely due to your idiocy.”

Beck inwardly flinched beneath the weight of his friend’s ire. “What did I do?”

“What didn’t you do is probably the better question. Sir Martin is going to propose to Lady Lavinia today—her father has already agreed to the betrothal.”

Oh hell. Beck’s knees wavered. “How do you know that?”

“Late last night at the club, Sir Martin announced his good fortune.”

Now Beck sat, his frame sinking into a chair.

“Why are you sitting?” Felix took a step toward him, his gaze blazing. “You’ve no time to lose.”

He’d already lost Lavinia. What did time matter? “For what?” He looked away from Felix.

“Good Lord, man. Your evasiveness the other day spoke volumes. It’s evident to me you care for her and that there’s something between you. If you’re certain she feels nothing for you, then I suppose there’s nothing to be done. However, if you have even a chance at happiness, don’t you think you should try before it’s too late?”

Beck cocked his head to the side and gave Felix a suffering sidelong glance. “You offering me advice in matters of the heart is rather baffling, don’t you think?”

Felix threw his hands up. “I am no expert, that's true. But I put up with your anguish after Priscilla, and I know how wrapped up you can get in your own head. I’d rather not lose you for another series of weeks or months. Furthermore, you are not me. You are William Beckett, and you need love in your life—you want it. Do you want her?”

He couldn’t lie. “Yes.” The word was a croak, a broken plea.

“Then go get her.”

Beck didn’t hesitate. He jumped up from the chair and found Gage still in the hall, still holding his hat and gloves. Grabbing them, Beck made haste out the door—and to the future.