Graciela’s heart pounded, a great weight like an anchor thrashing inside her head.

“I will see him alone,” Lord Bakeley said.

“No,” Charley said and “No,” she said at the same time.

Charley came and smoothed his hands over her forearms. He opened his mouth, but seemed unable to speak. “You wish to confront him,” he said finally.

She nodded, words suddenly failing her also.

“We shall all go,” Lady Sirena said. “Miss Kingsley is under our protection. We shall put you between Perry and me and he will see that you have family.”

“Paulette will regret missing this.” Mr. Gibson had come to stand with them.

Charley chafed her hands. “We won’t mention family or marriage plans yet. We’ll tell him as little as possible, only that we’re keeping you safe, here, under our roof. What say you?”

“Yes.” Yes. She would accept their protection, for herself, and her servants and for Reina. For now.

Next to Charley and his brothers, Lord Kingsley did not look so tall, so grand, or so powerful.

She glimpsed him through the door, the side of his face stiffened into the mask that hid angry rage.

In the hallway, Lady Sirena turned her around, taking both of Graciela’s hands. “Deep breaths. Head up. Shoulders back. You’re a lady among ladies, and no matter the power he thinks he has, you’re with us now, and you’ve nothing to fear.”

She shook her head. “I am not afraid. I am angry.”

“Anger is good,” Lady Perry said. “As long as it sharpens you. We shall outfox this fox.”

She wondered how many foxes this lady had dealt with.

When she entered the drawing room between the elegant Lady Sirena and the taller Lady Perry, Kingsley’s refined mask slipped revealing the beast within. His eyes bulged and a boiling red seeped from the knot of his neck cloth up to his forehead. His chest puffed under the fashionable waistcoat her father’s money had paid for.

A memory flashed—Papa’s tense face as they outran a pirate ship. Papa had not worried so much nor fought so hard to buy this fat lord new coats.

He took a step toward her, and was matched by Mr. Gibson and Charley. Lord Bakeley, the lord of this house until his father returned, stepped between Lord Kingsley and her. The threat was not idle, and even Lord Kingsley could see it. Their refined society was not so far advanced. The three Everly men could heft Kingsley’s great weight out the front door and onto the cobblestones of the square like her father’s men combating a boarding party.

Worse, for Kingsley, they could continue tying him up in scandal sheets and magistrates and gossip, for surely the gossip had started.

How strange these English lords were—aside from Shaldon’s sons, words and legal documents meant more to most of them than a fist. Perhaps that was why Papa had left this land.

Kingsley fixed his lips into a tight smile. “You have found her then, Bakeley. I am glad to see she is safe.”

Liar.

“She is,” Bakeley said.

“Very well, then. If you’ll have a servant gather her things, I’ll take her off your hands.”

Lord Bakeley drew himself even taller. “We’ve heard some unsettling stories.”

Kingsley’s eyes flashed again and quickly shuttered. “The scandal sheet, you mean. Lies and nonsense. Probably planted by her.” He jerked his head toward Graciela.

“How would I possibly know how to do such a thing?” she said. “I lived like a prisoner in your home.”

Kingsley’s gaze stayed fixed on Lord Bakeley. She glanced to Charley who gave his head one quick shake and turned away, plucking at some imaginary lint on his coat.

“It was likely a busybody neighbor, or one of their servants.” Charley had rocked back on his heels, looking careless, feckless, one would say, almost drunk. “Heard a scream in the night, or some such,” he drawled. “Sent a note over to some fellow for an extra quid. It did sell well, I believe. It’s all the fellows at White’s could blabber about. Had a full page of wagers in the betting book.” He laughed, like a fool, like he had nary a care in the world, like her life was not strung in the balance here.

Anger spiked in her until she remembered, he was acting, grandly, consummately, convincingly, and that sent her heart into a flurry. What should she believe of this man?

“You could not imagine,” Charley said in that same languorous tone. “Bets on the lady’s identity. Bets on the identity of her guardian. Bets on whether she was dead, and if so, where her body would be—”

“Enough, Charley,” Lord Bakeley said. “There are ladies present.”

Charley straightened, as if snapped back to reality. He bowed toward the ladies. “Oh, I do beg pardon.”

“Yes, well, this girl is alive, and I’m taking her home with me, with or without her things.”

“Tell us, my lord,” Mr. Gibson said, “What happened to the child who traveled with her?”

Kingsley’s glare bounced quickly off Mr. Gibson. His face blanched and colored again.

Ah. Here was the next rumor to be planted, that Lord Kingsley had done away with the child under Captain Kingsley’s care. “How should I know? Here now, Bakeley, I won’t be accused like this. Hand over the chit. She is coming with me.”

“I think we must have that answer,” Bakeley said.

“I’ve given it. She was there one moment, and the next, those two black servants had left and taken her with them. I don’t know where they went. Back to the West Indies, for all I know. Now, I’ll have the girl.”

He took a step toward her, and her blood rose, the threat transparent even with Lord Bakeley as an obstacle. Mr. Gibson drew nearer to her guardian, while Charley closed in behind him.

“Oh my,” Lady Sirena whispered. “A piece of work, he is that.”

The air in the room crackled like the lightning was coming. This would come to a fight, and Papa’s knife was upstairs in that pretty blue bedchamber.

But she had these three men as her weapon, and the two ladies as her fellow warriors.

“I think not,” Lord Bakeley said. “We are happy to have her as our guest until she wishes to leave.”

“Yes, well, I am not happy for her to be your guest, and I am her guardian. She is coming with me.”

“Oh, I say,” Charley said from behind, startling Kingsley. “Isn’t Father her guardian also?”

“He is,” Lord Bakeley said.

“He is not. Farnsworth is her guardian, and he is out of the country.”

“Well, I distinctly remember Father saying he was stepping up to replace Farnsworth in his absence.” Charley had moved to Lord Kingsley’s side and managed to make his bored tone sound threatening. “A damned bother, I’d say, all these beautiful young ladies to look after.”

Lord Kingsley looked at him then, for the first time, but all he would see was that bored, drunken, careless rogue. Charley’s eyes sparkled with an awareness that perhaps only she could see.

“I do wish to stay here with Lord and Lady Bakeley,” Graciela said, “and with Lord Shaldon. My father always spoke so highly of him and his accomplishments.” She was putting it on thickly, but surely Papa would have spoken thus, if they’d had more time together before he sailed.

“Shaldon is not here. You are coming with me.”

“I am not.”

“She is not.”

The voice boomed from the doorway and she turned to see a tall, elegant man, his hair laced with a few sprinklings of silver at his ears. He was dark like Lord Bakeley, but his strong jaw and straight nose were like those of all three of the Everly sons.

Or rather, theirs were like his.

“Th-thank you.” Her tongue stuck in her dry mouth. She swallowed and curtsied.

“Kingsley.” The gaze Charley’s father turned on Lord Kingsley was as hard and as cruel as the other man’s, and the sight of it rattled her.

“Here, now, Shaldon—”

“No.” Lord Shaldon shook his head. “Gather all of Miss Kingsley’s things and send them here. She is staying with me.” He waved a hand. “Hire a flock of solicitors if you wish to challenge me. You may sell your wife’s new jewels to pay for them, as you are not going to have a farthing more from Miss Kingsley’s account.”

A pallor descended upon Lord Kingsley. “I am her guardian.”

“As am I.”

“Farnsworth—”

“Will return soon. And, as he keeps a bachelor establishment, he will not likely want to take charge of Miss Kingsley’s person himself. I’ve no doubt my daughters will enjoy her company.”

“We most certainly do, Father,” Lady Sirena said.

From behind Kingsley’s shoulder, Charley was smiling. The bored lord had vanished. This was Charley himself, as she knew him. She smiled back, and Lord Kingsley saw it.

“You,” he said. “You troublesome chit. You think you have outsmarted...” He took a raspy breath. “We have tried to make you respectable, to introduce you into society as your father wished, to arrange a marriage for you, as your father wished.”

“To Gregory Carvelle? My father wished no such thing.”

“Did you think we’d get you a duke or an earl or even one of their sons? How hard it was, trying to make you respectable, considering your mother’s blood, your foul temperament, and the baggage you brought with you. Where is that child, Graciela? If I find her, you will come back.”

Her blood spiked setting her cheeks on fire. “You threaten the child in my care?”

Kingsley’s eyes narrowed.

He knew now that Reina was here.

She struggled to breathe. Charley stepped into the breach “I dare say a small child is easier to control than an almost grown woman, eh, Kingsley?”

For that, Charley drew another glare.

“I dare say those beatings were easier to effect on a little one.”

Kingsley lunged at Charley. Mr. Gibson grabbed him, locking his arms.

“You whoreson rakehell, don’t tell me you’ve dipped your wick in this—”

“Enough.” Charley’s fist crashed into Kingsley’s jaw.

Hell broke loose. She tried to go to his aid, but a strong hand held her back. “Let the boys handle it,” Lord Shaldon said.

The three brothers carried him out of the room with loud clomps, much shouting, and terrible oaths. Soon, a door slammed, and the three returned. Lord Bakeley and Mr. Gibson were unfazed. Charley’s neck cloth was askew.

He came directly to her, took her hand from his father’s, and pulled her into his arms.

His heart pounded against her ear, and where his hand touched her back, she felt only his strength.

“Are you all right, Gracie?”

When she tried to speak her throat clogged with moisture. She had to break free to nod.

Everyone stood watching them, including Lord Shaldon, whose expression she could not read. It was not the kind greeting gaze, nor the thunderous glare, either. There was a glint of assessment, a hint of pleasure, even humor.

“Father, Miss Kingsley and I have agreed to be married.”

Lord Shaldon’s shoulders dropped with a grand exhale of breath. And he said nothing, only walked to the window, and turned his back to the room.

Charley felt the quiver that ran through Gracie’s body. That look that had crossed his father’s face, for but a moment, that turning away, he recognized and his own heart pounded.

Father was pleased beyond punch, and by the habit of years, did not wish to show it. Happiness revealed made a man vulnerable.

What kind of life was that?

Gracie gazed up at him, eyes wide and worried. So unsettled and unsure and unsafe her life had been, and not just these last few months.

What had happened to her? Something very bad indeed, bad enough for Captain Kingsley to yank her out of her safe world and convey her here.

His heart opened at the thought. Nothing in life could be totally settled, yet she could be sure of him. She could. Her heart, if he could win it, would be safe, no matter where they traveled, and as for the rest of her—he would give his life to keep her safe, and the child, no matter where their journeys took them.

Father turned back, his face placid again. “I am gratified to hear it, and gratified that you have informed me before the event.”

Unlike his brothers. That part remained unsaid, but he saw the look that Bink, who had eloped to Scotland, and Bakeley, whose nuptials had been equally hurried, exchanged. Though in fairness, Father had pretended to die before Bink’s marriage, and had proclaimed Lady Sirena an unsuitable match for his heir.

Charley was finally doing something right. Bakeley had always been the paragon, and Bink was the war hero. He was the feckless younger son.

But Father knew of his service, he reminded himself, even if it only involved chasing women, and even if it was Kincaid and Farnsworth who guided him. There wasn’t much Father didn’t know.

“My dear, I know your father,” he said. “He is a brave and stalwart man. What are your marriage plans?”

“We haven’t got that far.” He studied Gracie’s face. The blood had drained leaving her a picture of ivory porcelain, and her lips pressed tightly holding in all her doubt. “What would you prefer, Gracie?”

She cast her gaze down and her grip on his arm tightened.

He leaned close to her ear and breathed, “I beg you, do not break my heart.”

A distant shriek pierced the silence. Shaldon sent Bink a pleased glance. Though Father had abandoned them all to dash off in the service of England, he’d embraced his first grandchild with enthusiasm.

“That’s not Bink’s progeny,” Charley said. “That is the tiny despot under Gracie’s care, appropriately named Reina.”

Gracie struggled out of his embrace. “I should go to her. My lord, will you excuse me?”

And then she was gone. She didn’t want to speak of the wedding details. She didn’t want to marry at all.

Which meant, he would have to put his mind to the right way to convince her. Sensuality had brought a strong response—good, that. Gracie was no cold, thorny rose. In that regard, there were no thorns at all. It was her heart that he’d have to win.

He knew what to do. He’d done it a few times for Crown and country, bastard that he was. This girl’s heart, however was a tight bud with steel petals.

A sensual girl who guarded her heart. That sensuality had led her to be well and truly hurt by some bigger bastard than himself.

And…a sensual girl, who’d been hurt, with a small child of questionable parentage? She had denied Reina, too emphatically perhaps. There was an art to lying that required aplomb. Gracie would never have that.

“I should like a word, Charles,” Shaldon said, intruding on his thoughts. Bink and Bakeley ushered the two ladies out.