Her heart beat crazily against the layers of coats. The sun that had weathered his skin to tanned leather had turned his hair a dark bronze. Had it always been so? She had not seen him in two years, years during which she had grown to a woman. He was old, but not so old she saw now, and the thought made her shiver. He was not as old as some of the men who’d come calling on her and her money.

Older than Charley, older and harder as a sea captain must be. Virile, too, as a man must be when leading a crew of sea dogs.

The skin on her back crawled, as if Lord Kingsley’s switch had trailed across it, teasing her, and memories swarmed: looking up from a pallet into Llewellyn’s face…Consuela and Mama writhing with fever…Francisca and Juan hurrying a crying Reina away to safety.

She’d heard him talking to someone about taking her aboard his ship but then she’d passed out. And when she woke, Papa was there and Captain Llewellyn was gone.

And Mama and Consuela were gone.

“What is this about?” Captain Llewellyn’s voice shook her into the present, his tone as harsh as Lord Kingsley’s had been when addressing his troublesome ward.

“I am here on behalf of the Earl of Shaldon,” Charley said in his amiable way. “He wishes news of Captain Kingsley and his ship.”

“Kingsley? What is there to tell? Captain Kingsley is dead and the ship is lost. The report is in. Tell your master, I have nothing more to add.” He turned for the door.

His rude answer crashed on her like a great wave, taking her breath away. This was not the man who’d talked and laughed with her parents at table. Not the man who’d tenderly asked after her welfare.

She moved closer behind Charley and felt the tension rippling off him, stirring the air around her. His arm moved and she heard the whisk of his fingers brushing his coat.

“I say, then, I shall tell my father, Lord Shaldon, and his friends at the Foreign Office that you do not wish to add anything to that worthless, sketchy bit of drivel you called a report.”

Captain Llewellyn jerked around, eyes glaring.

“Perhaps it will be better to compel your more thorough testimony in a more formal setting.”

The Captain’s whole body tensed. If he’d had a cutlass strapped on, it would have been drawn. “You. I know of you. You’re Shaldon’s young pup, the one dashing about with your ramrod in every piece of female—”

“Stop it.” Graciela stepped up next to Charley, gripping his arm.

The other man’s eyes narrowed on her and then widened.

“What the devil.” He took a step toward Charley.

She put her hand up as a barrier.

“What has he done to you?”

“So, you recognize me, Captain Llewellyn? You will cease to insult Mr. Everly. He has saved my life, is what he’s done. And I want to know what happened to my father.”

Captain Llewellyn stepped closer, and she watched his face. The eyes still glowed with a heat that signaled danger, but he pressed his lips and swept his gaze over her clothing. He did not stop at her breasts as Charley had done, but she saw the effort he made to avoid it.

“You should not be dressed like this.” He glared at Charley. “Let me get a cloak. I will take you home.”

“My disguise was Lord Shaldon’s idea. He is my guardian. And I have no home.”

“Your home is with us, for as long as you wish,” Charley said.

Captain Llewellyn opened his mouth as if to argue and closed it.

“Are you friends with Lord Kingsley, Captain? He tried to sell me to a dishonorable man. And when I objected, he tried to flog me into submission, as you would flog one of your seamen.” And if you are on friendly terms with him, you are no friend to me.

She bit her lip. She must find out first what happened to her father.

“Let me help you, Grace.” The Captain made his tone sound tender but she could feel his falseness. “I can arrange rooms for you, a chaperone—”

“Perhaps call in your wife from the country?” Charley interrupted.

Captain Llewellyn heaved a sigh. “Alas. My wife died this past year.”

She swallowed hard. So, Charley was right. The Captain might be seeking a wife. “My condolences, sir.”

“Thank you. We are both bereaved, you see, Grace.”

“Will you tell me what happened to my father?”

He looked around the small, spare chamber. “There truly is not much more to tell than what was in the report.”

Which she had not read. Charley apparently had, since he’d mentioned it.

“There was a pirate ship pacing us and heavy seas. A storm came up so viciously we could not maintain our formation. He was boarded and the mast came down, and I saw your father’s ship roll.”

“You did not fight? You did not take on survivors?”

“Yes, a few. They reported they saw the Captain struck down, fatally, I’m sorry to tell you. We did return to the area and found no one.”

“And the pirates?” Charley asked.

“Disappeared also. We’d spotted holes in their keel. That was in my report.” He sent Charley a glare and reached for her hand.

His was cold, clammy, the pressure firm. He tugged at her, ever so gently, and panic rose in her. She clutched Charley’s arm and pulled her hand free.

“Indeed.” Charley’s voice was cold. “We should like to know the before and after. In detail. Shall we visit your private parlor?”

The Captain blinked. “No.”

“No?”

“No. That is, not at present, Grace. It would not be proper to entertain you in my private chambers, and this man is not a suitable chaperon.”

His voice was kind, as it had been when she was ill, but he had fallen back on society’s insufferable rules. She didn’t want rules—she wanted the truth.

“I have a widowed sister living just outside London. Allow me to arrange rooms for you and send for her. We’ll obtain a proper gown for you and have a maid stay with you until she arrives.”

“Lord Kingsley—”

“I shall speak with him.” His face had become stern again. “I shall smooth over this disagreement you are having with your guardian. You will not have to marry Carvelle.”

The air around her crackled and she glanced up at Charley. She could read no emotion there. She prayed he would not announce their own engagement, else the Captain might go retrieve that cutlass from his chamber upstairs.

“Miss Kingsley will not be forced into any marriage,” Charley said.

“Of course not.” Llewellyn took her hand again. “Come along then, Grace.”

She tugged her hand, but this time he continued to grip it.

Fear rose in her. Panic. She choked in air and tugged harder.

Charley moved in front of her. “Miss Kingsley, what are your wishes? Will you return with me to Shaldon House, or stay here with the Captain?”

Captain Llewellyn’s mouth firmed. She had no doubt he was capable of killing Charley at that very moment. She could not allow that.

The thought calmed her. “My hand, Captain,” she said, and tugged it out of his grip.

She took a step back and dragged Charley with her. The two men faced off like bantam cocks each ready to strike. The captain had struck down many a man in his time. In the course of his duties, had Charley killed? It didn’t seem likely.

Captain Llewellyn stood blocking the room’s only door. Her vision fogged. Whatever she would find with Llewellyn, it would not truly be protection, nor would she be allowed to pursue her own will. She would be returned to Kingsley, or if not, imprisoned in a set of rooms here, without Reina. He had not thought to mention the child.

He would smooth things over with Kingsley and then drag her off to an altar himself.

She put her hand to her chest, teetered against Charley and inhaled sharply. “Please. I must get out of this room. Immediately.”

Charley’s heart clenched and he wrapped an arm around Gracie. “Move out of the way, Llewellyn.” She was about to fake another faint.

“Grace, you cannot think to go with this man. He is a rakehell, a despoiler of young women. Your reputation—what would your father have said?”

She choked for air, her face going pale. Real concern shot through Charley. He slid an arm under her knees and picked her up. “Out of the way. Now.”

Llewellyn gave way, glaring. The door opened and Charley marched past two curious gentlemen.

He nodded to them. “My father shall summon you,” he said over his shoulder. “And I shall keep the lady safe.” He heard Llewellyn behind him, cursing.

At the front door, Gracie wriggled. “Put me down.”

“No.”

She gripped the door frame. “I’m your male servant. Put me down.”

She was right of course. He settled her to her feet and straightened her coats. The lobby clerk was diverted dealing with Llewellyn. Charley’s neck rippled with a sense of danger. Llewellyn had not wanted them in his room for a reason. They had interrupted a visitor.

“Hurry, then.”

But as they reached the bottom step of the stairs he froze, and Gracie collided into him with an oof.

A woman had stopped in front of the carriage, eyes wide. He bowed. She dipped her chin. The dark-clad maid trailing her took a few steps back. Gracie moved up next to him and the lady’s eyes narrowed. Her lips trembled, but she quickly firmed them.

“Mr. Everly.” Again, the slight dip of the head.

“Duquesa. As lovely as ever.” It was true. Her blue gown and the hat that covered her fair hair matched her eyes perfectly. Her gaze traveled to the hotel behind them and returned to the servant next to him. The Duquesa would recognize the woman in a man’s coat. A rival—though theirs had never been that sort of arrangement.

And never mind how hard his heart pounded—he was having none of that nonsense. His pretended interlude with her was over. Father could find someone else to run messages.

“We have not seen you at any of the fêtes, Mr. Everly. Surely you will be at tomorrow night’s diplomatic ball. I would be bold and claim a dance with you.”

“It would be my great pleasure.” He bowed again. He heard voices behind them, and spotted two men approaching. He recognized them as the Duquesa’s men, paid to follow discreetly.

It was what lay behind in the hotel that worried him, and they needed to leave. “My father has returned from Bath, and I must hasten to meet with him. If you will excuse me, I shall wish you a good day. It has been a pleasure to see you again.”

He skirted around her, climbed into the carriage and yanked Gracie in behind him, settling her onto the seat across from him. “Were you planning another timely swoon?”

She glared back and pleasure sparked through him. She was jealous.

“Not an entirely false one. I cannot abide small spaces.”

“How ever did you survive the sea journey?”

“I had Reina to care for. And whenever I could, I went up on deck for the fresh air. So, it is true, Charley.”

“What is true?”

“That was one of your women, no less than the famous Duquesa. You are a rakehell. A despoiler of women.”

“What if it were true, Gracie? Would you throw me over for another man? It appears Captain Llewellyn is eligible now.”

She looked out the window, clearly examining the idea.

He steeled himself and went on. “He is handsome, virile, your father’s friend. And money is not an issue, since you will bring plenty to any greedy husband’s coffers. And I do believe he wants you, as would any man with eyes in his head.”

She turned to face him, her eyes shining. “He did not ask about Reina. He had dinner with Papa the night we departed. He knew she was aboard.”

Charley eased out a breath. Whoever’s child Reina had been, she was Gracie’s now. Only a man ignorant of Reina’s existence, or a fool, would forget to include her in his wooing. “Perhaps he thought you had delivered her to her grandparents.”

“He had to have known we’d had no response to our letters, else we would have diverted to the Peninsula. He had to have known she accompanied us to London. I’m sure Papa would have told him.”

“Perhaps he thought you found a place...a home... for her here.”

He spoke softly, watching for her reaction.

“I will never abandon her, Charley.” She clenched her fists. “It is not her fault that she...exists.”

He stayed very still. Perhaps now she would tell him the truth of that little girl.

“And you have very nimbly changed the subject. That woman, is she your mistress?”

“I don’t have a mistress, Gracie.”

“Your occasional lover then? Or something else? Another spy?”

She was hurdling too close to the truth. “You are the only woman in my life now, Gracie.”

Her laugh was scoffing. She shook her head. “Why, Charley?”

“Because we are going to be married, and I would never be unfaithful to a wife.”

“Ay, Dios. She is beautiful, and probably powerful and rich. And likely has state secrets to share. If she snaps her fingers you will not turn away. You are too single minded. About this marriage scheme, about your duty to England, about your family. Single minded here, single minded there. I do not know which Charley you truly are.” She sighed. “But I do know the true Charley must feel trapped by my impetuous act this morning. The true Charley does not wish to marry, and if you do, it is not in the nature of any of your selves to be a faithful husband.”

A week ago, he would have agreed with her. But now, the sharp words cut.

He opened his mouth and she waved a hand at him. “No. You don’t want to marry. You won’t like it, not even to please your family. Your father—he was surprised, but pleased, I think. What did he say to you after I left the room?”

“You wound me, Gracie. You are far too cynical.”

She colored deeply under her frown. “What did your father say? Tell me.”

“Very well. He has sunk his teeth into this marriage scheme, yet he will not force either of us.”

He held her gaze until she turned away.

“At least he encouraged me to go out. He did not try to confine me in your elegant prison.”

Anger bristled through him. Gracie was no trained operative. “He ought not have. He hasn’t seen what that man did to you. He hasn’t seen your back.”

“Neither have you.”

“Mrs. Windle’s testimony is enough for me. That bruise on your cheek is enough for me.”

She leaned back against the squab. “It is healing well, I think. Still sore, but better. Her ointment is very effective. Were those men at the hotel door yours?”

“Yes.”

“What will they do with the Captain?”

Would that they’d keelhaul him into the Thames. “They’ll watch him and his visitors.”

“Do you suppose he had a visitor above stairs? Do you suppose that’s why he would not allow us into his rooms?” She reached for his hand and his heart lurched. “Would Kingsley have been there? Or Carvelle?”

At her mere touch, desire roared through him. “We shall learn very soon.” He swept a thumb over her cool, ungloved palm, then stripped off his own glove. “Come here.”

She blinked and pursed her mouth, but she did not cross to his seat. He moved his thumb to her lips. Soft, they were, and moist, like she’d just been kissed.

Her breath hitched warming his finger.

“You must know,” he said, containing his heart, controlling his voice, speaking matter-of-factly, “These moments of rescue stir my blood. I very much wish to kiss you.”

She sent him a stern frown. “You wish to kiss your male servant in a carriage?”

A laugh gurgled up and forced its way out. Of course, she was right. He threw back his head and succumbed to the laughter, and when she smiled and joined in, the urge to pull her onto his lap almost overwhelmed him.

Her smile faded and she gripped his hand. “The Captain must be on close enough terms with Kingsley if he feels confident he can talk him around to his will, and he knew about the engagement to Carvelle. Perhaps you are right about him after all, Charley. How would he know about that horrid betrothal?”

“He could have heard the rumor. Your betrothal ball was the talk of the town.”

“True,” she said, thoughtfully. “Why did you not share his report about my father’s death with me?”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“You were lying about it?” She grimaced. “Of course you were.”

“I didn’t much care for his quick dismissal of us. I didn’t much care for his story either. Your knowledge of seamanship is surely superior to mine. What did you think of the tale?”

She frowned again. “Papa always said, the pirate captains would calculate their risks. They are facing the forces of nature just like their prey. Papa’s preparations for this voyage included extra guns, and many of his men were former marines from the wars. He always tried to pass from afar as a naval ship, and this time especially. I do not believe a pirate would attack them in a storm.”

“Not even out of desperation?”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “And perhaps Captain Llewellyn could have created a better lie.” Her gaze turned grim. “You are an expert liar, Charley. What do you think of his story?”

He winced at the harsh words, but had to admit they were true. “I think we must get him and the men who claimed to witness your father’s death in for a detailed statement, and then pick them apart.”

“I should like that. If I found he has lied…I shall be very tempted to make use of my dagger again.”

“Leave it to me.” He dropped her hands and leaned back. “Let us have our own moment of truth-telling, Miss Kingsley. I am not lying when I say I do wish to marry you. I am capable of loyalty. I also wish to kiss you, and more. Much more. And I will never force you. Never. We will dispense with fixing a wedding date until you’re ready, or until you decide you will throw me over.”

The carriage slowed as they approached Shaldon House.

“And until you’ve decided whatever it is you will decide, there must be no more private meetings for us in the library—my brains were addled last night.”

She pulled a face at him and he laughed.

“And you must do me one more favor.”

“Cease wearing men’s clothing?”

“No.”

“Hide in my room or the nursery for all time?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

He swallowed a grin. “Allow me to train you in the proper use of that dagger, as well as pistols and other methods. Your next assailant might not conveniently walk into the blade, and if our engagement extends until you reach your majority, I have no doubt you’ll have need of those skills, if not for yourself then for Reina’s protection.”

The light that had sparked in her eyes went out. “Lord Kingsley did threaten her,” she said, breathless. Her eyes shone with tears.

It was quite the opposite of the reaction he was trying to engender. Yet…perhaps a good round of tears was needed to clear out the fog. She had been through so much.

But her mouth firmed and small fists clenched, and when she lifted her eyes they were blazing.

How could he be expected to keep his hands off her for another three minutes, much less three years?

“Papa already trained me, but I am willing to learn more. And, Charley, I should like to see the Captain’s report as soon as you can arrange it.”

He saluted, eliciting a grimace.

“And I should like to be present when he is interviewed.”

Upon their return, Lady Sirena swept Graciela away to meet with the modiste who had returned with more gowns, and in the flurry of measuring, and marking, and verdicts about colors, she had trouble keeping to her thoughts and her planning.

The modiste herself was a great distraction. French, and darker than her own half-Spanish self, the beautiful Madame chattered as much as Lady Sirena. Except that where Lady Sirena’s chatter filled the atmosphere with comfort, Madame’s built great confidence.

“Eh bien.” She wrote down a measurement. She had come without an assistant. “Que linda. You will shine, Miss Kingsley in the gown I am making you. And here,” she smoothed her hands along her side, “shall be a pocket or two. It shall not harm the lines. You will leave it to me.”

“A pocket? For what?”

Madame’s gaze was intense and intelligent. “Perhaps a small dagger or the tiniest of pistols. It is sometimes prudent.”

“Even at a ball, a lady does not always have a gentleman at hand to protect her,” Lady Sirena said, nibbling on a meat pie from the tray that had been laid out for the ladies.

It had been only chance that Charley was at hand at her betrothal ball. How lucky she had been to fall into that particular man’s arms. She felt her face grow warm. “I see. I thank you, though I do not expect to attend many balls in the future. I am, after all, a scandal.”

Lady Sirena exchanged a look with Madame and almost stayed silent. Almost.

“Well, you may change your mind, might you not? Always good to be prepared. And Miss Kingsley’s dress will be finished by tomorrow afternoon, Madame?”

“Most certainly, my lady. My girls are already at work on it.”

She opened her mouth to say that there was no rush, but Madame vanished as quickly and quietly as she had arrived.

Charley delivered the Duquesa’s letter to his father’s study, and found him conferring with Kincaid.

Shaldon turned the letter over and handed it to Kincaid. “What did you learn, my son?”

“He’s recently widowed. Tried to snatch Gracie right out of the room, and would have done so had she seen him alone. He was as vague as hell about Captain Kingsley’s disappearance. Claimed they rescued some crew members who witnessed his death. Have you seen the report?”

“We’ve sent a man for it,” Kincaid said.

“We’ll need to bring him in for questioning,” Charley said, “along with the rest of the crew. And there’s another thing—he kept us waiting in the baggage room.”

“He had a woman upstairs,” Kincaid said. “Came and went veiled.”

“We stumbled across the Duquesa on the street.”

“The Duquesa and Captain Llewellyn.” Kincaid broke the seal on the letter. “Now there’s an intriguing thought.”

“He might well have been auditioning a new mistress.” Shaldon tapped the desk with his forefinger, staring into the cold fireplace. “Did the Duquesa speak with you?”

“There’s a diplomatic ball tomorrow night, which I do not plan to attend. She asked for a dance.”

“Perhaps we ought to show up and announce your engagement.”

“I’m afraid it might be hard to persuade my future bride. What does the letter say?”

Kincaid skimmed the swirling script. “He asks your father’s influence with the new king on behalf of the Spanish people to keep them out of the hands of the French. He fears the influence on your king of the Afrancesados attending the coronation, particularly one.” He glanced up. “Do you suppose the Duquesa wrote this herself in her father’s name? She does hate her husband.”

Shaldon grunted. “No request for money or arms?”

“Not yet. I would hate to give up this channel. Might we convince you Charley to—”

“No.” He shook his head and stood, pacing the length of the small room. They could put whoever they wanted to it, it would not be him.

The woman in Llewellyn’s chamber nagged at him. In all his many meetings with the Duquesa, they’d never frequented a hotel, and for her to meet with an insignificant sea captain didn’t seem likely.

If Llewellyn’s guest was a lady bird, Charley had contacts on St. James Street who might know, or who might even have arranged the appointment.

And if he and Gracie were to announce their engagement, he must pay a visit to Bond Street.

He excused himself and headed downstairs.

Perry stood in the hall taking a note from the footman’s salver. She sent the man off and glanced at the wafer seal, frowning.

“Bad news?” Charley asked.

She handed him the note. “It’s for you.”

He turned it over, snapped the seal and scanned the writing, and made himself laugh at her glare. “It’s the rogue’s life, sister. I shall be off.”

After the modiste left, Graciela checked on Reina, who was napping, and sought out Charley. Instead, she found Lady Perry and Lady Sirena in the morning room going over household matters.

Charley had gone out, they said, and then both shared a glance.

The hair on her neck rose. “What? You must tell me.”

Lady Perry frowned. “Do you truly care for him?”

“I...” I love him. She couldn’t say that. She couldn’t allow herself to feel that. “Our engagement was a ruse, to get the banker to talk.”

“Yes, but do you truly care for him?”

“Ach, Perry, why are you pressing her? Are you concerned about Charley’s heart?”

“I’m concerned about hers, and yes, well, his also. I know my brother, Graciela, and I do think he’s smitten, however...” She took a breath. “He received a note a little while ago and went out.”

“A note?”

She nodded. “I passed it to him. And I recognized the handwriting and paper. And the perfume. It was from the Duquesa.”