Graciela swallowed a watery lump that had sprung all at once into being. “I see. We ran into her on the street. She greeted him most familiarly.”

Lady Perry’s face darkened. “I shall thrash him myself.”

“And I shall help you.” Lady Sirena patted a chair. “Come, I’ll call for some tea. Or better, some sherry.”

“No.” She shook her head. Had she not herself stressed to him in the carriage that she had no intentions of marrying him? “It is as it is. And as I said, our engagement is a ruse.”

Those kisses, a ruse. His strong hands, available to any willing woman. The passion he stirred, a weapon. Why?

Because he can. Because it was what men like him did.

And perhaps, it was freeing. If she did in fact have to marry him as the only means to collect her inheritance, she could hold him to his promise to let her keep her money and go her own way.

Rigo had wanted to own her. There was nothing of ownership in Charley Everly. He wanted freedom as much as she. And he made her feel again, even if there was no heart in it, even if it was just the carnal stirring of a dumb beast.

But if she chose that path, a marriage for money, there would never be a chance at a true marriage, like her parents’. Charley said she was cynical, but she wasn’t, not entirely. Love must be possible, perhaps even for someone as damaged as herself. Had not Lady Sirena found it with Lord Bakeley? One could but look at them together and see their happiness.

An arm came around her. “Perhaps you should not have told her, Perry,” Lady Sirena said.

Lady Perry’s face was grim. “She should know everything.”

Here was a true and honest ally.

“And you could have softened the blow a bit. In fact, we do not know he is off bedding her, do we now? Graciela, we do not even know he’s gone to see her. He may have gone to the tailor, or off to the jeweler to buy you a bauble, or to the shops for some new toys. Let’s not jump into this donnybrook quite yet.”

“It is quite all right, as I said. I am aware of his reputation. I have no aspiration to marry him. I merely wish to get control of my funds and go home. He is a means to an end, and we have that understanding between us.” She forced a smile. “I shall leave it to some other woman to tame him.”

Lady Perry frowned. “You are using him.”

“Yes, I am sorry. I was...desperate.” Perhaps thoughtless. “I don’t wish to hurt anyone. I…I should leave.” She must leave, and soon, or this great house would become another cage for her.

The two pairs of eyes watched her, and their feelings had shifted. They were seeing her anew, and not liking what they saw.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be a woman alone, Perry,” Lady Sirena said.

Lady Perry sighed. “We have our squabbles, Charley and I, but he is always kind in his own way. I wish you could care for him, Graciela. And I do think he cares for you.”

“Like many men, he cares for many women.” It had not been true of her Papa, but there it was. Living amongst men who went to sea, she knew this truth.

Lady Perry shook her head. “I believe the Duquesa was just an assignment.”

“An assignment?” More of Charley’s gossip gathering? Was that what he had meant?

Yet the woman was so beautiful. No man would resist that golden beauty.

“I shouldn’t talk of it. I don’t truly know anything, I only suspect. He visited quite often with Farnsworth before he left town.”

“Lord Farnsworth? My guardian?”

“Yes. He is Charley’s godfather, and Father’s great friend. And of course, a spymaster also.”

Her head began to ache. “Their war is long over.”

“There is always a war somewhere, or a threat of one. And with the coronation next month, well, the powers have gathered. It’s a perfect time to collect information. London is swarming with spies.” Lady Perry’s voice was wistful. “And good heavens, the Spanish colonies have all proclaimed their freedom. Is not your father there helping out with the cause?”

Her father’s last instructions had been puzzling. In dire straits, she should go to Lord Shaldon, he trusted the spy lord with her safety. But only if Papa should die, should she hand on the information he’d left with her, and what did that mean? Did he not entirely trust Lord Shaldon?

She wasn’t at all convinced of Papa’s death. And he had been quite cagey about this voyage. He’d talked only vaguely about his cargo and more certainly about the danger of his daughter and tiny ward sailing with him. With the demise of Spanish power, a pirate war had arisen in the West Indies. He had deposited her and Reina, and the servants at Lord Kingsley’s estate, and gone back to London to arrange his business affairs. And she knew he had not shared the details of those with even Lord Kingsley. Had he shared them with Lord Shaldon?

Her nerves prickled. What had Shaldon said earlier? Her father had served England. He is a good man.

“I should like to have a word with your father. Is he here?”

“In the study, I think.” Lady Sirena said.

“Come along,” Lady Perry said, “I’ll take you there.”

As it turned out, Lord Shaldon had gone out also.

Lady Perry gripped the door handle and rattled it. “I haven’t yet been able to pick this lock.”

“I haven’t mastered that skill, either,” Graciela said.

Lady Perry laughed. “Perhaps we’ll study it together some day.”

With neither father nor son around, Graciela wandered up to the nursery. Francisca was nowhere around, and the nursemaid was happy for the chance to run downstairs for a cup of tea. She spent the rest of the afternoon with Reina, reading to her, cuddling her, playing with her, like they used to do before they’d settled into Lord Kingsley’s cold and formal world.

“There you are.” Francisca entered the nursery room and settled a dinner tray onto a table. “I must speak with you, Graciela.”

Unease threaded through her. “Yes of course.” She kissed Reina, turned her over to the nursery maid, and let Francisca pull her into the corridor.

“After the modiste left, no one knew where you were,” Francisca said.

“I was with the ladies, and then I was here.”

“My heart almost stopped. I asked the housekeeper, and the maids. The footmen, too. This house is so big. You must be careful.”

She touched the maid’s arm. “What has happened?”

“The footmen were whispering. They thought I didn’t understand, but there are strangers lurking around the mews and the square.” She took Graciela’s hand. “You must be careful. I have spoken to Juan.”

She peeked in the door at the child, who was happily gobbling her meal with the cheerful girl’s help. Reina was having fewer tantrums and seemed happier here, yet she would have to disrupt her again.

“We must leave here, and soon.”

Francisca shook her head. “And go where? I am afraid for you, Graciela. I am afraid for the little one. You must take great care.”

The dinner bell gonged. Francisca hugged her. “There will be guests tonight, they said. Go, and I will be along in a moment to help you dress.”

A fussy whine came from the nursery.

“No. You stay with Reina. I’ll get one of the maids to help me.”

When she walked through her bedchamber, door, she found Charley waiting there.

The infernally long wait for Gracie to come dress for dinner had given Charley time to peruse her room. To search it actually.

He loosened his neck cloth against the heat from the coals glowing in the grate, and looked around. Her jewelry was spare, family pieces no doubt, and she had enough money for a few nights on the road, though he doubted she would know that.

The slim volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets was interesting. Well-thumbed, it sat beside her bed next to the dagger. The title page of the book made clear it was a gift from Captain Kingsley to his wife. Messages sprinkled the pages, in a lovers’ code.

It vaguely depressed him.

Their engagement might be a ruse, but he had found an engagement gift for one lady, and had spied out something else for the smaller one.

It was the only spying that had gone well. If Llewellyn had been entertaining a member of the demimonde in his chambers, no one in that circle was talking about it.

He slipped the dagger from its sheath and examined it. An irregular design had been etched through the hilt and the blade.

He heard a rustle in the hall, and quickly set the blade back.

Graciela spotted him immediately and left the door to the corridor open. He sent the maid who’d followed her away, closed the door, and lounged against it, crossing his arms.

She crossed her arms, eyes flashing. “You should not be here.”

“Yet here I am. No one will mind.”

“I mind.”

“Yes, well, Sirena greeted me upon my return home tonight. I did not spend the afternoon with the Duquesa.”

She turned away. “You do not need a whole afternoon for the things you do with her.”

His heart soared. She was jealous. “Except for that brief interlude on the street, I didn’t see her today.”

“It is not my affair.”

“And it is not my affair either. She is not my lover. Will you not believe me, you stubborn woman?”

She turned, her hands on her hips. “Stubborn woman? We are a fraud, Charley. I want to take my child and my servants and leave. I don’t have to go with Captain Llewellyn, I can find another ship. I can look for my father. I can go and see what truly happened to him.” She clenched her fists and bit her lip. “Your father must get my money for me.”

“Gracie—”

“I will not let anyone cage me.”

Her chest rose and fell with each choking breath, and he began to sweat under his dinner coats.

A bell sounded below, reverberating through the house.

“I will leave you to dress,” he said. “And we will talk more later. I’ll send your maid.”

“Tell her to go. I don’t care to join—”

“I have news about Llewellyn’s visitor today.” He opened the door and beckoned the maid. “Which I will share—later.”

“Tell me now, Charley.”

“Later.” He bowed. “I shall see you downstairs.”

He pulled the door closed and went to find Perry to kill her.

For her first formal dinner at Shaldon House, Graciela found herself seated at Lord Shaldon’s right hand and across from Lady Jane Monthorpe, Sirena’s kind, older friend who had arrived from Bath while Graciela was busy with Reina. She was also to be a house guest, a permanent one from the way Sirena spoke.

Mrs. Gibson had returned to London also and joined them, along with Thomas, their friend Lord Hackwell’s charming young brother, whose presence truly made the evening a family affair.

They’d all greeted her warmly, with many congratulations for her and Charley, sending her head spinning. Charley’s smile had been fixed and determined—and false as could be. That she knew. He was angry with her, and she didn’t care.

She needed to take charge of her own life.

During such a dinner, even she knew not to question Charley about the Captain’s visitor, or push Lord Shaldon for the release of her money. A rude girl she might be, but she knew better than that.

And her intended had arranged to be seated at the far end of the table, so he could not even whisper what he’d discovered that afternoon.

She thrust her fork into a piece of meat, nodded politely at something Lord Shaldon said, and waited for the interminable meal to end.

“What did you learn?”

Charley drew in a long breath of fragrant tobacco and crushed the cigarillo under his heel before turning.

The shivering girl had naught but a thin shawl wrapping her shoulders. He took off his coat as he drew her under a garden lamp.

“There is no need for your coat. We may go back inside.”

“And argue in front of family and guests?”

He settled his coat around her, glancing around. The deserted garden was quiet. If there were grooms and footmen out here, they’d all gone to ground.

“All right.” He leaned on the stone rail. “Llewellyn’s visitor today was a woman, wearing veils.”

“Who?”

“We don’t know.”

“The Duquesa. She was outside when we left.”

“That’s a possibility. But I don’t think so.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Because you know her so well.”

He paused and studied her. He couldn’t yet trust her with the truth. He couldn’t trust her not to speak her mind if provoked. “Father has a man on her.” Or with her. He suspected one of the Duquesa’s men was also Father’s. “Also, I can’t see the mutual benefit there. Kincaid thought it might be a…er…mistress.”

She huffed. “So quickly? He has only just arrived in town. She was likely a mere prostitute.”

He turned away and hid a smile. Gracie had not had a sheltered childhood.

“Yes well, I made inquiries this afternoon and couldn’t find anyone who knew something about that.”

Her mouth dropped and she huffed again, and then laughed. “Well at least you are honest about visiting brothels.”

“I did not visit brothels.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No. I have sources among…among the people who run that, er, trade.”

“I see. And how will we find who this woman was?”

“For now, we are having him followed.” As well as the Duquesa, but the less he mentioned her, the better.

“Could it have been a man sent in dressed as a woman, as Roddy was?”

He shook his head. “Anything is possible, but I doubt it. Ours was a ruse to see what kind of trap was laid. In this case, the woman was merely hiding her identity.”

“Perhaps.” She gripped the coat more tightly around her and sniffed at the lapel absentmindedly.

He bit back a smile. “I did visit a shop today.” He rummaged in the pocket near her hip. “Here, my lady.”

The lapel flopped back as she took the box and opened it. Her breath caught.

“It is an engagement gift.” A damn fine one that he’d spent too much time deciding upon.

She bit her lip and shook her head. “It is a lovely necklace, Charley, but I cannot possibly accept it.” The case snapped and she thrust it at him.

Well, and he’d expected this reaction, hadn’t he?

Dredging up a dramatic sigh, he took the box. “If this is a ruse, it’s one that must be played out. And even if you won’t accept that I can love you, desire you, and honor you, you may still show the world that I know enough to buy my fiancée an engagement gift.”

She pulled off the jacket. “You are pressuring me.”

“I am not.” He pocketed the box for a later attempt. “A sensible woman would take a gift of jewelry.”

“When I may access my funds, I will buy my own jewelry.”

“Of course you may. But your jewels won’t come with a promise of love.”

“There will be a promise of freedom,” she snapped. “And we are finished talking.”

In the mews, a horse whinnied, and another answered.

“You are a stubborn, stubborn girl.” He shrugged into his jacket. “Inconstant. Fickle.”

She stepped back and yanked her shawl tighter, then turned on her heel and marched toward the house.

“And a terrible actress,” he called after her.

The door slammed, and he turned back to gaze into the night. A man trundled down the walk with a lantern, and he recognized one of the under butlers.

“Tell Lloyd, best set a good watch tonight,” Charley called. With Gracie in a sulk, and Llewellyn aware of her presence here, there might be trouble.

The man saluted and headed for the kitchen entrance.

He pulled his flask from another pocket and tipped it back, the liquor burning a path down his gullet.

Swiving women for the Crown had brought him to this—the one woman he wanted didn’t want him. And he was done being used.

But if it was Gracie wanting to use him—well, he’d be atoning for every time he’d led a woman down the garden path. He’d made a promise to her and he damn well would keep it. She was stuck with him, and he would protect her from Kingsley, and Carvelle, and Llewellyn, and—damn it—from herself, no matter the cost.

Tomorrow, he would visit Bond Street and purchase his other gift. Perhaps it would be better received by the queen of the nursery.

In the wee hours of the morning, Graciela heard a child’s cry. She rushed from her bed, throwing on slippers and a robe, and ran up the stairs to the nursery. By this time, the crying had stopped.

She found Francisca standing over the small bed, fully dressed. Reina slept, thumb in mouth, curled in upon herself.

Francisca pulled Graciela into the nursery playroom, mouth pressed into a thin line. “She had a bad dream.”

A maid hovered in the corner. Juan’s pallet was gone.

“Where is Juan?”

“He has gone to the stables to keep watch and to listen.”

Her nerves prickled. “Listen for what?”

“I told you. There are strange people snooping about.”

An ache started up in her head and she rubbed at it. “We must leave.”

“And go where?” Francisca laid a thin hand on her arm. “You have seen Llewellyn?”

They had not had a moment alone to discuss her visit with the Captain. “Yes.”

“And?”

She shook her head and sought the right words. She could not lie to Francisca, who knew her so well, but she also did not want her to fear.

“He is in league with Lord Kingsley, then?”

Francisca had always been shrewd.

“Juan said your father always was careful of him,” Francisca said.

“He was Papa’s friend. Mama’s too.”

“No. Not a friend. A man he did business with, and a rival also. He had designs on your mother, many years ago, and then when he saw you growing into a beautiful woman...” She shook her head. “You are in grave danger, Graciela. I fear you must marry this lord’s son.”

“Charley Everly? You hate him.”

The maid shrugged. “I do not come to this lightly. I think of the greater good. He and his family are strong. They have treated us well, even down to the servants. The lord himself came up to the nursery and visited with Reina.”

“We will be stuck here. You and Juan will never see home again.”

“Our home is with you.”

Her heart twisted inside her.

“He...he does not love me. And…we have had a great argument.”

“Pah.” She waved that away. “Even if you did not lie to yourself about this, marriage is not about love. You bring money, and he brings protection. I have looked at it from all angles. No matter that you stabbed that pig with the foul mouth, you cannot stab every man sent by Lord Kingsley. You must remove yourself from his power.”

“And put myself in another man’s power?”

“Yes. That is the way of the world.”

The way of the world was unfair. “I fear he has another woman.”

Francisca’s face darkened in the lamplight. “It is the way of some men. You must make up your mind to take him to the altar.” She huffed out a great sigh. “Do not pretend he does not excite you, Graciela. Go and do what you must. Marry him quickly. Marry him soon, and make him forget his lover.”

Francisca nudged her out the door of the nursery suite and closed it behind her. Graciela nodded to the footman guarding the nursery, and found her way to a quiet corridor.

She leaned against the wall trying to breathe. Francisca did not understand. Francisca did not know the truth.

She pressed her fists to her eyes, trying to push down the panic. Charley was wrong about her. She was an excellent actress, shoving the past down so deep, she’d fooled Papa, and Juan, and even Francisca.

She needed to think.

Groping her way down the dimly lit corridor and stairs, she waved away the night porter and carved a wobbly path to the library, to the room where Lady Sirena had been attacked and had jumped out the window, and the room where Charley had kissed her with so much passion, so many nights ago.

So many? It had only been last night. When she pushed open the door, the room was mercifully dark. She felt her way along the shelving, the rich scent of leather and vellum filling her nose and…

Her skin prickled warmly. Another scent. The scent of a man. Not just any man.

He might have just left. Someone had recently snuffed out a candle. The smoke of it still touched the air. She held very still and explored the room with only her consciousness, without seeing, without breathing.

A chair creaked. A large body shifted. A spark struck.

The candle wick came to life and illuminated his face, his beautiful face.

“I thought we were finished talking.”

The flat tone of his voice pricked her awareness. He sounded…tired, distant.

Had she, in truth, lost him?

“I-I did not come here to see you. I did not know you would be here. I will leave.”

“Don’t.” He unfolded his long length and came to loom over her. “I shall yield the room.”

Do what you must. She reached for his arm. “No. I wish to....”

“What, Miss Kingsley? Will you berate me for faithlessness? Insist you don’t want to marry me? Or are you here to tempt me with kisses and then throw me away?”

His hand closed over hers and he drew her closer to the light.

“You are crying.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to tremble, casting about for her reason, her backbone.

“You must know the truth,” she said, her voice shaky.

“What truth?”

He was still distant, reserved.

Her heart raced. She struggled to fill her lungs.

No one had known the truth except Mama and Consuela. No one.

Trembling, she shook off his hand and wrapped herself in her own arms.

And Rigo. Rigo, who so many years earlier had been like a big brother. He knew.

“What truth, Miss Kingsley?”

The chill of her English name on his lips brought her out of her weakness. She would share this truth with him. He would reject her, and she would convince his father to get her money for her, and she would go home to look for Papa. If the very worst happened, and she had to stay here, she would find a way to do so until she reached her majority and could go on with her life.

She straightened her back and firmed her shoulders.

“My name is Maria Graciela Kingsley y Romero. That is who I am, even though you English ignore my first name and give no import to my mother’s surname.” She lifted her chin. “Shortly before we left for England, my mother died of the fever in Veracruz, as did Consuela, who was our friend, and who was known as the mother of Reina.”

“The mother of Reina,” he said, biting off each word.

She held her breath, watching him. He knew. Charley knew.

Well then. Let him know everything.

She untied her belt and threw off her robe, watching his hard eyes. She untied the string at the neck of her night rail and those eyes narrowed more, focusing doggedly on her face.

“You must know everything.” She let the bodice drop to her waist and turned quickly, pulling her plait forward over her shoulder.

His gasp gave her hope. “There will be more scars here on my back, yes? It will never be beautiful.”

“As long as I am around, no one will harm you again.” He pulled at the nightrail attempting to draw it up, but she slapped his hands away and turned, her breasts bare.

Let him see that her nipples were brown, not pink, like a virgin girl’s.

His jaw was an iron clasp holding in what looked like anger. She took a deep breath.

Charley would not hurt her.

“You must s-see everything,” she said.

After Veracruz, she had never exposed more than her back to anyone, not Francisca, not any other maid sent to help her. With another deep breath, her hands opened and the loose gown dropped to the floor.

Charley’s gaze did not fall from her face, nor did he breathe. “I am only human, Miss Kingsley.”

“I am not trying to seduce you, Mr. Everly. You must look.”

“Stop this—”

“Look. You must.”

His gaze dropped. His mouth opened. He fell to his knees and his warm palm covered her there, in that place where her belly swelled, where a hot iron had branded her.