Everything had changed, Felicity realized, as she alighted from her family’s carriage the next evening, her mother following immediately behind, her rich pink satin skirts swirling around her.

A year ago, a month ago, two weeks ago, Felicity had longed for this exact moment. It was mid-June and summer had arrived, all of London preparing to pack up and leave for the country, but the best of the city’s gossips wouldn’t dream of leaving before this particular ball—the Duchess of Northumberland’s summer herald, the most glamorous ball of the season.

A year ago, a month ago, two weeks ago, Felicity couldn’t have imagined a more desirable event than this one, climbing the steps to Northumberland House, the manor windows glittering with candlelight, her mother fairly vibrating her pleasure at Felicity’s elbow, the handful of guests assembled outside and clustered around the door acknowledging her without hesitation.

Welcoming her.

Claiming her.

Except everything had changed.

And not simply the fact that she was no longer odd, wallflower, spinster Felicity.

Nor that she was, to all assembled, the future Duchess of Marwick.

Oh, that was certainly why the aristocracy believed everything had changed. But Felicity knew better. She knew that what had changed, summarily and irrevocably, was that she had fallen in love with the world beyond this, and with the man who had revealed it to her. And that truth betrayed another: This world she had once cared so much about was nothing in comparison to his. To him.

Which he did not believe, and so, without recourse, Felicity had come to this place, filled with these people, to prove it to him.

The knowledge straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. It kept her chin high, as she was suddenly unwilling to allow this place—these people—to hold dominion over her. There was only one person who held her in his sway. And only one hope of winning him.

Which meant she had to find her fiancé.

“Your engagement has already made the world take notice!” the marchioness said excitedly as they stepped into the great Northumberland foyer, throngs of people surrounding them. She looked to the main staircase, filled with revelers, and gave a little squeak. “We weren’t invited last year; we weren’t welcome. Because of—well, you know.”

Felicity slowed and looked to her mother. “I don’t, as a matter of fact.”

The marchioness looked to her and lowered her voice. “Because of your scandal.”

“You mean the scandal of my being trotted off to the Duke of Haven’s marriage mart?”

Her mother shook her head. “Not only that.”

“The scandal of my aging spinsterhood?”

“That might have been a bit of it, as well.”

“Is it more or less a bit of it than my being exiled from the inner circle of the jewels of the ton?”

“Really, Felicity.” Her mother looked about with a too loud laugh, clearly afraid that someone might overhear them.

Felicity was less interested in that eventuality. “I would have thought that the scandal that eliminated our names from the guest list was Father and Arthur losing all the family’s money.”

Her mother’s eyes went wide. “Felicity!”

Felicity pressed her lips together, knowing now was neither the place, nor the time, but not particularly caring. Turning, she made her way up the stairs, toward the great ballroom. “It’s no matter, Mother. After all, we’re here tonight.”

“Yes,” the marchioness said. “That’s the important bit. As is the duke. And we shall be here next year. And all the years after.”

I shan’t be.

“Even your father plans to make an appearance tonight.”

Of course her father would, now that he felt he could show his face with the family coffers nearly filled once more.

Felicity focused on the top of the stairs. “I must find the duke.”

She had not made it ten paces when a voice called out from somewhere above, “Felicity!”

The voice was familiar enough that she hesitated in her movement, turning instantly to meet Natasha Corkwood’s bright eyes, glittering with interest as she waved from the top of the stairs, bobbing and weaving to keep contact with Felicity. She turned to say something to her companion, and Jared, Lord Faulk, looked over his shoulder to follow her gaze, recognition and something else flaring in his eyes. Something predatory.

Felicity looked away immediately, redoubling her movements up the stairs.

When she reached the top, Natasha called out again, closer than Felicity would like. “Felicity!”

“Darling, we should stop. Lady Natasha and Lord Faulk are your friends.” As simple as that, her mother swept the past away, as though eighteen months of shame and sadness and confusion was nothing.

Friendship is not always what we think.

Devil’s words echoed through her, tempting her to turn her back and leave them there, in front of every Londoner whose good opinion they courted. Instead, she turned to face them.

“Felicity!” Natasha said, breathless, face full of a false smile. “We’ve been waiting for you!” Her hand settled on Felicity’s arm.

Felicity’s gaze settled on the offending touch for long enough that Natasha removed it, at which point Felicity looked up and said, “Why?”

Color washed over Tasha’s cheeks and she blinked, a little nervous laugh accompanying her surprise. “Why—because we have missed you!” Her eyes flickered to her brother. “Haven’t we, Jared?”

Lord Faulk grinned, revealing large teeth, nearly too big for his mouth. “Of course.”

As though the past had never happened. As though they’d had a vague disagreement after too much champagne instead of the lot of them pretending that Felicity did not exist for eighteen months. As though they were still her people.

As though she ever wanted them to be again.

Unfortunates.

Devil’s word again, low and dark, whispering in her ear, its memory bringing her strength.

“Your gown is stunning.” Natasha was still talking, and Felicity’s hands moved of their own volition to her skirts, full and fuchsia, as pink as pink came. The gown had arrived that morning from the dressmaker Madame Hebert—along with a little note from the Frenchwoman, thanking Felicity for her business with once and future dukes . . . and any others who might happen along and enjoy you in pink.

And it was stunning, lavish beyond anything she’d ever worn before, with a low-cut neckline revealing a wide expanse of shoulders, along with magnificent pink skirts shot through with deep eggplant silk thread, the whole thing giving the gown the look of sunset.

Or better, the Devon sky at sunset.

She wished Devil could see it.

Devil would see it, of course. The moment she finished with the duke, whom she could not find in the crush of people. The thought set her heart pounding, and Felicity went looking for her fiancé, pressing further into the ballroom.

“Thank you, Natasha—you always look so beautifully turned out, as well,” the marchioness offered at the edge of her attention, filling the silence when Felicity did not.

Tasha dipped into a curtsy. “Thank you, my lady. And my congratulations to you as well—on your soon-to-be son-in-law!”

The marchioness tittered.

Natasha tittered.

Jared grinned.

Felicity looked from one face to the next and said, “Am I mad, or are you attempting to befriend me once more?”

Color rose high on Natasha’s cheeks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Felicity!” her mother interjected.

“I’m quite serious, Natasha. It seems as though you would like to pretend that we never fell out. That you never exited me from your group—isn’t that what you called it?”

Natasha’s mouth opened and then closed.

Felicity ignored her former friend, remarkably uninterested in her—for the first time in possibly ever. She searched the sea of revelers headed for the ballroom. Freedom. Without farewell, she said, “I must find the duke.”

“Oh, of course she must,” the marchioness said overexcitedly, for some reason all too eager to keep their hangers-on hanging on. Sotto voce, she added, “Engaged couples wish to be in each other’s company as much as possible, you must know.”

“Oh, of course,” Natasha fawned for the benefit of all assembled. “We’re still so impressed you managed to land him! After all, Felicity isn’t exactly the kind of wife a duke comes for.”

“I didn’t land him,” Felicity said absently, pressing forward.

Natasha took on the look of a wild barn cat, mouse in sight. “You didn’t?”

Silence followed, then her mother’s too loud laughter. “Oh, Felicity! What a jest. Of course, the banns have been read! There was an announcement in the News!”

“I suppose so. Well, either way, I would not take such interest in it, Tasha . . .” Felicity said, turning a cool gaze on the other woman, “as even if I did land him, you’d never be welcome in our home, anyway.”

Tasha’s mouth fell open at the words, and Felicity’s mother gasped her horror at Felicity’s rudeness. Blessedly, Felicity was saved from having to continue by the discovery of her fiancé, a blond head taller than anyone else in the ballroom, on the other side of the mad crush. The moment she saw him, her heart began to pound. She broke away from her unwelcome companions, weaving through the crowd to get to him.

To get free of him.

He was alone when she reached him, stick-straight and staring aimlessly at the crowd. She placed herself directly in front of him. “Hello, Your Grace.”

His gaze flickered to her, then back to the ball. “I asked you not to call me that.” He paused. “Who is that woman?”

She looked over her shoulder to find Natasha simpering nearby, playing the wide-eyed victim.

“Lady Natasha Corkwood.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I told her she’d never be welcome in our home.”

He met her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because she hurt me. And I find I’m through with being hurt.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Not that it matters, as we shan’t share a home.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it’s a fine figure of speech, and I’m sure it helped get your point across.”

She took a deep breath. “That’s not what I meant, though.”

He looked to her, and she saw understanding in his gaze. Understanding and something else. Something like . . . respect? “What is it?”

It seemed fitting that an engagement begun in front of all the world ended in front of it. At least Felicity was ending it to the duke’s face, instead of to a collection of maddening gossips. “I’m afraid I cannot marry you.”

That got his attention. He watched her for a long moment, and then said, “May I ask why?”

Half the world was watching, and Felicity found she did not care. But surely the duke cared. “Would you like to find a place where we might . . . talk?”

“Not particularly,” he said.

That gave her pause. “Your Gr—” She stopped. “Duke.”

“Tell me why.”

“All right,” she said, her heart pounding. “Because I love another. Because I think he could love me. All I have to do is convince him that I want him more than I want this world.”

He met her eyes. “I don’t imagine your father will be thrilled with your decision.”

She shook her head. “I don’t imagine so. I was something of a last hope for him.”

“For your brother, as well,” he pointed out. “They were more than happy to take my money.”

“In exchange for a loveless marriage,” she said. She shook her head. “I don’t wish that.”

“And what do you know of love?” he asked, the words a quiet scoff.

I would walk through fire for him. Whit had used the words in the warehouse the other night, explaining the loyalty of Devil’s employees. She understood it now. She loved him. She looked to the duke. “Enough to know that I want it more than I want the rest.”

He smirked at that.

“And you should, too,” she added. When he did not reply, she added her plea, tentatively, “I wonder if I might convince you to invest with my brother in some way? He’s very knowledgeable in business, despite—”

He cut her off. “Tell me what it looks like.”

She hesitated. He was asking about . . . love? “It’s impossible to describe.”

“Try.”

She looked away, her gaze settling on a dancing couple, the woman in a beautiful sapphire gown. They were mid-turn, her back in a perfect arch over his strong arm, her skirts flaring out behind her. She stared up at him, smiling, and he, down at her, rapt, and in that moment, they were perfect enough to steal breath. Not because of her dress or his coat or how they moved or the fact that when they stopped that turn, her skirts would swirl around them both, and he would feel their heavy weight on his legs, and wish for a lifetime of the sensation.

Sadness and desire and resolve warred within her when Felicity returned her attention to the duke. “You find your match. You find your match, and you let them love you.”

“It is not that easy.” The words were gruff.

“Well,” she said. “You could start by looking for her.”

“I’ve been looking for her for twelve years. For longer. For as long as I can remember.” The words were impossible to misunderstand. The duke was not speaking of a nameless, faceless woman with whom he might live out the rest of his days. He was looking for someone specific.

She nodded. “She is worth the wait, then. And when you do find her, you will be happy for this moment.”

“When I find her, I shall be the most unhappy I have ever been.”

A vision flashed. Of Devil, the night before, telling her he could never love her enough. Of his seeing her home as light began to streak across the sky. Of the soft kiss he gave her in the gardens, before she sneaked through the door to the kitchens. Of how it felt like farewell. Of the tears that had come, unbidden and unwelcome but there, nonetheless, until she’d decided that she was through having the world manipulate her, and that it was her time to manipulate the world.

“Would you like to dance, Lady Felicity?”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“We are at a ball, are we not? It’s not an unimaginable eventuality.”

She didn’t wish to dance.

He went on. “That, and all of London is watching, and you are not the least emotive person I have ever met.”

It wasn’t all of London, though. It was a tiny fraction of London, and one she was finding less and less tolerable. Nevertheless, she let him lead her to the center of the ballroom and collect her in his arms. They danced for several long minutes in silence, before he said, “So you think my brother in love with you.”

Felicity pulled back at that, or as far away as she could while dancing. She certainly had misheard. He clearly hadn’t said—“I—I beg your pardon?”

“There’s no need for you to play the fool, my lady,” he said. “He’s been after you from the start, has he not? From the night you announced our engagement to the world?” She missed a step at the words, and his arms tightened around her, lifting her off the ground for a heartbeat as she regained her footing.

Confusion flared, her gaze flying to his. He couldn’t be speaking of Devil.

Devil, whose eyes were that same, beautiful amber color as the duke’s—which she should have noticed earlier. Which she would have noticed earlier if Devil’s weren’t so full of heat, and these weren’t so cold.

Realization dawned.

Dear God.

Devil’s father had been the Duke of Marwick.

Which made the man with her—“Ewan.”

To an outside observer, the name appeared to have no impact on him. But Felicity was in his arms, scant inches from him, and she saw the way it struck him as clearly as if she’d clenched a fist and sent it right into his jaw. Every inch of him tightened. His jaw clenched. His breath stilled in his chest. His hand went to stone in hers, and his arm became steel at her back. And then he looked at her, his eyes full of truth and something she should have been afraid of.

But Felicity was not afraid. She was confused and shocked, and half a dozen other emotions, but she could not find room for fear, as she was too full of fury. Because if she was right and this man was Ewan, the third brother, kidnapped to the country to vie for a title in some kind of monstrous game, then he was the winner of the game. And instead of keeping his brothers close and caring for them as they should have been cared for—as they deserved to be cared for—he’d left them to scrape and fight in the streets, never knowing where they would find their next kindness. Never knowing where they would find kindness, at all.

And for that alone she loathed him.

“He told you about me,” he said. Surprise in the words. Something close to awe.

She vibrated with anger. She made to stop the dance. He refused to allow it. She pressed back against his arm with all her strength. “Let me go.”

“Not yet.”

“You hurt him.”

“I hurt a lot of people.”

“You took a blade to his face.”

“I assure you, I didn’t have a choice.”

“No. Clearly this world was worth more than your brother.” She shook her head. “You were wrong. I’d choose him over this place any day. I choose him now. Over you.”

The duke’s eyes flashed. “You won’t believe me, but it had nothing to do with this world.”

“No, I’m sure not,” she scoffed. “Not the title or the houses or the money.”

“Believe what you like, Lady Felicity, but it is true. He was a means to an end.” The words weren’t cruel. They were honest.

Her brow furrowed. “What kind of end would require such means?” She loathed this man. “You should be thrashed for what you did to him. He was a boy.”

“So was I.” He paused. Then, casually, “If only you’d been with us then, Lady Felicity. Maybe you could have saved him. Maybe you could have saved us all.”

“He does not need saving,” she said, softly. “He is magnificent. Strong and brave and honorable.”

“Is he?”

Something about the question unsettled, as though the duke were a chess master, and he could see her inevitable end. She pushed against him again, wanting away from this man turned monster. “I thought you were odd. You’re not. You’re horrible.”

“I am. As is he.”

She shook her head. “No.”

His response was instant, filled with darkness. “He is not without sin, my lady. Aren’t you curious as to how you came to know him? As to how he came to have an interest in you?”

She shook her head, thinking back. “It was by chance. I lied—about our engagement—he overheard.”

He did laugh then, the sound sending cold through her. “In our lifetime, nothing has ever happened to us by chance. And now you are a part of us, Felicity Faircloth. Now you are tied to us. And nothing will ever happen to you by chance again. Not engagements. Not the breaking of them. Not golden ballgowns or spies in hedgerows. Even the birds you hear sing to you in the nighttime do not warble by chance.”

Felicity went cold and the room spun with revelation—that this man, this odious, horrid man, was inexorably tied to Devil. That he’d been so for years and, worse, that he knew the extent of her interactions with him. That he’d used her in spite of them. That he’d used her because of them, manipulating her without effort.

“You were using me to get to him.”

“I was. Though, to be fair, I did not set out to use you, specifically. That bit was chance, as a matter of fact.” He turned her, moving her through the room, and to an outside observer, they must have looked riveted to each other—a perfect match. No one could see the way she pushed against him, wishing to be far from him and whatever it was he was about to say.

“I have searched for them for twelve years, did you know that? To no avail. I’d a line on a pair of brothers in Covent Garden. Ice dealers. Possibly smugglers. But they ran the streets, paid well for loyalty, and were well protected. I had no choice but to try a new tack. I came to town, broadcasting the news of my search for a bride.”

Understanding dawned. “To summon them from shadows.”

He inclined his head, surprise in his eyes. “Precisely. They might hide from me, but they would never stay quiet if they thought I was to renege on our only deal.” His gaze fixed on a point beyond her shoulder.

“No heirs.”

More surprise. “He told you that, as well?”

“He never intended for you and I to marry,” she whispered.

The duke barked a laugh, and those around them turned at the unexpected sound. He didn’t care. “Of course he didn’t. We were cut from the same cloth, my lady. You proved very useful to me . . . and exceedingly useful to him, as well.”

“How?”

“You were a message. I am not allowed happiness. I am not allowed a future. As though those things were ever in my cards.”

Her gaze went to his, her heart pounding in her ears alongside the cacophony of the room. “I don’t understand. You didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to bring you happiness.”

“No. But you might have brought me heirs. And those, he would not have allowed. That was the only punishment we could give our father. No heirs. The line ends with me, you see. And I know my brother well enough to know Devon would make certain of it.”

We would mete out endless punishment.

And Felicity was the weapon he’d chosen. The weapon, it seemed, they had both chosen.

And then he added, “And the promise of you would deliver Devon to me.”

She slowed to a stop and the duke allowed it, her skirts swirling around her, even as the rest of the assemblage continued dancing. Heads turned toward them, whispers already beginning. Felicity didn’t care. “I’ll give him his due; he did his work well.” He paused. “I’m guessing he’s already had you. I’m guessing he expected you to come here tonight and end our arrangement. Which of course you did, because you fancy yourself in love with him. Because you fancy yourself able to convince him that he loves you, as well.”

The room whirled around them, the realization that Devil had betrayed her coming hard and fast and making her want to simultaneously cast up her accounts and do physical harm to the arrogant man before her. And then he added in a tone absent of emotion, “Poor girl. You should have known better. Devon cannot love. It’s not in him. He, like all of us, and like our father before us, can do nothing but ruin. I hope yours was at least enjoyable.”

The words threatened to break her. To return her to Forlorn Felicity. Finished Felicity. But she would not allow that. She came to her full height, her shoulders straight and her chin proud, refusing to acknowledge the tears that threatened. She would not have tears. There was no time for them.

Instead, she took a step back, putting distance between them, and the nearest couples slowed, craning their necks to see. They did not have to crane when she let her hand fly, nor did they have to strain to hear the wicked crack of her palm against his cheek.

He took the blow without a word, and the entire room felt its ripple.