Chapter 1

LONDON 1815: FOUR YEARS LATER

Even Alex would struggle to describe the euphoria of a woman’s mouth on his cock while lost in a haze of induced bliss. One tiny drop of laudanum in a glass of brandy and every sense heightened, every nerve in his body sang.

The pleasure was indescribable.

Wave after wave of overwhelming satisfaction swamped his body as he lost himself in the skillful ministrations of Lady Dianne’s lips, teeth, and hot mouth.

He’d contrived to spend a wonderful afternoon pleasuring the young widow, his current paramour, as soon as he’d arrived in London for the season. While spending the winter on his estate, Bracken Park, with his young sisters and brothers present, he’d forsworn female company, preferring to work hard and embrace his family.

He’d made up for lost time this afternoon, the laudanum helping his staying power considerably.

It was a pity that tonight he had a previous engagement or he would have suggested she stay. Still, perhaps later he could climb up the ivy hanging below Dianne’s bedchamber and continue her enthusiastic education in the arts of lovemaking.

On that thought he lay back and gave himself over to her. She sucked him so deep he hit the back of her throat, and all too soon he reached his pinnacle. No longer able to resist the sensations, he plunged over the edge into the cavern of self-gratification. The colors of his release blinded his mind and he cried out, his heart almost thundering out of his chest.

As he came down from the heavens he thanked God that she was a fast and eager learner. Dianne too appeared to be making up for the two years she’d been married to a man old enough to be her grandfather.

Still, he would not judge others. One did what one must to survive. Years ago he’d learned life was not a fairy tale. It was dark, dirty, dangerous, and hard. People were flawed. He’d always believed no one was perfect—except of course his bloody father, the Perfect Duke, as he’d been called.

Trust the memory of his father to arrive and diminish his euphoria.

He struggled to hold on to his blissful stupor as Dianne crawled up his body and laid her beautiful face against his sweat-soaked chest.

“You’re wonderful, but I’m exhausted. I need to sleep for a week to keep up with you.” She paused before quietly saying, “I missed you so.”

He would not lie and say he missed her. He missed sex, but not her in particular. He was not capable of a deeper emotion. They had begun their affair on one of his sudden trips to London a few months ago. He’d needed release from the dark memories crowding in on him at home. Usually his family and work dimmed his nightmares. He hoped this extended stay would serve him well for the next few months.

“I’m here for the season, sweeting. By the end of the season you’ll understand what it is to be exhausted.”

She giggled and snuggled closer. “I don’t suppose you’d accompany me to Lady Blighwell’s ball on Thursday night.”

He stiffened. He did not go to society engagements with his paramours. That spoke of commitment. Spoke of a relationship. No. What was Dianne thinking? He was not interested in anything other than stolen moments of mutual pleasure. He thought he’d made that clear.

His mother did mention the obligation he had to settle down. Suggesting he needed someone to help him in his duties and give him children. He was in no hurry to marry. The idea of bringing children into this world scared him to death. The world was such a cruel and unjust place.

The imperfect son of the Perfect Duke should not procreate. He had two younger brothers for that. Besides, he was no saint where women were concerned and he’d never fathered a child. He was certain he couldn’t. It did not concern him because he didn’t want to bring any child of his into this desperate and sinful world.

He turned on his side to face her and cupped her chin in his hand. “I don’t want to hurt you Dianne, but I’m not courting you. I thought I’d made the boundaries of our affair clear. Mutual sexual pleasure is all I’m capable of sharing with you.”

He watched her swallow and blink rapidly. She nodded. “I know. It’s just I realize how much I missed you these past months and…I’m lonely.”

He pressed a light kiss to her lips. “You’re young and beautiful; any man would be lucky to have you as his wife. If you are lonely then go and find a man who is worthy of you and marry again. You no longer have to choose a husband for money, so chose wisely. But I’m not that man.”

She turned away and sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him. “You’re right. I deserve someone who wants to be with me, not just for pleasure.”

He nodded, even though she could not see him do so.

She looked at him over her shoulder, her face a wealth of sadness. “I don’t think I should be engaged in a torrid affair if I’m looking for a perfect man to wed. That would not be in good taste.”

“No it wouldn’t. I fully understand.”

“You don’t even care that I’m calling this—whatever it is—off, do you?”

He slid over the bed to wrap his arms around her. “I care that you are happy. It looks as though I’m making you unhappy and I care deeply about that. Life is too short to spend it on regrets.”

She sat studying him before finally reaching out and cupping his cheek. “You helped me experience passion, something I never had in my marriage. It means I know what I want in a husband and I’ll not settle for less.”

“You are too beautiful, kind, and”—he could barely say the word—“perfect to settle for anything less than what your heart desires.”

“I’ll never regret my time with you.”

“Nor me, sweeting.”

His hand fell away, and a part of him he tried to keep locked behind a fortress in his chest kicked a thumping beat.

Jumping out of bed he reached for a robe and walked to the door of the bedchamber. He never took his paramours to his room. This room was a guest room, set up because of the discreet access to the servants’ back stairs, which led to the back of the house and his coaching stable. Ladies could come and go unobserved in his unmarked carriage.

“I shall send up my servant Juliette to help you dress. Feel free to stay and bathe if you wish. However, I’m due at the explorers club this evening.” It was more a gathering of like-minded friends than a club. They met to discuss their travels, especially when any one of them had been far afield.

As his hand found the door latch he hesitated. “Thank you, Dianne. In my own way I will miss you.”

“I find you, or should I say men in general, puzzling. Men will fight wars, participate in duels, pummel each other in the boxing ring, all dangerous activities, yet they seem to be petrified of true emotion. You are scared to love.”

A trigger exploded in his brain as memories came crashing in. “That may be true for most men, but not of me. Some of us have nothing left inside to love with.” He was breathing heavily from his outburst and he could not stand the look of pitiful understanding on Dianne’s face.

He merely turned and left the room refusing to ever look back.

His inner voice had warned him to stay away from Lady Dianne; she was too perfect, too unworldly. Normally he shared his amusements with women who were slightly more ravaged by life.

She reminded him of Hestia.

Another reason he should have left Dianne well alone.

An hour later he was bathed and changed, sitting in his library brooding over his breakup with Dianne. Now he’d have to find a new lover for the season, and for once the idea did not titillate him as it should.

He lifted his glass and was about to take a sip when he noticed a smear of soot on the runner. God damn it. Sweat broke on his brow and his hands shook. He was about to bellow for Tompkins when his butler knocked and entered.

“Tompkins, I pay you well, do I not?” At his butler’s nod he said, “Have I not stressed how my homes are to be kept spotless?” Another nod. “Get someone to clean up this mess immediately.”

“Mess, Your Grace?”

He pointed. “This soot.”

He watched Tompkins peer through his spectacles at the tiny smudge of black.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

He hated how Tompkins silently judged him. Yes, it was a little spot, but when he’d been in captivity he was kept for so many months in filth that now he could not abide any trace of dirt.

“There is an urgent missive. Shall I see to this first or shall I wait for a reply, Your Grace?”

Alex lifted the perfumed note off the silver platter and instantly knew whom it was from. He remembered her scent. It smelled of goodness and innocence.

He stared at the note in his hand, and the deep clenching in his gut told him what he should do with it.

Ignore it.

Burn it.

His fingers ran over the paper. The handwriting flourishes displayed her personality: the larger-than-normal slash for the T, the longer hanging loops of the G…bold, courageous, and vivacious. He would have known who had sent the letter before he read her name. The scent that clung to the paper was faint, but his body reacted to it just the same. A deep yearning sent pain ricocheting through his chest and he ruthlessly pushed it away.

Lady Hestia Cary, the Earl of Pembroke’s daughter. Over the years she’d grown into a lovely young woman, the scandal of his rescue of her from Turkish pirates mostly forgotten.

He had to force his hand not to crumple the note in his fist. Only then did he remember his butler, Tompkins, was waiting for a reply. How much had the old bugger seen and understood? He opened the note and read.

“You may inform the messenger that I shall call on Lady Hestia within the hour.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” The tone of Tompkins’s words indicated his approval. “Shall I inform your valet?”

Alex looked down his body as he sat in his favorite chair by the fire, the book on African sea currents sitting in his lap forgotten. He’d been about to head to Lord Foxhurst’s residence, where the explorers club was gathering, and he considered himself respectably dressed for the occasion. Lord Panton had just returned from an expedition to North Africa and he’d longed to hear the news.

“I don’t believe Hessians are appropriate for a house call at this late hour, Your Grace,” Tompkins admonished.

“It is an urgent summons, so her ladyship will have to take me as she finds me. I shall go on to the explorers club afterward.” Formal dress for this meeting would send Hestia the wrong message.

“Very good, Your Grace.”

As he waited for his carriage to be summoned, he recognized the excitement building was not about the tales of North Africa he would hear later. He’d not seen Lady Hestia for over eighteen months. He made it his mission to avoid her when she came to town.

Why Hestia could not ascertain that he did not wish to see her, talk with her, he could not understand. She reminded him of the darkest days of his life, and that’s the last thing he needed to be reminded of.

Why couldn’t she marry like a young lady of quality should? Every time he came back to London he prayed he’d hear the news of her betrothal. He blamed her father. Still gallivanting around the Mediterranean engrossed in history when he should be home ensuring the safety and future of his daughter. Surely she could find someone suitable.

It wasn’t from lack of offers. She was beautiful, had a large dowry, was the daughter of a well thought of, if slightly eccentric, earl, and she could be utterly charming when she wanted to be. Of course there was the scandal of her Turkish pirate abduction, but he had rescued her over four years ago, and her impeccable behavior since meant the incident was virtually forgotten.

Already his gut was churning with building anger, wondering on what pretext she had sent for him. He was surprised her aunt had not forbidden her to contact him. Surely she would not have set up a situation where she could meet with him without a chaperon?

His mouth firmed. If she thought he could be trapped into marriage, the little minx did not know him very well. Hell, that was the problem. Hestia didn’t know him at all. She thought she did, but all she saw was her white knight. A man who rescued her from the clutches of evil.

Little did she know that he had once partnered with that very evil. Done things with Murad that would make the devil faint.

And in his drug-induced haze enjoyed it.

He knew why she had not married. Hestia was waiting for him. Silly girl. The sooner he disabused her of this notion, the better.

On a sigh he snapped the book closed and rose.

He strode out to his carriage and barely noticed the bite in the air. Spring was slow in arriving. Still it felt good to be outside. His leg began its constant jiggle as his impatience to have this meeting over grew. He was only going because he owed her father, and with the earl in the Mediterranean, he could not discount she had a legitimate reason for summoning him.

Blast the girl. Over the years it had not taken him long to conclude her trips to London coincided with his. She had not hidden her infatuation from him, and for the first few years after he’d rescued her, he put it down to the fact he’d saved her from Murad.

He tried to be discreet when it came to his paramours, but Hestia would no doubt have heard gossip. She knew he was not a monk. He had hoped it would lessen her hero worship of him. He was not worthy of such honor.

But her devotion had never faltered, worse luck. So the only safe thing for him to do was to put distance and formality between them. It worked. Lately she was polite when they accidentally bumped into each other, and the light in her eyes when she looked at him had dimmed as the years rolled on.

His gnawing unease increased when he acknowledged that this summons was indeed a change in her usual behavior.

Something was wrong.

His pulse sped up and he banged on the carriage roof. “Can we hurry if you please?”

His heart was still pounding as he mounted the steps of the Earl of Pembroke’s townhouse. The last time Alex had set foot in this house, his father was still alive and he’d only had his honorary title, Marquess of Tavistock. Even though at the time he was a duke in waiting, he’d been chewed up and spat out. He did not blame his lordship, but it was all for nothing. He was not interested in Lady Hestia, and never would be.

The front door opened before he reached the top step, but he barely noted who announced him because he simmered with self-directed fury. He couldn’t wait to ascertain the situation and then be on his way again so he could resume pretending she didn’t exist.

In the hall he closed his eyes and summoned control of the last vestige of his temper. He needed his wits about him.

As he was shown into the drawing room, he could feel the heaviness of doom pervading the air. Then he saw her and his breath hitched. His body reacted and that angered him even more. He’d known her for more than four years. He’d watched her grow up. Why was she having this effect on him?

Hestia stood by the fire, staring out the window at the far end of the room. She was dressed in black from head to toe. She was obviously in mourning. Her black silhouette should have doused the immediate desire that flared and heated his blood. Yet it did not. Her fingers were playing with the string of pearls wound in many strands around her neck, and all he wanted to do was unwind them and replace them with his lips.

At his entrance she swung around to greet him, and he could see the worry and exhaustion on her face. He moved quickly toward her, only just remembering to stop and greet Lady Eliza, her aunt, also dressed in black.

Lady Eliza acknowledged him with the tilt of her head. “It’s all right, Your Grace; as you can see we are both a tad overwrought.”

He moved toward Hestia as she held out both her hands to him and he took them in his own. Her voice wavered. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

Fear stabbed his gut like a pitchfork through hay. “You are in mourning. Who has died?”

He was rewarded with one of her special smiles. A smile that lit up the world and hugged everyone in its presence. His soul warmed simply from being in her presence.

The fortress around his heart always took a hammering at the sound of her laughter and warm smile. She hid nothing of herself. She was open, brave, and giving, all the things he was not. She was perfect. And he hated perfection.

He was sinfully imperfect, but he hid behind his physical image of the handsome, honorable, wealthy duke, but it was all lies. No one really saw his dark depths or knew his sinister vices.

Since his captivity by Murad, his life had been a constant battle, with himself and his own driving needs. He had two great vices in his life: women and opium. Only one of these was entirely under his control: women. Although he no longer craved the opium pipe, he knew if given the chance he’d pick it up faster than a beggar boy finding a gold coin.

His body craved the comfort both provided, a way to forget his dark past and the demons haunting his nights. Over the past few years, in an attempt to break his opiate habit, he’d used his looks, charm, and fortune to bed countless women, to sink and lose himself between soft thighs, to feed off their warmth, until the chill in his heart melted, if by only a fraction. He was a master of managing, seducing, enjoying, and ultimately disengaging from the well-born matrons with whom he habitually dallied.

He should not be craving the woman standing looking so vulnerable and beautiful before him. What was wrong with him?

Still, he hated to see her like this. Her hands trembled in his and he wished he could pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be fine, but he had no idea what trouble she was in.

They stood staring at each other until Aunt Eliza gave a quiet cough and said, “Come, you two, sit. Hestia, could you ring for tea, please, and I’m sure His Grace can see to pouring himself a brandy from the sideboard.”

Alex reluctantly let go of her hands so she could make for the bell to order tea. To his surprise, like a parched man at a fresh spring, his eyes followed her every sway, every step, drunk with her beauty. He let her ethereal spirit calm his soul.

Hestia might look waiflike, but he had witnessed her strength and courage. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable and watched her defy her rapist.

Her beauty drew many an eye, the long golden tresses, the sea-blue sparkle of her eyes, the lusciousness of her lips and her body. She was built for a man’s interest, all curves and full body. Yet it was the warm heart and goodness that attracted him more while proving she was not for him.

He had a blackened soul.

Once seated with drink in hand, he waited for Hestia to speak. He had spent a fair amount of time in this room over the years, yet nothing in this room had changed. He’d not stepped into the earl’s house since the fateful night Hestia’s father had made him promise to discourage her in every way. Alex had been surprised that the earl would think he would encourage a young woman like that. It did not take anything to agree to his vow.

He would never offer for Hestia.

Fine with him. He was never going to offer for any woman. He had nothing but disappointment to give them.

He looked between the two women. “What is this all about, Hestia?” he asked. “You are both in mourning and it’s starting to worry me.”

To his horror, Aunt Eliza’s eyes welled with tears and a dainty white handkerchief appeared. He sat forward in his chair and looked at Hestia expectantly.

“My father has been declared dead.”

He almost dropped his glass. “Why have I not heard? I saw no announcement in the paper.” The earl had saved his life by helping to free him from Murad’s clutches. He respected the man for some things, but not for leaving Hestia to be brought up alone.

He asked, “How, why, where?”

Hestia stopped him by saying, “He’s not dead. I said he has been declared dead.”

“Don’t be disingenuous, dear. Tell His Grace the story properly. Start at the beginning.”

He nodded in Lady Eliza’s direction, somewhat puzzled at her acceptance of him being in this house since she had usually given him a cool reception. Alex was sure she knew of the earl’s dictate, maybe even some of his sordid past. Lady Eliza had been Hestia’s chaperon since her mother died when Hestia was eight. Why was she now so insistent in allowing this discourse?

“Have you heard of our distant relative Fredrick Cary?”

He gave a puzzled nod. “Yes, he is your father’s second cousin.” He was not about to inform them that he knew the man well. Fredrick had been known to frequent the same soirees as Alex: opium parties at particular houses in London’s East End.

“He is Father’s heir. My father is an only child, and he has only me. So his second cousin Fredrick will inherit the title and the estate.”

The thought astounded Alex, as he did not consider Fredrick a good man. It seemed doubly ironic that the earl had forbade Hestia a match with him, when an even bigger despot would be his heir.

“But you just said your father is not dead.”

She blinked back tears and her aunt sighed. “I believe Fredrick is sick of waiting for my brother’s estate. Did you know Fredrick claims to have been to the Mediterranean recently?”

“His ship goes there regularly, to trade,” he confirmed. Fredrick was one of the biggest suppliers of Turkish opium to England. He wasn’t about to admit how he knew that piece of information. It was not often that Fredrick sailed with the ship. He preferred to pay a crew.

“Well, he has just returned from a trip and claims to have brought back my father’s body.”

He shook his head. “Claims?” How did one claim to have a body? Then a thought struck him. Surely she didn’t mean…

“Yes, the body is so badly decomposed it could be anyone.” Her soft words pierced his heart.

Her aunt stiffened, looking every bit the imperious daughter of an earl. “It is not my brother. There is no ring and no locket. He would never have been parted from either.”

He hated to point out that if the earl were a victim of pirates, the jewelry would have been the first things taken, then his life. He rubbed his hand over his face.

“Did Fredrick say how he’d died?”

“A fever.”

“Then he should still have his ring and locket, unless Fredrick has it.”

Hestia shook her head. “I asked about the locket, and he did not know where it was. And surely Fredrick would be wearing the family crest signet ring as his heir, and he is not. The body was not my father.”

“Am I to believe you think Fredrick has brought a body home, a body that is, in fact, not your father, in the hope of having the title and estate settled upon him?”

“Exactly!” Hestia cried. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Only one problem with that. What happens when the earl does return home?”

He watched the two women look at each other as if they had rehearsed an answer.

Hestia cleared her throat. “I don’t think Fredrick is going to allow my father to return. I suspect he has men hunting for my father right now.” She raised an eyebrow. “I know what you are thinking, but the men sailing with my father would have sent me a letter to tell me of his demise. I do not believe the body Fredrick produced is my father.”

“Did you tell Fredrick of your doubts?”

She scoffed. “I am not stupid. I don’t want him to think we are suspicious. That is why we are dressed in our mourning clothes. I don’t want him suddenly thinking he has to rush to find my father. The longer he thinks we believe his lies, the safer my father will be.”

Suddenly the reason for his summons was clear. “You want me to find your father first and bring him safely home.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask of you given you are now the Duke of Bedford and have so many other responsibilities, but Aunt Eliza believes you are the only man who knows the Greek islands well enough to find my father. I’m so scared Fredrick will kill him, and while I am not close to my father, he does not deserve to be murdered for his estate.”

Alex looked directly at Hestia’s aunt, Lady Eliza. The knowing expression on her face made it clear she understood why he could not refuse. Lord Pembroke had been instrumental in saving his life when he was a young, naïve fool. Alex had thought rescuing his lordship’s daughter in return might have evened the score, but not according to her aunt.

Lady Eliza drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “I was given to understand you have a ship berthed at Great Yarmouth, always on standby should you need it.”

He eyed her coolly. She was thorough in her investigations. He did keep a ship fully stocked and manned just in case he could slip away for a month, maybe two. It had been idle for well over a year. His time was no longer his own since his father’s death two years ago, hence why he lived for the tales told with his friends of the explorers club.

“As a matter of fact I’m due to set sail at the end of the season.” He had decided to go to Tunisia and go south into the desert.

“Perhaps there could be a reason to go earlier?” Lady Eliza encouraged.

“I’m off to meet with friends after this. Panton’s back from North Africa. I could perhaps let it be known his talk made me long for an adventure, and I decided to leave the season early.” Men would understand his need to leave. Every mother and her debutante daughter hunted a bachelor staying in London during the season. Plus they would hear of the end of Dianne’s affair.

Lady Eliza sat back satisfied.

Alex asked the obvious questions. “Do you know your father’s last known location?” There was no point racing off if he had no idea where Lord Pembroke was. The Mediterranean was a watery maze of islands. It could take months to find him. He hoped they had more information than Fredrick Cary did.

“You’ll help us?” Hestia clapped her hands. “Oh, thank goodness. I did not know what I would do should you not come to our rescue.”

Alex knew. She’d try to find someone else to help her and they would likely take her money and produce nothing.

Lady Eliza spoke. “The last letter we received indicated he was excavating on an island called Kos.”

Hestia visibly exhaled. “His base was Delos, one of the most important mythological, historical, and archaeological sites in Greece. It’s only a few miles from the isle of Mykonos. But no one has heard from him since he left for Kos. I don’t even know if he arrived there safely.”

They both looked at each other, tension filling the air. The mention of Mykonos brought back all the memories of her ordeal at the hands of Murad. Her rescue had started her hero worship of him. A familiar longing gripped his innards. The trip back to England had been the most wonderful few months of his life. Her innocence and joy of life had brightened his dark countenance, making him forget his deadly past, making him hope he could be redeemed.

Then reality hit: Kos. Of course her father would have to be on one of only a few Ottoman-controlled islands, one near the Turkish coast and the fortress city of Bodrum.

Nerves drew taut and his hand almost crushed the glass in his hand. At last he’d have a chance to get his revenge against Murad.

“Do you know it?” Hestia asked.

“Yes.” He knew that area very well. He sat back in his chair and took a large gulp of his brandy.

A frown crossed Hestia’s pretty features. “You will help us?” She looked stricken. “I know it’s such an imposition, but Father thinks of you as a son.”

He heard Lady Eliza clear her throat. “I’m sure His Grace knows exactly what your father thinks of him. He will do what he knows is right.” She raised an imperious eyebrow.

“Of course I will help.” They didn’t need to know that the idea of avenging his captivity was the main reason he would agree to go. He’d never have another chance, what with his duty to his title. He’d also wanted to wait until his younger brother Harris turned one and twenty. Alex would be about six months short of this target, and he could live with that. Harris was almost one and twenty and old enough to handle becoming the Duke of Bedford should Alex die in his attempt for vengeance.

The look her ladyship sent his way had the effect she wanted. Guilt rose swiftly to eat at him. He did owe his life to his lordship.

The main reason adrenaline surged was Murad. Alex longed for revenge. He thought about what traveling into Murad’s territory would mean. He would finally get the chance to kill the man who’d cost him so much. But surely one of Murad’s rivals would have killed him and taken over by now.

His mind folded in on him and black visions seared his mind. He almost hoped Murad was still alive. Perhaps if he could take his revenge and kill him, he could put his past behind him instead of letting it continually torture him. Certainly he suspected his opiate use would have been conquered.

“I’ll have to have a good reason for leaving London that does not raise eyebrows. If Fredrick learns I’ve left England, he’ll likely know you suspect him. It will be difficult to hide the fact that my ship, the Angelica, has left port.”

“It does sail without you occasionally?”

He could not deny Hestia’s words. The Angelica sailed to France on occasion for trade. His estate’s wool would be traded for French silks and brandy to resell in England. “However, if I leave London as well…don’t underestimate Fredrick. He is clever and devious.”

“Then we shall have to be more devious.” She smiled. “For instance, the ship could leave while you are still in London. Then you could leave London to go back to your estate, but head south to Portsmouth and embark from there.”

“It might work. What reason did you give for coming to London when you are in mourning?” If Fredrick knew they had come to see him…

Lady Eliza said, “I told him I had to see the family lawyer about Hestia’s and my settlements and to employ a man to look for a property for us to buy.” She shrugged. “I also told him I wished to put a notice in the paper regarding my brother’s death and his burial at our Pembrokeshire estate in Wales.”

Hestia’s face looked as if she’d like to kill someone. “He had the cheek to say we could take our time finding another residence in which to live.” Alex watched a shudder run through her. “Fredrick even suggested that I should marry him so I would not lose my home.”

“So he could keep your dowry, more like. I think Fredrick was shocked to learn he gets the estate but not the money. The money came from Hestia’s mother’s dowry on the condition that if Lord Pembroke died before Hestia marries she inherits whatever money is left.”

Alex sat up straight in his chair. “You get all the money?”

Hestia frowned. “Yes, well, there is not much except for my dowry. My father’s love of exploring takes a large amount, but he does make some money back by selling the treasures he finds. However, he keeps so many of his statues as he hates being parted from them.” Her mouth grew taut. “I loved seeing Fredrick squirm when he learned the details of the entail and the financial aspects of the estate.”

A cold fear rippled in Alex’s gut. “Did Fredrick propose before or after he learned this little tidbit?”

“After,” Lady Eliza breathed out in a rush.

All of Alex’s senses roared to life. “What happens to the money if you die before you marry?”

“It goes to the estate—oh no.” Lady Eliza turned scared eyes his way. “You have to take her with you.”