She hardly slept at all.

Sitting at a table in the gardens, reflecting on the tossing and turning and tangled mess of her sheets when she’d finally arisen from her bed, all she could surmise was that her body had been in need of . . . fulfillment was the word that came to mind. It was as though spending so much time in the company of Mick Trewlove had wound up her feminine yearnings until they’d felt a need to explode like a host of fireworks.

Guilt surged through her because she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him. She shouldn’t have gone to see him, shouldn’t have allowed him to get so close, and most certainly should not have succumbed to the temptation of his kiss. How was it that he managed to elicit all these urges when Kip didn’t? Quite possibly because he kissed her with far more enthusiasm than the earl, that he gazed upon her as though she encompassed his entire world. Kip never looked at her with intense heat burning in his eyes, with desire and longing and . . . want. It was the last that unsettled her the most.

Because there was a secretive part of her that yearned for more than casual touches, a gentle press of lips and polite conversation. There was a part that longed for the wickedness.

And Mick provided it. He was a . . .

She didn’t know how to describe him: a scoundrel, a rake, a rogue. A man. A man who made her very much aware she was a woman. Even now memories of his touch, his mouth playing over hers was enough to make her feel as though the sun had dropped from the sky and fallen into her lap.

“Not making any calls today?”

Startled, she looked up to see the duchess standing there. “No, I thought . . . I thought to just enjoy the gardens, some tea . . .” My own company for fear a stray thought of Mick Trewlove might cause me to blush unbecomingly at inappropriate times. “Would you care to join me?”

“You seem lost in thought. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You could never intrude. Please.” She began pouring tea into an extra teacup that had been on the tray when the servant brought it to her, as though she couldn’t envision her ladyship not being joined by someone. “I’ve grown quite bored with my own company already.”

The duchess sat, elegantly and delicately, as she always did. A good strong wind would no doubt blow her away. “What were you thinking of? Your wedding?”

“In a manner. Did anyone other than the duke ever take your fancy?”

She smiled softly, as though in remembrance. “I had a swarm of beaux, but they were all pleasant, like a warm summer afternoon. Then I met Hedley, and he ignited a storm within me. With him, I felt alive.” She shook her head. “It’s difficult to explain.” Her gaze zeroed in on Aslyn. “Are you having doubts?”

Aslyn took hold of her teacup as though it could provide her with some sort of stability, when the bone china was likely to crumble if she held on too tightly. “I do love Kip. I just don’t know if it’s the sort of love a woman should have for a man she’s to marry. I suppose of late, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the intimacy of marriage”—­she released a self-­conscious laugh—­“and I’m just having a difficult time envisioning it.” With Kip.

“The experience can be quite lovely. I’m certain Kip will lead you into it gently.” Averting her gaze, she sipped her tea, a blush creeping along her cheeks. Aslyn realized she probably was not at all comfortable contemplating her son in bed with her ward. Not that she blamed her.

“Do you think the duke cared for anyone before you?”

The duchess sighed. “It’s quite possible. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know, but ladies adored him. He was so handsome and charming. I could hardly fault them.” She set her cup down and held Aslyn’s gaze. “Yes, I suspect there was someone before me. But whoever she was, she couldn’t hold on to him. And since we’ve married, he’s never strayed and that’s what matters.” Reaching across the table, she placed her hand over Aslyn’s. “Love grows with time and deepens over the years. You’ll have struggles and challenges, but you’ll lean on each other and your relationship will grow stronger.”

Aslyn worried that the trials they might face would not be ones they could easily overcome—­not when they were the result of one person’s actions, actions that could be controlled, altered, changed if he so chose, which he apparently did not.

“I’ve always thought of Kip as a dear friend, as my . . . destiny.” She laughed lightly, embarrassed by the absurd remark. “I’ve never looked at anyone else, never considered anyone else, never doubted Kip’s devotion to me or mine to him.”

“Are you doubting now? Has he done something to warrant your qualms?”

How could she tell his mother about the lost pearls and comb? “I’m certain the reservations rest with me, with my recent worry that I’ve not experienced enough of life to know for certain I’m making the correct decision. I’ve never spent any considerable time in the company of another gentleman.”

The duchess jerked her head back as though she’d been punched. “Well, proper ladies don’t, of course.”

“Proper ladies have an assortment of gentlemen call on them and sit in the parlor enjoying each other’s company. I’ve never welcomed another’s suit.” Another harsh laugh. “Although to be honest, no one ever asked to call on me. Everyone always assumed Kip was it for me. I fear I’ve missed out on courting rituals that are designed to help a lady choose.”

“You’ve grown up with Kip. I daresay there is little about him you don’t know.”

Only there were some things, some horrific things if she were honest. The night before last, she’d seen an unflattering side to him. “How do we ever learn everything there is to know about a person?” Without question she didn’t know a good many things about Mick Trewlove.

“I doubt we ever do. Not really.” The final words were said softly as the duchess turned her attention back to the gardens. “That’s not a bad thing, necessarily. We all have our secrets.”

But shouldn’t she know everything about the person she was going to marry?

The duchess reached for her tea, turned her had slightly and smiled. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Kip walking toward them. He looked considerably better than he had the last time she’d seen him. She was glad his expression reflected a bit of contriteness.

“Mother,” he said, leaning down and bussing a quick kiss over the duchess’s cheek. Finally, he looked at her. “Aslyn. I hope you’re well today.”

“I am. Quite.” A lie. She was tired, grumpy and confused. Two men were responsible for all three. She was rather put out with both.

“Mother, would you give me a moment alone with my betrothed?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, smiling brightly at Aslyn as though to say that everything was all right, that all would be well, that her life with Kip would be extraordinary. “It’s nearly two. Time for your father and I to take our daily stroll through the gardens.”

Elegant and graceful, she wandered off to inspect the roses, providing them with privacy.

Kip took the chair his mother had vacated, sitting across from Aslyn. “I know you’re put out with me.”

“I am rather, yes.”

“I’m certain things were said that were not meant.”

“Not by me.”

He didn’t appear too pleased by her answer. Glancing off to the side, she watched as the duke joined his duchess and escorted her farther into the gardens. While Aslyn found the duke’s attentiveness to his wife touching, she realized now she couldn’t rely on Kip to show her the same consideration.

“I have something for you,” he said, bringing her attention back to him.

She watched as he reached into his jacket and brought out a small leather box. He set it on the table, then with two fingers pushed it toward her. “Open it.”

Doing so, she stared at the string of pearls.

“I couldn’t find a comb—­” He scoffed. “I don’t remember what the comb looked like, to be honest, but if you could draw it for me, perhaps I could have one made for you.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “As I mentioned, they can’t be replaced.”

“Of course they can be. I realize they won’t be your mother’s—­”

“But that’s what made them special.”

“So these will be special because I gave them to you.”

She supposed he had a point, and yet the reason he was giving them to her soured any sentimentality that might have accompanied them. “It doesn’t matter, Kip. Mick Trewlove returned to me what you lost.”

His jaw tautened. “He did, did he? And when were you going to mention that?”

“When an opportunity presented itself as it just did.”

“When did he return them?”

“Yesterday.”

“I spent all morning at a jeweler’s.”

She very much doubted he’d spent all morning there. “I’d have told you yesterday, but you weren’t receiving when I went to your residence.”

He had the good graces to look abashed. “I was a bit under the weather.”

“I can well imagine.” Only she couldn’t, as she’d never imbibed to that extent. An occasional glass of brandy—­and the cognac with Mick—­was all she could claim.

Earnestly he leaned forward. “Did you say anything to my parents?”

“No.” A measure of loyalty to him had caused her to hold her tongue, but she’d also not wanted to explain doing something of which they’d heartily disapprove. “However, in exchange for my silence, I expect you to take me with you the next time you go gambling.”

He sat back. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t think I am. The other night I saw a side of you I’d never known before, that I didn’t even know existed. I need to understand what I observed, Kip.”

“There is nothing to understand. I enjoy gambling. Granted, I usually have better luck, but that’s not something one can control—­which is what makes it so thrilling.”

“You’re going to continue with it after we’re married?”

“Naturally.”

“Then I need to experience it with you so I can comprehend all the ramifications.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“When you lose my valuables, it has everything to do with me.” Balling her hands into fists, she planted them on the table and leaned forward. “Do you not understand how much it frightened me to see you as you were the other night? You were a man I did not know, did not recognize.”

“What does it matter what sort of man I am at the gambling table when I behave as you expect at the dinner table?”

“Because how am I to know when that vile creature from the other night will suddenly make an appearance in my parlor . . . or worse, in my bed.”

“Vile?”

She swallowed hard, striving to stop the sudden pounding of her heart. “It was awful. I fear I’m on the verge of marrying a man I truly do not know, that what I know of you doesn’t go below the surface. That I do not know your true depths. That’s the reason I want to go with you, to see if the other night was an aberration or merely another side of the man I might wed.”

“Might wed? In the carriage you mentioned not marrying me, but I assumed you were being overly dramatic.”

She glanced down at her hands. Her knuckles had turned white. “I must admit to having doubts regarding our suitability as a husband and wife.”

“You’re making much ado about nothing. We get along.”

Lifting her gaze to his, she hated all the doubts swirling through her. “Ah, yes. We are quite compatible when dining.”

He scoffed. “Aslyn—­”

“I’m not striving to be difficult, Kip, but I fear we’ve fallen into a trap of doing what is expected of us rather than being prompted by any sort of desire.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back. “We’ve announced our betrothal. You can’t cry off.”

Where were the words of love, of want, of need? Why was he not leaning earnestly across the table, taking her hand and declaring he could not live without her? “Making an announcement is hardly a reason to go through with something we’ve begun to doubt.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Why? Why do you want to marry me?”

“My God, Aslyn. I’ve known you forever—­”

“Is that reason to marry? I need to get to know you better. That’s all I’m asking. To go out with you tonight.”

“I don’t understand your obsession to intrude upon this portion of my life.”

She stared at him. “Intrude upon? I’m asking to share it.”

“But it doesn’t involve you. A man needs time that is his and his alone.”

“Then I shall grant you all the time you require. Consider our betrothal on hiatus.” Shoving back her chair, she rose.

He came to his feet. “You don’t mean that.”

“Indeed I do. I cannot—­will not—­exchange vows with a man who has a life of which he wishes me to take no part and considers me an intrusion.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

In silence she held his gaze, watching as frustration washed over his features.

“Don’t say anything about this to my parents as you’ll merely upset them when there is no need, because this decision of yours will not stand. Send word when you’ve regained your senses.” He stormed away toward the farthest reaches of the gardens where his parents were studying the carnations. He no doubt didn’t want them questioning his leaving without having a word with them.

She may have just had the shortest betrothal in history, but she couldn’t help feeling that her senses had not deserted her. In fact, they were more keen than ever.

She’d come to the park earlier than usual, in need of fresh air, sunshine, a cool breeze, the scent of flowers, greenery, evidence of life because she’d felt so damned dead inside after her row with Kip. She could not—­would not—­marry him. How was it that she’d ever wanted to? How was it possible she knew so very little about him?

She couldn’t imagine Mick excluding her from a portion of his life.

It wasn’t fair to compare the two, and yet she felt as though she was better acquainted with Mick than with Kip. From the beginning she’d sensed some sort of connection with the hotel owner, been drawn to him, had found him inappropriately waltzing about in her mind with his slow smiles and his intense gaze and his scratchy voice and his workman’s hands.

Sitting on a blanket beneath the shade of a nearby tree, she looked down at her sketch pad, surprised and relieved to discover she hadn’t drawn those hands when she’d been envisioning them in such exquisite detail. Last night they’d held her, spanned the expanse of her ribs, had urged her closer, and she’d welcomed the urging.

Ridiculous to give the man any thought at all when there could never be anything between them. If she married a man of questionable, immoral origins, she’d find herself cast out, her children not accepted by Society. Even the duke and duchess would turn their backs on her. She would see the disapproval in the duchess’s eyes, know she’d disappointed her, and in so doing disappointed her parents. Even from the grave they had influence.

She would not marry Kip, but neither could she turn her affections toward Mick Trewlove—­although she did fear it might be too late for that.

“You’re quite the artist.”

With a little screech at the deep voice, she jerked her head around to find Mick crouched beside her, on the grass, the toes of his polished boots a fraction of an inch from the blanket as though he was well aware he was beyond her reach, that he wasn’t allowed to occupy the same space as she. Why should the circumstances of his birth label him, brand him? Why wasn’t he judged only on his merits, what he’d made of himself, his accomplishments? He was a man who had begun life with nothing and now possessed much to be admired. And she did admire him, more than she admired any lord of her acquaintance, including Hedley.

Looking a bit farther behind him, she could see the two maids and two footmen standing about, watchful, but not interfering. But then why would they think she wouldn’t welcome Mick’s nearness when she’d walked with him through the park before?

“It’s our kissing couple,” she said, self-­conscious that he’d seen her work. She only ever shared it with Kip who had declared it, “Not bad.” Discreetly she pointed to the couple standing a short distance away, near the pond, watching as children placed toy sailboats on the water.

“She’s not carrying a parasol,” he said.

It pleased her that he’d noticed, made her feel as though they were sharing an intimate secret. “I think their relationship has developed to the point that she can say whatever she wants, that he welcomes her speaking her mind, that she need not use frivolous objects to communicate with him.”

“Do you know them?”

“No. They’re obviously well off. Their dress and bearing tells me that, but I don’t think they’re nobility. If they are, I’ve never seen them at a ball or any other affair. I wonder about their story, though.”

“What do you imagine it is?”

She peered askance at him. “What makes you think I’ve given it any thought?”

“Because you drew them, and I suspect you were weaving their tale as you did. There’s a bit of the romantic in you.”

A good deal more than a bit. “I think the world has judged their love illicit, that it won’t let them be together, but here within the park, they can shut out the world. None of it matters.”

Silence stretched between them until finally he murmured, “Hmm.”

“What?”

His eyes held a sparkling, a teasing. “I’d have thought you’d give them a happier ending.”

She turned her gaze back to the couple. “She’s afraid. Marrying him will take her away from everything she knows.”

Even without looking, she knew he was studying her intently, that his eyes were no longer sparkling. She laughed self-­consciously. “They’re probably married, have a dozen children and come to the park for a bit of peace.”

“If that were the case, she’d have not had to use her parasol the other day to lure him into a kiss.”

They were talking nonsense, and yet it was a balm to her aching heart. “What do you think their story is?”

He sat on the grass, apparently not giving a whit that his trousers might become stained. Draping a wrist over a raised knee, he was a model of masculinity, strength and power. A man comfortable in his own skin. “They met as children. She grew up in wealth and privilege. Her father’s a banker, I think. He grew up with nothing, the son of a fishmonger. But he loved her, so he went off and made his fortune. Now he’s returned . . . but she’s making him work to prove his affections. Eventually they’ll marry and have a dozen children and come to the park for peace.”

She smiled softly. “I’d have not thought you’d give them a happy ending.”

“It does seem out of character, but I wanted to make you smile. I enjoy your smiles.”

After her afternoon, she was in danger of bursting into tears at his kindness. “In truth, I don’t think our tales are better than her reality. She strikes me as being content. Happy.”

She dropped her gaze to the couple etched out on her pad. Their faces were merely shaded in ovals as she had no talent for drawing features. Still their nearness to each other, the way his hand rested on the small of her back—­in a protective way Kip’s had never rested on hers—­brought her the realization that she had somehow inadvertently missed capturing something she wanted. “Kip and I had a row earlier.”

“About your visit to me last night?” His voice was even, and yet she heard a sliver of danger slithering through it, and she was left with the impression he’d be her champion if one were needed.

She laughed caustically. “No, I didn’t tell him about that. I wouldn’t.” She couldn’t. She couldn’t tell anyone. If found out, there would be consequences for her and him and whatever future each of them might have envisioned for themselves. “I insisted he cease with his gambling. I told him I couldn’t honor our understanding otherwise.” Another laugh, this one sad, with a hint of embarrassment. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“I think you do.”

She did. Awful girl that she was, she wanted him to know she had doubts regarding her future. With a nod, she looked back toward the couple who were now walking away, to find their happiness she hoped, when she was beginning to doubt hers was on the horizon.

“What was his reaction?”

“Anger. He instructed me not to say anything to his parents when it would only upset them and I was certain to regain my senses in time.”

“It seems to me you’ve already come to your senses.”

And there it was, the reason she’d told him. He was familiar with Kip’s behavior, understood her struggles. “But he’s correct. I can’t tell them, because I would have to explain his behavior and it will break their hearts. I don’t know how he’s managed to keep it from them all these years.”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’ll come out eventually. It always does.” He sounded so certain.

“He needs help,” she said quietly, feeling impotent with her lack of knowledge.

“I’ll see to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to. He’s not your responsi­bility.”

“But he’s traipsing about in my world now, and I know how to set matters to rights. You needn’t worry. No harm will come to him.”

And she believed him. With all her heart and soul. “How fortunate I am that you happened upon me and have brought me some cheer.”

“It wasn’t happenstance. I was looking for you.” Because he knew about her daily afternoon visits to the park. “Fancy is taking a group of orphans to the seaside tomorrow. I thought you might like to join her. I know it would please her to have your company.”

“Are they taking your carriage? It’ll make for a long day.”

“No, we’ll be traveling by railway.”

Her heart gave a little lurch at the mode of transportation and the fact that it wasn’t only his sister who would be on the journey, that he was doing more than asking her to join Fancy. He was asking her to join him. “I’ve told you—­I fear trains. They’re too dangerous. There were more than a half dozen accidents last year alone.”

“We can’t live our life based on what scares us. If we did, we’d spend our days curled up into little balls, whimpering.”

“I can’t imagine you being afraid or whimpering.” She didn’t want to think of him as a child, frightened and crying, his young life fraught with challenges.

“Everyone has fears. The secret is not to let them take hold.”

And she’d done that with trains, allowed them to sink their claws into her, terrorize her with their noise, their speed, their ability to destroy lives in mere seconds.

He leaned toward her, still not touching the blanket, still revealing his respect for their boundaries, acknowledging she had not moved into his world. Yet she suddenly found she longed to. “Conquer your fear of trains,” he urged quietly, almost desperately. “When you subdue your anxieties, nothing, no one, will have the power to hold you back.”

She had the sense he was referring to something else entirely, something that would lead to her standing before a rippling pond with a man’s arm around her. She nodded, thought better of it. “The servants would be tagging along.”

“They’re welcome to. I’m certain Fancy can use the extra help with the orphans.”

His words confirmed that this wasn’t an opportunity for him to get her alone, even if she halfway wished it was. “I look forward to it.”

Lounging in his mother’s parlor while she prepared dinner, he contemplated his visit with Aslyn earlier. He was not one for creating fairy tales, for waxing on poetically about love or happily-­ever-­afters, so he had no inkling where his fantastical story about the parasol-­less couple had come from or what had spurred him to spout such drivel when he was a man dedicated to accepting the harshness of reality. Yet sitting there on the grassy knoll with her had apparently served to seize his common sense.

Hence the sickening spouting.

Then she had smiled, sweetly, softly and a bit crookedly, and he’d been glad for the trite tale he’d woven for her, had wished his imagination were such that he could have woven another. Instead, he’d come up with fanciful plans for the morrow to explain his reason for seeking her out at the park—­when his true reason had been that he’d simply needed to see her again, inhale her fragrance of gardenia.

The fact that he’d considered it a loss when his own bath had removed her scent from his skin irritated him. He’d very nearly gone into mourning when he’d realized her fragrance had not lingered in his carriage as he’d assumed it would. He’d come close to dismissing his coachman for opening the door in order to air out the conveyance. It hadn’t needed airing out. It had carried the fragrance of gardenias, a flower that Tittlefitz was having a devil of a time finding.

“How many orphans were you thinking?” Fancy asked him now, studying him as though he’d asked her to fly to the moon.

He shrugged. “Half a dozen or so. Young enough that they won’t be rebellious, striking out on their own. We want them sticking close. I have no plans to go chasing after any of them as I did the last time we took some to the seaside.” He’d be otherwise occupied this time.

“The difficulty will be deciding who to bring on such short notice. Rather bad planning that.”

“Surely there are some who should be rewarded for good behavior.”

“I suppose. I’ll talk with the matron.”

“Good.” He started to rise—­

“And Lady Aslyn is joining us.” Unnecessarily repeating words he’d used only a few minutes earlier, she informed him with her tone that she was stepping onto a path of inquiry.

He settled back down. “Yes. However, should she ask, it was your idea to invite her.”

“Odd how I keep finding my way into your little scheme.” She gave him a pointed look.

“Consider your involvement an inducement toward my giving you a damned bookshop.”

Releasing the tiniest of squeals, she clapped. “So it is going to happen?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see the harm in it.”

Earnestly she leaned forward, whispering low, so their mum would not hear, “Have you lured Lady Aslyn away from her earl?”

He had. Partially if not completely. Temporarily if not permanently. It was what he’d wanted, and yet he took no satisfaction in it. Odd that. He should have felt triumphant. Instead, he felt as though her sadness had traveled like wispy smoke from her to him and settled beneath his skin, taking up residence near his beating heart. He didn’t want her sad. He simply wanted her.

Not because of how possessing her would destroy Kipwick or Hedley. But how it would serve to make him whole. Until he’d kissed her, he hadn’t realized something in him was missing. It unnerved him, but he wanted a day with her, a day without shadows, with sunlight and salt air. He wanted time with her when he wasn’t thinking of retribution and she wasn’t thinking of her future with Kipwick.

But he wasn’t going to explain all that to his sister. For some reason, telling her anything at all about what he’d learned at the park seemed a betrayal to Aslyn. She’d trusted him, shared a burden she carried that he didn’t think she’d confessed to anyone else. “Don’t bring him up tomorrow.”

She nodded. “I suppose the children and I are just a prop to give an innocence to the foray to the seaside just as I was a prop that night at Cremorne. I probably shouldn’t agree to this.”

“There is nothing sinister in the outing. She needs a distraction. I’m providing it.”

“I think you’ve come to truly care for her.”

Another thing he wouldn’t admit as it would make him vulnerable. “Put your romantic notions aside. All I want is a pleasant day.” And to ensure one for Aslyn. He wanted her to have no regrets when she completely broke off ties with Kipwick. The man was destined for ruin, and Mick intended to ensure the earl didn’t ruin her, destroy her innocence, in the process.

Odd to realize that he was now striving to protect her from what he’d intended for her in the beginning. Finding himself even more desperate for Hedley’s acknowledgment, for it was his only hope to have any sort of lasting relationship with Aslyn.