As Aslyn stood on the Brighton Railway platform, she could hardly breathe as the behemoth of a train loomed before her. Smoke billowed, burning coal scented the air. People scurried about, and she would soon join them in the scurrying, but for now she stood as near to the edge of the platform as she could without falling off, so she could make a hasty retreat if she changed her mind.

Mick had told her where to wait, had assured her he would come for her. She halfway wished he wouldn’t keep that promise, prayed that he would. She wanted to be the brave sort he believed her to be.

She’d lied to the duchess and the duke, and sworn the servants who accompanied her to secrecy. She’d done it all with a straight face and an air of confidence. Her guardians didn’t question that she was spending the day with Ladies Katharine and Catherine—­the Cats she’d teasingly told them was how she referred to the dear friends—­touring museums when she had no dear friends Katherine or Catherine or Cats. Much easier to keep the truth of a lie if there was no one to accidentally dispute it. Although ladies did call on Aslyn, the duchess seldom intruded on the visits because she had no interest in the gossip since she didn’t involve herself much in Society and never entertained.

If her guardians were more open-­minded, if she hadn’t been able to envision a row where they forbid her to spend time in the company of Mick Trewlove because of his unfortunate and unfair start in life, she’d have told them the truth. The one thing she’d not needed to lie about was her excitement about the adventure—­not the riding the railway part, which still terrified her, but the opportunity to spend more time in the company of a man who actually carried on conversations with her. Who asked questions of her, listened to her answers. She doubted Kip even knew she was terrified of trains. He certainly didn’t know how she moaned when a man’s mouth urged hers to open or his hands spanned her waist and his fingers dug into her hips, holding her near.

And he was certainly unaware that gladness swept through her and warmed her cheeks whenever she caught sight of Mick Trewlove striding toward her. He cut a swath through the bustling crowd that bumped and jostled mere mortals, but then he always gave the impression that he existed on a separate plane from everyone else. Silly of her to give him powers he certainly didn’t possess—­powers she’d convinced herself would allow him to keep the train safe.

As he neared, she saw the pleasure in his eyes that her presence brought him. She had no plans to spend the day comparing Kip to him, but the earl had never gazed on her as though she were the only thing that mattered in his life. Mick’s regard was at once humbling and terrifying in its intensity.

“Lady Aslyn,” he said politely, a perfect gentleman.

“Mr. Trewlove. My servants, Nan and Mary, Thomas and John.”

Slipping a hand into a pocket inside his jacket, he slid his gaze past her to the brigade forming a protective half circle behind her. She feared they might be most troublesome and ruin her day. “Gents.” He held up a small packet, extended it to Thomas. “You have the day to do as you will. There’s enough blunt in there to see that you both, along with the coachman and tiger, can go exploring the pubs or do anything else you care to—­just don’t return to Hedley Hall. Be here at seven for her ladyship.”

“We can’t leave her in your company,” Thomas said loyally.

“Her maids will be adequate chaperones as will the dozen urchins we’re taking to the seaside.”

“Dozen?” John repeated.

“Aye. Oldest is six, youngest four, I believe. Quite the handful, the lot of them. We certainly welcome you helping us care for them—­”

“I’d rather have a pint,” John interrupted.

“I thought you might.”

“My lady?” Thomas began.

“You should take the day to enjoy yourselves,” she assured him. “I’ll be perfectly fine with Nan and Mary to see after my needs.”

“Very good.”

The footmen wandered away, and she breathed a little easier, not certain why she was relieved to have fewer witnesses to her day’s adventures. Perhaps because she feared she might embarrass herself with her cowardice once she was actually aboard the train and rattling along the tracks.

“If you’ll come with me, ladies,” Mick said.

He didn’t offer her his arm, and she realized that in public, away from his hotel, he was as aware of the social divide between them as she was. It was possible, but very unlikely, she’d run into someone she knew at this terminus. If those with whom she associated were going to the seaside for the day, they’d no doubt take a coach. “We’ve yet to purchase passage.”

“It’s been taken care of,” he told her. “I see you brought your parasol.”

“I might wish to communicate with you.”

“You have merely to voice what you want, and it shall be granted.” His sensual smile indicated she could ask for anything at all.

“Right, then.”

She walked beside him, with her maids trailing, toward the rear of the train, to a car where small faces peered out through the glass window. She recognized the smartly dressed servant opening the door. It seemed his duties extended beyond that of porter at the hotel. “Good morning, Mr. Jones.”

With a smile of pleasure, he tipped his head. “It’s simply Jones, Miss.”

Forcing herself to stride in as though she’d traveled in this manner a dozen times before, she was surprised to discover it appeared to be a private car. Small sofas sat before the windows on either side of the car. A much larger one, which she didn’t want to consider could also serve as a place to sleep—­or make love—­dominated the center of the room.

“Lady Aslyn!” Fancy said, holding a little girl sucking her thumb in her lap. “I’m so glad you could join us on our outing. Children, say hello to Lady Aslyn.”

A chorus of “Hello, Lady Aslyn!” rose from the dozen claimed urchins who actually numbered half that amount.

“You seem to be missing some children,” she said to Mick, as he followed her maids inside.

He didn’t even have the good graces to appear abashed. “Counting never was my strong suit.”

A lie if she’d ever heard one. To have the success he did, he no doubt excelled at counting.

“It will help to keep the little ones calm if your maids will each see to two of them,” he said. “You and I can sit over here.” With a bow of his head, he indicated a sofa at an opposite window.

While giving instructions to her servants to assist Miss Trewlove, she considered helping out as well, but she didn’t think it would calm any of the children to become aware of her trembling. Sitting on the small settee he’d indicated, she clutched her hands together and gazed out, giving a little start when the whistle blew.

“That’s a signal we’ll be leaving shortly,” Mick said, as he dropped down beside her.

The door opened and Jones strode in, immediately scooping down and lifting a towheaded boy into his arms.

“Are these outings to the seaside a common occurrence?” she asked Mick.

She nearly protested when he went to work unknotting her fingers. “They are. We have a home for society’s discards.”

“They’re not legitimate,” she whispered.

He didn’t take his gaze off the task of removing her glove. “No.”

“How do you find them?”

He scoffed. “There are thousands of them, tens of thousands, in London alone. Parliament enacted legislation that made women ultimately responsible for their children born out of wedlock, thinking it would give them incentive to keep their legs crossed, but when there’s an itch—­” he did look up then, holding her gaze “—­one hardly thinks of the future, merely the need to scratch.”

Before meeting him, she hadn’t known those itches existed. She certainly knew now, realized if she were smart, she would exit the conveyance. But her curiosity kept her pinned to the spot. “You said we. ‘We have a home.’ ”

“People still bring the unwanted to Ettie Trewlove’s door. My siblings and I lease a residence and hire a staff to see to their needs. Our mum spends a lot of time there, caring for the small ones, but they are no longer her responsibility.”

Slowly he tugged off her glove, intertwined their fingers, securely, comfortingly. The back of the sofa prevented the servants or anyone else from seeing what he’d done, to see her hand closing more tightly around his. The train lurched. She squeezed her eyes shut, but still she could feel the rocking. “Keep talking.”

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle but firm, tinged with a bit of sadness, the endearment making his urging all the more profound. She considered chastising him for the intimacy, but convinced herself he meant nothing by it. For him, it was no doubt simply a word. Besides, she liked the comfort it brought her, wondered if he could sense the pounding of her heart. Even if the train didn’t wreck, she might die—­with his large, warm, roughened hand cradling hers.

Licking her lips, gathering her resolve, she opened her eyes, met his.

“There’s not going to be a wreck, we’re not going to die.”

All the duchess’s warnings about the need to be careful, the necessity of never taking a risk, bombarded her. “You don’t know that.”

“I know there’s no benefit to expecting the worst.” He nodded toward the side. “Look what you’re missing.”

She glanced to the window where the scenery formed a changing panorama of buildings and trees and people and roads. “It’s like being in a carriage.”

“Except there are no horses to grow weary.”

Glancing down, she saw that her knuckles had gone white. Little wonder her hand was beginning to ache. “I must be hurting you.”

“I’m not so delicate as all that.”

He wasn’t delicate at all. He was all strength, determination and courage. “Do you fear nothing?”

“We all fear something.”

His words made her feel slightly better, not quite as timid. “We’re traveling at a good clip.”

“We’ll be at the seaside before you know it.”

The journey had been at once satisfying and torturous. Because she was so near, because he could not have her. Because he had to give the impression that he wasn’t aware of every breath she drew, that he didn’t think a thousand times about leaning in and taking possession of her sweet mouth, that helping her relax into the motion of the train didn’t make him want to see her settling into the motion of lovemaking. That her gardenia scent surrounding him didn’t give him hope that when all was said and done, she wouldn’t hate him.

She overwhelmed him in ways he’d never been, so he’d nearly burst out of the compartment when the train finally reached its destination. The children weren’t his responsibility. He was going to pay her maids for assisting Fancy with caring for them. They walked ahead now, along the sandy shore, two urchins each, while he and Aslyn followed leisurely behind, her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow.

They were unlikely to run into anyone she knew; they weren’t limited to the shadows or the night. If he were not a realist, he would consider that they could have a future of walking in the sunshine, but the practical side of him knew that future was unlikely.

“Was the outing with the orphans an excuse to spend time with me?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She jerked her head around to look at him. Her parasol rested on her right shoulder. He wanted it closed with the handle against her lips. He arched a brow. “You didn’t expect me to answer honestly?”

Her laughter rose above the cries of the squawking gulls and the roar of the sea in constant motion. “I suppose I didn’t.”

He almost told her that he wasn’t Kipwick; he wouldn’t hide things from her. Only he was keeping secrets, and he certainly didn’t want her attention turning back toward the earl. “You’re not completely comfortable when I approach you in the park. You’re always looking to see who might have spotted me with you. I thought here you might let your guard down a bit.”

She gave a little nod. He wasn’t certain if she was acknowledging his cleverness or the fact that she was more relaxed here. “The hotel we passed reminds me very much of yours.”

“The Bedford. I modeled mine after it and a few others. Mine is a combination of the things I favored in the hotels I visited. When I was a lad, I used to steal rides on the train to get to the seaside. It always smelled so much cleaner here, seemed so much cleaner. A person had room to breathe.”

“You traveled alone.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes my brothers would travel with me. Sometimes not.”

“You never feared the railway, never at all?”

“For me, it represented freedom. It allowed me to dream that where I was, was not where I needed to stay.” He shook his head. “Sounds silly said out loud.”

She squeezed his arm reassuringly. “No, it’s a beautiful sentiment. I’m impressed you realized it so young when I’m only just beginning to feel the confines, to question them, to want to step beyond them.”

She averted her gaze as though embarrassed by her words, and he wondered if she would permanently step away from Kipwick. He didn’t want to push her, didn’t want to give her cause to doubt his intentions, but decided it would be to his advantage to leave her thinking on what she’d said. Glancing back, he signaled to his man. “Jones, let’s set up over here. Fancy!”

His sister looked over her shoulder.

“Over there!” he shouted and pointed.

“Jolly good!”

They spread out blankets. He helped Aslyn lower herself to one of them, then joined her there. Fancy opened a basket that Jones had been carrying and brought out an abundance of food their mum had packed for them. Several meat pastries, blocks of cheese, even a bottle of wine, which he poured for the adults and passed around.

“This is quite impressive,” Aslyn said.

“Mum worries about people being hungry,” Fancy said, leaning over to wipe a little girl’s dirty chin. “It’s a wonder we’re not all fat. She’s always feeding us too much.”

“Because there was a time when she didn’t have anything at all to feed us,” Mick said.

Fancy stilled. “Of course. I don’t remember it. It was before I came along, I think.”

“By the time you joined our merry band, we were old enough to start working. That helped.”

“It must have been difficult, though,” Aslyn said. Sitting on a blanket on the sand, she was still regal in her bearing. No one could mistake her for being anything other than an aristocrat. She was so beautiful, so prim, so bloody clean. He couldn’t help but think she would have the power to wash the dirt off him, to make him all shiny, perhaps more so than Hedley’s acknowledgment would. “What was it like?”

How to explain it to someone who’d never gone hungry? He didn’t resent that she hadn’t. He was glad of it, wished no one ever experienced a gnawing in the gut, but how to describe it so he didn’t come across as a victim? He’d never considered himself one. He shrugged. “Some nights you had a full belly, some you went to bed with a hollow belly. You didn’t cry about it. It’s just the way it was.” And the reason those who took in bastards didn’t spend much effort keeping them alive. It was costly to feed them.

“It’s so unfair.”

“Life isn’t fair. You can either rail against it or do what you must to make it fairer.”

Aslyn smiled, the teasing of it wreathing her face. “I think I’d have done both.”

He held her gaze, which reflected the sky above her, and admitted, “Sometimes I did.”

She glanced over at the children. “I don’t suppose those little ones go hungry.”

“Never.”

“If Mick discovers one of the staff punishes a child by denying him his supper, he lets that person go,” Fancy said. “The children must be well cared for above all else.”

“Where do you find the time?” Aslyn asked.

“You find time for what’s important to you. The home is important to my mum, so it’s important to me.”

Aslyn couldn’t help but think that being important to Mick Trewlove would be one of the finest experiences of someone’s life. He was so passionate about anyone or anything he cared for: his mother, his buildings, his family, the plight of the unloved children.

Staring out to sea, with her legs drawn up, arms wrapped around them, her chin on her knees, she sat alone on the blanket with her various musings. Mick and Jones had gone to secure ices for everyone. Fancy, Nan and Mary had taken the children to play at the edge of the water. They’d discussed the possibility of using a bathing coach, but as none of them had brought bathing attire, the water’s edge seemed adequate. She’d considered removing her shoes and joining them, letting her toes sink into the sand as the water swirled around her ankles, but without a button hook, it would be a challenge to get them off. Bad planning that. Next time—­

Would there even be a next time? She wanted there to be. Another ride on the train, another day at the seaside, more time with Mick. Even knowing she shouldn’t want the latter, she couldn’t seem not to yearn for it. From the moment the train had begun rolling along the tracks, she’d given no thought to Kip, all her attention focused on Mick. She knew in the future, if she were with Kip, she’d be thinking of Mick. Yet even as she considered him, she knew her guardians would never approve of her taking up with a commoner, no matter how successful he might be. It was one thing for a lord to marry an American heiress—­that was accepted. But for a British heiress to become involved with a commoner . . . it was inconceivable. Especially when that commoner couldn’t even claim legitimacy as part of his heritage. It wasn’t fair, but there it was. While with hard work he’d managed to improve his circumstances, there was little he could do, save an act of Parliament, to make himself legitimate.

With a start, she noticed the dark head bobbing, the arms flailing in the water and realized her thoughts had drifted off to such an extent her gaze had lost its focus, but now it came in sharp and frightening. It was one of the children, one of the little boys. How had he gotten so far out?

Shoving herself to her feet, she began running toward the shoreline, casting a quick glance over her surroundings, searching for help. Nan and Fancy had wandered down a bit, were distracted with the other children. Mary stood at the water’s edge, just watching, a satisfied smirk on her face. Aslyn would think on that later. For now, she started screaming for help, while she began wading into the sea, the sand sucking at her feet, the waves pushing against her.

The water was nearly to her hips when she reached the lad, grabbed his arm, even as another pair of hands—­large and scarred—­snatched the child up. His dark eyes were round and huge as he began retching.

“It’s all right,” Mick said. “It’s all right.”

She didn’t know if he was talking to her or the boy, but it didn’t matter. The words were soothing, filling her with relief, as he cradled the boy in one arm and wrapped the other protectively around her shoulders, drawing her in against his side. “I thought he was going to drown.” She heard the tears in her voice, only then realizing they were also streaming down her cheeks.

“He would have,” Mick said, as they began trudging back to shore, “if you hadn’t yelled and gotten to him.”

The weight of her drenched skirts threatened to drag her down, might have if Mick hadn’t held her so securely. He wasn’t going to let the sea have her, she knew that, drew comfort from it. Waiting at the shore, Jones draped a blanket around the weeping child, took him from Mick, while Fancy offered her a blanket, but she ignored it, instead working her way free of Mick’s hold and marching ungainly toward Mary.

“Why didn’t you scream? Why didn’t you yell for help?” she asked the servant.

“He’s a bastard. They’re all bastards. What does it matter if he drowns? It’s one less ill-­conceived—­”

The flat of Aslyn’s hand struck quick and hard, its meeting with the woman’s cheek echoing around them, the jolt of pain going up her arm, the sting of her palm taking her by surprise. She’d never before hit anyone. It took everything within her not to strike again. “You’re let go. I don’t care how you make it back to London, but you’ll not be traveling with us.”

“The duke and duchess—­”

“Are not going to hear a single word about this day. You will pack up your things and leave quietly and thank God that I don’t have charges for attempted murder brought against you.”

“He’s worth nothing. No one cares about him.”

“I care! And who do you think a jury is going to believe? You or the daughter of an earl?”

“Don’t forget the fate of Charlotte Winsor,” Mick said quietly. The maid’s eyes widened slightly. “Aye, you remember her, don’t you? They hanged her for killing a by-­blow.”

“My lady—­” She held out a hand imploringly.

“Off with you now, Mary,” Aslyn said. “Before I change my mind and seek out a constable.”

As the maid shuffled away, weeping, Aslyn wandered over to where Nan sat on a blanket, rocking the boy who had fallen asleep. She lowered herself to the wool, spread out her skirts and held out her arms. “Give him to me.”

As she gathered him up, he barely stirred, weighed hardly anything at all, couldn’t have been any older than four or five, was all long limbs. He’d be a tall fellow when he grew up. The fact that someone thought he might not be worthy of growing up broke her heart.

“We need to get you dry, my lady, before you catch your death,” Nan said.

“The sun is warm enough to dry me in no time at all.” Still she welcomed the blanket Mick draped over her. “Nan, go help Fancy with the other children.”

Her maid left her, heading toward the young ones, gathered in a circle around Fancy, with Jones keeping watch, enjoying ices. Mick dropped down beside her, facing her, partway on the blanket—­they weren’t in her world any longer; they were without boundaries—­his thigh lightly touching hers.

“She was watching him,” she said, hating the words even as she spoke them, “watching him struggling in the water and doing nothing. How could she just stand there and do nothing?”

“Some people believe those born in sin have no right to life.” Gently, with his thumb, he slowly swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t cry, Aslyn. The boy’s alive thanks to you. Although your parasol is broken.”

“My parasol?” It seemed an odd thing to think about at that moment.

He held up the mangled object. “Apparently you stepped on it in your rush to get to him.”

The tears started up anew, stinging. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get to him in time.”

Tenderly, he cradled her cheek. “But you did, sweetheart.”

The endearment again, used so casually. She should have objected, but it brought such comfort. For the longest moment, he merely held her gaze and she found herself becoming lost in the blue of his eyes, thought he might lean in and kiss her. For a moment, she thought she wanted him to. No, she didn’t think, she knew. As a reaffirmation of life. Only he didn’t. Perhaps because there were people around, strangers they didn’t know, his sister, Nan, Jones, the children. Or perhaps he feared she’d rebuff the overture.

“Who was Charlotte Winsor?” she asked.

With a sigh, he dropped his hand, looked past her to the others, and she rather wished she’d kept quiet, missing so much his touch. How could she long with such yearning for something she’d barely had, probably shouldn’t have had at all? “She advertised that, for a modest fee, she was willing to take in babes born out of wedlock. Then she would strangle them, wrap them in newspaper and leave them on the side of the road, to be carried off by wild animals, I suppose.”

“My God.”

His gaze came back to her. “Someone saw her disposing of a child, authorities were notified. They have no idea how many she murdered. It was about four years ago, I think, when her trial brought to light the darker aspects of the baby farming trade.”

She couldn’t recall reading about it, but she’d have been sixteen at the time and her focus had been on preparing for her first Season that would take place a year later.

A corner of his mouth hitched up, and he said dryly, “Well, today certainly didn’t turn out to be the sunny, pleasant day I’d planned for you.”

“I’m sorry for what this little one had to go through, but today has given me a clearer understanding of things. The circumstances under which children are brought into the world is not their fault. They shouldn’t carry the stigma.”

“Yet, they do.”

Even as adults they carried it, which she suspected was the reason he hadn’t leaned in to kiss her earlier. There was a barrier between them, even if it wasn’t visible. In the shadows of the night, sin could take hold. But not at a sun-­bright seaside.

He watched her sleep on the large sofa in the center of his car, the urchin curled against her lap, her chest, where Mick longed to be. She’d relinquished claim to the lad only long enough for Mick to carry him from the sand to the railway station and into the car. Then she’d settled on the sofa like a queen and signaled for the boy to be handed over. He’d have handed over anything she asked.

He’d been carrying some of the damned ices when he’d heard her cry for help, had seen her rushing headlong into the waves, not seeming to realize that the water would soak her dress, could suck her under, could carry her out to sea. His heart had rioted, threatened to burst through his chest as though his legs were not churning fast enough for it and it could reach her more quickly if not encumbered by ribs holding it in place. He’d never moved with such speed or ferocity in his life—­not when chased by a constable for nicking an orange when he was seven, not when he’d needed to fetch a physician because his mum was writhing in pain striving to give birth to a child she’d eventually name Fancy, not when word had come to him that one of his brothers was in danger of dying. But for her, he’d damned near taken flight. To get to her, to save her, to ensure the world didn’t continue on without her.

Even if she wasn’t part of his world, she should be part of another’s. Just not Kipwick’s. She deserved so much better than a man easily ruled by his vices. She deserved better than a man consumed with gaining what another didn’t wish to grant him.

Inwardly, he cursed Hedley to hell and beyond, grateful he had a scapegrace for a legitimate son. Not so grateful that Aslyn might reconsider her hiatus and marry the scourge.

Sitting in a chair that gave him the perfect view of her, he sipped his whiskey, a tiny girl with the courage to approach him coiled in his lap, sucking her thumb, the fingers of her free hand toying with the buttons on his waistcoat as though they fascinated her. No doubt by the end of the journey, the threads would be loosened to such an extent he’d have to hand the clothing over to his tailor to set to rights. He should be irritated by the prospect. Instead, he thought of his own not-­yet-­born daughter nestled there, one with blond hair and blue eyes and a crooked smile.

He wasn’t supposed to fall for the woman. His plan was to use her, then lose her. But how could he not come to care for Aslyn when she had a hidden courage she wasn’t even aware she possessed? On the surface, she gave the appearance of being timid, afraid of trains, for God’s sake, but he’d seen her pride and courage not falter when she’d had to hand over her jewels and witnessed her bravery today. And more than that: her willingness to stand up for injustice. She hadn’t hesitated to let the servant go, had even threatened her with an arrest, possible prison. She’d been magnificent in her fury and just as glorious in her compassion. Her tears hadn’t been for herself and that had made them all the more profound.

“I loike ’er,” a tiny voice whispered.

He glanced down at the mischievous lass. “Hmm?”

With the finger attached to the thumb in her mouth, she pointed toward the sofa. “I loike ’er.”

Leaning down, he whispered, “As do I.”

Far more than he’d expected, far more than he wanted.