Sophia had not considered that she would be riding the entirety of the way to Priory Point, which was just a little past Dover, in a carriage alone with her new husband.

With her mother, perhaps, with Rhoda or Penny. In her dreams, with Devlin, but not — Lord help them both — with Harold.

Her mother-in-law, it seemed, thought the two of them would appreciate this.

Lord Harold did not question why his mother had made such an assumption.

Stewart and Penny had been sent on ahead of them along with their luggage coach and would be awaiting them when they reached their scheduled stop for the night. The duchess had packed a picnic lunch with wine and delicacies and instructed the driver to locate a romantic setting where the newlywed couple could stop and take their luncheon in a leisurely fashion.

To deny her wishes was not an option.

Harold had alighted behind her with a sheepish look and explained these details to her as the driver maneuvered them through the crowded London streets. She wondered if he felt as forlorn without his… Stewart, as she did without Devlin. Except Stewart was just a few miles ahead of them, whereas she was leaving Devlin behind.

Neither of them spoke much after that, content, apparently, to mull over their disappointment in silence. Harold had settled himself against a pillow along the window on his side of the coach, and she’d done the same on her side. Both of them sat front-facing. Harold, of course, had told her early on in their relationship that he became sick if he rode backwards in a carriage.

They’d been on the road for a few hours when Sophia felt compelled to speak.

“I imagine you miss him.” She would not pretend that she did not know. To do so, for her anyhow, would be rather like ignoring an elephant riding along in the carriage with them.

Harold glanced over at her suspiciously, his pale blue eyes narrowing, a lock of his light brown hair falling across his eyes.

His looks were considerably different from Dev’s. Was he going to respond to her? Was he even going to acknowledge her statement? But then he sighed.

“So, you know,” he said.

“It is only fair that I should know such a pertinent fact regarding my husband, would you not agree?” He would have to speak with her now. He could not get up and leave the carriage, or dismiss her, as he’d done before.

“Wonderful,” he said. “Now you can be disgusted of me along with everybody else. I hope you realize there is a confidentiality clause in the contract. If anything comes out publicly, your parents are liable for paying back the annuities in full, plus interest.” He spoke bitterly, as though she would become an enemy to him.

“I’ll admit I was… surprised. But I am not disgusted with you, Harold. And of course, why would I tell anyone your secret? Would I not be considered a fool for marrying such a man? Besides…” She looked away from him. “…one cannot always decide who they will fall in love with.” She remembered her mother’s regret at falling in love with her father, a poor man. She considered the love that Cecily had said she had for Lord Kensington.

Harold absentmindedly plucked at a piece of thread that had come loose on his waistcoat. “How is it that you are not disgusted?”

She shrugged.

“Dev told you, I suppose,” he added, conceding the conversation’s subject matter.

She was not going to dissemble. “I discovered myself. Last night, I came looking for you late, hoping we could raid the kitchen together.”

At her words, Harold moaned and covered his face with both hands. Bending forward, he practically buried his face in his lap. “Oh, God, Sophia. I would never in a thousand years have had you discover that way. I may call you Sophia, may I not?”

“Of course, I believe I’ve already called you Harold on more than one occasion.” She reached over and touched him. “I’m not made of glass, you know.” And then rubbing his back soothingly, she continued, “He is very handsome, though, isn’t he? How long have the two of you known one another?”

He sat up and shook his head. He then smiled self-consciously. “We met at Oxford. He’s far more intelligent than I. He could become a professor, if he wished. But then we could not be together.” Harold glanced down at his cravat. “I tied this, by the way. He’s a horrible valet.”

Sophia laughed. An excellent irony, indeed!

“I don’t suppose your father would have approved of you becoming Stewart’s valet.”

Harold winced at her words. His father was obviously something of a sore spot for him. “My mother seems to think you cured me last night. What did you do, Sophia, to give your maid such an impression?”

He was being open and honest with her. They seemed to be bound together in a web of secrets. “I am in love with your cousin,” she said simply. Let him infer whatever he wished from this statement.

“Dev?” He nodded slowly, to himself. “I wondered at Dev’s sudden interest in my affairs. He’s known, I think, along with most of my family, but we’ve not spoken until recently. And so much has occurred since he went off to war.”

And then he lifted one brow. “So, the maid was not making up stories, then?”

Sophia felt herself blush. It was her turn to cover her face with her hands. What a discussion to be having, with one’s husband, no less! “No,” she answered.

At his laughter, she dropped her hands.

Oh, this was a consolation indeed. Perhaps they could be friends!

“Dev told me of your plan,” she said, suddenly serious. “I don’t want you to do it if you feel it is too dangerous, or if you doubt your ability to come out of it unharmed.”

The look on his face echoed her doubts.

“Are you afraid?” she persisted.

“It’s been over a decade since any of us has done it.” He began plucking at his coat again. “Dev said he will do it first, inspect the formation and document the tides precisely. I don’t think he’d let me do it if it isn’t safe.”

Oh, yes, she’d assumed as much. Dev would not allow Harold to go into any danger that he himself would not investigate thoroughly beforehand. Thank God, she’d not known him while he’d been away at war. She would have worried every day, every hour, every minute.

“You will be giving up a great deal — your family, your heritage, your very place in life — here in England.” All rather daunting. “You are courageous to even consider doing this.”

“I can hardly think of anything else. And yet, feeling the specter of the law hanging over me does not come without a fear all its own.” He glanced at her quickly. “I could be hung for who I am. Stewart could be hung. It is referred to as an unnatural crime and is punishable by death. Some rumors as to my… predisposition have made their way back to my mother. More specific ones than those which had been spread before. I must admit, Sophia, that I was surprised no one mentioned anything to you when we became engaged.”

“Your parents are worried for your life.” This revelation brought on a greater understanding as to why they would be so heavy-handed with the marriage contracts. They wanted Harold safe. Believing marriage to Sophia would protect him, neither of his parents had been willing to delay the wedding. No wonder the duchess had welcomed her so warmly.

Harold nodded. “My father demanded that I end things with Stewart, well, not Stewart specifically, but he demanded that I not act upon my feelings in the future. Ever. My marriage to you was my concession to him. I could not send Stewart away.”

This explained so much. Sophia pondered that there was always so much more to a situation than one might see initially.

And complicated problems usually required complex solutions.

“What does your… What does Stewart think?”

“Stewart has felt the threat of hanging as well.” He stared out the window for a moment before he spoke again. “As ugly, as unnatural and grotesque as I always thought of myself, and these perverted desires I have lived with, I cannot help but think humanity has it backwards. They want to kill me for it. They wish to kill me for something God has put inside of me! What kind of god is that, Sophia? I ask you, what kind of god would make me this way and then put me in this world?”

His words were passionate. These thoughts, these questions, were as foreign to her as anything she’d ever heard and yet, a part of her understood perfectly.

Shame.

He’d felt shame. Shame for something he could not change about himself. Shame about something very, very private. And along with this shame, came fear.

And then all fight seemed to leave him. “Out of all of this, the one person in this world who I would never wish to bring any pain or sorrow, suffers.”

“Stewart?”

“My mother.”

People are so much more complicated than we ever consider. Over the past few months Sophia had considered Harold simple and safe but a little unfeeling, and then she’d thought him uncaring and manipulative. Last night, she’d realized he would likely have to hide a part of himself from the world for the remainder of his life. And today, she learned of a depth of affection he held for his mother.

“First, there was her disappointment, the sadness I knew she felt when she suspected I was not the same as Lucas — and when she realized I’d never take a wife, give her grandchildren. And then, her attempts to help me, a series of subtle attempts to save me from myself. But more recently, I see worry in her eyes. Every time she hears even the hint of a rumor, I watch that worry grow. Occasionally, articles show up in the paper telling of a public hanging. I know she sees them and imagines it could be me. And she is right! It well could be! Or Stewart!”

“You said that our marriage was partly a concession for your father. It was also for your mother, then?”

“Yes, anything to bring her some peace.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms along his knees as the carriage bumped along. His posture, one of despair. “God, Sophia, she has never stopped loving me despite it all. My father, I think, has given up on me as a human being. But my mother…” He blinked a few times as though surprised at his own thoughts. “…sometimes, I think she loves me all the more for it.”

“She will be devastated after your… accident.” He simply could not do this to the duchess.

Sophia remembered the walk she’d taken with her grace along the portrait gallery and felt horrible.

“But, in a way, Sophia, it will bring an end to her suffering. Ever since this morning… I’ve had an idea. My mother was over the moon thinking that you and I had… that we were… I’ll hate to see the disappointment on her face again when she realizes it was only an illusion.”

Sophia watched him. “None of this can end well.”

Harold nodded. “I know. But which is worse, waiting for me to be caught, tried and then hung? Or believing me to be at peace… in death?” It was a solemn question indeed. “I wondered if perhaps it would not give her some happiness if she believed you and I had fallen madly in love. If it might give her some comfort to believe that I’d died a happily married man. A natural man.”

“How do you feel about that?” Sophia asked.

He tipped his head back against the plush upholstery and closed his eyes. “I feel like it would be the least I could do for her, after all of her support, all of the times she’s defended me to my father.”

Sophia wondered how Dev would feel about it.

“What does Stewart think?”

“Stewart loves my mother nearly as much as I do. She has welcomed him into our home. She has never treated him as a servant, or as a villain. He would have me do whatever I could to ease her suffering.”

Sophia considered what he was suggesting. “Penny, my maid, is awfully observant.”

At that, he chuckled dryly. “Apparently so.”

“Knowing this, there are things that can be done… acts that could be staged…” Sophia’s mind was already considering how it could be accomplished. Was she really considering this? “But there would be more to it than that. While we needn’t make spectacles of ourselves, it would be necessary for us to act affectionately toward one another, specifically, when we are in the presence of any servants. For they truly are the backbone of the really good, juicy gossip.”

“You would not mind?”

Sophia contemplated all that he would be sacrificing, if he went ahead and staged his death. A few weeks of playacting was nothing compared to that. “I do not mind, Harold. You do realize, however, that this will require we share a chamber at night.”

“You’ve nothing to fear on that front.” Again, that dry, cynical laugh. “It will be like sleeping with my sister.”

Sophia groaned and then laughed a little too. At his jest, but also at the ironies of life. But that her own stepbrother had been similarly inclined as well.

* * *

Pretending to be in an intimate relationship with Harold proved easier than she’d thought. For she did feel a rather, well, sisterly affection for him. And since Harold had never been considered an outwardly emotional person anyway, not much would be expected of him even if he did have an affection for his wife.

While sitting in their private dining room the first night, when the driver slipped inside to ask a question of him pertinent to the following day’s travels, Sophia made the most of the interruption. Recalling her night with Devlin, Sophia picked up a particularly succulent piece of an orange and reached forward, placing it against Harold’s lips.

And Harold understood her motive immediately.

He opened his mouth and ate the slice right out of her fingers. He then, even managed to send a hooded and sultry look her way. She’d barely been able to contain herself until they were alone again before she burst out laughing. “Where’d you learn to do that, Harold?” Oh, such a foolish question. Perhaps he and Stewart had…?

“Perhaps I ought to have been born to the stage?” He laughed back.

They’d other similar moments, but not too many. Sophia and he had discussed that too much of a difference in their behavior could give the charade away just as easily as not enough. They would be subtle, and yet, not.

The most awkward hurdle they faced, of course, was sharing a chamber. She wondered who was the most uncomfortable when he followed her back to the large suite reserved for them. It did, in fact, only have one bed. Harold had gone downstairs for a nightcap while Penny attended to Sophia’s bedtime needs.

“Brush it at least one-hundred times,” Sophia told her. And then she asked, “Did you remember to bring my perfume?” Sophia imagined how she would feel, what she would say, if she’d known that it was to be Dev, instead of Harold, coming to her tonight.

Penny merely smiled and then pulled the vial of perfume from a cloth sack. “Of course, my lady,” she said.

Whenever Sophia was alone with her thoughts, her mind returned to Dev.

What was he doing right now? When would he come to Priory Point? Sometimes she thought she missed him too much. She felt she would die if she didn’t see him soon.

Which was ridiculous, of course. And melodramatic.

When he was with her, anything seemed possible. On the same hand, the longer she went without seeing him, the more impossible the situation felt. Oh, she loved him though. She did not doubt that any longer.

And he loved her.

She would not allow herself to distrust him again.

He’d knelt beside her on her bed and made the same vows Harold had made in a church of God.

But they’d meant so much more.

She’d not asked him to do so. And he’d not asked her to reciprocate. He’d wanted to give her reassurance, comfort… love.

Yes, he loved her.

She worried about him. He was strong, yes, and fit, and healthy. He’d been honed for defense, a military man for over a decade.

But he was also flesh and blood. He was a mere man, after all, besides all of his confidence and abilities. He’d said he would do something about Dudley, but what did he have in mind? She chastised herself a million times since for not demanding he keep himself from danger.

Oh, Dev, but that I could hear your voice today. But that I could catch one glimpse of your smile.

Penny finished braiding her hair and tied it off with the same ribbon she’d used the night before. “It’s like spun gold.” She sighed. Penny’s own hair was tucked under a cap. She was a pretty brown-eyed girl, with plain clothing and nothing to draw attention to herself.

Sophia was going to have to become better acquainted with her. Some lady’s maids stayed with their mistresses for life.

That was a very long time.

“Do you have a beau?” Sophia asked her impulsively.

Penny blushed but shook her head side to side. “I don’t, but the master’s valet is a fine-looking gentleman, that’s for sure.”

Sophia would have groaned at this sentiment if she could have. But she could say nothing, for Stewart and Harold’s secret was hers now, too. She must protect it as such.

Harold and Stewart’s lives depended upon it.

* * *

Unable to depart Town that first day as planned, Dev returned to Prescott House to spend one more night before leaving London. He missed out on the family supper but later, found St. John alone in his uncle’s study.

Several members of the family had chosen to attend the theatre and would not be returning until after midnight.

Lucas, though always a bit remote, seemed slightly more melancholy than usual. He held a tumbler of whisky in one hand and a book in his lap.

The book was closed, though the glass nearly empty.

Feeling the loss of Sophia more than he’d like, Dev poured himself a drink and dropped into a nearby winged-back chair. “Not squiring Miss Mossant about tonight?” He pulled over an ottoman and swung his booted feet upon it.

St. John half smiled and shook his head.

“Not tonight,” he said. “Pleasant chit, but I’d best watch my step with her. She’ll be expecting me to declare myself soon, no doubt.”

Sophia had mentioned that Miss Mossant was developing a tender for St. John. She’d mentioned that the young woman was, in fact, hopeful of a declaration. A slight resentment at his cousin’s caviler attitude arose inside of him, but he quickly dismissed it. What was the matter with him? Had he turned into a bloody matchmaker now? Now that he’d fallen himself?

For he’d fallen.

God, how he’d fallen.

Crazy, madly, wildly in love with Harold’s wife.

Except that she was not.

She was his — body, heart, and soul. She was his, by God, and yes, he was hers.

A few… complications simply needed ironing out.

“You’ve no intentions in her direction, then?” Dev spoke casually. Sophia would want to know. She’d want to warn Rhoda to protect herself.

Between the two of them, and their friend, the Countess of Kensington, they’d reason enough to distrust men.

St. John glanced at him sideways. “Miss Mossant is like a long, cool, glass of water on a hot day. She is bright, witty, and really, quite a looker. She will make some gentleman a fine wife someday. But not mine.”

Dev wondered. “Why not?”

St. John merely crossed his legs and reclined deeper into the chair. “You know as well as I, Dev. Nothing less than the daughter of an earl for me.” Dev hated St. John when he did this. When he turned aloof, and arrogant. Dev knew it to be a mask of sorts. He’d known Lucas as a boy. They’d shared their hopes and dreams too often as children for Lucas to get away with it now.

But that didn’t mean his cousin didn’t try.

“That you speaking, Luc, or your father?” Dev challenged.

“The voices are the same these days, echoing inside my head.”

Dev nodded. “If she isn’t the one, then she isn’t the one. But don’t blame it on Prescott. You’re your own man. You’re nobody’s puppet.”

At these words, a devious gleam lit St. John’s eyes. “I’m currently being diverted by a particularly long-legged redhead. One with whom the constraints of Society do not apply. God knows, I’m in no hurry to curtail such activities. And why rush into setting up a nursery? My father is hale and healthy, as is yours. We bachelors must stick together, Dev. I don’t see you lining up with the latest crop of insipid debutantes.”

They both took a few drinks, neither apparently willing to extend the subject at hand. And then St. John turned to him. “Do you think it’s possible that Harold actually bedded his pretty little wife? Mother is convinced, and I’ve never been one to question the information she obtains, nor her opinion on such matters. What a godsend that would be. Little Miss Babineaux would be worth her weight in gold if there is any truth in it.”

“Harold’s pretty little wife and her activities in the bedroom,” Dev wanted to say, “were not a matter for discussion.” And as to her value, he would grab St. John by the collar most convincingly and assert that it could never be measured against silver or gold.

Instead, he stared into his half-full glass. “I haven’t the faintest. For your mother’s sake, though,” he said half-heartedly, “we can only hope.”

He’d be with Sophia this moment if it were possible. God, it felt as though he were missing an arm, a leg, a part of his heart to have her taken away from London, away from him today.

“My own flesh and blood,” St. John took another sip of the strong amber liquid. “I’d give my life for him, and yet, he sickens me. He could have so easily put all of this to rest. No decency at all. No self-control.”

Ah, yes, the family shame. Dev did not understand Harold’s manner of loving; he would not pretend to admit that he did. But he did know that this was not something Harold had given into easily. He’d fought it. On one occasion, Harold had told him after the fact, he’d been tempted to take his own life over the matter.

No, it was not about decency, and it was not about self-control.

Poor Harold.

Yes, poor Harold, miles away with Dev’s own lovely Sophia.

Devlin would complete his tasks and go to her as soon as humanly possible.