One would have thought that the private, collapsed road was the height of London traffic, for all of the carriages and horses and activity. Dev arrived just as the duchess and Sophia were being carefully led around the landslide.

Of course, they would be going to London. He’d passed the caravan of coffins a few hours earlier. The coffins had been packed in ice and the coaches covered in black.

The duke and St. John.

And his father.

Dev dismounted and made his way around the awaiting vehicles. His aunt, he recognized easily by her posture and the dignity with which she carried herself.

Behind her, he’d had to search behind the black veil, in order to recognize Sophia. Peaches was tucked beneath her chin.

Burly servants escorted the ladies around the nearly non-existent road.

This was where it had occurred.

The dried mud preserved the marks where the wheels had slid over the side, and others, from the rescue effort — until the next rainstorm anyhow. Apparently, a large rock had given way from below, destabilizing the road above it. They hadn’t stood a chance.

His aunt, he noticed, avoided looking in the direction of the sea. She stared forward, and therefore, saw him first.

“Dev,” she said.

He rushed toward her and took her hands in his.

“Oh, Dev. Such a loss, such a devastating loss for us all!”

He bent forward and kissed her cheek. She stood rigid. She had dawned the mantle of the duchess. “Aunt, I am so sorry, so very sorry.” For everything. God, how sorry he was.

He turned toward Sophia, who had finally torn her gaze away from the large gap where the road had once been. “My lady,” he said. He tried to speak to her with his eyes, if ever he could. “This is not your fault,” he would have them say. “I will find Harold,” he would want her to know.

I love you.

He could barely see her eyes, hidden by the black veil. She curtseyed in his direction. “Captain,” she said softly.

“We are headed for London. There is no time to waste…” His aunt spoke again, all decisiveness. “…as I’m sure you must perceive.”

He’d expected this. The duke’s servants who had been traveling with the bodies had informed him of her grace’s plans.

“I am here to escort you,” he spoke formally. He would not allow the ladies to undertake such a journey alone. Not in these circumstances. Not as long as he breathed.

And then his aunt touched his sleeve and leaned in to speak to him more privately. “We wish to arrive in a timely fashion, of course, but will stop if Sophia is overtired. A lady in her condition must endure as little discomfort from travel as possible.”

He could not help but widen his eyes at her words.

A lady in her condition?

A lady in her condition?

Dev glanced over at Sophia. She’d not heard his aunt’s words. She merely stood, looking out at the sea, patiently waiting to move along, it seemed.

If Sophia was in a delicate condition, why then…

He could hardly bear considering…

She was so tiny. Would she bear a child easily?

Suddenly, the only emotion that even bore consideration was a tremendous fear and worry for her health. It was his child she was carrying in her very precious body. Everything in life that mattered to him was embodied in the small woman shrouded before him in black.

Sensing his stare, she glanced at him. For the first time, Dev could see clearly into her eyes, in spite of the black transparent material.

“I love you,” they seemed to say. “It’s hopeless though.”

But he would ignore the despair.

“Ladies, let me assist you into your carriage and let us get off the side of this damn cliff.”

At his words, his aunt actually chuckled. Dev took her arm and led her to the waiting carriage. As a footman opened the door, she released his arm and climbed in. He then turned toward Sophia and took her by the elbow and hand. She wore long black gloves, despite the warmth of the day. He would have kissed her hand, but the duchess watched. So instead, he tipped his head forward and inhaled her fragrance.

“My heart is yours, Sophia” was all he had time to say. But he’d needed to tell her desperately. He’d needed to give her the only thing that he could.

Oh, God, was she truly carrying his child?

Before he knew it, he’d assisted her into the carriage and closed the door.

All around them, servants cautiously crossed the ravaged road with trunks and cases filled with the duchess’ and Sophia’s belongings. Dev recognized Sophia’s lady’s maid as a footman assisted her into a different coach nearby.

It was with an abundance of caution that the long caravan of ducal vehicles rolled down the remainder of the cliffside road.

* * *

He’d told her that his heart belonged to her, and then he’d said her name. Sophia. It always sounded like a whisper when he said it. She had his heart, but she would never have him. It was impossible now!

Sophia did not sit beside the duchess, instead choosing to ride with her back facing the horses. Peaches was on her best behavior, as though even she realized she must show respect while traveling with a duchess.

Sophia had grown to love her mother-in-law, and yet, she felt more stifled than ever. The duchess had closed the curtains covering all of the windows, casting the interior in darkness.

When one traveled with a duchess, one did not expect explanations. If she had been traveling with Rhoda, or with Emily or Cecily, they would have discussed with each other. Should we close the drapes? Do you mind if I close the drapes? A duchess simply closed them.

Sophia rested her head against the seat-back and closed her eyes.

“My heart is yours, Sophia.”

Oh, his touch, his nearness had been so brief. How could she crave him with such intensity, knowing what the two of them had done? The duchess was not two feet away from her, and all Sophia could think of was how much she desired to be caught up in his arms.

Emptiness filled her.

And yet, his voice had awakened her again.

Sophia hugged herself with her arms and was surprised to feel a tenderness in her breasts. Dev… oh, Dev.

“You should try to sleep, my dear. You will find a pillow stored under the seat if you pull the cushion up.” The duchess’ suggestion was spoken in such a way that brooked no argument.

Sophia slid sideways and pulled out the pillow. If she slept, she could escape all of this for a short while. The uncertainty, the fear, the guilt. She plumped the velvet-covered cushion and tried to make both herself and Peaches comfortable. She dared not remove her shoes or pull her feet up onto the seat. She was riding with a duchess, for goodness’ sake.

But the pillow was soft, and she’d not slept much the night before.

And.

And she knew that Dev was nearby, watching over them as they crossed the countryside to London.

Nothing terrible could happen with him watching over them.

She slept soundly for the first time since they’d gotten the horrible news.

* * *

Upon hindsight, Sophia was astonished at how naïve she had been when she’d told the magistrate to transport the bodies directly to the duke’s country estate.

She’d failed to consider that her father-in-law, as cold and manipulating as he’d seemed with her, and as cruel and unaccepting as he’d been to Harold, was one of England’s most powerful and beloved dukes.

This had become more apparent as they passed through one village after another on their journey back to London. For as the news of the tragedy spread, onlookers and crowds periodically lined the road to watch as their coach rolled through. And as they neared London, the crowds grew larger.

It was nearly as frightening as it was humbling.

When they arrived at Prescott House, after two long days on the road, death in the household was readily apparent by the black wreath upon the door, and the black crepe-covered windows.

Mr. Evans informed the duchess upon arrival that the funeral furnishers had cared for the bodies, and for this one night, they had been laid out in a room in the front of the house. The funeral proceedings would be tomorrow. It went without saying that the room would be kept cold.

Dev had stoically supported the duchess and made all arrangements for their rooms, their meals, and the care of the cattle, servants, and coaches while travelling. He’d often ridden ahead, the duchess had told her, to give instructions and confirm that her grace’s orders were being carried out properly. His military training and habits were evident in his natural leadership and self-discipline. Sophia knew he’d rarely rested.

Entering Prescott House, Sophia immediately covered her nostrils with her handkerchief. That smell… must be the oils used to care for the bodies. It grew stronger as they approached the drawing room.

Sophia followed, uncertain as to what she should do. And then the duchess, leaning heavily upon Dev, paused and turned around. “You mustn’t, Sophia. Your condition. It would be too upsetting.”

But Sophia saw something on Dev’s face. Emptiness, pain. She could not leave him alone. Even if all she could offer was her presence.

“I am fine,” Sophia insisted.

When, in fact, she did not feel well. She felt tired, and faint, and hungry, yet not. But how could she abandon him at a time such as this? She could not, of course.

She motioned for them to continue. After a moment’s hesitation, the duchess pinched her lips and then nodded.

They first stepped up to view the duke.

Someone had dressed his grace’s corpse in a resplendent uniform consisting of an abundance of lace, golden embroidery, and jewels. His beringed, clay-like hands crossed one another upon his chest.

His face had been powdered and painted.

He did not resemble the man she’d nearly hated while he had been alive. Despite the powder and rouge, his face was slack, his skin sallow. Sophia turned away and took a deep breath from inside of her handkerchief.

When she did so, she was confronted by the sight of St. John, similarly resting.

Rhoda!

She’d not had even a moment to consider that her dearest friend had developed an attachment to one of the men who had been killed. Did Rhoda know? Of course, she must!

She would be devastated! She’d practically admitted to being in love with him. Oh, dear, poor Rhoda. Sophia choked back a sob at the thought. Now was not the time to show such distress.

St. John’s corpse appeared eerily similar to that of the duke. Less wrinkles, yes, and no graying hair, but the bone structure of the face resembled the duke’s almost perfectly.

Sophia had always thought Harold took after his mother in looks. Viewing these two men, confirmed her opinion.

And then, a third body.

Dev had abandoned the duchess standing near the duke and moved toward his father.

Sophia wanted badly to follow him, to wrap her arms around his waist and give him what little comfort she could.

She took a few silent steps away from St. John and stood behind Dev. It was all she could do. She hoped he understood. She hoped he could feel her comfort, her love, in such a tiny, insignificant gesture.

The duchess had stepped away from her husband and turned to view her firstborn son.

The room was so very cold.

A clammy sweat broke out on Sophia’s forehead as another, stronger wave of nausea swept over her.

And then a few familiar elderly ladies slipped into the room, approached the duchess, and embraced her quietly. Sophia remembered them from before the wedding, and later, as guests at Priory Point. Both had departed before the road washed out. They were cousins or sisters or somehow related to the duchess.

They whispered their condolences and encouraged the widow to lean upon them. “Come, dear, you must be exhausted.” They led her from the room, only to be halted at the last moment.

“Sophia, dear, you must rest as well.”

But Sophia could see that the duchess was distracted by her family.

“I’m going to say a few prayers, your grace, if you do not mind. I will find my own way to my chamber.” The one she had supposedly shared with Harold. The place where she’d discovered a passion within herself that she’d never known existed.

The duchess considered her for just an instant and then nodded.

Prayers? Ha! Surely Sophia had secured her place in hell thrice over by now.

When the large door closed behind them, Sophia moved to stand beside Dev.

She took his hand in hers. At first it was lax, and then, after a brief hesitation, he squeezed hers back.

“I’m so sorry.”

She’d known he loved and respected his father. His father had been all he’d ever known. He’d lost his cousins, his uncle, and now his father. Not ever knowing his mother, he was truly all alone now, but for his aunt… and herself.

“My father would have approved of Harold’s decision. He was convinced Harold was in increasing danger the longer he pursued his relationship with Stewart.” Dev’s voice was flat. “I’ve always trusted his judgment, and he believed your marriage was for the best. He was Prescott’s conscience. He has always been my touchstone. But now…”

He seemed to swallow hard before he could go on. “Sophia, I must contact Harold. He cannot remain in hiding. He is all the duchess has left. He is the duke.”

Sophia did not want to hear any of this right now. She wanted him to turn and embrace her. She wanted to give him comfort.

She placed her other hand over the one she held and massaged it, as though for warmth. “Have you written to them?”

“I have. But I don’t know if it was soon enough. In fact, I’m almost certain it was not. I’ve no way of being assured he will receive my letter. He is going to learn of his father’s and brother’s death in some newspaper in a distant land. We can only wait, and hope he sends word back to us soon.”

Sophia had never been at a loss of words with Dev. But, upon the thoughts he’d voiced, she did not know what to say.

Harold needed to return. She’d known it all along. The complications of their situation were becoming more real with each passing day.

Her courses were yet absent.

This could be due to the traumatic events that had occurred over the past month, but even Sophia was beginning to doubt such reasoning.

This was not the time nor the place to discuss such a possibility with Dev…

And then he turned to her. “Is it true? Are you…?”

…or so she had thought.

Lacking privacy in her life was becoming intolerable. If it wasn’t the housekeeper, it was her maid; if not the maid, then the duchess. She was going to have to rectify this situation somehow.

But, she could do nothing about it now. “I am not certain. But the duchess is hopeful — more than hopeful — desperate for me to be.”

Her words must have held a hint of resignation, for he leaned closer to her in concern. “You’re all done in, aren’t you?” His tone softened. This was her Dev. This was the voice that would be her undoing.

“I’m well enough. It has been a long journey… I never would have thought anything like this could happen. Everything, Dev, has spun out of control, and I… I miss you so.” She could not contain it. Just as on that first occasion, when she’d told him she loved him.

When had that been? How soon had she known?

From that first instant, when he’d dropped into the corner behind the lion’s cage with her, she’d known.

She’d known he was safe.

She’d known he would protect her.

She’d welcomed his nearness even then. And now, at the worst possible time, she needed him more than ever.

“Sophia, I cannot take Harold’s birthright.” He pulled her into his arms. They must be ever so careful. The door was not locked. They could be interrupted any moment. “And yet, you may be carrying my child.”

He had the right of it, for certain. They needed to locate Harold and bring him back somehow.

She pressed her face into his chest and rubbed her hands over his back. “Dev,” she said and then tilted her head back.

It was as though neither of them could stop it, this connection, this need. His mouth was there, waiting for hers. Their kiss was tender, comforting, two people afraid to release their emotions, afraid to allow anything more.

Sophia knew it would end, any moment, any second.

She pressed herself into him, as close as was humanly possible. She’d pulled back her veil when they’d entered the house, and now it covered only her hair. His hands searched beneath it until he found her nape.

Sounds from outside the door penetrated their need, and they pulled away from one another abruptly. Sophia turned from him, and found herself facing the duke.

Her mother was here!

Dev had turned back toward his father and ignored the newcomer.

Her mother seemed flustered, but to Sophia, appeared familiar and comforting. “Darling, oh, darling, such a horrible time for us all.” She pulled Sophia into her arms. The tears Sophia had been holding back finally escaped.

“Mama,” she said. Her mother’s sympathy was her undoing. A wanton woman one moment and a weepy child the next.

“Come, dear, let’s get you to your chamber so that you may rest. The duchess has told me everything. I’m going to assist you into your bed, and you are going to have a well-needed night’s sleep before leaving for Kent tomorrow.” Her mama did not acknowledge Dev as she led Sophia out of the room.