Dewdrops lay like shimmering glass upon the ground the following morning as Mary made her way across the lawn. She hadn’t slept since returning to her bedchamber the night before, afraid that she would miss the duel that would soon take place between her brother and the man she meant to marry.

Drawing her cloak tightly around her shoulders, she fought the chill that threatened to sink into her bones. Gray tones surrounded her in a haze as light began to soften the darkness. The field was beyond the trees, and with no one else in sight, Mary quickened her pace, afraid that they might begin before she managed to arrive.

But this fear was soon brought to rest as, after following a short path, she arrived to find several people gathered together in discussion. They included Richard, Andrew, Spencer, Lady Foxworth, Lady Duncaster and a few footmen.

“What are you doing here?” Andrew asked, spotting her first.

“I came to watch the duel,” she said, approaching the group.

Richard gave her an uneasy smile as he stepped away from the others and came toward her. “You should not have come. Dueling grounds are not appropriate places for young ladies to visit.”

“He is right,” Lady Foxworth said. “You ought to return upstairs to your bedchamber. The event that is about to take place is scandalous enough without your involvement.”

“I do not plan to get involved,” Mary replied, annoyed that they were trying to send her away. “I merely wish to watch.”

“And whose side will you be on, exactly?” The question was bitterly spoken by Andrew.

“I believe you know the answer to that already,” she replied, “but to be perfectly clear, I am in favor or Mr. Heartly winning.”

“Traitor,” her brother spat. “You denounce your own flesh and blood.”

His sharp tone caught her off guard. She blinked. “Can you not see that you are in the wrong? That your actions are reprehensible?”

Shaking his head, Andrew turned his back on her.

“I am sorry,” Richard said. He caught her by the elbow and drew her away with him at a stroll. “The terms have already been laid out, so we will begin shortly.”

“Please don’t ask me to leave.” Leaning into him, she savored the strength in his arm and the warmth of his touch. The possibility that she might never feel it again brought a painful knot to her throat.

“Very well,” he agreed. Halting, he turned her toward him so he could look her in the eye. “No matter what happens next, please know that I love you with all that I am.” Taking her hands in his, he raised both of them to his lips for a kiss.

“As I love you,” she whispered, fighting the tears that threatened.

“Which makes me the most fortunate man in the world.” Tenderness seeped from the depths of his eyes. “To have known you and to have won your heart—”

“You must not talk like that.” She could barely get the words out. “You will survive this, Richard. You have to!”

Nodding, his expression turned serious. “I will aim for your brother’s arm in an effort to disarm him.”

“So he will survive?”

“I see no reason why he should not.”

“Considering what you told me last night about his skill, or lack thereof, I daresay that you will as well.” Andrew had said that he did not plan on killing Richard, and with his inferior aim taken into account, there was a good chance that he wouldn’t manage to hit him at all. As they walked back toward the others, Mary prayed that this would be the case.

“Well?” Andrew asked, glaring at her.

“I will watch the duel from a reasonable distance,” Mary said.

“Mary . . .” Lady Foxworth began.

Mary crossed her arms. “You cannot force me to leave.”

“She is correct in that regard,” Lady Duncaster said. And then, “Shall we proceed? I believe the sun will rise within the next quarter of an hour.”

As if summoned by her words, one of the footmen stepped forward with a case bearing two ornately designed dueling pistols. “Mr. Heartly, please select your weapon.”

Dropping his gaze to the box, Richard picked up the pistol closest to him, leaving the other for Andrew. When both men had one in hand, Spencer outlined the rules once more. “Gentlemen, you will stand back to back with each other. As soon as Lady Duncaster begins the count, you will step forward until you have each traveled a distance of twenty paces. Once this has been achieved, you will await the signal before turning and firing your shots. Are you both in accord?”

Andrew and Richard nodded. “We are,” they spoke in unison.

Looking at each of them in turn, Spencer then said, “Before we proceed, it is my duty to inquire if either one of you would like to prevent the events that will take place shortly by offering an apology instead.”

“No,” Andrew clipped, to which Richard said, “I fear I cannot do so.”

Mary’s heart crumpled. She’d known they wouldn’t agree to such a thing—that their pride would not allow it—but she had still hoped.

“Very well then,” Spencer stated. “Let us begin.”

Removing herself to the side with her aunt and Lady Duncaster, Mary watched as Andrew and Richard took up their positions.

“Have courage,” Lady Duncaster whispered at Mary’s side before she started counting.

Mary felt her heartbeat quicken as the men strode stiffly in opposite directions, the faint glow from the rising sun illuminating the sky as birds began to chirp from the treetops—an abundance of life so foreign from the bleak atmosphere on the field.

At the count of twenty, the men halted. “Face your opponent,” Lady Duncaster called out.

Each began to turn, but before they’d made a full rotation, a shot cracked like thunder, rustling the treetops and scattering the birds. Mary blinked, not entirely certain of what had just happened, the confusion distracting her from the slight ache in her side.

“That foolish boy,” Lady Foxworth muttered. “He cannot even conduct a duel according to protocol.”

That was when Mary noticed the confused look on Andrew’s face and the odd angle of his pistol. In his nervousness, he must have fired too early. Elation shot up inside her. She looked to Richard who seemed just as surprised as everyone else. As if in a daze, he lowered his pistol to his side.

Unable to resist, Mary started in his direction. He’d won thanks to Andrew’s blunder, with neither man getting hurt. It was the best possible outcome! But as she hurried toward him, a fierce fire ignited inside her, slowing her pace. Blinking, she tried to understand, her hand pressing against the pain and feeling the wetness there as Richard turned toward her. The smile he gave her immediately dropped from his face, confirming that something wasn’t quite as it should be.

“Mary.” Discarding his pistol he ran toward her.

Stumbling, she started to fall, her legs refusing to carry her weight.

“Mary!”

The ground tilted, plunging her into darkness.

Richard’s heart erupted with fear. “No!” Reaching Mary, he gathered her up in his arms, barely breaking his stride as he did so.

“What happened?” Lady Foxworth asked as he hurried past her.

“She has been shot.” The words fell heavily around them. Hell, just getting them past the thick knot in his throat was an ordeal. “We have to get her back to the house.” He heard Lady Foxworth sob as she conveyed the news to Lady Duncaster. Carthright on the other hand . . . Richard tightened his hold on Mary. He would deal with her brother later, as soon as he was certain that her life was not in danger. But if she died . . . He dared not think of such an outcome even as dark rage clawed at his chest.

Vaguely, he was aware of footsteps following him at a brisk pace. If someone spoke to him however, he was oblivious of the fact. All he knew was that he needed to get Mary back to her bedchamber so he could issue instructions for a physician to be summoned. A hand caught him by the arm and he instinctively spun on his heel. “What?”

The angry question was met by a very calm looking Lady Duncaster. “Doctor Florian is a guest here, Mr. Heartly. I will ask him to meet us in Lady Mary’s bedchamber.”

With a curt nod, he strode away, arriving in the aforementioned room only moments later where he was greeted by Mary’s maid, whose face twisted at the sight of her mistress.

“We need to undress her,” he said, focusing on whatever they could do to help improve the situation.

“You cannot possibly—”

“Get out of my way,” he bit out.

Amy didn’t argue any further. Instead, she stepped aside, closed the door and followed him to the bed where he carefully set Mary down.

“Oh no,” Amy murmured as the wound came into view, visible as a large patch of blood against the left side of Mary’s gown.

Richard ignored her. Aware of how efficient Lady Duncaster could be, he did not doubt that the doctor would arrive shortly. They should prepare Mary for when he did, which meant that they would have to get her out of her clothes so the doctor could access the wound properly. To this end, Richard reached down and began undoing the fastenings on Mary’s gown.

“What are you doing?” Amy asked with a hint of horror to her voice.

“What is necessary,” he explained as he pushed the sleeves over Mary’s shoulders and began pulling her gown down over her waist. She groaned slightly, which gave him hope.

“This is highly irregular, sir. Her modesty—”

“Damn her modesty,” he fairly exploded. Amy fell silent and Richard clenched his jaw. He hadn’t meant to be quite that harsh, but by God, he was at his wits-end. This should have been him, not her . . . anyone but her.

With quivering fingers he turned her sideways so he could unfasten her stays.

“Allow me,” Amy said, her tone holding a comforting degree of determination.

Stepping back, Richard watched her work as helplessness drove its way to his core. I cannot lose her. The unspoken words sent a shudder through him. An ache clutched at his heart, tightening his chest and making it difficult for him to breathe.

A knock sounded at the door and then it opened, giving way to Lady Duncaster and an older gentleman whom Richard had not yet met. He nodded in Richard’s direction but did not bother with introducing himself or with making any other attempt at conversation. Richard found that he appreciated that—the fact that treating Mary was of greater importance to him than protocol.

“Please pull the covers up over her legs and then raise her chemise so I can get a proper look,” he said to Amy.

The maid complied without arguing while Richard stood at Lady Duncaster’s side, unsure of how he could be of assistance. Seeing the blood smeared across Mary’s abdomen, he went to fetch the washbasin that stood on a small table to one side, grabbed a clean linen towel lying next to it and presented both items to the doctor.

“Thank you,” Florian remarked as he wet the towel and began to wipe away the blood, revealing a dark wound surrounded by bright pink flesh.

“Will she be all right?” Richard asked as the doctor began to feel his way around the wound. It looked as if he was searching for something. Groaning, Mary shifted against the touch. “Only time will tell.” Turning her onto her side, the doctor studied her back and then muttered a curse.

“What is it?” Amy asked in a small voice that seemed close to breaking.

Richard winced. He knew what the doctor’s concern was now. “There is no exit wound. The lead ball will have to be extracted if she is to survive this.”

“Fetch some brandy,” Lady Duncaster said, “and I will inform Lady Foxworth of the news.” Suffering from shock, Mary’s aunt had been escorted to her own bedchamber and offered a small amount of laudanum in order to calm her nerves.

“We will need a bit of strength soon,” Florian said without looking up, “so if you can find another gentleman willing to help, I suggest you bring him with you when you return.”

Relieved that he’d been given a task, Richard glanced at Mary’s pale face before quitting the room and going in search of the brandy and Spencer. He felt as though his heart had been torn from his chest. What had happened . . . his steps were heavy upon the floor, carrying him forward only because he knew that Mary now depended on him to help her through this.

Coming from the opposite end of the hallway, Richard saw the man who was to blame for it all—the man who might very well have killed the most good-natured person in the world. Balling his hands into two tight fists, Richard gritted his teeth as he moved toward him. “Carthright!” The name sounded like bone crushing against bone.

“How is she?” Carthright asked, coming to a halt at a reasonable distance. His eyes bore a haunted expression that made him look old and tired.

“Struggling for her life, thanks to you.”

Dropping his gaze, Carthright muttered, “I am sorry.”

The apology reminded Richard of stale bread. “Sorry?” He was incredulous. “You are sorry?”

“Of course!”

Marching forward, Richard raised his fist. “She might die because of you, you bloody idiot!” His knuckles made contact with Carthright’s jawbone, producing a loud cracking sound and pushing Carthright back. “Why?” His voice wavered. “You were supposed to shoot me!”

Dropping to his knees, Carthright raised his arms to cover his face in anticipation of another hit, but Richard made no effort to attack. Instead, he hovered over him, waiting for an answer to his question.

“I was nervous,” Carthright stammered. “I know that you are a far better shot and expected you to fire first, so I . . . I pulled the trigger too early.”

Richard felt his anger rise. “The same reason why you abandoned me in France—because you are a coward.” When Carthright didn’t respond, Richard stepped past him. He didn’t have time for this right now. Not when Mary needed his help.

Returning to her bedchamber a few minutes later together with Spencer, Richard poured the brandy into a large glass so the doctor could dip his tools in it. “How is she?” he asked, his gaze falling on Mary’s twisted features.

“She continues to fall in and out of consciousness.” Arranging some linen towels so they would be easily accessible, the doctor took a seat. “Her pain is severe, as is the wound, but I will do my best to save her. I give you my word on that.” He looked at Richard and Spencer in turn. “If you are ready, I would like to proceed. The quicker we get that lead ball out of her, the better.”

A heavy hand touched Richard’s arm and he turned to meet his brother’s gaze, the concern there so raw that it threatened to shatter Richard’s tightly reined control. Turning away, Richard nodded. “Yes,” he told the doctor as he moved closer to the bed, aware that Mary’s pain was about to get a whole lot worse.

Holding her firmly by her shoulders while Spencer pushed down on her legs, the brothers struggled to keep her as still as possible while the doctor worked. Her anguished groans were difficult to listen to, even though Richard knew that it was for the best. But to watch the tools being driven into her, was almost more than he could bear.

Blood was swiftly wiped away by Lady Duncaster who’d proven most efficient in regards to this matter. The doctor retracted his pincers, pulling out a fragment of Lady Mary’s gown, “Excellent,” he murmured. “Most infections are caused by bits of foreign material getting pushed inside the wound upon impact, so I am happy to have recovered this.”

Not long after, the doctor declared making contact with the lead ball itself. Richard’s hands tightened against Mary, even though her body had gone limp after losing consciousness again. Still, he could not risk her waking up and disturbing the doctor’s delicate work. Slowly, the shot was dragged out of her torso and dropped into a bowl. “That ought to do it,” the doctor said as he leaned back with a sigh. He placed his hand against her forehead. “She feels cool to the touch, so I would suggest keeping a blanket over her for warmth.”

“Do you think she will be all right?” Lady Duncaster asked, giving voice to Richard’s own concern.

“Only time will tell, I suppose.” Reaching for his needle and thread, the doctor proceeded to stitch up the hole.

Richard knew what he meant, even though he’d hoped that the doctor might have offered more of an assurance. But having been to war and witnessing the effect such wounds could have on seemingly healthy and strong men, he was also aware that the worst might still be to come. “I will watch over her,” he said decisively.

The statement was met by hushed silence until Spencer quietly said, “I do not think that doing so would be an appropriate course of action. You are not her husband, after all.”

“I will be soon enough. Once she recovers.” And she would recover. She simply had to. The alternative wasn’t an option.

“Even so, you must consider her reputation,” Lady Duncaster said. “People will talk once they notice your presence here.”

Grinding his teeth, Richard stared at each of them in turn, not liking the extent of their sound judgment. “Then what would you suggest I do? Because I can assure you that doing nothing is out of the question.”

“Perhaps you could sit by the door while Lady Foxworth and I take turns in the room with her.”

“By the door?” he muttered, feeling as though he’d just been banished to a corner.

“You will still be close enough for us to keep you apprised of her condition and you would also be of great help if we need to call for the doctor to return. Considering how invested you are in her recovery, I daresay you would fetch him faster than any of my servants.”

“You can be certain of it,” Richard said.

“Then it is settled?” The pitch of Lady Duncaster’s voice suggested a question even though Richard was wise enough to know that it was anything but.

He nodded, because although he would have preferred to sit by Mary’s bedside, he knew such a thing would not be possible. Instead, he found himself occupying a comfortable armchair only minutes later. A footman had even brought him that day’s paper so he would have something with which to pass the time. As if he was able to concentrate on politics or gossip—trivialities, in truth, when considering the fact that Mary’s life was still very much at stake.

Instead, he focused on his breaths, aware of how tight his chest felt against his lungs. He turned the pages of the paper, but failed to comprehend a single word that was printed thereon. It was all a massive blur, distorted by the most bizarre feeling that the only thing he cared about was in the room beyond, and that he just might lose it.

The thought stuck, disturbing him to the point of restlessness. For years he’d been motivated solely by the need for revenge. He’d achieved his goal. Victory was his. But at what cost? A shudder went through him. Carthright had definitely wronged him. Of that there was no doubt. And he might not deserve his title, his property or his fortune, but if Richard hadn’t striven to take them all from him, then perhaps . . .

He shook his head, unwilling to torture himself with what-ifs. One thing was certain however, and that was the fact that he would gladly repeat the past five years of misery for a chance at a different outcome—one in which Mary would not get shot.

The door opened beside him and he was on his feet in an instant. “How is she?” he asked upon seeing Lady Duncaster.

“She is still sleeping.”

“Have you touched her forehead, ensured that she does not feel feverish?” Lord how he hated the helplessness.

She nodded. “Of course.”

Expelling a breath, he thanked her for letting him know, resuming his seat as she returned to the room, closing the door behind her.

Two hours later, Lady Foxworth arrived to switch places with Lady Duncaster. “Mr. Heartly,” she said, her hollow eyes sparking a little upon seeing him there. “I did not expect to find you here, though I suppose I should have done. What happened today—”

“She will recover,” he said with certainty.

Her only response was a tremulous smile, and then she was gone, ushered into a room that he was still denied entry to. Lady Duncaster exited soon after. “I will send a tray up with some food for you. Is there anything else you would like?”

“Perhaps a clock? I did not think to bring my pocket watch with me when I left my room this morning and I would like to keep track of the time.”

“Of course,” Lady Duncaster said. “I will ask a footman to bring one up for you right away.”

As it turned out, the footman brought a notebook and pencil as well, which was wonderfully thoughtful since it allowed him to jot down Mary’s status every half hour. Even though there was little to say, it gave him something more meaningful to do than reading the paper.

“Would you care to join me for a drink?” Spencer asked at half past eleven when he returned carrying a brandy bottle and two glasses.

“I certainly would not mind the company.” Richard began gesturing for the footman to bring another chair but Spencer stopped him, lowering himself to the floor instead with his legs stretched out before him.

“Any news?” Spencer asked as he poured the brandy and handed one of the glasses to Richard.

“She sleeps,” Richard said with a shrug.

“I suppose that is a good thing. From my experience, sleep is the fastest way to recovery. That and some good food!”

Richard couldn’t disagree with that. Leaning forward, he clinked his glass against his brother’s and took a sip, grateful for the drink’s soothing effect. “I just wish that she would wake up and let us know how she is feeling.”

“She will,” Spencer assured him. And then, “I bet you must be pretty angry with Carthright.”

Stiffening, Richard allowed a slow nod. “Angry does not begin to describe how I feel about him. Whatever he did toward me, this is so much worse.”

“Perhaps I should warn you against punishing the fellow any more than you already have done?”

“That will not be necessary. I realized this evening that it was my blind path to revenge that has led to this very moment. Without it, Mary might not have gotten shot since Carthright would not have had a reason to challenge me. Christ, Spencer! Pistols were my choice!”

Spencer snorted. “If you start thinking like that, you will never stop. The point I was trying to make is that I spoke to Lady Foxworth earlier. Rest assured that she will not allow Carthright to go unpunished.”

“What can she possibly do to justify his actions? He is not even her son.”

“Do not underestimate the lady, Richard. I find that women have a tendency to achieve their goals in the most extraordinary ways.”

The door to Mary’s bedchamber opened and both men got to their feet as the lady in question appeared. Her anxious expression was not the least bit comforting. “She is developing a fever.”

Richard tried to look past Lady Foxworth but she blocked his line of vision. “How bad is it?”

“I think you ought to fetch the doctor.”

Richard didn’t question her for a second. He just handed his glass to Spencer and left at a brisk pace, returning with the doctor just a few minutes later. But when he tried to follow the doctor into Mary’s room, Lady Foxworth stopped him. “She is not decent, Mr. Heartly. Please try to understand.”

The door closed in Richard’s face and for a long drawn out moment, he just stood there staring at it, unable to comprehend that he was being kept away from the woman he loved while her life hung in the balance. “Damn Society and its ridiculous rules!”

“Hear, hear,” Spencer muttered. Leaning against the wall, he’d waited for Richard to return.

Casting a look over his shoulder, Richard said, “I ought to break this bloody door down.”

“I can help you, if you like.”

A tempting idea, though one that would probably not be well received by anyone else. So he waited, glanced toward the clock. Almost an hour ticked by at a murderously slow pace before the doctor himself re-emerged. From behind him, Richard could hear Lady Foxworth bustling about in an agitated way that only served to heighten Richard’s concern. “It does not look good,” the doctor pronounced. His apologetic manner grated.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Richard asked.

“The wound does not look infected, but her fever is steadily rising. If we fail to stop it, then there is no telling what might happen as a result.”

“In other words, she might die,” Richard said, speaking almost mechanically.

“That has always been a possibility,” the doctor said, “but now . . . perhaps a more likely outcome unless we can manage to bring her temperature down.” Lowering his voice he whispered, “Her aunt believes that she should be kept warm—that the fever is a good thing and that we should allow it to grow, which of course is a misconception. In my experience, the best results are achieved when the fever is reduced, but Lady Foxworth is in a state of panic and refuses to listen to reason.”

“Then what would you suggest?” Spencer asked with the sort of calm that had long since departed from Richard.

The doctor hesitated briefly before saying, “She must be cooled, so perhaps if a bathtub can be brought up, then—”

“No,” Richard said. “That will take too long.”

“I agree,” the doctor said, “but what else . . .”

He wasn’t given a chance to complete his question as Richard pushed past him, entering Mary’s room in a few short strides.

“Mr. Heartly,” Lady Foxworth gasped. “You should not be in here. It is not proper!”

His eyes fell on Mary, on the sheen of perspiration veiling her forehead, her flushed cheeks and the agitated state she appeared to be in as she threw her head from side to side, groaning in between. “To hell with propriety. This is about saving her life.”

“We are doing all that we can,” Lady Foxworth said, her voice filled with despair as she tucked the blankets around Mary and wiped her brow with a cloth.

“No. She needs to be cooled, not heated.” Richard moved toward the bed, his hands reaching for Mary’s blankets.

Lady Foxworth caught him by the wrist. “Please,” she implored with a shake of her head. “I cannot bear the thought of losing her.”

He understood her grief. “Neither can I, which is why I can assure you that I intend to make her better by whatever means necessary. You may disagree with my method, but consider her progress this past hour while you have been trying to keep her warm beneath these blankets. Has her condition improved or worsened?”

A few seconds passed and then, choking back a sob, Lady Foxworth drew back and nodded, her expression one of utter defeat. “Very well. Do what you think best.”

He didn’t wait another second, tossing aside the blankets so that only the sheet remained. Leaning forward, Richard tucked it around Mary as he scooped her up in his arms and headed for the door, her head resting firmly against his chest.

“Where are you taking her?” Lady Foxworth asked from somewhere behind him, but Richard didn’t stop to give her an answer, nor did he deign the doctor or his brother with an explanation as he passed them both on the way out of Mary’s room. Instead, he practically ran as fast as his feet could carry him, careful not to stumble on the stairs.

A few guests who were making their way up to bed stopped to look at him, their eyes widening when they saw that he was carrying Mary. Some even asked what was wrong, but Richard ignored them all as he hurried toward his destination, exiting onto the terrace and crossing the lawn. With a leap, he plunged into the lake until they were shoulder deep in the icy water.

Air rushed from Mary’s lungs and he instinctively hugged her closer. “Relax,” he whispered against her cheek. “This is good for you. It will make you better.”

She said nothing, responding only with a deep murmur as she pressed herself against him, the sheet and her chemise floating around them, bright against the enfolding darkness. As the water settled, Richard could hear the frogs croaking from the embankment. Fully clothed, the weight of the water made standing upright a chore, his feet constantly slipping against the pliable mud beneath him.

With no way in which to tell the time, he had no idea how long he’d been standing there until Lady Foxworth called to him from the embankment, inquiring about Mary’s welfare. Turning, Richard saw that Lady Duncaster was with her, both ladies cast in tones of gray while light from the lantern they’d brought flooded the ground at their feet.

“I believe this is helping,” he said, his teeth chattering slightly as he spoke.

“You are putting your own health at risk,” Lady Duncaster remarked.

“I would risk a great deal more than that if it means that she will live,” he replied, clutching Mary closer. Her heartbeat, so faint against his chest, assured him that she was still alive even when she seemed so lifeless in his arms. “Do you know what time it is?”

“One o’clock,” Lady Duncaster said. “Would you like me to leave the lantern here?”

When he nodded, she set the lantern down on a nearby bench before taking her leave along with Lady Foxworth. Alone again, Richard lowered his lips to Mary’s forehead. She was still hot, though not as much as earlier. Kissing her cheek, he began to straighten himself when she suddenly squirmed, struggling against him and splashing at the water.

Her eyes flew open, startled no doubt by the cold wetness surrounding her.

“Mary!” Her name was tightly spoken as he tried his best to remain upright—a difficult task when she started kicking her feet. “I have you, Mary. You are safe. Stop fighting me!”

With a sob, she clawed at his shoulders as if holding on for dear life. “What happened?” The words were barely audible, ending on a groan of anguish.

“You were shot,” he said as he shifted her to a more comfortable position. “It was an accident.”

Her eyes closed and she leaned her head back against his arm, her breaths more rapid than before. “Who?” was all she managed to ask.

“Your brother.”

When she said nothing in response, Richard thought she’d lost consciousness again until he saw the tears rolling down her cheeks and realized she was crying. “You developed a fever,” he explained, knowing how confused she must be, “that is why I brought you here. We have to try and cool you down.” Swallowing his concerns he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“It hurts like the devil,” she said. “Much more so than when I ran toward you and . . . I cannot remember what happened next.”

“You collapsed.” When she just nodded, he added, “We should stay here a while longer, I think—at least until your fever has dissipated.” She didn’t reply to that, though she pressed her cheek to his chest as if trying to snuggle closer. Dipping his mouth to the top of her head, he began humming a low tune, soothing her with the sound of his voice.

They remained like that for what seemed like forever until she suddenly shifted again. “I think I would like to return to my bedchamber,” she said, her body shivering as she spoke.

Richard expelled a deep breath. If she was feeling cold, then perhaps . . . Pressing his lips to her forehead once more, he found her feeling cool to the touch. “Very well,” he managed against the tightness in his throat, his voice breaking as he turned and started back toward the embankment.

“I love you,” she whispered as soon as they reached solid ground. “Thank you for saving my life.”

His eyes misted in response to her words and for a second he found it impossible to speak at all. Swallowing the fear that he’d felt for the past few hours, he carried her back toward the house. “I love you too,” he murmured, his boots sloshing heavily against the tiles on the terrace and then through the hallways of Thorncliff. The maids would not be pleased but there was nothing he could do to change that. Instead, he decided to focus on the wonderful fact that Mary would soon recover from her injury. “I feared I might lose you.”

“Just tell me that we will soon be married.”

Dropping his gaze to hers as they made their way back upstairs, Richard said, “I have the special license, so as soon as you are well enough, I intend to make you mine.”

A small smile graced her lips. “And all this time, I thought that I would be the one laying claim to you.”

Quickening his pace, he said, “If that is what you wish, then there is not a moment to lose.”

Her smile broadened. “Apparently you were correct when you said that duels can be a terrible inconvenience. This one has ruined my entire week!”

He couldn’t help but laugh, pleased by her ability to spar with him after all that she had been through. Confident that all would soon be back to normal, he returned her to her bedchamber and the continued care of the doctor and Lady Foxworth.

When Mary returned downstairs a couple of days later, she was met by her aunt who’d left her side the previous evening at Mary’s insistence.

“You are looking increasingly well,” Lady Foxworth said. “How are you feeling today?”

“A little sore,” Mary told her as they strolled through one of the hallways together, “but I suppose that is to be expected.” Taking her aunt by the arm she added, “Thank you for all that you did for me after . . . You took very good care of me.”

“Not good enough, it would seem. Had it not been for Mr. Heartly, things might have gone differently. He was right to take you down to the lake when I wanted to keep you in bed. Honestly, I cannot recall seeing a man more terrified than he was that night when he thought he might lose you.” Placing her hand over Mary’s she said, “He loves you a great deal.”

“As I love him.” They continued for a moment in silence before Mary decided to bring up a more difficult subject. “About Andrew—”

“You need not concern yourself about him.”

“Of course I do! What he did to Mr. Heartly during the war is difficult to forgive, not to mention that he almost killed me.” Frankly, she couldn’t recall ever being so furious with someone before.

“He committed fraud,” Lady Foxworth murmured, her eyes darting in every direction to ensure that nobody heard her, “against the king of all people. It would be impossible for us to keep such a secret without becoming partial to his crime, and once the truth got out, the scandal would be overwhelming. Which is why I have asked him to leave the country.”

Mary’s footsteps came to a halt. “Did he agree?”

Lady Foxworth nodded. “He left for Portsmouth no more than an hour ago with the intention of starting a new life for himself in America.”

“Good.” She was glad that Richard would finally be rid of the man who’d plagued his life for so long. “What about funds though? He will need money—some sort of income.”

“Mr. Heartly has assured me that he will have enough money with which to get by until he finds employment.”

Mary blinked. “Employment? I do not believe that Andrew has ever worked a day in his life.”

“Then perhaps it is time he started doing so rather than relying on others for support.” They resumed walking while Lady Foxworth dropped her voice to a low whisper so she could say, “Andrew has disgraced our family, Mary. Your parents will not fault me for making this decision. Especially not since Andrew was in agreement. He seemed genuinely remorseful when he left.”

“I think you made the right decision. In fact, I am relieved to know that Andrew will no longer be close enough to hurt those that I care about.”

“Or you,” Lady Foxworth stated. “He almost killed you, Mary!”

“Believe me, I am aware. His recklessness is unparalleled by anyone else I have ever known. To think that he almost robbed me of my life when it is only just beginning . . . I doubt I will ever be able to forgive him for that.” Blinking back the tears that threatened, she quietly said, “But in spite of my anger, I fear that I will one day regret not saying good-bye to him. I suppose I just wish that I would have had the chance to do so. After all, he is my brother and if he is leaving for America, I doubt that I will ever see him again.”

“That is probably true, but when I mentioned saying good-bye to you, he said that he would rather write.” Lady Foxworth sighed. “If you must know, I believe he was too ashamed to face you after everything that has happened.”

“I suppose so,” Mary muttered feeling raw inside. Neither of them chose to mention that even now Andrew was taking the cowardly way out.

“You have been a good sister to him, Mary. Indeed, you risked your reputation in order to help him.” Lady Foxworth pressed her lips together. “I do wish that you would have come to me for help though.”

“In retrospect, that would probably have been a wise decision.”

“One that would have stopped you from seeking out the stage.”

A smile flickered across Mary’s lips. “The truth is, I quite enjoyed performing at the opera. It gave me a feeling of accomplishment.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Lady Foxworth said. Looking at Mary, she added, “You are aware that you will have to stop performing now?”

Mary shrugged one shoulder. “Of course. In fact, I doubt I will miss it very much since I am to marry Mr. Heartly. I certainly will not require the extra funds. Besides, Mr. Heartly says that he will happily lend an ear whenever I feel like singing, which I daresay will be just as rewarding. You see, it was never the fame that I sought, but rather the freedom to do what I loved.”

“And you feared that I would judge you if I found out.”

“I knew that you would.”

Lady Foxworth sniffed slightly. “You are probably correct. That said, I would have helped Andrew to the best of my ability. Within reason, of course.”

“Which is what Mr. Heartly seems to have done.”

“And what might that be?” A masculine voice asked from directly behind Mary’s right shoulder. Turning, she found Richard gazing down at her with a warm glow in his eyes. Her stomach instantly flipped itself inside out.

“I—”

“If you will forgive me,” Lady Foxworth said, interrupting Mary, “I believe I see Mr. Thomas Young over there. Please excuse me.”

“It looks as though your aunt is embarking on a romance of her own,” Richard said as soon as Lady Foxworth was out of earshot.

“I believe she is quite smitten,” Mary agreed, accepting the arm that Richard was offering her. “I hope it works out.” They continued toward the French doors and out into the garden. “My aunt tells me that you have given my brother financial support so that he may start a new life for himself in America. Honestly, I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am for that, especially after all the damage he has caused.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said, raising her hands to his lips for a kiss. “Instead, let us consider this chapter involving your brother closed.” Lowering her hands, he told her candidly, “I have spoken with Lamont and have asked for his forgiveness. As expected, he was not very pleased to discover that the guilt he has felt for the past five years was unfounded, though he did seem to understand my reasoning.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Does this mean that the past is finally behind us?”

“I believe so. In fact, I would like nothing better than to start discussing our future in greater detail.” A soft tremor whispered down Mary’s spine. More so as he leaned closer and murmured in her ear, “In case you were wondering, I find that I am looking forward to our wedding night with great anticipation.”

Heat rose to her cheeks and she instinctively dropped her gaze. Even so, she could not help but be completely honest with him and say, “So am I.”

“Then perhaps it is time for me to call the vicar so we can say our vows?”

Looking up, her heart almost burst with love for him. “I think that would be a most excellent idea.”

His response was immediate, his arms reaching around her and pulling her off her feet. Swinging her in a wide arc, his mouth drew into a roguish grin. “Whoever would have thought that you and I would end up like this?”

Laughing, she did not care that several guests had stopped to stare at them, no doubt appalled by their behavior. “I had my suspicions.”

“You did not,” he countered.

“Very well,” she agreed as they started back toward the house, “but I am glad that you chose to attend the masquerade that evening and that you asked me to dance. Had you not, this story of ours might have turned out very differently.”

“And that would have been a terrible shame,” he told her seriously though his eyes conveyed a great deal of humor.

She could not disagree with him. Indeed, she had never been happier, because she knew now that she had found the perfect man with whom to spend the rest of her life, and it was the most wonderful and extraordinary feeling in the world.

The service, which was lovely in its simplicity, took place the next day at the Thorncliff chapel. It was followed by a small breakfast, shared only with immediate family and close friends and culminating with a delicious strawberry cake served with champagne.

“Shall we go for a stroll before readying ourselves for tonight’s ball?” Fiona asked with that bouncy tone of excitement that seemed to define her.

Mary looked to her husband. “That would be—”

“A lovely suggestion, to be sure,” Richard said, cutting Mary off as he placed his hand against her elbow, “but Mrs. Heartly should probably get some rest first. You must not forget that she has endured a great deal lately.”

Mary simply nodded, aware that her husband was deliberately trying to get her alone. The thought sent a rush of heat straight through her.

“Of course,” Fiona said, looking instantly apologetic.

Lady Duncaster on the other hand merely snorted and said, “Some rest indeed!” Which of course made Mary’s cheeks burn.

“Come,” Richard said, pulling Mary away from the others. “Nobody will fault us for wanting to enjoy a little privacy.”

Arriving upstairs only minutes later, they headed toward the suite that Lady Duncaster had allocated them now that they were married. “Oh,” Mary said as she stepped inside. “This is . . . perfect!” The door closed with a quiet click behind her.

“I have to agree with you,” Richard murmured, his voice conveying all that she desired as it rolled through her: comfort, acceptance, love.

Glancing in his direction, the sensation expanded, tightening her skin with awareness as the warmth of his gaze slid over her. “Will you always flatter me?” The words were softly spoken—a silver thread of emotion extending between them.

He took a moment, appearing to consider the question before saying, “I think I might.”

Chuckling, she spun toward the window and pulled the translucent curtain aside so she could look out. “You are incorrigible.”

She listened to his footsteps against the carpet, her breath hitching a fraction as he stepped up behind her, encasing her in his strength. Placing his chin against the top of her head, he pulled her closer—so close that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back. “Would you prefer me not to be?”

“No. I would never want you to be anything other than who you are.”

A moment of silence followed before he quietly asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she said, her voice a little more timid than before. It couldn’t be helped. Not when his fingers were playing softly against her arm. The effect was almost dizzying.

“Well enough for this?” he asked. Gently, as if he feared he might break her, he touched his lips to her temple, scorching a path down over her cheek.

Surrendering with a sigh of pleasure, she leaned further into his embrace.

“How about for this?”

His lips touched the curve where her neck met her shoulder and she immediately shivered. “Yes.” The word misted across the windowpane. Releasing the curtain, she allowed it to slip between her fingers and fall back into place before turning in her husband’s arms.

His hands glided over her, a delicate touch reminding her of sunbeams dancing across a field of wildflowers. Skimming her fingertips across the front of his jacket, she drew a shuddering breath before winding her arms around his neck. Her eyes met his. They were dark like the night, but filled with profound wonder. “I love you.” His honesty brought her lips to his—a precious kiss wrought from the knowledge that their hopes and dreams had been fulfilled. They had each other now, their hearts in perfect harmony, beating in time to the concert that now encompassed their lives.

“I love you too,” she whispered, her breath caressing the edge of his jaw. The words brought movement to his fingers, their touch like dewdrops upon the ground as they unfastened the buttons at the back of her gown.

Heat licked the length of her spine the moment his hands touched her shoulders, hovering briefly before nudging away the sleeves. Her gown, so light and airy, floated to the floor where it was met by her shift and stays.

“Exquisite.” The raw emotion with which he spoke drove away the anxiety that came from being so utterly exposed. Instead, she savored the feel of his hands sliding over her, caressing her and loving her with all that he was.

When he kissed her again, she welcomed it, conveying with every fiber of her being the longing that was in her heart, and as their breaths merged into one, he gathered her carefully in his arms and carried her to the bed, lowering her against the pristine white pillows.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she watched him undress, her curious gaze absorbing his strength and vitality, her brow puckering at the sight of the scars that continued down the side of his neck and over his chest. Registering his awareness of her regard, she held out her hand, willing him to come closer. He did so swiftly, his bare feet padding across the hardwood floor until he arrived at her side, his fingers touching hers as though they held the secret to everlasting life. “I am sorry for what happened to you,” she said as she drew him closer, “but the scars are a part of you now—a part of the man who can make me forget all else. They do not alter my feelings for you.”

His eyes—those dark, dark eyes—shimmered like a starlit sky. “You are a Godsend, Mary. I swear to you that I will always do everything in my power to make you happy.”

The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he sat down beside her, his closeness producing a delicious swirl of emotion in the pit of her belly. “I have no idea of what to do,” she hesitantly confessed.

Leaning over her, he placed a tender kiss to her forehead. “Yes, you do. You are just not aware of it yet.”

“But what if I do something wrong?”

His eyes widened a fraction, his expression bordering on incredulity. Slowly, he shook his head, conveying without words how impossible that would be. “Just love me as I intend to love you, and all will be well, Mary. I promise you.”

Nodding, she accepted his reasoning, her arms coming around his neck and drawing him closer. Tentatively, he ran his hand along the length of her in long easy strokes, caressing her until glowing embers sparked against her skin. Running his mouth down over her, he kissed her with reverence until she sighed with pleasure, her fingers mapping him in irresistible exploration.

As soon as she was ready, he lowered himself over her and drew her to him, uniting them both in the simplest way possible while golden rays of sunshine shimmered across the walls in a mystical movement of light. It was gradual, and it was attentive, their fingers weaving together while words of endearment whispered between them.

“I am yours.”

“Until the end of time.”