Mary caught her breath, her skin prickling with tiny bursts of heat the moment she saw him. “Why are you here?” She had to say something in order to break the strange silence now hanging between them. Knowing that he’d heard her—that he’d spied a part of her soul—unnerved her in the most peculiar way. Indeed, he might as well have caught her in a state of complete undress for all the difference it made.

“I was worried about your safety,” he said as he stepped further into the light. She’d placed her lantern on top of a large rock, the warm glow now casting him in yellow tones that shifted as he moved.

Swallowing, she gave a small nod, accepting his reply. “You saw me leave the house?”

“I did.” He stopped his progress and glanced around. “This place is quite a surprise. How on earth did you find it?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I discovered it one day when I was out for my morning walk.”

His eyes met hers from behind his mask, their dark perusal sending a shiver down her spine. “And do you often go wandering about on your own? Without a chaperone and far away from anyone who might be able to help you in case the need should arise?”

Her breaths quickened slightly in response to his censure. “You think me foolhardy for coming here alone at night.”

“Considering what happened yesterday with Rotridge, much closer to the house than this and in the open, you cannot be surprised.” His tone was sharper than before.

“It is not the first time that I have come here,” she said, determined to show him that she knew what she was doing. “Nobody has ever followed me before.”

“Until now,” he told her gruffly. “It was difficult not to notice you, Lady Mary. Anyone keeping a lookout would have done so.” He dropped his tone to a softer one. “And if they had happened to be the malevolent sort, you might have found yourself in grave danger.”

Her breath hitched a little as he stared back at her from across the distance, aware that a man did not necessarily have to have ill intentions for him to be a threat. She swallowed the thought even as she wished for him to come closer. “This is the only place where I can sing,” she said, hoping to direct his attention away from the danger she courted by coming here.

“And considering how well you do it, I daresay that you should be allowed to continue singing, undisturbed by anyone.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He tilted his head. “Does your aunt know about this . . . hobby of yours?”

She almost laughed at the idea of her singing being considered a hobby, reminded that although he’d witnessed her performance just now, he had no idea of how vital it was to her life. “Of course not. She would think it scandalous. Anyone would, thanks to the ill repute of opera singers.”

Richard grunted. “I am sure they simply do what they must in order to survive.”

Mary knew that wasn’t quite true. For some perhaps, but not for all. There were those whose salaries were high enough to allow for a comfortable life without lowering themselves to the same level as a demimondaine. But she chose not to argue, saying instead, “You are probably right, but that does not change the ton’s view on the matter.”

He took a step in her direction. “Perhaps not. So I shall make a bargain with you.”

“What?” Hidden away beneath her chest, her heart thrummed away at an increasingly rapid pace.

Another couple of steps brought him closer still. “I will promise to keep your secret safe on one condition.”

He halted before her, just a few feet away, and she sucked in a breath. Panic struck her unawares at the realization of the power he now held over her. Was he aware of it? Squaring her shoulders, she tried to appear confident—unperturbed by his proposal—praying that it worked. “What are you suggesting?” Thankfully, her voice showed no signs of distress.

Closing the distance between them with two swift strides, he brought his hand to her cheek, tilting her head until she was staring up at him, her composure failing in response to his touch. Her heart quickened as the comforting warmth he provided flowed through her, contorting her stomach and weakening her knees. “You touched my soul with your voice.” He spoke with wonder, then blinked as if the words surprised him.

The sincerity in them—the importance—filled her with undeniable pleasure. “You know my secret now.” Though far from all of it. “Will you share yours with me?”

He drew away. Distance fell between them. “I doubt that either one of us is ready for that just yet.” He didn’t have to say that he wasn’t sure they ever would be for her to know that the thought was there, at the forefront of his mind. “As to my condition for keeping yours . . .”

Apprehension made her stiffen. “Name it,” she told him boldly.

He eyed her for a moment before saying, “You may come here as often as you like, but only with my escort.”

The idea of keeping his company on a more regular basis, whenever she required it, sent a thrill straight through her. “I accept,” she said, unable to keep from smiling. He stared at her in silence. A long drawn-out moment followed, until she had to struggle not to fidget beneath his gaze. Eventually he nodded, and she expelled a deep breath, startled not only by the fact that he was willing to accept her for who she was, but by how relieved she was by that. “Shall I sing some more?” She felt completely exposed now, as if he knew too much about her while she knew next to nothing about him. The knowledge brought a degree of awkwardness with it that she desperately wished to escape from. Singing would allow her to do precisely that.

Inclining his head, he took a step back. “Are you familiar with the Queen of the Night’s second aria from The Magic Flute?”

“Indeed, I know it very well.”

“Then that is what I should like to hear, if you would be willing to oblige me.” He moved toward some large rocks protruding from the ground at the base of the cavern wall, away from the light. Taking a seat, he leaned toward the shadows, cocooning himself until he blended into the background.

Mary took a few breaths, her nerves now rioting with the knowledge of his presence. Her heart was beating furiously against her chest while her hands had long since grown clammy. For the first time ever, she felt as though she might be sick from the unease roiling around inside her stomach. Which of course was silly. It wasn’t the first time that she would be singing in front of another person, though it would be the first time that she would be doing so as herself.

Clasping her hands together before her, she turned away from where he sat and where her lantern stood, and stared into the darkness. The first few notes were hesitant—too soft and tremulous for her own liking. She closed her eyes, gave herself up to the music . . . listening, as her voice grew stronger, rising and falling with flawless clarity as it resonated around her. Gradually, everything fell away, including herself, until all that remained was the song.

It wasn’t until it drew to a close, dying upon her lips, that she became aware of the tears pooling behind her eyes and the ache that filled her chest—a common occurrence whenever she allowed the music to take control of her senses. A second of silence followed. She drew a breath, and then, the sound of clapping, reminding her that she wasn’t alone.

“Remarkable,” she heard him say from somewhere close behind her, informing her that he’d come toward her once more. What surprised her the most, however, was the sound of his voice. It was raw with emotion, as if he too had been brought to tears by the song.

She prepared to turn, to face him with the hope of somehow returning to some sense of normalcy. But before she could manage to do so, she felt the warmth of him against her back—the hard contour of his chest, just before his arm came around her, securing her in place. A gasp escaped from between her lips, and she instinctively stiffened against him.

“Shh . . .” His voice was tender against her ear. “You know that I mean you no harm.”

Her body relaxed and she allowed herself to lean back against his strength. “You should not be touching me like this.” And yet she wanted him to, even as she heard herself say, “It is not proper.”

He chuckled—a low rumble that coiled its way around her. “Indeed, it is far from it, but I cannot seem to stop myself.” He spread his fingers against her waist. “You are the light to which I am drawn.”

“And you are the darkness that lets me shine,” she whispered. His mask was cool against the side of her neck, but his body was all heat, cascading through her and making her want things she’d never wanted before. “I cannot seem to escape you.”

“Do you wish to?”

A simple question, the answer to which she sensed would direct their future. “No.” His hold on her tightened. “I wish to know you.”

Without warning, he pulled away, leaving her cold. She turned, addressing his back. “Tell me about the war, your childhood . . . anything that will allow me to form a clearer image of the man you are.”

He paused, considering her request before looking back at her over his shoulder. Their eyes met, and his body immediately responded, recalling how good it had felt to hold her in his arms only moments earlier. She’d been so soft and warm, perfectly molded against his firmer contours. It occurred to him that he would have liked to remain like that forever. Lord, it seemed like a lifetime since he’d been that close to a woman.

Inhaling deeply, he tried to return to a more relaxed state of being. He blamed the song for his momentary lack of propriety—that, and the beauty she exuded. And yet he’d chosen to use it against her, threatening her with her secret while she had accepted his proposal without the slightest degree of anger or even irritation. He owed her something in return. “No man, who has ever been to war, returns the way he was before he left. It changes you . . . affects you . . . in ways you cannot possibly imagine.”

A long moment of silence passed between them before she eventually asked, “Did you lose many friends?”

He turned more fully toward her. “When you witness the kind of devastation war causes, it no longer matters if they were your friends or not. All you can think of is that they were living, breathing people; fathers, brothers, sons. Their loss was unacceptable, even if I did not know them personally.”

She nodded as if she understood, even though she couldn’t. Not really.

“The truth is,” he found himself saying, “that none of us wanted to be there, even though we all pretended otherwise. At least in the beginning, before the fighting started.” The memory of what had followed pulled him back into the past, flooding his mind with images he’d rather forget.

“And then?” she prompted.

He blinked, startled by her sudden proximity. “Seeing men blown to pieces by canon fire, trampled to death by horses as they lay wounded in the mud, wandering aimlessly about with missing limbs . . . horrifying does not come close to describing the brutality of it.”

“I cannot imagine what it must have been like.”

“Nobody can. Not unless they were there.” A memory surfaced—blonde hair tied with blue ribbons. “There was a girl, perhaps sixteen years old. She was French.” He could still hear her screams. Laisse-moi! Je t'en supplie! “Some British soldiers—my own countrymen—had captured her during an unsanctioned raiding party in Lille. They snatched her from the street and brought her back to camp with them, almost eighty miles away from her home.”

“What did they want from her?”

He could tell from her voice that she dreaded the answer, so he decided to spare her the details. “Something they never got.”

Her eyes widened with understanding. “You fought your fellow soldiers in order to save a Frenchwoman?”

“It was the right thing to do.” He shook his head. “The war brought out the worst in those men. They deserved the beating I gave them and the dishonorable discharge issued by Wellington after I told him of their actions.” A flash of bare limbs twisted beneath the torn fabric of a gown shot through his mind. The girl had been bruised and battered by the time he’d found her, but she’d muttered an almost inaudible, merci, when he’d set her down in front of her parents’ house the following day.

“Will you tell me how you sustained your own injuries?”

Blinking, Richard focused his mind on the present and on the woman standing before him. He’d known the question would come—had suspected that she must have figured it out—and yet it still caught him off guard. His shoulders tensed and his heart rate accelerated, as was always the case when he thought back to the moment when his face had been taken from him. “I was captured,” he said, pushing the words past the knot in his throat. “It was a reconnaissance mission, ordered by the Duke of Wellington. I volunteered along with a few others, but something went wrong and . . .” He winced, sensing the blind rage that threatened to consume as he recalled the betrayal, forcing it back so she would not see. He took a deep breath, expelled it, aware that his nails were digging into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists. Willing himself to relax, he told her bitterly, “The French wanted information. They decided to burn me in order to get it.”

Pain captured her features, twisting them with anguish on his behalf. “I am so sorry,” she whispered.

“You must not pity me!” The words whipped through the air, echoing around them.

“I do not,” she told him gently. “But I cannot help but feel a tremendous amount of sadness for what you have been through. Nobody should have to experience such a thing.”

Soothed by the goodness she exuded, he felt his anger dissipate. “I agree.” Shifting, he took her by the hand. “Spending time with you allows me to forget. When we are together, I feel like the man I once was.”

“Before the war?”

He nodded. “I used to be social. Now I choose to live alone, surrounded by no one.”

“What about your family? Your friends?” Incomprehension filled her voice. “Surely you must have seen some of them since your return?”

“Only my father, my brother and my secretary,” he confessed.

“Surely your friends must have called on you, to welcome you home?”

Gently, he squeezed her hand. “I was reported missing. When I returned to England, I did nothing to change that status.”

“They think that you are dead.” The words were but a whisper in the dim light of the cavern. “Why?”

“Because it was easier than facing them, of having to explain what happened and subjecting myself to their shocked responses to my altered appearance.” There was another reason as well, of course, but he had no intention of sharing that with her.

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said, surprising him with her level of understanding.

That spark of hope he’d felt when they’d first met, and then again last night when she’d mentioned that character was of greater importance than looks, returned. “How long have you been singing?” he asked.

“For as long as I can remember.”

“And this particular style of music?”

“Just a few years,” she confessed. “I visited the opera for the first time with my parents when I was fourteen and was so impressed by it that I could not help but make an attempt at that style of singing myself.”

Her openness impressed him. “It is a pity that nobody else will ever hear you, because in my opinion, you are the best soprano that I have ever had the pleasure of listening to.”

She smiled, clearly pleased by his praise. “Thank you. That is very kind of you.”

He looked her straight in the eye, wanting her to know what he saw. “It is the truth.”

She said nothing in response as she stood there staring back at him, her eyes widening with deep understanding. “This is the strangest thing,” she eventually murmured as if she wasn’t even talking to him but to herself.

“What is?”

Her hands moved, indicating the space between them. “You and me. I never thought that I would meet someone who would actually see me, but I believe that you do. Don’t you?”

Richard felt the atmosphere change around him, aware that they were no longer having a casual conversation. “I can tell that singing is vital to your well-being, that it feeds your soul and that you would suffer without it. I suspect that this is the reason why you are reluctant to marry, because you fear that if you do, you will have to sacrifice your greatest passion.”

“I would have no choice but to do so. No man would allow me, as his wife, to engage in such activity. Not to mention that few men would even consider marrying me if they knew.”

“Then they are fools.” Lord, he’d give anything to be able to listen to her every day for the rest of his life.

She tilted her head a little. “Do you not realize how scandalous it would be if anyone were to find out?”

“Why would they? If you married, then I am sure that you would be able to find a private place on your husband’s estate where you might practice.”

She smiled slightly in response to his suggestion. “And in London?”

He inclined his head, seeing her point. “You might have to refrain while staying in Town, but at least you would have a normal life with children to love and care for.”

“I must admit that foregoing the chance to have children would be my greatest regret, but to choose a life without the freedom to sing whenever I please, seems like an unbearable sacrifice to make.”

He studied her for a moment, frowning as he said, “I doubt that it would be so different from the life you are presently living. After all, finding a place in which to practice whenever you are in London must be just as difficult now as it would be if you married. At present, you have your aunt to worry about.”

She started a little at his words as if he’d somehow surprised her with his reasoning. Blinking, she said, “Of course.”

There was something about the way she spoke that gave him pause. For a second, he couldn’t help but wonder if she might be hiding something else—another reason to avoid getting married. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from being curious. “Have you ever explored the cave beyond this point?” he asked, deciding to change the subject for now.

Her expression relaxed, as did her posture. “No. I did not think that it would be wise to do so alone.”

He almost laughed, stopping himself at the last moment. “I see,” he said as he went to fetch his lantern. Returning with it, he passed the spot where she stood and swung the light around. “There appears to be a small decline over here that continues down toward another level deeper underground.” The adventurer inside him called out and he turned back to face her. “Is there any chance that you might like to explore it with me tomorrow afternoon?”

“I would have to find a reasonable excuse to be absent from Thorncliff.”

“Perhaps after dinner then? You could feign a headache.” He held his breath, realizing how eager he was for her to say yes.

She nodded once. “I think I would enjoy that.” Her tone held a great deal of thought to it and then her eyes lit with excitement. “Perhaps we will find something wonderful.”

“Like skeletons and pirate treasure?”

She scrunched her nose in the most adorable way. “The treasure would not be so bad, but skeletons?” A visible shudder raked along her spine.

“They will not hurt you, you know.”

She gave him a look of distinct displeasure. “That certainly is a comforting thought.”

“You need not worry,” he said as he moved toward her, bathing her in the light of his lantern. “I will be there to protect you.”

“Another comforting thought,” she said, her words dancing through the darkness, carrying with them a secret confession that immediately stirred his blood.

Reaching out, he trailed his thumb along her jawline, his breath escaping him as she swayed toward him, eyes closing on a sigh of pleasure. “Mary.” He spoke her name with reverence, foregoing the honorific without even thinking; loving the way it curled over his tongue.

Unrest churned around his stomach, like a storm rising upon the horizon, drawing nearer with every aching beat of his heart. His thumb continued across the soft ridge of her cheekbone, toward her ear where a strand of hair had come undone. Tucking it back in place, he noted her shallow breaths and became conscious of his own. If only . . . There were a million ways in which he might finish that wish. “It is late,” he said, dropping his hand to his side. “I should get you back to the house.”

“It is unlikely that anyone will notice my absence.”

“Nevertheless, I insist. We can come back tomorrow at a more reasonable hour. As we discussed.” He offered her his arm, which she thankfully accepted after a brief hesitation. But when he moved to escort her out of the cave, she failed to follow, effectively halting his progress. He looked down at her. “What is it?”

“It is just . . .” She bit her lip and looked away, took a breath and tried again by saying, “Forgive me, but I am having trouble expressing myself correctly.”

“Take your time.” He placed his hand over her arm, hoping to offer support and courage—curious about what she might say.

Hesitantly, she met his gaze, concern and sincerity blending in her eyes like a pair of puddles flowing together. The effect was one of complete vulnerability, tightening his chest until he felt his heart squeeze. “Am I imagining it, or is there more between us than just a cordial acquaintanceship?”

He stilled, fearing the fragility of the moment. “You wish to know if I am attracted to you.” His pulse leapt with anticipation the moment she nodded her response.

“Are you?”

God yes!

“I enjoy your company a great deal,” he said, afraid of where his honesty might lead.

She winced. “That does not tell me much, considering how little company you have had for the past few years. I daresay any conversation would be welcome.”

“You may be correct.” Her face fell. “But I doubt that anyone else would be able to sing as well as you.” Fear stopped him from mentioning her looks, how beautiful he found her or how desperately he wanted to kiss her.

“Is that all?” Hope clung to her voice.

“No. But it must suffice for now.”

She stared back at him. “I am sorry to hear you say that.”

“Why?” He could not help but ask—could not help but hope, just as he’d done from the very first moment he’d seen her—in spite of everything. The odds against them were enough to discourage the most determined of men.

A crease appeared upon her brow. “Because although we have known each other for only a brief time, I rather imagined that you were tempted to kiss me before.”

Lord help him, she was brave, bold and utterly divine. Heat exploded in the pit of his stomach while his chest expanded, a rush of energy tumbling through him, filling him with want. “And?” He forced himself to take courage.

A miserable smile captured her lips. “And I found myself hoping that you might.”

Richard’s heart thudded against his chest, his breaths carefully measured as he stared down at her upturned face. He swallowed, unsure of what to say in response to such a forthright confession.

She averted her gaze, began to turn away. “I am sorry,” she muttered, shame dripping from the voice that had been so confident barely a second before.

It was more than he could bear. “You must not be.” When she tried to move away from him, he held her firmly in place, knowing that he would be the greatest ass that ever lived if he failed to meet her honesty head on. “The truth is that I would like to kiss you, more than anything in the world. But I cannot.”

“Because you do not wish for me to see your face.”

“I am afraid of what will happen between us if you do.”

She frowned, her expression more serious than he’d ever seen it before. “You think that it would alter my opinion of you?”

“I am certain of it.” He knew he was being harsh and that he wasn’t giving her the chance she deserved to prove him wrong, but it couldn’t be helped. He liked her too much to risk losing her on account of his appearance.

“I am not that shallow, Richard,” she said with conviction. “Far from it.”

His name upon her lips, spoken with fondness, prompted him to pull her into his arms. “I know,” he whispered against the top of her head. “But I am not ready for you to see me. Not yet. Please, Mary . . .” He fought for breath as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Try to understand.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she wound her arms around him too, hugging him back. Lord knew he needed this—the warmth and comfort that she provided. It wasn’t until now that he realized how much he’d missed physical contact with another person. Spencer and his father had provided him with conversation, but this . . . the feeling of her heart beating steadily next to his, almost brought tears to his eyes. “Promise me that you will not look.”

A brief hesitation followed, as if she wasn’t sure of what he was asking of her. She finally nodded. “I promise.”

Holding her against him, her cheek pressed into the black wool of his cloak, Richard raised one hand to push back the hood. Taking a breath, he then tilted back the mask and dipped his head, allowing her hair to tickle his face as he inhaled her scent. “You smell so good,” he whispered, realizing belatedly how ridiculous that sounded.

Her fingertips dug against the muscles spanning his back. “Chamomile mixed with lemons. It is my favorite scent.”

“Mine too,” he told her gruffly, to which she chuckled gently—a sweet sound filled with promise. Spreading her fingers, she pulled him closer.

For a moment they just stood there like that, chest against chest until Richard decided to lean back a little so he could look at her. Tilting her head, he saw that her eyes were closed, just as she had promised. He was grateful for that. Exceedingly so. Staring down at her delicate neck and at the pulse that beat there, he carefully lowered his lips to the smooth skin that awaited, pressing a series of kisses against her. She gasped in response to each individual one, and it was all he could do not to press his lips more fully against hers.

Raising his head, he lowered his mask before pulling back from her embrace, adoring the befuddled expression that captured her face as her lips parted with surprise. “One step at a time,” he told her softly.

With a dazed nod, she allowed him to escort her out of the cave, their lanterns lighting the path in the darkness as they made their way back to Thorncliff like a pair of specters stealing through the night.

When he returned to his bedchamber, Richard expelled a deep breath as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. He deserved a medal for the degree of restraint he’d shown this evening. Which of course made him immediately wary. His situation was complicated—more than Lady Mary even realized. The demons that plagued him demanded retribution, blackening his heart while hers shone bright with purity. They were completely ill-fitted. There was no denying that. Nor was there any denying the fact that he would be the worst possible scoundrel if he continued to seek her company. No good could possibly come of it.

And yet . . . he still had hope that maybe . . . maybe she would still want him once she saw his face. He winced. But would she be able to accept what he was doing? Women were sensitive creatures after all. Perhaps she’d judge him harshly for it.

Glancing down, he caught sight of a crisp piece of paper, neatly folded upon the floor; a letter, slipped beneath the door while he’d been out. Picking it up, he tore open the seal and unfolded the missive. There were only a couple of lines.

Pondering the importance of the words, Richard crossed to the sideboard, poured himself a brandy and went to sit behind his desk. Retrieving a piece of pristine paper, he dipped his quill in the inkwell and wrote:

Once the letter had been folded and sealed, Richard took a sip of his brandy. He’d always considered himself the forgiving sort. Not anymore though. Rising, he went to the window and looked out, the positive mood he’d shared with Lady Mary earlier now clouded by the anger that followed him daily, like a loyal dog. He would be rid of it soon though. He would make certain of that.