He was surely teasing her. It was too strong a statement after the doubts he’d harbored the night before.

But those gorgeous hazel eyes were utterly serious. She’d asked him not to charm her, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

Or maybe she couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was her fault that, suddenly, everything was hot — like a spark had ignited and taken hold in her dry, desolate heart.

It was inexplicable. He was a liar who came from unknown circumstances. There was no reason to believe he would be a good match. But when she looked at him, her Briarley heart whispered mine.

It hadn’t ever said that when she’d looked at Chapman.

The memory of Chapman wasn’t a good one. She’d already had a “secret engagement.” If Max wanted her to prove her desire for him, he’d have to give her more than vague promises and smoldering looks.

She eyed him coolly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Either one of us could break our agreement before an engagement is announced. Ferguson may think you deserve the house, but I can still convince him that you aren’t the heir. And I won’t hesitate to ruin your chances if you take advantage of me.”

“When you look at me like that, I can believe that you’d prune my branch of the family tree,” he said. “But I hope you won’t do it quite yet.”

It would have been easier if he was cowed by her — that had been one of her requirements for a suitor. But her heart sped up when he teased her. It was intoxicating. And not at all in her plans.

Lucy shrugged. “If you keep your word, you won’t ever find out whether I would murder you. Are there any other portraits you wish to see?”

She intended for him to take a hint from the changed topic — but she was still silly enough to be slightly disappointed when he followed her lead. “We don’t have to spend the whole day in the portrait gallery,” he replied. “There must be rooms with happier memories somewhere at Maidenstone.”

Lucy laughed. “If you think there are happy family stories here, you’re mistaken. Maidenstone has a long history of disaster. I could tell you a tragic story in every room, if you wanted to hear it.”

“And I could tell you a tragic story on every street of London, but people still enjoy visiting it. Will you give me a tour of the rooms you love, at least? The ones you treasure?”

“That could take days,” she said.

He offered his arm again. “Then we may as well start now.”

She took his arm, putting her hand lightly in the crook of his elbow. She’d walked with Chapman like this…but she wouldn’t let herself think of him.

“I hope you’re ready to walk,” she said, as they strolled slowly toward the door that led to the main entrance hall. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

“I’ll walk anywhere you lead me.”

“Careful what you wish for, Mr. Vale. Call it superstition, but there’s a rumor that the house loves to grant wishes — or foil them.”

She was looking up at him as she said it, and so she caught the slight downward turn to his mouth. “In my experience, wishes don’t come true unless we make them come true.”

His sudden melancholy took her by surprise. And it reminded her of other moments when he’d seemed to realize that his life was so very different from hers. He sipped his tea like he’d craved that pleasure for ages. He was shocked by the number of servants Maidenstone employed. And he watched everything around him like he was cataloguing it — like he couldn’t believe there were so many beautiful objects in a single house.

It would be easy enough to seduce him into this way of life. No matter where he came from, Maidenstone Abbey was surely more impressive than his previous surroundings. But she also needed to convince him that she would be the best possible consort for him. She had to walk the knife-edge of showing him the life he could have at Maidenstone, while also making him believe that he could only have it by marrying her.

“I can make your wishes come true, Mr. Vale,” she said. Her hand still rested lightly on his arm, and she let her fingers do what they already wanted to do — she grazed them over his jacket, sending an unmistakeable message.

“If you’re going to make my wishes come true, you’d better call me Max.”

His voice was suddenly rough. If it weren’t for the risks she faced, she might have smiled.

“Max,” she said. “What do you wish for?”

They reached the door. He paused there, looking down at her. She had the sense again that he couldn’t quite believe what she was offering him — that he was weighing this life against that life, whatever that life had been.

But then a shutter dropped over his eyes, even as he smiled at her. “I wish I could have Maidenstone — and you — without worrying that it could all be gone in an instant. But for now, you can show me everything I would love about this place, so I can remember it when Ferguson sends me back to the shops.”

The “and you” made her heart leap. But the worry in his voice was real.

“Let’s tour Maidenstone,” she said, tugging him through the door. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be so enchanted that you’ll do anything to convince Ferguson of your claim.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered.

* * *

She was seducing him. He knew it, he recognized it, he felt it — and yet even with that knowledge, he couldn’t deny her.

They’d toured the house for hours. Every room held improbable wonders; every door opened to a new realm full of treasures. He’d lost track of how many things he could steal. The jewels were still the best target, although she hadn’t shown him any of those. Still, every room in the house held something that would make the whole endeavor worth his time.

But Lucy wasn’t seducing him with possessions alone.

She walked in front of him now, leading the way into the Gothic wing — the oldest part of the abbey, left over from when the monks had built the place. He watched the sway of her hips, heard the pleasant melody of her chatelaine whispering against her thigh, and cursed under his breath.

Not enough under his breath. She looked over her shoulder. “I beg your pardon?” she asked.

Her voice sounded sultry, despite that perfectly posh accent. He’d listened to her all day, as she’d told story after story of this house that she loved, and it almost felt like she was casting a spell around him.

He tried to clear his head — to remember why he was there. He was looking for valuable objects, not seeking to hear about a heritage he’d fabricated.

“I should have taken your warning about the size of the house to heart,” he said. “I’m older than you — I don’t have your stamina.”

She grinned at him. “I’d wager you have enough stamina for my needs.”

She said it without blushing. She was too direct, too honest — and yet somehow that felt like an irresistible flirtation.

Especially when she turned and kept walking, and he could swear she added an extra bit of sway to her step just for him.

He looked away, trying again to remember his mission. The walls in this wing were solid stone. Ancient, faded tapestries hung lifeless against the rock, and dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the high, narrow windows. They were far removed from the rest of the party and hadn’t seen any servants or guests since stepping into the old abbey.

Other than the tapestries and the iron wall sconces where candles once burned, the rooms were empty. “What do you intend to show me here?” he asked, as Lucy paused at the entrance to Maidenstone’s chapel.

“You asked earlier if I would show you my favorite place at Maidenstone,” she said. “Do you still want to see it?”

He could pretty much guess at this point that her favorite place had nothing to do with vaults and jewels. But it was too late to say he wasn’t interested. And besides, he wasn’t quite ready to leave her company.

But that was far too dangerous a thing to think.

“Of course,” he said. “Although I didn’t guess you to be the pious type.”

She shrugged. “I have faith. But I’m probably a little more likely to forgive sins than the monks would have been.”

“Says the lady who threatened to prune my family tree if I crossed her,” he said.

Lucy grinned. “And I’ll forgive myself for it if I have to.”

God, she was incredible. He watched her as she walked away — it felt like he could see the future and who she might become. She’d been so proper when he’d met her the night before. But when she grinned at him and said audacious things, he felt brief flickers of a future that might have been.

A future she’d invited him to share with her. A future she seemed intent on making real.

He followed her into the chapel. It was a soaring, empty space, filled with light. The rest of Maidenstone was sumptuously decorated, but the chapel was completely bare, save for the altar and a row of carved choir stalls on either side of the nave.

“When my parents were alive, there were still enough Briarleys left to hold Sunday services here,” she said. “But we only use it for weddings and funerals now. It’s too much fuss to set up chairs and bring the priest here for Emma and me.”

It was the first time she’d mentioned her parents — odd, since she’d spent hours walking him through Maidenstone’s rooms. She hadn’t shown him the nursery or schoolroom either.

“How old were you when they passed away?” he asked.

“Seven.”

Titus had been seven when their father had followed their mother to the grave. Max still remembered Titus’s bewildered anger and tears.

But Max and his siblings hadn’t had eighty-three servants to comfort them.

That fact hit Max like a punch in the chest. Lucy’s life had been so very different than Max’s. She’d lost her parents as well, but she’d never gone hungry or needed to protect anyone but herself. She had never known desperation. And while it would hurt her to lose Maidenstone, she would still have a dowry — she could easily make another life, with a man of her own class.

So why would a woman who had everything want to marry a stranger like Max?

She walked away, seemingly uninterested in talking about her parents. At the back of the chapel, she pulled open a small door and revealed a spiraling staircase. “Are you ready to climb?” she asked.

He nodded. She led the way again, up stone steps that were heavily worn with centuries of use. He counted automatically, even though he didn’t expect to find any treasure at the top.

It took one hundred and twenty-seven steps, looping in a tight, claustrophobic spiral, before they emerged in a small open-air room at the top of the stairs. Arches faced in each of the cardinal directions, with low walls to prevent accidental falls. He looked out over a land of fields and trees, gardens and forests, and saw the English Channel glimmering to the south.

Max had never seen the ocean before. In a few days, if he was successful, he’d be crossing it on his way to a new life.

And he’d be crossing it with no hope of ever seeing Lucy again.

But he couldn’t think of that. He’d have plenty of time to think about what he’d left behind when he was on a ship — if he began mourning now, he would be too distracted to complete his mission. Still, the thought of leaving was enough to sour his enjoyment of the view.

They stood in silence for awhile, catching their breath as they looked out at the ocean. But a few minutes later, Lucy took his hand in hers, squeezing it as though she knew he needed something to keep him steady.

No one had held his hand like that since his father had taken him along on his business.

He squeezed back, carefully, tentatively. “Why is this your favorite spot?” he asked, hoping that she would think his voice was rough because the wind was playing tricks with them.

She was silent for a long time — so long that he began to wonder if she hadn’t heard him. “I was never supposed to come up here alone,” she finally said. “Mrs. Pearce — my nursemaid — didn’t think it was safe or proper for young girls. But once in awhile, when Octavia did something that upset me, I would sneak up here and cry in private.”

“Did she upset you often?”

Lucy laughed. “Not when we were younger. It was silly stuff then, like teasing me too much or hiding my favorite doll. We spent every waking moment in the nursery together — it’s little wonder that she tried my patience.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good enough memory to make this your favorite place.”

“It’s not.” She paused again. “I’ve never told anyone this. I don’t know why I’m even telling you. But I…I was up here the day my parents died. I watched them race their carriage up the drive — my father was racing Octavia’s father. And I was cheering for Father to win. He was always in a better mood when he beat Uncle Hadrian at something….”

She trailed off. He squeezed her hand. She looked down as though she was surprised to realize they were still touching, and then looked up to meet his gaze.

“They crashed into each other,” she said, almost inaudibly. “I covered my eyes, but I couldn’t not see it. And I couldn’t tell anyone because I wasn’t supposed to be here. It was hours before Grandfather finally came to tell me and Octavia what had happened. That whole time, I had to pretend that I didn’t know anything or else I would be in trouble for climbing the spire by myself. I know now that it was silly — they wouldn’t have punished me when my parents had just died. But at the time, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

He wasn’t supposed to feel anything for her. He tried to remember that.

But his heart broke for the child she had been.

“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing it was inadequate — but also knowing, from his own loss, that there weren’t any words that would make it better. “My father didn’t die violently, but it was still…unpleasant to witness.”

“What happened to him, if I may ask?”

Max shrugged. “Sickness. Ale. Debt. Missing my mum. He’d always dreamed of something better than the tea shop — waiting on all the lords and rich gentlemen gave him too many ideas of what he might have had instead. But I think one day he realized he was never going to do better, and it broke him.”

She squeezed his hand. “He would be proud of you. Even if you don’t become the earl.”

Max rather doubted that his father would have been proud that his children had become thieves.

With a slight shake of his head, he asked, “So why is this your favorite place, if that memory is so sad?” He hoped to divert her attention away from his past — this was all getting dangerously personal.

“I suppose you don’t want to know that the first countess fell to her death here? The official story is that she jumped, but rumor has it that her husband pushed her after catching her with one of his brothers.”

He laughed — he couldn’t help it. “You have terrible taste in favorite places. Why would you pick a place that is so linked to death and disaster? There must be a hundred better places here.”

“Everything at Maidenstone is linked to death and disaster,” she said. “That’s the point.”

“The point is that all the Briarleys are insane?”

“As are you, if you’re really a Briarley.”

Max squeezed her hand again. “I won’t deny any questions you have about my sanity. But why is this your favorite place?”

She dropped his hand, opening her arms as though she could show him the whole world. “You can see forever from here. On a day like today, you can see all that remains of Maidenstone Wood. You can see all the fields that make up the tenants’ livelihoods, watch plantings and harvests. You can see everyone who comes and goes. And you can believe, from this high up, that everything has its season — that everything will be okay in the end.”

“Easy belief to have if you’ve never been hungry.”

He shouldn’t have said it. There was a flash of sympathy in her eyes — and a question about his background that he wasn’t prepared to answer.

But she didn’t ask it. She nodded instead. “I won’t pretend to know what your life was like, Max. All I know is that when I stand up here, this view forces me to remember that every life comes and goes in its own time. Maidenstone will be here long after we’re all gone. Maybe someday my daughter will play with Octavia’s daughter in Maidenstone Wood. Maybe they’ll grow to hate each other like we did. Maybe they’ll forgive each other in the end. We can’t know the future. But life finds a way to surprise you, even when everything feels hopeless.”

“The first countess didn’t feel that way, if she chose to leap to her death,” he said.

“We don’t know for sure what her choices were. Maybe she chose love with another brother and was murdered for it. Or maybe she took her broken heart and jumped. But for my own choosing, I’ve come to understand that there’s always a path forward. Even if it’s not clear in the moment.”

She looked up at him. Her dark eyes were serious, but something smoldered there. “Tell me you can see the path before us, Max. You can have all of this if you’re ready to accept it.”

God help him, he could see it all in her eyes. He barely knew her, and he hadn’t come to Maidenstone for her — but when he met her gaze, his heart whispered mine.

He was tempted then. Tempted to say yes. Tempted to trust that she was right, and that everything would work out in the end — not because his luck was any good, but because hers was. Maybe no one would ever notice the changes he and Titus had made in the records of several churches across London and Devonshire — little edits here and there, easier than they’d expected, to turn mundane names into Roman ones and make the line of descent look as clear and legitimate as possible. Maybe no one would ever care that they had no real proof that their original Vale ancestor was actually a Briarley, even though his birthday exactly matched what they’d found in the Briarley parish church.

And maybe Durrant would never realize that Max had become the Earl of Maidenstone. But if he did, he would bleed Maidenstone dry, demanding payment to keep Max’s previous life a secret.

Maidenstone had enough money to pay a hundred blackmailers. But he couldn’t do that to Lucy.

She guessed, when he paused too long, what his answer was. The smolder sparked into anger, which she quickly smothered. “Very well, Mr. Vale. Shall we go down and prepare for dinner? You can ring for a tray if you need something to eat before then, since I kept you from enjoying the luncheon.”

She was brisk and coldly efficient again — the woman he’d assumed her to be when she had walked into the receiving room the day before and looked at him as though he was a problem to be dealt with.

He should do the honorable thing and let her walk away. A woman who was capable of hope was the most dangerous kind of all. That smolder could turn into something stronger — something that could only lead to heartbreak.

But, coward that he was, he couldn’t accept the thought of pushing her aside now — not when she had just given him one of the best afternoons of his life. Sad, that a tour of a house could be such an event for him. But for a few hours, he hadn’t thought of responsibilities, or feeding himself, or whether his siblings were safe. He’d merely enjoyed the melodious flow of her stories and the way she treated him as an equal.

And even if he could harden his heart against her, the fact remained that he still didn’t know where the jewels were. The key to those vaults was likely chained to her waist. He couldn’t steal those keys unless she was willing to let him get close to her.

So he reminded himself that he was a thief and a criminal, and that he was born under an unlucky star. He would have a lifetime to repent for this. But he would do what he needed to do.

“I can see the path you’ve offered, Lucy,” he said.

He took her hand. She flinched when he touched her, but she didn’t pull back. He wove his fingers through hers, then kissed her ring finger, right over the knuckle where, in another life, he might have put a wedding ring.

“Does that mean you’ll…?”

She couldn’t seem to bring herself to finish the sentence. He was leading them into dangerous currents; if Lucy was speechless, it couldn’t be a good thing.

But he belonged in dangerous currents. He kissed her hand again, then pulled her into his arms. He dropped his other hand to her waist, caressing — playing with the delicate chain that held her chatelaine.

She looked up at him, her lips parting of their own accord.

He took the invitation. And, God help him, she met him halfway.

She didn’t hesitate today as she had the night before — even though it was broad daylight, and they were in a sacred space. She brushed her hand along his jaw, giving him an unmistakable invitation. And when he deepened the kiss, all thoughts of chatelaines temporarily forgotten, she was ready for him — slow and sultry, and entirely willing.

He could see the path ahead of them. And he was going to be damned for it.

But he didn’t stop. He explored instead — this woman, whom he certainly didn’t deserve. He already loved her voice, but now he worshipped her mouth, and the wicked games they could play with no words at all. She moaned a little, bringing her hand to the back of his neck as though she would never let him go. And he was greedy for something other than keys and vaults…his hand slid down, fitting perfectly over the derriere that had tempted him all afternoon. If he let himself…if she let him…he wouldn’t have to wonder how she would look in stockings and garters and nothing else….

It was a dream he couldn’t let himself have. He was already hard for her; he couldn’t trust himself to let this continue. Dangerous waters were one thing, but ruining her was a sin he couldn’t commit no matter what the stakes were.

He pulled back, slowly, with short, sweet extra kisses, his body craving a few more moments of pleasure, though his mind already knew he had to stop.

He was enough of a man to be pleased with the flush on Lucy’s cheeks and the full, thoroughly-kissed pout of her mouth. She looked at him for a long moment, as though she was memorizing something about him or this moment. And he wondered if, the next time she came to this tower, the memory of their kiss would be an improvement over everything else that had happened there.

But the next time she returned to the spire, he might have already disappeared with her jewels. She’d probably toss him off the tower right now if she knew what he was planning.

Maybe some of his regret seeped into his face, because her gaze cooled. “As I said last night, we’ll have to find a ring for you to give me if that’s your method of sealing agreements.”

“You can’t claim you didn’t enjoy it,” he said.

She laughed, but it almost sounded bitter. “Ah, wounded male pride. I forgot about that possibility. Your kiss was quite passable. Commendable, even.”

“Commendable for a shopkeeper?”

She shrugged. “Probably commendable for a lord, too. Not that I’d know, of course.”

She may have denied it, but she definitely knew something about kissing and male pride…and he wondered again what her secret was. Something protective flared up. Something closer to possession than he wanted to admit.

“Now you’re just trying to bait me. Our kiss was excellent.”

She rolled her eyes. “Serviceable. Good enough to convince me that you might have enough stamina for me despite your advanced age.”

“I’m twenty-eight, not eighty,” he said, acting wounded.

“That young?” she said, sounding startled.

That did come close to wounding him. “Do I look older?”

Lucy shook her head. “But you seem wiser.”

They were moving into dangerous waters again — but this time, it was his heart that was at risk. She was seducing him again without even meaning to. Her mix of sarcasm and forthright honesty was irresistible. He could have stayed there all day, basking in the glow of the afternoon sun and her entertaining wit.

But he had a job to do. “Should we go look at rings?” he said.

She paused. “I think not yet, Mr. Vale.”

“I thought that’s the path you wanted?”

“It is. But one minute you seem like you want to run away, and the next you’re kissing me like you’re never going to let me go. And through it all, you want to keep our arrangement secret. I wasn’t born yesterday. Those aren’t the actions of a steadfast suitor.”

She was too perceptive by half. “What do you want me to do to prove my intentions?”

“Besides a public announcement?” she asked.

“I’m avoiding a public announcement to spare you, not me. What if Ferguson decides that I’m not the earl? Don’t you want to be able to break our engagement without anyone knowing and shaming you for it?”

She considered that, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head as a new scheme formed. But when she finally spoke, her plan was deceptively mild.

“Tomorrow night is the annual decoration of the Briarley mausoleum. Have you heard of it?”

He nodded. “The living Briarleys lay flowers for the dead, and the whole village participates.”

“Come with me tomorrow. See how it feels to be a Briarley. If you play the role well enough, it will be another step toward convincing Ferguson that you deserve the title. And it will be another step toward convincing me to take you seriously.”

The last thing he wanted was to make any sort of public scene about his claim to the earldom. Thieves operated best in the shadows, where no one recognized them.

But if he said no to her now, she wouldn’t talk to him again. He could see it in her eyes — she was resolute, no matter what her heart or her body wanted.

And he would be no closer to finding the Briarley jewels — nor would he ever have another chance to get close enough to her to steal her keys.

So he nodded, even though it was another sin added to the pile of sins he’d committed since arriving at Maidenstone. “I would like to pay my respects to my ancestors, whether Ferguson accepts my claim or not.”

She snorted. “You don’t have to pretend with me. But I’ll make sure your first decoration of the mausoleum goes off without a hitch. Unless the Briarley ghosts appear and denounce you as an imposter.”

Max didn’t believe in ghosts — but if the Briarley ghosts existed and could form opposition against imposters, Max didn’t want to know. He offered her his arm. “No pretending. Shall we go down to dress for dinner so that I may impress you with my ability to be an earl?”

She laughed, almost sounding like she was trying not to. “I’m more worried about impressing you. You’ll find that society is quiet boring — by the end the night, you’ll probably be desperate to escape back to your regular life.”

“Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about me returning to my regular life,” he said, as he took the first step down the stairs. He’d enjoyed watching her go up them, but he would lead the way down — if she tripped, he could break her fall.

“Don’t make assurances you can’t keep,” she said.

The words echoed around him in the staircase, almost like the house itself was repeating the warning. He would have to spend the evening with Lucy’s guests — there would be no further time for reconnaissance. But he and his siblings needed to find the jewels as quickly as possible. Atticus wouldn’t be safe in Exeter forever.

And Max was beginning to realize that he might be in the greatest danger of them all.