Occasionally, just occasionally, London would put on a day so agreeable in temperature and breeze and sunshine, it made residents quite forget that at other times of the year it could be most unpleasant.

Today was one of those perfect days. Samantha, Caroline, and Aunt Jane had decided to take advantage of it with a stroll down one of the less popular, thus quieter and more serene, paths in Hyde Park. Her aunt had advised that gentle exercise and fresh air were both good for a mother-to-be, and unlike those who instructed ladies of quality to stay out of the sun to avoid nasty freckles, she believed sunshine in small doses to be good for the soul.

Samantha had to agree.

Alongside evenings at the theater with astonishingly good acting followed by inappropriate conversations with elderly reprobates, it seemed. David Underwood was a complete scapegrace, shocking and indelicate and unrepentant…and yet there had been something endearing about him, too. Amusing. At no time had she sensed any kind of cruelty or malice in the man, just someone who didn’t give a fig about society rules or norms. Actually, the only truly alarming moment had been when he’d taken her wrist to stop her leaving, and she’d felt a small jolt of heat.

That had been unnerving. Surely she couldn’t be attracted to a sixty-year-old man.

“Samantha Charlotte!”

She nearly jumped a foot in the air. “Sorry, was I woolgathering?”

Caroline laughed. “Well, Jane and I have been trying to get your attention for a good five minutes. What were you thinking about? Or,” she added with a sly look, “is it more who you were thinking about that is the case?”

“I just…I just have a lot on my mind right now.”

“And the tiredness and nausea,” said Aunt Jane, patting her arm sympathetically. “It’s not a nice combination, poor dear.”

“Wait a minute,” said Caroline, coming to a halt on the gravel path and pinning Samantha with a look. “Tiredness and…nausea?”

Her aunt took an audible breathe, her mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water. “It’s just a stomach upset. Samantha will be right as rain in no time.”

Caroline snorted. “That might have been a smooth rescue, dear mama-in-law, if I wasn’t already aware that Sam beat Lord Standish about the head with a stick and dragged him back to her lair for hours of unspeakable impropriety.”

“To be strictly factual,” mumbled Samantha, “it was his lair. And we dragged each other.”

“La la la,” said Aunt Jane, covering her ears. “I cannot hear this.”

“Oh, hush,” said Caroline tartly. “My mother and father anticipated their wedding day. If George hadn’t caught us, I daresay Stephen and I would have also. And may I remind you, ma’am, of the inadequate gap between your wedding day and the premature birth of your eldest son?”

Samantha gazed at her aunt in surprise. “Gregory was…oh! That’s how you know the pulling out method is as unreliable as a sponge.”

“Pfft,” said her aunt, her cheeks scarlet. “All right, fine. Andrew and I may have anticipated our vows. Once.”

“Ha!” said Caroline. “You were two little rabbits in springtime, weren’t you?”

Aunt Jane sniffed like a haughty empress. Then her brown eyes took on a devilish glint, and curling both hands in front of her, she hopped twice down the path.

Caroline burst out laughing, and Aunt Jane joined in, her shoulders shaking. Tears running down her face, Samantha giggled uncontrollably. It was just as well this particular path was clear right now, otherwise the three of them would be transported to Bedlam with all haste. But the laughter felt so good. Cleansing, even.

“Thank you,” said Samantha, when they were calmer. “I desperately needed that.”

“Whatever for?” said Caroline archly. “You’re only an unmarried ton daughter expecting a baby to an injured lord trapped in a foreign country we’re practically at war with. Tiny matter.”

“Much obliged for that succinct summary of my life.”

“Oh, darling,” said Aunt Jane, giving her a hug. “William will be home soon, and when he’s well enough, I’ll organize you the most marvelous wedding. Then in the New Year you’ll be just another society matron with a surprisingly sturdy premature baby. It happens so often, such news doesn’t even interest Lady Havenhurst nowadays.”

Samantha sighed. “You really think it will all be fine?”

“Yes,” said Caroline. “We will make it fine. In fact, I insist that 1816 be without sadness or violence of any kind.”

Aunt Jane shuddered. “I want to write to Liverpool and propose a ban on pistols. People are entirely too eager to shoot others…that is why I was so surprised to see David last night. I could have sworn he had been shot!”

“Is Mr. Underwood really that bad?” asked Caroline. “I tried to talk to Stephen about him last night, and he just got this pained look on his face and then distracted me. But now I really want to know.”

“No, he’s not a bad man. He just has some bad habits, like bedding other men’s wives. Now, I personally don’t like or approve of affairs, but if the husband and wife have a certain understanding with each other, well, that is their business. David, though…I think he quite likes the danger of it all.”

“Or perhaps Mr. Underwood just misses his late wife terribly and doesn’t know what to do with himself,” said Samantha, unable to stop the nagging feeling that the man was lonely and needed companionship.

“Maybe,” said Caroline. “You were talking to him, Sam—how did he seem? It looked like he made you laugh at one point.”

Samantha smiled. “He did. Mr. Underwood is amusing, when he’s not attempting to shock your hair snow-white. I…I couldn’t help but like him. I don’t know why.”

“David has that effect,” said Aunt Jane, rolling her eyes. “I’m always torn between wanting to strangle him and hug him. My husband just wanted to punch him in the nose. David is definitely not someone who does well in the company of other men.”

“Southby wanted to punch him in the nose,” said Caroline, nodding.

Samantha frowned in recollection. It was true, Alexander had been rather curt with Mr. Underwood. Well, more curt than usual. Which was ridiculous. Mr. Underwood might have a scandalous reputation, but he ran around with married women, not young spinsters a third his age. “I’m beginning to understand what you meant about the Lords being overprotective in certain circumstances.”

“Dear Southby,” said Aunt Jane. “He inherited the dukedom at a very young age, you know. I don’t think he’s ever had the opportunity to sow his wild oats like most men. Nor would he even know how. He just takes on more and more responsibility instead. And I worry that one day, his burdens will bury him. Oddly enough, I had that same fear for darling William. He was always so reserved. Holding himself just a little aloof.”

Caroline grinned. “He just needed the right unconventional blonde to storm his lair and turn his world upside down.”

Samantha nodded, but one hand instinctively slid down to rest on her stomach. William still didn’t know about her pregnancy, but it definitely wasn’t something that could be written in a letter. And speaking to him face to face was entirely reliant on him recovering enough to come home.

Oh God, did she want him to come home. To hear his voice and feel his arms wrapped around her. Six weeks already seemed an eternity, and she didn’t know how much longer she could bear.

Why did love have to be so hard?

* * *

“Mr. Underwood, have some decorum, sir! She’s far too young for you.”

William glanced sideways at the plainly dressed young buck standing next to him on the gravel path within Hyde Park, and sighed. This one was obviously fresh from the country—no one but ninety-year-old spinsters wore an expression of such appalled righteous indignation in London.

The stranger might have a small point, though. God knew what he’d muttered, or the expression that he’d had on his face as he watched Samantha stroll along the path ahead with Caroline and Aunt Jane, but from the naked horror in the buck’s tone, it had been something akin to a starving wolf spotting a plump spring lamb. Which was understandable.

After seeing Samantha at the theater, when he’d retired back to his bachelor accommodations and removed the disgusting makeup, wig, and ill-fitting clothing, he’d settled into bed and dreamed of her. Scorching hot, erotic dreams that left him rock-hard and aching—it seemed his cock didn’t care that she might well be an unscrupulous traitor who lured men in with false innocence and sweet words, then betrayed them. No, his idiot appendage just wanted to be deep inside her tight, wet quim again. Much like his lips and tongue wanted to worship her swollen nipples and clitoris. To feel the sting of her fingernails clawing his back, hear the sounds of her orgasmic cries as he filled her with come—

“Sir! I must insist you immediately cease looking at the young lady like that, or I’ll...I’ll...”

Silently thanking providence for makeup thick enough to hide a flush as bad as a young lad seeing a naked woman for the first time, William thumped his cane on the ground and glared at the stripling. The fact that he would knock unconscious and hurl into the Thames any man who looked at Samantha like he’d been doing wasn’t in the slightest bit hypocritical. “Are you new to the city, boy?”

“Uh, yes, sir,” the stripling replied, the earnest outrage on his homely face transforming to confusion. “We just came down from Nottingham yesterday.”

“Well then, let me give you a little advice. Strong opinions are best saved for your social circle and relatives, honorably intended though they may be. Imagine if I had a temper, a weapon, and friends in high places.”

His eyes bulged. “I…I didn’t mean any offence, sir. I have sisters...”

“Then run along and see to them rather than bothering Mr. Underwood,” interrupted a jovial voice with a steel undertone. As the would-be knight in shining armor scooted away, William grinned over his shoulder at Lord Harold Havenhurst.

“Harry, my good man! It’s been an age.”

“David. Still causing trouble here, there, and everywhere I see,” said Havenhurst, clapping him on the left shoulder as he came around to stand in front of him.

Agony screamed through his body. Christ, he was going to pass out. But after a few shallow breaths, William gritted his teeth and jauntily swung his cane as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “Tosh! I did the lad a service. If he continues around the city preaching like that, he’ll only wind up with a dagger between the ribs for his trouble.”

“Perhaps. But he’s right about one thing. Lady Samantha Buchanan is far too young for you, and already spoken for by someone far loftier than us, if what I think is true.”

William froze. “Harry. I know your dear wife is a source of all sorts of delightful gossip, but please don’t say you believe that tasty treat and Southby will make a match. I’ll be crushed beyond repair. Those luscious curves would be wasted on him.”

“Southby? I’m not talking about his grace, but young Standish. As soon as the marquess returns and is on his feet again, mark my words, there’ll be wedding bells a-ringing.”

“Oh? You think so?” William replied, stifling a smile.

“Indeed. If you had seen the two of them at Mary’s soiree, you’d know what I mean. He was very attentive. And all I can say is thank God for small mercies, I’ve been worried about the lad for some time now.”

“Worried about Standish? Why? Richard’s boy is a chip off the old block, isn’t he?”

Havenhurst glanced left and right and moved closer. “That is what concerned me. William following in Richard’s footsteps and being so overly dedicated to crown and country intrigues that he’d also fall into a dark abyss he couldn’t escape from. Andrew and I both warned Richard, many times, to stop crusading and concentrate on his family and responsibilities to the title, but the damned fool ignored both of us.”

Icy claws wrapped themselves around William’s heart and gouged viciously. What in the bloody hell was Havenhurst talking about? Father had been the perfect marquess who’d cared for his wife, taught his son, tended his lands, made excellent speeches in the House, and travelled occasionally. Nothing more.

“What do you mean, follow in his footsteps?” he made himself ask slowly, in Underwood’s nasal drawl. “Richard had no ties to Whitehall.”

“Not officially, no. But until the day he died he worked to stamp out treasonous activity. It kills me to say it, but I’ve never thought young William was orphaned by accident. I believe Richard’s work led to his and Sophia’s deaths.”

“No! But...the highwaymen...” he said hoarsely, as images from that excruciating day blasted through his mind like cannon fire. The screams as the carriage plunged over the bank. Those cruel, pitiless silver eyes which had mocked him before he’d been pistol-whipped. The sight and scent of a river of blood...

“Highwaymen?” replied Havenhurst grimly. “Or assassins?”

“You’re wrong,” William snarled, his right fist jerking up to wrap itself around the baron’s cravat. “So very, very wrong. How dare you impugn my fa...friend’s memory in this way. Richard was the best of men. He would never have put his family’s safety at risk. Ever!”

“David?” Havenhurst croaked, his eyes bulging as his face turned purple. “What on earth?”

With a muffled, dark curse he let his father’s friend go. Had it really come to this? Bad enough he’d jeopardized this new mission once already because he couldn’t stay in character at the theater, now he was assaulting an old man in public over a piece of nonsense theory. He would have known if his father had been involved in covert investigations. White would have said something, even more so had his father been murdered due to his work. Especially if they were still fighting the same battle against treason, against the same black-hearted bastards.

Surely.

“Forgive me, Harry,” he muttered, stepping back and attempting an Underwood smile. “Too much fresh air and sunshine and not nearly enough brandy and women make me a cantankerous old fool.”

Havenhurst let out a long, slow breath and adjusted his neck cloth. “Well, let’s find you a drink and a woman at once. But definitely not a married woman. Do you know I heard some twaddle that a gentleman brained you with a broom, shot you, and threatened to feed your entrails to the ducks because he caught you balls-deep in his lady wife?”

“Geese,” William replied with a shudder, closing his eyes briefly. “It was a flock of geese. But all untrue, as you can plainly see.”

“Indeed, indeed. Do I need to say no sweet young blondes also?”

“No sweet young blondes, Lord Havenhurst?” interrupted a laughing voice, and he glanced sideways to see Aunt Jane, Caroline, and Samantha all staring at them curiously. “We three are vastly disappointed at such discrimination!”

“Of course he didn’t refer to you, Janey darling,” William laughed, kissing her hand as the baron gave him a meaningful look and excused himself with a low bow. “Or your scrumptious younger sisters here either.”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a fond smile. “A line for every occasion. Perhaps you might act the gentleman for a bit and escort us to afternoon tea?”

“Act like a gentleman? Good God, you ask the earth, the sun and the moon, my love. But for you, I suppose I could. As long as you never tell anyone, mind.”

In reality, he didn’t even know if he could manage one foot in front of the other, let alone conversation after the lightning bolt Havenhurst had just stabbed through his chest. But he took Jane’s arm, and led the three women away from Hyde Park.

* * *

The tea shop was warm and busy, and the four of them were soon settled at a wooden table with plates of cream cakes, apple and nutmeg pastries, and lemon curd tarts to go with their steaming cups of fragrant tea.

Yet again, Samantha found herself picking at her food. For some unknown reason her lips wouldn’t form words in front of David Underwood today, at least not with an audience, and she listened more than participated in the conversation as he laughed and teased Aunt Jane and Caroline, all while shooting her the odd puzzled glance. When they returned out into the warm afternoon sunshine, she nearly stumbled over her own feet when he deliberately took her arm, leaving the other two to walk a few steps behind.

“Did you enjoy the refreshments, my dear?”

“I did indeed, Mr. Underwood,” Samantha replied politely as they walked back toward Hyde Park where Aunt Jane’s carriage waited to take them home. “Sweets are a weakness of mine, I’m afraid.”

“Uncle David, pet. But not as much as Lady Westleigh, though. While I never object to a little hand-stroking, I thought she might snap my fingers clean off when I reached for the last cream cake. Naturally I conceded defeat immediately—only a fool comes between a lady and her heart’s desire.”

Samantha’s lips curved into a smile. “Very wise, sir. Caro—Lady Westleigh—is, ah, particularly attached to cake.”

“Another of her many charms. Can’t abide women who eat like sparrows, all skin and bones. Ladies should have bosoms and bottoms and hips like the good Lord intended.”

Samantha coughed to halt an inappropriate giggle. This man truly was an irredeemable rogue. “Hasn’t the weather been lovely today? So warm and sunny.”

“Oh, darling, no,” he chided reprovingly. “We’ve just had an hour of small talk, I cannot abide a minute more. Tell me...tell me about all the young bucks who have been chasing you relentlessly since you made your come out. I’m sure you’ve been quite inundated with callers and flowers.”

“Actually, there isn’t much to tell.”

“What? Never you say. I am grievously worried for the future of this great country if the gentlemen of London cannot see what a perfect little peach you are!”

“It’s not that so much,” Samantha replied, her cheeks warm.

Mr. Underwood beamed. “Aha! So you do have a beau. I knew it. Who is he? Strapping, titled, and wealthy enough to keep you like a queen, I hope?”

Good grief, her blush had spread to her entire body. She was now a walking, talking tomato. “Well, I...ah...”

“What is the matter, pet? Surely he’s champing at the bit to put a ring on your finger. If I were a younger man, my word…”

Samantha looked away. Even though it was oddly easy to talk to David Underwood, how could she begin to explain the current situation with William? The man I love went to France on a dangerous mission. Before he left, we spent a magical night together, and now I am carrying his child. But he doesn’t know, because he was shot, and is still in France and I pray every day for his safe return. Although I don’t know whether or not he actually wants to marry me, or will ever love me back…

“Well, he’s a busy man with a great many responsibilities. And I do admire his steadfastness, even though I miss him terribly when he is…otherwise occupied.”

“I see,” said Mr. Underwood, in a voice so uncharacteristically cold, she glanced back in surprise. What had she said that was so offensive? But then his anger vanished as though it had never been, and he smiled cheerfully. “If you won’t regale me with naughty tales of young love, then tell me, hmmm, tell me something about yourself that no one else knows.”

Before she could answer, an angry fracas started behind them. They both spun around.

“Stop! Thief!” a man barked, and seconds later, a roughly-dressed youth sprinted past them clutching a leather money purse and gold fob watch.

Shockingly, her companion moved like he was about to run after the thief, but Samantha grabbed his hand.

“Wait,” she hissed. Yanking open her reticule, she pulled her dagger from its leather casing, turned, and threw it hard at the fleeing criminal in one thankfully smooth movement. To her amused delight, the dagger embedded itself in the youth’s backside, and he fell face-first onto the ground, howling like a hungry toddler. Old Gwen would have nodded with stern approval at that throw.

Unfortunately, David Underwood wasn’t nearly so admiring.

“Samantha!” he choked out, actually looking rather ill. And his fists were clenched, too, like he was furiously angry.

Oh God.

“Look, everyone!” she yelled. “See what Mr. Underwood did! He stopped the thief!”

Applause and cheers rang out from the gathering crowd. Hastily, her companion inclined his head and hurried over to the trapped youth to take back the money purse and watch, as well as her dagger, which he slipped into the lacy cuff of his shirtsleeve.

“Much obliged to you, sir” said the owner of the stolen goods, and Samantha whipped out her fan and waved it front of her face as though the excitement was too much.

Mr. Underwood awkwardly shook the man’s hand. “Er, no trouble. No trouble at all, my good man. Can’t allow injustice to go unpunished. But we must be off.”

Aunt Jane and Caroline were still talking with some passersby, but Mr. Underwood re-tucked Samantha’s arm through his, and almost dragged her along the path several feet.

“Well, Uncle David,” she said defiantly, although her voice trembled a little. “You said you wanted to know something about me that no one else knew. Now you do.”

He stared at her for the longest moment, then he chortled and handed her back the dagger. “Indeed, baby Sam, indeed. My word, aren’t you full of surprises! What a skill for a young lady to have. I’m desperately curious to know where you learned to do that, but darling Janey is charging toward us to save your virtue. So unnecessary. I’m not at all interested in ruining my clothing with twigs and grass and dirt. The good Lord created beds for a reason.”

Samantha smiled as she swiftly wiped the dagger with a corner of her pelisse, then tucked it back into her reticule, but the thrill of her perfectly executed throw had dulled to be replaced by acute unease. She had shocked a man she thought unshockable. The way he’d looked at her…almost like she had betrayed him. And that had been a horrible sensation.

In the future, she would need to be far more ladylike.

Or at least try.