The coach rattled along, and every bump seemed to flay Lionel’s senses. He was still shaken and raw from baring himself to Emmaline in the middle of last night. He’d gone to his office and tried to sleep on the settee. But that reminded him of her. Hell, everything reminded him of her. And she reminded him of the crimes of his past.

He still couldn’t quite believe he’d exposed himself to her like that. He hadn’t ever spoken of those things to a single person. Hennings, Tulk, West, they all knew various things, but not the entire story. That she comprehended what he’d done and offered support and understanding drove him to his knees. Her kindness brought into stark relief just how very much he didn’t deserve her.

He loved her, but he didn’t deserve her. Furthermore, it might be that she couldn’t really love him in return. She’d expressed her hesitation, and once she considered all that he’d told her in the light of day, she’d realize their future was over before it had even begun.

The coach rolled to a stop, and Lionel didn’t wait for his coachman to open the door. He wanted out of the confines of the vehicle. No, he wanted out of his own goddamned mind.

He strode into the Bow Street office and introduced himself, then asked to speak to a runner. After waiting for a few minutes, he was shown to an office off the main hall where a rather large man stood up from behind the desk.

The runner sized him up briefly. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

Was it? Just barely, perhaps. Lionel wasn’t terribly aware of the time today.

“I’d like to speak with you about an investigation.”

“Please sit.” The man gestured toward a chair opposite the desk. His hand was wide and thick, and Lionel imagined he could beat the hell out of someone with it. “I’m Teague.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Teague. I’m here to report an instance of extortion.”

Teague’s head was nearly bald, but his brows were thick and dark. One edged up. “Someone is extorting you?”

“Not me, and indeed it was in the past. Last summer, actually. Lord Townsend attempted to extort money from a friend of mine.”

“And you called him out. I recall that duel.” The runner possessed dark, assessing eyes that likely never missed a detail. He narrowed them to great effect—Lionel wasn’t sure he’d ever been scrutinized so thoroughly. “I don’t like duels. They’re illegal.”

Lionel shifted in his chair. “I don’t like them either.”

Teague let out a soft grunt. “You could have fooled me.”

Perhaps he’d made a mistake in coming here.

“Please continue. I’m delighted you’ve decided to allow us to handle this instead of flouting the law.” The runner’s sarcasm lashed along Lionel’s nerves. He wasn’t making this easy, which was exactly what Lionel deserved.

Nevertheless, he’d come here with a purpose. “I’ve recently learned that one of my friend’s retainers sold or shared the information that was then used as the basis of the extortion.”

“Lord Axbridge, I would appreciate if you would speak plainly. I will not disclose the facts of the matter unless it becomes necessary in a court of law. Who is your friend, and what is this information?”

There was no point in keeping it from the runner, not in the name of justice if it could be had. “Lady Richland has a son. Her husband, who is recently deceased, is not his father and was not aware of that fact. Townsend threatened to make the information public unless she paid him a large sum of money.”

“How much?”

“Fifty pounds.” The amount sounded in Lionel’s brain like a bell. Fifty pounds. The same amount Mullens had asked for. It was likely a coincidence. Nevertheless, Lionel’s pulse began to race.

“Has the extortion continued?” Teague asked.

“No.”

“Because Townsend is dead.” Teague grunted. “Why would you think there was anyone else involved?”

“Townsend didn’t know the Richlands, and Lady Richland can count the number of people who knew her secret. We determined her maid had shared the information with her son’s nurse, who I believe may be related to a tailor who claims Townsend owed him money.”

Teague closed his eyes briefly. “Forgive me, but this is not a terribly convincing story. Why is it odd for Townsend to have owed a tailor money?”

“It isn’t. What’s odd is the connection between all these people and the fact that Lady Richland was the focus of an extortion plot. Mullens—he’s the tailor—is the link between the information that was obtained by the nurse and the person who committed the actual extortion: Townsend.”

The runner sat back in his chair and clenched his jaw. His eyes narrowed briefly as he stared somewhere past Lionel’s head. When he refocused on Lionel a moment later, he sat forward and folded his hands on the desk. “You’d like me to investigate this tailor, Mullens, and the nurse? What is her name?”

“Yes.” Lionel’s tongue tripped as he realized he didn’t know her name. If he did, perhaps he’d know for certain if she was related to Mullens. He felt quite foolish for not asking, but then his last appointment with Marianne had ended rather abruptly, and he didn’t want to pay her another visit. “I don’t know her name, I’m afraid. But you can call on Lady Richland to find out.”

“I suppose I’ll have to do that.” Teague sounded a bit harassed by the entire affair.

“Isn’t that your job?” Lionel asked.

“Indeed it is. Where can I find this Mullens?”

Lionel gave the address, and Teague wrote it down on a sheet of paper. “As a somewhat new tailor, he’s done rather well for himself, from what I can tell,” Lionel said.

“Perhaps he’s just that good.”

He was good, but Lionel wasn’t convinced. “I ordered a shirt from him, so I can let you know.” In fact, maybe Lionel would go pick it up right now.

“All right, Lord Axbridge, I’ll look into this matter. But don’t get your hopes up. I’m inclined to believe Townsend was the problem since the extortion hasn’t continued.”

“That I know of,” Lionel said. “Perhaps it has continued, and the victims are paying the demand.”

Teague stood. “Well, you’ve done your part. And again, I appreciate you letting us handle it this time. Thank you.”

Lionel got to his feet and tried not to let the runner’s taunting rankle him. He took his leave and instructed his coachman to take him to Savile Row.

Fifteen minutes later, Lionel stepped into Mullens’s shop. The man was finishing with another client, and when he finally directed his attention to Lionel, his gaze seemed cool.

“Afternoon, Mullens,” Lionel said with a smile. “I came to pick up my shirt, if it’s ready.”

“It is. I’ll just fetch it.” He turned and walked to the back of the shop, disappearing into the back room.

Lionel wondered about Mullens’s role in the extortion scheme. Had he merely provided information to Townsend, who’d then come up with the plot? He considered just asking the man, but if he was still involved in such activities, he’d realize that Lionel was wise to his behavior.

Mullens returned with a package. “If you’d like to try it on now, you may. Or take it home and inform me if there are any problems. I’m certain there won’t be.”

“As am I, thank you.” He took the parcel and stowed it under his arm. “Are you terribly busy, or may I refer my friends to you?”

“I’m never too busy to accept new clients.” The man’s gaze was still cold, and it made Lionel uncomfortable. “Do let me know how you like the shirt, my lord. It would be my honor to design something else for you.”

“I will,” Lionel said. “Good day.”

Once outside, Lionel crossed the street to where his coach was parked. He paused and looked back at the shop. Mullens was most definitely involved in Townsend’s scheme to fleece Lady Richland. That fifty pounds was too coincidental—and why hadn’t Lionel thought of that before? The same reason he hadn’t thought to ask the nurse’s name. He wasn’t a bloody Bow Street runner.

He could only hope Teague had taken him seriously and would follow up on the matter. Because Lionel had an inkling that Mullens wasn’t simply a go-between. And if Teague didn’t get to the bottom of things, Lionel would.

“Home, my lord?” the coachman asked as he opened the door for Lionel.

Home. Emmaline.

“No, my club.” He climbed inside and slumped against the squab.

He’d have to face her eventually, but not now. He needed time to determine how to tell her that they couldn’t be together, that she deserved someone far better than him.

* * *

The sound of a coach on the street outside drew Emmaline to the window of the sitting room. She looked down, and her shoulders instantly drooped. It wasn’t him.

In fact, it was worse than not him—it was her mother.

She braced herself for the coming interview, intent on making it short. She was in no mood to suffer her mother’s nattering about any of her siblings or about the improvements she and her father planned to make to their country home.

Rather than wait for Tulk to inform her of her mother’s arrival, Emmaline went downstairs. The butler was just starting up the stairs.

She stopped on the last step but still had to look up at the butler. “Tulk, is my husband home yet?” She hoped she’d just missed his arrival.

“I’m afraid not, my lady. Would you like me to inform you when he arrives?”

“Yes, please.”

“Mrs. Forth-Hodges is in the drawing room. Would you care for tea?”

“Thank you, Tulk, and no.”

Tulk stepped aside as Emmaline made her way across the hall to the drawing room. Her mother was already seated on the dark green settee.

“Hello, my dear,” Mother intoned brightly. “I daresay marriage agrees with you. This marriage,” she amended with a weak smile.

Emmaline wanted to laugh at her mother’s assessment. She’d been up since before dawn, as evidenced by the purple swathes beneath her eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” She perched on the edge of a chair angled near the settee.

“Can’t a mother visit her daughter?”

“You rarely did so when I was married to Geoffrey.”

Her mother winced. “I know, and for that, I am sorry.” She took off her bonnet and placed it on the settee beside her. Emmaline wanted to shout at her to keep it on because she wouldn’t be staying long. “Indeed, your father and I are sorry for many things,” she said softly.

They were? “You needn’t be.”

Mother’s brow furrowed. “Don’t say that. We should be sorry. We were anxious to marry you off, and we shouldn’t have been. I know how important it was to you to marry for love.”

Emmaline wasn’t sure how to respond. “You wanted that for me at some point.” And then she’d abandoned that when it hadn’t happened quickly enough.

“I did, and I should have been patient. Not all of us are fortunate to meet our love at the first assembly we attend.” She referred to meeting Emmaline’s father. How many times had Emmaline heard that story and how easy it was to find a husband? And her sisters had all done so during their first Seasons.

“It does seem you’ve got it right this time, regardless of the circumstances that led you to it.”

“Because he’s a marquess,” Emmaline said sardonically.

Her mother blinked. “No, because he clearly loves you.”

Emmaline hadn’t expected that. “How would you even know?” Had he told them? No, that was absurd. He was less interested in seeing them than she was.

“Your father visited Axbridge the other day. He asked him for money.”

Emmaline practically fell off the chair. She scooted back onto the seat more securely. “What?”

“Paying some of Townsend’s debts impacted the refurbishments we were doing to the country house. Your father decided to ask Axbridge to reimburse him and—”

Emmaline cut her off. “I can’t believe he would have the gall to do that or that you would let him.”

The flesh around her mother’s gray eyes creased as she flinched. “It was perhaps not our finest hour.”

Emmaline scoffed. “I hope he said no.”

“Actually, he did not. He wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t about the money. He chastised your father about our treatment of you.” She looked down at her lap, and her lip began to quiver. “I’m so sorry, Emmaline. You deserved better. You deserve a husband who loves you and a happy marriage.” She lifted her gaze to Emmaline and dashed a hand over her eyes. “I do think you have that with Axbridge, and I couldn’t be more thrilled for you.”

If only she knew the truth of the matter. On second thought, Emmaline was glad she didn’t.

“Thank you.” Emmaline wasn’t sure what to think. She didn’t hate her parents. She’d just felt like a nuisance.

“You mean the world to us—truly. I know you’ve been angry with us, and rightly so. What can I do to make things up to you? I should very much like to be a part of your life, especially when you have children.”

Children. Emmaline had thought of them again this morning. She wanted them, and she wanted them with Lionel.

“When I first came out, we did things together, many of them charitable. If you recall, we briefly helped with the Westminster Foundling Home.”

“I do recall.” Her lips curved into a smile. “I enjoyed that.”

Emmaline was mildly surprised. She’d thought Mother had done that simply to put Emmaline in the domain of the “right” people. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve started helping at the St. James Foundling Hospital. There are many orphans in residence there, and they’re in need of so much, especially time from caring people like me—and you. Perhaps you’d like to join me on my next visit. And perhaps you’d like to donate a small amount of what Axbridge gave you to their cause.”

Mother cocked her head to the side. “I think I would like that. Especially if I get to do it with you.”

Emmaline wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. “I’m…delighted.”

“I am too.” She smiled warmly. “Well, I will leave you to your afternoon.” She replaced her bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons beneath her chin. “Perhaps you and Axbridge will join us for dinner one evening.”

Emmaline stood. Right now, she wasn’t sure Lionel was going to join her for dinner ever again. “Perhaps.”

After her mother had gone, Emmaline went into Lionel’s office. Jade was asleep in front of the hearth, but woke up as soon as Emmaline walked inside. She stretched and yawned, baring her tiny, feral teeth. Emmaline scooped her up and stroked her soft fur while she purred.

“What am I going to do?” she asked the cat. “He’s so far gone into his guilt, I’m not sure I can save him.” Emmaline looked up at his father’s portrait. “What about you, what advice do you have for me?”

Lionel’s father stared back at her, his blue eyes devoid of life. She relived Lionel’s anguish following his father’s death. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to wish another person dead. As angry as she’d been at Lionel after Geoffrey’s death, she hadn’t wanted him to die too.

What had gone through Geoffrey’s mind when he’d refused to back down? He’d been guilty of what Lionel had accused him, and yet he’d voluntarily fought to…what? Defend his own honor? He’d had none or very little. Perhaps he’d simply been unable to admit he was wrong. That she believed.

Just as she believed he was beyond desperate for money. Oh, Geoffrey, why did you do it? It wasn’t worth your life.

But if he hadn’t, she’d still be married to him. Unhappily. She would never have known Lionel. Her chest tightened, and she had to acknowledge that she didn’t want that. Which meant she also had to acknowledge that she was grateful Geoffrey had died.

Oh God. How twisted and horrible was this marriage of theirs? The guilt and the regret were going to eat them alive.

The cat jumped out of her arms and trotted out the door.

Maybe Lionel was right. Maybe their marriage wasn’t the answer. Maybe it was the problem.

* * *

Lionel had spent all afternoon in a private room at Brooks’s. He’d eaten luncheon, if moving the food around one’s plate could constitute eating, and he’d downed several pints of ale. He had just requested whiskey when West arrived.

“What are you brooding about?” West dropped into a high-backed chair and slung his leg over the arm.

Stretched out in another chair, his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands folded over his stomach, Lionel shrugged.

West snorted as the footman delivered the whiskey to Lionel. “I’ll take a glass, please.”

The footman nodded and left.

Lionel turned the glass of amber liquid in his hand but didn’t take a drink. “I’m not really in the mood for company.”

“What’s happened?”

Lionel scowled at him. “Can’t you hear?”

“Fine. We’ll sit in silence.”

The floor creaked to signal the arrival of the footman once more. Lionel didn’t look up from studying his whiskey. It was a particularly fragrant batch.

“Axbridge, I’ve reached the end of my tolerance.”

Lionel turned his head and saw Sir Duncan standing inside the doorway.

West jumped up from his chair. “You’ve no business in here, Sir Duncan.”

The man sneered. “I’ve plenty of business.” He came forward and stood beside Lionel’s chair. “I demand satisfaction.”

Fuck.

Lionel dropped the glass. It tumbled to the floor, splashing whiskey all over Sir Duncan’s boots.

Sir Duncan looked down. “You really are an ass.”

“Or just clumsy,” West said. “Except with a pistol. You really don’t want to challenge him.”

Sir Duncan straightened his spine. “I most certainly do.”

West prowled toward him, stopping a foot from the man. “Have you no sense? He will shoot you.”

“No he won’t, because I choose swords. What’s more, I demand the duel take place in one hour. I take it you will be his second?” Sir Duncan paused to allow his lip to curl. “Again?”

West turned to Lionel and shook his head.

Lionel slowly rose to his feet and faced Sir Duncan. “Why?”

“I should think it would be obvious. You stole my bride.”

“She didn’t want to marry you,” West spat.

Sir Duncan’s eyes blazed as he shot West a glare. “You would say that, particularly when the lady isn’t here to voice the truth.” He turned his glower to Lionel. “Either way, you insulted me beyond measure. Your honor demands you accept this challenge, but then I’m confident you know that. Will you meet me, Axbridge?”

Yes, he knew that, and his gut sank like the HMS Queen Charlotte. “Is there no way we can resolve this?”

“None. I demand satisfaction on the field of honor. In one hour at Hyde Park.”

Lionel nodded but said nothing. The vow he’d given Emmaline flitted through the back of his mind, insisting he refuse. But how could he without bringing further attention and controversy to his marriage, and most importantly, to Emmaline?

Sir Duncan turned on his heel and left.

West came toward him, his eyes dark and furious. “You can’t. I won’t let you.”

Lionel arched a brow. “Will you tie me down?”

“Do not try to be witty just now,” West growled. “You told me you could never do this again.”

A hollow feeling rooted in Lionel’s gut and started to spread. “I don’t want to, but you heard him. He demands satisfaction and refuses any resolution other than the field of battle.”

West grunted as he threw his hands up. “So don’t go!”

Sutton came into the room, interrupting them. “I just arrived and heard a rumor downstairs that Sir Duncan challenged you to a duel. That can’t be true.”

“It is,” Lionel said wearily. “In an hour. West here is trying to talk me out of it, but I can’t avoid the man’s challenge. He says I stole his bride. She is my wife.” By God, he might not deserve her, but she was his. Perhaps a part of him wanted to fight this duel, to show the world that Emmaline belonged to him.

No. He’d promised her he wouldn’t duel again, and shouldn’t a man of honor keep that promise? Yes, but if he failed to answer the challenge, Sir Duncan would continue with his rumors and innuendo. This would put an end to questions about their marriage.

What it really came down to, however, was that his honor wouldn’t allow him to walk away. His vow should’ve been not to challenge anyone to a duel—that was something he could control. This he could not, which was why he was going to do it.

That hollow feeling now permeated every part of Lionel’s body. He felt light and strange. “I suppose we should be on our way. Perhaps I ought to practice a bit. It’s been ages since I picked up a sword. Do you think Angelo could fit me in for a lesson today?” He laughed, but Sutton and West only stared at him.

“I’m not going,” West said.

“You aren’t his second?” Sutton asked, looking back and forth between West and Lionel.

West glared at Lionel. “I refuse. Please don’t do this, I implore you.”

“My honor demands it. I didn’t steal Emmaline.”

“Your honor is going to get you killed.” West looked to Sutton. “You do it. I don’t have the stomach any longer.” He stalked from the room.

Sutton stared after him a moment before turning to Lionel. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yes, I am.” Lionel walked forward and clapped Sutton on the shoulder. “Come, let’s find me a sword so I can at least remember what it feels like to hold one.”

Sutton shook his head. “I hope you don’t regret this.”

What did it matter if he did? The list of his regrets was long and terrible. It seemed fitting that he should do this, after all he’d done. And since he was lousy with a sword, his odds were quite poor. Mayhap he’d even die.

Particularly since he doubted he’d even be able to lift the sword against his opponent. He’d meant what he’d said to Emmaline. He didn’t think he could raise a weapon against someone again, and yet it seemed he must.