Martha didn’t go down to dinner and thankfully no one came to the door urging her to be sociable. She heard laughter from far away and wanted to hate the person who was so filled with joy.

Above all, she didn’t want to see Josephine.

When Sedgebrook settled down for the night she left her room, intent on the Duchess’s Garden.

Moonlight spilled over the brick wall, casting shadows over the rosebushes, making them appear like shrouded, hulking figures. If she had been more imaginative, perhaps she might have felt a little unease. But nothing could be more disturbing than the tenor of her thoughts.

She didn’t follow the path to the boathouse. She wouldn’t go there again. In the morning they’d leave for home. Once at Griffin House, she’d devote herself to experiments on the prototype she’d created on her own.

She would never correspond with the Duke of Roth. In fact, she would destroy every one of his letters to her father, the selfsame letters she’d read repeatedly until she’d memorized his words, knew his handwriting by sight.

Everything she knew about Jordan Hamilton would have to be expunged from her mind. Every single emotion she felt would have to be washed clean. He would be her brother-in-law, a relative by marriage. She could never feel for him what she felt last night and even memories of those hours would have to be erased.

“Can you not sleep, Martha?”

She held herself still, wishing in that instant he would think her a shadow as well.

Go on past, make your way to the boathouse, ignore me. Above all, leave me alone.

“No,” she said, her voice faint. “I can’t. I might ask the same question of you.”

He didn’t answer her, merely moved out of the shadows. He was leaning more heavily on his walking stick and she wanted to ask if his leg was paining him.

She didn’t, knowing he probably wouldn’t answer such a question. He didn’t refer to his injury easily and he certainly didn’t solicit sympathy. It was as if he wanted everyone to treat him as though he’d never had an injury.

Didn’t he realize she didn’t see him as infirm? With his determined refusal to solicit sympathy, he was even more attractive.

How could he marry a woman who’d called him lame?

“The stars look close tonight,” he said, tilting his head back to examine the night sky.

He was right. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen and the moon was like a bright white orb she could almost pluck by merely reaching out her hand.

The silence in the garden was absolute except for the sound of the lake just beyond, the water lapping at the shore. Not a bird spoke from its nightly roost. Not an insect chirped. No sound came from Sedgebrook, settled down for the night. Even the wind had calmed here in the secluded garden.

It would serve him right if she burst into tears. She almost wanted to leave him as confused and disoriented as she felt.

“You’re leaving in the morning,” he said.

“Yes.”

“They’ve found my ship, but you won’t have a chance to examine the vessel.”

“No,” she said.

“Perhaps it’s a good thing. It’s covered in mud. It’ll take me some time to clean it out.”

“Will you put a tether on it from now on? So you don’t lose it?”

“I think I shall,” he said. “It’s a good idea.”

How polite they were being.

She walked to one of the backless benches and sat, moving aside the skirts of her lavender dress in case he chose to sit. He did, joining her a moment later.

He held the walking stick with his right hand as he stared out at the shadowed rosebushes. The air was thick with scent and almost heavy.

Words hung unsaid between them. How could you not remember me? How?

She couldn’t say that to him.

“Is your leg paining you? Is that why you’re not asleep?”

“Yes,” he said, “but it’s something I’ll endure.”

“How were you injured?”

She would not have asked the question normally. Perhaps it was because they were alone in a moonlit garden. Or because in the past two days they’d become friends, of a sort.

Not only did he answer her, but he did so with a candor that was even more surprising.

“My brother was always better than I was in a great many things. Speaking languages, being cordial to perfect strangers, painting. He even knew most of the plants we’re growing in our greenhouse and he was an expert horseman. I was a better marksman, but he was a better rider. One of his last acquisitions in Italy was Ercole, an irritable, nearly wild stallion.”

He stood, walked some distance, then returned, standing in front of her.

“The day my solicitor called on me and let me know to what degree my brother had attempted to ruin the family financially, I found myself enraged. I thought a good ride might take the edge off my anger as well as prove to myself I was his equal in horsemanship.”

His chuckled mirthlessly.

She wanted to comfort him with words or even touch. She only looked at him standing there, baring himself to her.

His hair was askew, a lock tumbling down over his brow. She wanted to push it back into place with her fingers.

“All I proved to myself was that pride goeth before a fall, isn’t that the expression? I was a fool and it was a mistake I’ll pay for every day of my life.”

“Have you nothing to ease the pain?” she asked.

“I do, but I’ll not be taking it. Because of that damned elixir—begging your pardon for my language—I’m about to become a bridegroom.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Slowly, he returned to the bench.

“It’s why I’m marrying your sister.”

She turned her head toward him.

“Sometimes, the pain is so great that I don’t think I can endure another minute of it,” he said. “On those nights I take the mixture my doctor prepared. Unfortunately, it makes me lose a connection to the world around me. I feel drugged and unlike myself.” He took a deep breath. “It’s as if something takes hold of me,” he added. “I become someone not myself.”

He didn’t look away. She wished she could see the expression in his eyes. She had the strangest feeling he was asking for forgiveness.

She didn’t say anything in response. What could she say? That she’d witnessed his behavior up close? Last night she’d thought him affected by the wine he’d drunk, not drugged. Otherwise, she would have left him in his suite and returned to her room still a virgin.

Still, she’d known he wasn’t himself. Yet she’d stayed.

“You took the elixir last night,” she said. It wasn’t a question and the words chilled her like winter rain.

“Yes.”

“And you think you took advantage of Josephine,” she said, speaking the words slowly.

“Yes,” he answered. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

It hadn’t. Josephine had somehow convinced him it had, and he’d done the right thing, the proper thing, the honorable thing.

She stared out at the shadowed rosebushes. From this moment on she knew she’d never be able to smell the scent of roses without also feeling this horrible sense of loss.

Now was the time for her to speak, to turn to him and say, “It wasn’t Josephine in your bed. It was me.”

How, though, did she explain that she’d remained with him, even thinking he was inebriated? How could she explain that she’d been fascinated with him, that she’d wanted him to touch her and introduce her to passion?

Would he hate her if he knew? After all, her behavior had put him in this position.

She pressed a hand against her waist, the other at the base of her throat, almost as if to keep herself mute.

Didn’t you know it was me? Don’t you know now?

She wanted to tell him the truth, but she remained silent. Perhaps a miracle would occur and he’d suddenly realize that it had been her who’d held him, who’d kissed him, who had given him her virginity.

Instead, the silence stretched out thinly between them. No miracle occurred.

He hadn’t known. He didn’t know now. She was the only one who knew the truth, the only one who could keep this disaster from happening.

At what cost?

Everyone at Sedgebrook was aware that the Duke of Roth was going to marry her sister. They were probably all aware of the circumstances as well. She could just imagine what would happen if she spoke now.

This morning she’d been stunned into silence, but she’d had hours to consider the ramifications of coming forward.

Gossip would swirl around them like a miasmic fog. The York name would be synonymous with derision. She and Josephine would be laughingstocks. They might be heiresses, but scandal would still follow them, probably until the ends of their lives.

She couldn’t imagine Josephine recanting her story, not when she was so close to becoming a duchess. It would be a case of her word against her sister’s.

Did you hear? Both York girls say they were in the Duke of Roth’s bed! Can you imagine? No wonder the mother escaped to France. It’s a wonder their grandmother hasn’t had apoplexy!

She’d lost her sister. She’d never be able to look at Josephine without knowing what she’d deliberately done. Josephine had wanted a title and Sedgebrook more than anything else. More than family.

And now she had the same choice.

How much did she want the truth to surface?

When she woke this morning her first thought was that she was going to see Jordan. She wanted to help him make his torpedo ship a success, a mission completely separate from what she might feel about him personally. It wasn’t, after all, his fault she found him attractive. Or that she’d wanted to experience passion and had, at his hands.

Everything had changed this morning. Lives had been altered. None of them would ever be the same.

She sat there in silence, gradually coming to a decision. She wasn’t going to be like Josephine. She wasn’t going to manipulate others to get her way.

She’d made a terrible mistake. First, by staying with Jordan. Second, by not realizing the lengths to which Josephine would go.

If she had remained with Jordan until he woke, none of this would have happened. If she had taken responsibility for her actions the entire house would have been scandalized, but at least it would have been better than this outcome.

But she hadn’t and now they needed to go their separate ways, the Duke of Roth and his onetime lover, the spinster Martha York, heiress and oddity.

Yet the words still wanted to be spoken. It was me. Can’t you see? Can’t you tell? Shall I kiss you and have you say, oh yes, I see it now, it was you, Martha.

How foolish she could be sometimes.

“I hope you have a safe journey home,” he said.

“Thank you,” she responded, taking a deep breath. This farewell needed to be done, as quickly as possible. “I wish you luck on your trial voyages. Shall I write you if I come up with any new ideas?”

“I’d like that,” he said.

“Would you let me know about your own observations?”

If nothing else, perhaps they could have a correspondence. She would come to treasure his letters to her as much as she did his letters to her father. She would press them against her chest as if to inhale the words or somehow feel him through the ink and paper.

“Thank you for your kindness,” she said.

“When you arrived, you didn’t think I was particularly kind.”

“Then you must forgive me. It was an error in judgment. I’m sure my father wouldn’t approve of what I said.”

“He was always in favor of your strong opinions. ‘Martha knows her own mind.’ I remember reading his comment many times.”

She didn’t know her mind now. Or perhaps she did, but she couldn’t do anything about her thoughts or her wishes. She wanted to throw her arms around his shoulders, place a kiss on his cheek, perhaps invite him to turn and embrace her. They would kiss and she would show him, wordlessly, how she felt.

It was too late. The time to be honest with him was last night. Before he’d pledged himself to Josephine this morning. Before the announcement that was, no doubt, even now finding its way to London.

In her defense she’d had no idea Josephine would insert herself as the harlot of this piece.

What did she do now? What could she do now?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Any explanation she offered, any truth she said would only bring scandal down upon all their heads.

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” she said. There were so many words she shouldn’t say, but she’d say what she could. “I think my father was right in liking you.”

“That’s a great compliment,” he said, “but I’m not sure I’m worthy of it.”

Oh, he was. He was the most honorable man she’d ever met yet honor had proved to be a burden, hadn’t it? Still, she was glad she’d gone to his room. There, the truth, perhaps never to be revealed to another soul.

She stood and looked at him one last time, one long and steady look to last her for the rest of her life.

She smiled, then said, “Good-bye, Your Grace.”

My love.