Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Phoebe. Seated next to his sister Amelia, she was as radiant as the sun in summer as she sat across from him at the dining table. The pale yellow color of her silk dress complemented her creamy white skin and brought out the gold highlights in her eyes. Her dark brown curls were lifted off her shoulders and piled high upon her head with pins and combs. A few tendrils escaped the coiffure around her face, and he wished he could finger it and place it behind her ears.

He wanted to remove all the pins and run his hands through the heavy mass of curls as they cascaded down her back. He understood more about her father now, having met Donovan and seen the lowlifes he kept around him. Harry had ideas about the kind of life she’d had, from what her brother had shared and from what he’d seen.

When Wally had asked him to see to his sisters’ well-being, Harry was certain his friend never intended for him to seduce Phoebe into being his. But Harry wanted her. He’d wanted to possess her from the first moment he saw her in Cleadon, after being gone for four years. He wanted her not for a tryst, because she was more than a dockside dove, but for his wife.

And while he was certain her birth might matter to these new relatives of his, it wouldn’t matter to the one woman—besides Phoebe herself—in the room whose opinion did matter to him. Amelia would be the last person to ever tell him a woman’s birth should keep her from his heart. After all, she’d managed to win the heart of a man so high above them that Harry thought at first that she’d been jesting with him. He only believed her when the duke’s representative offered to bring him back to England on his ship.

At that time he, Wally, and Reggie had just come through their first battle and their ship was under repair in the Bahamas. He’d told the man that he was going nowhere without his friends, and that the men aboard the Shannon needed him.

Seeing Phoebe like this, in comfortable conversation with his sister and brother-in-law, was reassuring—letting him know he was making the right decision. If he’d had any doubt about the rightness of marrying Phoebe, he wouldn’t have brought Lydia, and would have taken a room at an inn for he and Phoebe.

Now, settling the debt with Donovan was less about paying the man what he was owed and more about protecting his intended bride and her sister. Not because they were Wally’s siblings, but because they would soon be his family.

“What did your father do before his passing, Miss Grenard,” asked Harry’s aunt.

The baroness was a stickler for propriety and was likely never going to approve of his desire to marry Phoebe, but he didn’t care. Falling in love with someone not of the same class was what had caused the split between his father and this side of the family, but Amelia’s marriage to Caversham appears to have bridged that gap. Harry knew his aunt would also likely look down upon the fact that he planned to continue his studies now that he was back in Britain. And when she discovered he planned to join the trades—which is still what this class deemed a doctor—she was sure to have an apoplectic fit.

Phoebe met the baroness’ gaze and replied with no little amount of pride in her voice. “My parents operated a tavern for a while near Commercial Road. After my mother died, papa decided to return us all to the north, near Newcastle where mama had family, and he went to work in the coal mines.”

The old biddy’s face lost enough color to alert Harry’s medical concerns as she set her knife and fork precisely across her plate. “Miss Grenard, are you attempting to send me into a fit of vapors? Because I assure you I am made of sterner stuff.” His aunt’s clipped voice held no patience for impertinence.

“No, ma’am,” Phoebe replied. “I am in no position to play games with anyone. My mother was the daughter of a Presbyterian clergyman, and our father was… an orphan.”

Harry would never have known Phoebe was anything but a gently-reared miss, if he hadn’t known Wally and hadn’t visited the tavern himself. Aside from a slight hint of a northern accent, she was graceful, polite, well-spoken, and unashamed of her upbringing, even if it was considered a detriment to her future by some. In her own eyes, while she was not nobility, she was still proud and honorable; and Harry believed she deserved a gentleman to care for her, not a man like her father who would turn her into a drudge.

The baroness sipped from her wine then began to cut at the stuffed game hen breast on her plate. “Then you have certainly bettered yourself upon making the acquaintance of my nephew.”

Amelia moved to speak, but was stayed by something. And with a sidewise glance at Phoebe, his sister leaned back in her chair just a fraction, as though giving Phoebe the floor.

Phoebe, portraying a serene calm as though unaffected by the baroness’ insult, set her utensils on the plate and calmly sipped from her water glass. Harry thought he saw a flicker of sadness in her smile, telling him she was more hurt by it than she was letting on, but she’d persevere. Her shoulders went back and she gave his aunt a direct look.

“If you will pardon me, ma’am,” Phoebe said to the baroness who was seated next to Harry, “but this is no mere acquaintance. I have known Harry for most of my life through his friendship with my now-deceased brother.” He was proud of her truthfulness and for standing up to the aunt who was a stickler for propriety. “He did me a great service in helping us to town so that I may negotiate some business.”

“What business is that, Miss Grenard?” That came from his uncle, who was starting to show an interest in the line of questioning from his aunt.

“I am meeting with a man regarding repayment of my father’s debt to him,” Phoebe said.

That was a most whitewashed understatement if he’d ever heard one. Harry fought the grin that threatened to spread across his face. While he didn’t think it was appropriate to grin during the conversation, he felt she was doing a good job of defending herself against his pompous relatives.

“Miss Grenard, do you expect to better your situation through marriage to my nephew?” the baroness asked.

If only the old biddy knew that Phoebe wasn’t trying to land him. He was the one who wanted her! And he hadn’t yet had a chance to ask her yet. With the baroness’s behavior toward her, Phoebe was probably never going to agree to marry him. He opened his mouth to say something protective of Phoebe, but his uncle did first.

“No one is talking marriage, Jane,” his uncle said. “They’re just visiting for a few days to take care of estate issues.”

“What estate?” From his sideways glance at his aunt, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. “By her own admission her father worked in a coal mine. And the man owed money.”

Phoebe’s face flushed, and that was the only outward sign of her upset, the rest of her composure was cool. Harry had been about to jump in and defend her when she did so herself.

“Lady Manners,” Phoebe interjected, “forgive me, but this discussion is rather indelicate and crude, don’t you think?”

“And I rather agree with Miss Phoebe, Aunt,” Harry said, proud of Phoebe for standing up for herself.

“I am looking out for your best interest young man,” the baroness said, wagging her knife at him.

“Respectfully, ma’am,” Harry said, “I don’t need your help.”

“Aunt Jane,” his sister said, finally stepping in, much to Harry’s relief. “Miss Phoebe is our guest, and deserves the same respect you would give me.”

That silenced the baroness for a while, and Phoebe visibly relaxed as did Harry. It pleased him to see Phoebe appearing confident again, and participating in their conversation with Lord Manners, Amelia, and Cav. His aunt stewed in her dislike of Amelia’s set-down, not joining in their conversation, and that suited Harry just as well. And after dinner, Lord Manners made their excuses for leaving early, saying his wife wasn’t feeling quite up to a late night.

“Miss Phoebe, Miss Lydia,” Harry’s uncle said, “It has been a lovely evening, and I’m certain we shall see more of you both in the future.” This man, Lord Manners, Harry had learned was the sibling next oldest to his father. He also had much of the personality his father had as he was just as jovial as Papa, and much less priggish than his wife.

Back in the drawing room, they partook of an after dinner aperitif. Harry wanted to finish it quickly so he might get Phoebe alone if possible. He had yet to tell her what he’d discovered about Donovan, and what he was thinking about them—he and Phoebe. Harry didn’t want a proposal of marriage to come from out of the blue. He wanted Phoebe to consider him as a husband. To want him as much as he desired her. And he thought it was likely that she might, especially after earlier that day.

He wanted to tell her how he felt about her—that he wanted her not because her brother asked him to see her settled, but because he wanted her body, her heart, her soul. His future was already mapped out for him. He knew what he wanted to do with his life. The only thing missing was Phoebe. He wanted to share his life with her.

Love. He didn’t know about love. He was a man of science and knew about attraction, and sexual desire, and that there was a drive, a chemical reaction that told men when a woman was the right one. But love? He believed it was a possibility. Some people found it and knew it immediately. So it made sense that perhaps one day love would blossom between them.

His brother-in-law was speaking and Harry had been woolgathering again. Phoebe did that to him.

“I think it rather noble that you wish to make restitution, Miss Phoebe,” the duke said. “And it’s more than I can say for some.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Phoebe replied. “My sister, my cousin, and I are doing our best to survive.” Phoebe didn’t appear nervous to be in Cav’s presence, and Harry had seen people cower before the duke.

“It’s not common knowledge, but my wife was in a similar predicament when we met,” his brother-in-law added, surprising Harry.

“You never mentioned—”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Amelia replied.

And Harry knew it to be true because Amelia was like that. Always thinking of others, and maintaining peace.

“After your father died, she had to sell your father’s equipment and tools to pay the loans for your education. It wasn’t quite enough to cover them in full, so she went to work for your Aunt Katherine as her companion.”

“Then we met and I have never been happier,” Amelia said, grinning up at her husband.

The duke put his arm around his wife. Harry was happy for them, his sister found the perfect man for her. The affection between them reminded Harry of his parents. And he wanted that, and believed it was possible with Phoebe.

“But it wasn’t that way at first,” Cav added. “You didn’t want to marry me.”

“You didn’t ask me, Your Grace,” his sister replied, batting her eyelashes much as she had at their father and even him when he was a child. Amelia wrapped everyone’s hearts around her tiny finger. “Had you asked me, instead of telling me, I might have acquiesced sooner.”

When the aperitifs were finished and Cav and Amelia left to find their bed, Lydia, too, said she was tired, by motioning to her sister that she wished to sleep.

“I should go, too,” Phoebe told him.

Harry offered both ladies an arm and he escorted them to their room. But he needed to speak with Phoebe. About his aunt’s behavior. About how proud he was of her for standing up to her. About his growing feelings for her.

He stopped Phoebe from following behind her sister with a light touch of his hand on her arm.

“Might I have a word with you?” His heart began beating a little faster and he began to fear she’d say no when she didn’t speak at first.

She nodded. “Let me tell Lydia I will be a few minutes.”

Harry waited outside her door, and when she arrived he gave her his arm again.

“I thought we’d go down a level, perhaps to the library? Where we might find some privacy.”

“If your intent is to ruin me, then you should know that it won’t work,” she said. “There is no reputation to uphold. I don’t matter in your world. Your aunt made that blatantly clear at dinner.”

How did he make her believe that she mattered to him? He didn’t want to be without her—ever. “Phoebe, you are very important to me, and that woman means nothing to me. Tonight was my second time ever seeing her. I never even knew she existed until after my sister married Caversham.”

He backed her against the bookcase nearest the door, impatient to kiss her. With one hand on each side of her head, he gazed at her heaving breasts above the beaded bodice of her dress and wanted to remove this crystalline, buttery confection from her and love her body until she begged for him to stop. Though, that wouldn’t happen this night, not here. It wasn’t the time or place. She deserved better than a rushed coupling for her first time.

But soon though, he promised himself.

He leaned in to kiss her softly on the temple, where he felt her racing pulse through his lips. “You own my heart.”

She stiffened, then ducked under his arm, but didn’t run from the room. That had to be a good sign.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Her back was to him, and all he could tell was that she was obviously hand-wringing again.

“I do, Phoebe. I want you more than you know.”

“I cannot become your mistress.”

He backed away as though she’d slapped him. “What makes you— I’m not asking—” He had only the best of intentions. What made her think he wanted her as a mistress?

“We cannot do this, Harry,” she said, her voice sounded odd and quivery. “You’re the brother of a duchess, and I’m… A nobody, as I was so pointedly reminded tonight.” He stepped toward her but she stopped him with a raised hand.

“Phoebe—”

He reached out for her, but she fled the room quickly, closing the door softly behind her. And Harry didn’t stop her.

Were those tears in her eyes he saw? If so, he didn’t know what he could do except what he was. Surely the pressure of her father’s debt to Donovan weighed heavily on her mind—especially not knowing how the other man would respond to her efforts. Harry wanted to tell her about his meeting with the man, but hadn’t yet had a minute in private with her.

What was he going to do? He ached for her, wanted her with a ferocity that he’d never known before this. A part of him wanted to run after her and force her to listen to his plea, then kiss her until she might say yes, then ask her. Harry didn’t want to live without her.

His desire to protect her had nothing to do with what Wally had asked of him. Wally didn’t intend for either of his friends to marry his sister. He wanted Phoebe in his life because from the moment he met her, she’d displayed a resilience and strength he’d never seen in a lady before. As he got to know her, he admired her honesty and determination. Holding her in his arms as he had several times now, kissing her and touching her, and feeling her hands on him, made his body painfully aware of a desire so deep, so right, and so pure that he didn’t want to let her slip from his life.

The only mistress he would make of Phoebe was the mistress of his home and heart. He wanted to marry her, but she didn’t think his family would approve.

The issue with Donovan weighed heavily on her conscience, and would continue to do so until it was resolved. For some reason she felt it was the honorable thing to reimburse a swindling moneylender. The man likely took advantage of her father and now he wanted Phoebe and Lydia because he needed fresh blood in his brothel. Any man interested in actual reimbursement would have taken the cash Harry had offered. Donovan must think he could earn more from selling the girls in his brothel.

Donovan had ordered Harry to bring the girls that night. But that wasn’t going to happen. He’d never bring them. After discussing the situation with Cav earlier, he’d decided to send a letter via a solicitor, offering him exactly what was owed him. It was proof, acceptable by the courts, of an attempt to make payment.

Tomorrow, Harry would talk to Cav about marrying Phoebe. Not that he needed to get the man’s permission or blessing, but Harry wanted to make certain that Cav knew he was marrying Phoebe not out of obligation but because he didn’t think he could live without her now. And if anyone should understand what a man would feel in this situation it’s his sister’s husband, who had also asked his wife to marry him after only a few days.

He unbuttoned his coat and loosened the cravat, and poured himself a glass of what he was sure was Scotland’s best single malt. His brother-in-law always procured the finest, even during the war, according to Amelia.

Harry carried the bottle and the glass with him to his room, because he might need another before he could fall asleep.

He’d once had a sailor tell him that love was like a disease. It crept into your heart and ruined you for life if you were lucky enough to survive it.

Harry loved Phoebe. And if this was a disease, it was unlike anything he’d read about in any of the medical books he’d read.

* * *

The knocking at his door began when he was in the midst of a dream about Phoebe—of making love to her. She was gloriously naked and sitting atop his shaft, her translucent flesh glowing white in the light of the moon. Like a goddess she rode him. Slowly, determinedly, seeking satisfaction for them both. Her unbound and unbraided ebony curls falling around her shoulders, moving like waves over the ocean under a full moon.

Was that knocking? Or was it his head that throbbed after three glasses of scotch? It was knocking, and it grew louder, pounding to the same beating drum in his head.

He wasn’t in Bermuda or on a ship where he might be needed for doctoring. Who could possibly need him so urgently to wake him out of a sound sleep? A servant? But no… A servant wouldn’t knock at the door, they’d come directly to him.

More knocking—no pounding—and even louder. He shot up. Amelia! God, please don’t let her be losing this child she wanted so much! Leaping out of bed he grabbed his banyon and thrust his arms into the sleeves.

He opened the door, momentarily relieved he didn’t find Cav or Amelia. Instead, the terrified look on Lydia’s face froze him in place, filling his soul with dread.

She held up her slate. Phoebe not back. Late by one hour.

“Where did she go?” Even as the words left his mouth, his gut clenched at the thought of her being in Donovan’s grip. Just the thought of his hands on her, made Harry want to kill him.

Lydia just gave him a look that said, Surely you know.

“How long has she been gone? When did she leave?”

Lydia held up four fingers.

“Four hours?” His gut just knotted tighter, and his heart raced faster. “Lydia, you should have come to me sooner.”

She nodded, her face showing blotchy red in the light of her single candle. She’d been crying, and not for a short while either. Probably for the entire time her sister had been gone. He couldn’t blame her for doing what her sister told her to.

Harry hugged the child, and stopped a house maid carrying a bucket of coal for the morning fires, which meant the sun would be coming up soon. He stopped the girl. “Please, can you tell his grace I need his help. Now.”

He tilted Lydia’s chin up so she might see his determination and honesty—because honesty meant so much to Lydia. “I will find her, and I will bring her back.”

She pushed away from him, shaking her head. And for a moment Harry saw a traces of Phoebe’s independence and more than a bit of Francine’s boldness in Lydia. With her hand she wiped the letters off the slate and wrote, I go, too.

He was not going to bring her. There was no way he could guarantee her safety. “It’s not safe for you to go, Lydie. Please wait here with my sister.”

The girl shook her head, vigorously this time, her dark braid whipping around her like a thick rope. She again pointed to the words she’d written.

“I will not bring you,” he stated. He was already berating himself for not sensing Phoebe was up to doing this, and for not hearing her when she slipped out of the room.

She wiped the slate, and wrote, You can’t stop me.

Like big sister, like little sister. Harry knew that if he’d tried to keep Wally from a fight he would have done the same. And if Lydia left without anyone to accompany her, as Phoebe had, he could lose her as well. How in heaven’s name would he ever forgive himself for that?

“What is wrong with you stubborn women?” he muttered. “You should let men take care of things.”

He thought he saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes, she interpreted it as a sign that he was caving in. And he was, because against his better judgement he gave her the reply she wanted. “Fine, go change.”

Lydia removed the heavy robe she wore and revealed underneath it the serviceable, drab clothing she’d worn the other day on the ship.

Harry almost felt like a fool. “You knew I’d give in, didn’t you?”

She shook her head.

“I see,” he replied. “You were prepared to follow me.”

With a stubborn set to her chin, the girl nodded.

“Wait here then, while I dress. When the duke gets here send him in.”

Harry closed the door on Lydia hoping she actually did as he’d asked. She might, since he’d said she could go. He threw open the dresser and cabinet in the dressing room, then changed into his darkest shirt and black breeches, shoved his feet into his boots. Then he loaded the first of his two pistols. Why would Phoebe go alone? Didn’t she know the man they were dealing with was dangerous?

Donovan had sent three men to their little village to capture Phoebe and Lydia and bring them to London in order to force them into prostitution. Each time Harry thought about it, he wanted to kill the man and all his cohorts.

Phoebe. Dear God, please don’t let me be too late, he prayed silently. He was going to have to marry her in order to make her stay with him, because he wasn’t ever going to let her get away from him again.

Cav entered, wearing trousers and his banyan, the concern on his face telling Harry that Cav suspected this had something to do with Donovan or Phoebe. “What has happened, and why is the child in the hallway?”

“Phoebe has gone to Donovan on her own. She has this damn misguided sense of honor that tells her she has to be the one to negotiate a settlement with that man.” He started on the second pistol.

“But Donovan won’t negotiate,” Harry rambled on as he packed the wad of powder in the pistol with more force than necessary. “I should have told her this. I blame myself. I knew she had this bold but very naïve idea that she’d waltz in there, negotiate favorable payments, and return home to continue working. But the man didn’t want the money. He wanted her and her little sister.” He stood and grabbed his jacket and shoved his arms into the sleeves. Taking the pistols he hoped he didn’t have to use, he put them into the two interior pockets. This was all his fault. Every bit of it. If Phoebe got hurt, he was the one to blame. Not her. “And I was a coward and thought to protect them from that disgusting… I wanted to protect her.”

“You’re not a coward,” Cav said. “But why bring the girl? If things get dangerous, she could get hurt.”

“She’s just like her sister. If I don’t take her, she’ll just go on her own,” Harry said. “I cannot keep her under lock and key. And, from a medical perspective, going back to where her trauma occurred might help her.”

The duke just shook his head. “I wouldn’t take her at all, but she’s not mine to command.” He went to the door. “Are you sure she went to Donovan, and not back home?”

Harry gave him a curt nod. “She told Lydia.”

“Then I’ll get my pistols and call for a few men and horses. Meet me in the foyer.” The duke departed, leaving Harry feeling better for the unquestioned support and the reinforcements.

Even if Harry hadn’t warned her, Phoebe had to know that meeting with this man who wanted to force her to work in his brothel was a bad idea. He understood pride and honor as much as any man. But, Phoebe… Why she would do this was beyond Harry’s comprehension. He was going to throttle her when he found her. She should have known better than to do this. Did she actually think she was going to walk in, negotiate with that man and walk out?

He opened the door, and found Lydia waited for him at the top of the stairs. “When we get there,” Harry said, “you will stay with the groom and the horses until we get your sister. Understood?”

She nodded.

“Afterward, I’ll take you to the places you wish to see.”

Again she nodded. Her wide brown eyes were filled with worry, yet eager to get moving. Lydia was an exact duplicate of her sister, because for a moment the image before him was the image he had in his mind whenever Wally mentioned his sister Phoebe.

And while they waited for Cav, the other men, and the horses to come around, Harry grew more furious at the vile money-monger who wanted to put this child to work in his brothel. He might just kill the man simply for having such vulgar thoughts regarding children. Surely any man who would find fornication with a child satisfying or profitable deserved to meet his judgement at the end of a pistol.

Cav joined them under the covered portico, and they waited in tense silence for the rest of the men. A score of horses was heard coming down the alleyway behind the house. When they reached Cav, Lydia, and Harry, he remembered something. “Have you ever ridden double?” She shook her head looking sidelong at the horse. Harry mounted and dropped his left stirrup. “That’s okay. Put your left foot in there and give me your left hand. When I pull you up, use your weight in the stirrup to help propel you up and over to sit behind me.”

Lydia did as told and he swung the girl up. “Now hold on to me. Wrap your arms around my waist.”

The gelding balked a little as he cued him to move out because of the added weight behind the saddle, but Harry made sure the mount continued forward. “Lydia, relax, or this horse will toss us both onto the cobblestones before we’re out of the drive.”

She nodded into his back as she clung tightly to him. The tension slowly eased in Lydia’s body, and the horse recognized this as well and settled somewhat, moving now without further issue. With Cav next to him, Harry led the way toward the intersection of Whitechapel and Commercial through early morning vendor traffic. Still dark out, there was a glow to the east that told all of them the sun was soon to rise. People in the business of supplying taverns, pubs, and other places parked wagons and carts on both sides of the road, making deliveries or transacting deals with the cooks or staff of the neighboring local establishments.

Even with the street lamps lit, Phoebe could easily be lost in the bustling traffic around this part of town. That could be both a good thing and a bad thing. She grew up here, so was very familiar with the area. She was also over-confident in a place she hadn’t lived in the last year and a half. Harry just hoped to hell he wasn’t too late to save her. If Donovan didn’t hand her into his care, he would… He didn’t know what he’d do. God help that man if he or someone else hurt Phoebe, because Harry would kill the bastard.

Harry drew his horse to a halt, Cav stopped alongside him, with the twenty armed men and several young grooms just behind them. They made a scene in the road for certain—a duke, with his enormous retinue were not usually seen in these parts of town. And this told Harry that they needed to approach quietly.

“How much further?” Cav asked.

“The building is exactly one block ahead,” Harry said. He faced Cav, and kept his face out of the glow of yellow light cast by the streetlamp. Motioning with his thumb over his shoulder, he pointed to building on a narrow corner, with a typical brown wooden door facing the road. “See the corner where those two men are guarding the entrance?”

“Then lets dismount here,” Cav said. To the men with them, he added, “Spread out, and surround that building on the corner there, every door needs two men covering it. You others block the corners and alley entrances.” To several standing nearby he said, “You men come with us.”

“Keep an eye out for any sign of Miss Phoebe,” Harry addressed the men Cav brought with them. “She has dark hair, and she looks very much like her sister here, only taller and older.” Then he motioned to the the corner where the tavern was. “You’ll have a difficult time getting cover near that back entrance. The alley is narrow, with only one or two places to hide, but they’re farther down toward the other end.”

“Do what you must but keep out of sight until you’re needed,” Cav said.

Harry turned to Lydia and lifted her chin so she could face him. He wanted to see her eyes and know she understood the gravity of the situation. “Lydie, you must stay here with these men.” Harry stressed. “They will protect you. I cannot worry about you and your sister. Understand? Do not disobey me.”

She nodded, and Harry hugged the girl. “I’ll have her back in no time,” he promised her.

He looked at the groom. “Do you have a weapon?” The man patted his chest, and Harry gave him a nod. “Good. Take care of the girl,” he said as he mussed the cap covering Lydie’s braid. Like this she almost looked boyish, but he could see she had the look of her sister about her, telling him that one day she’d be a true beauty. “Do not leave this spot.”

She nodded.

“Your Grace, wait,” called one of the men. “A hackney, there, slowing,” that man pointed down the road. They all watched as the hackney turned into the alleyway.

“Let’s go,” Harry said.

Cav sent the mounted men to both ends of the alley, preventing the vehicle from leaving. Harry and Cav, along with two armed men went to the building’s front entrance.

The two very broad and very muscular, stevedore-looking doormen guarding the entrance to Donovan’s establishment at first blocked the doorway.

“Not open, go away.” the larger of the two men growled.

“I’m here for—” Harry didn’t get the rest of his sentence out because Cav used his name to make the doors open.

“I’m Caversham. Get out of my way.”

Whether it was Cav’s title, or the half-dozen men behind them, the two guards gave a reluctant nod of deference to the duke before stepping aside. When this was over he was going to have to ask Cav what his name meant down here. Obviously, they knew of him.

Donovan’s men on the inside stood down as Harry—eager to reach Phoebe as quickly as possible—ran through the large room to the doorway leading to the stairs, Cav close behind him. Once he reached the door to Donovan’s office, he found that door also blocked with two men.

“If you want to hang with Donovan when this is done,” Cav growled, “then continue to bar my entrance. If you want me to forget you were here, then leave now.”

Harry pushed through them, opened the door to the dimly-lit office and saw no one. Empty. “Phoebe!” He shouted, both to vent his frustration and hoping she was somewhere in the building and might cry out. He held himself in check, listening all the while telling God he was going to kill Donovan if he hurt her.

Footsteps scurrying on the back stairwell told him someone was running. Muted screams in the rear of the building sent Harry running for those back stairs. His heart raced as he skidded to a stop in the kitchen. With the glow of only the kitchen hearth to light the room, he found the door, and grabbed the rusty metal knob. But the thing wouldn’t budge. Open, damnit. Open. He rammed the heavy wooden door, but it wouldn’t budge. Then in frustration he pounded it and shouted, “Phoebe!”

Cav called to him from the taproom. Harry turned, ran back through the building, then out the front door, around the corner and into the narrow alley. The smell of urine, vomit, manure and rot threatened to gag him, but he didn’t think about it because he found her.

With her hands tied behind her back, one of Donovan’s enormous bullies held Phoebe by the arm and pushed her from behind. She had a gag tied in her mouth preventing her from crying out. Donovan held the door to a carriage open, and the burly bruiser attempted to force Phoebe into a carriage. She fought getting into it with all she had, and with the glow of daybreak lightening the sky, Harry saw her eyes were wide with fright. “Phoebe!” She stopped struggling a moment when the man tried yet again to push her into the carriage, but Phoebe renewed her struggle with her feet planted against the wall of the vehicle, screaming behind her gag.

She was alive. She was alive. He would get her out of here because she was his. She was alive and his. Nothing else mattered.

Lydia came running up behind him and Cav, then she dashed around the other side of the hackney. Then Harry lost sight of her. Damn that child! She made his task twice as difficult as now he had to get both of them out of here.

He grabbed his pistols and held them steady, both aimed at Donovan’s chest.

“Let her go now,” Harry growled, “or I kill you.”

Cav pointed his weapon at the bruiser holding Phoebe.

“You heard him,” Cav said. “Let the girl go.”

Donovan tried to hand Cav a sheet which he slapped out of his way. Likely it was the tally of loans taken out by Phoebe’s father, and his mark. “I don’t care about that,” Cav said. “My brother-in-law came here to pay off the father’s debt in full. You turned him away. That was a mistake.”

“It’s all legal,” Donovan said. “I don’t need the money, and a man like me needs a constant influx of fresh blood to keep the customers happy. Grenard thought he was smart taking the girls away. He thought to welch on this debt as well.”

“Let the girl go, now,” Harry said calmly, pulling the hammer back on his pistol.

“Shoot me and the girl dies,” Donovan said, before he gave a nod to the man holding Phoebe. That man forced Phoebe’s arm aside, and showed the long blade pressed between her shoulder blades. If they shot either Phoebe or Donovan, she could easily be killed with them.

“Now then, I have a delivery to make, so if you’ll both excuse me.” The struggle to get Phoebe onto the vehicle began again, with Phoebe’s garbled words sounding like something he’d never heard a lady say before under her gag.

Suddenly, Lydie scrambled out from under the carriage screaming like a warrior princess in the midst of battle. She jammed a pair of large scissors high on the inside of Donovan’s thigh, and turned to slap the near side horse on the rump. The driver, who’d been busy watching the struggle with first Phoebe, then Harry and Cav, was caught unawares and fell over the side of the carriage as the horses bolted. He rolled out of the way of the wheels when the driverless hackney sped off—with the horses unchecked—into the intersection with Commercial Road.

Donovan collapsed onto the ground screaming in pain as the man made the mistake of pulling the shears from his leg before a tourniquet was tied. The bruiser holding Phoebe shoved her away and fled, landing in the arms of one of the men who’d come with him and Cav.

Given the amount of blood pooling around Donovan’s body, the wound was likely fatal—even if Harry applied a tourniquet now. He should try though. That would be the compassionate thing to do. Judgement wasn’t his to render. The courts would take care of him. Donovan was a blight on polite society. This was a man who had no compunction with forcing young girls into prostitution to make himself rich.

Lydia scrambled to her sister and untied the rope around her wrists, then the gag. The instant the gag was gone Phoebe began to scold Lydia for being there.

“Throw me the rope,” Harry asked Lydia.

Harry scanned Phoebe from head to toe quickly. She was frightened by unharmed. Her clothing was in order, and she didn’t appear to have any bruises. She’d been crying though, and that angered him. But he had a dying man in front of him.

He turned his attention back to Donovan. Much as he hated the man, he had to try to save him in order to see justice done. Taking the rope Lydia tossed to him, he kicked the scissors out of the man’s reach and knelt down next to him.

“You deserve to rot in hell,” Harry said, “but not because I let you die. I’m going to see you hang if I have my way.”

He took the rope Lydia dropped to the ground and looped it around Donovan’s fat thigh, and tightened it. Making the man cry out in pain.

“Grenard owed me!” Donovan shouted.

Harry tightened the rope further. “Do you want to live to face a judge? Because I can let you die.”

“You won’t because you’re a soft—” Donovan didn’t have a chance to finish what he was about to say because they all heard a scream unlike anything any of them had heard before.

A ghostly, almost banshee-like wail rose up from Lydia. Her head whipped around and the expression on her face told him she remembered something.

“You!” Lydia screamed, her voice unlocked as she pointed to a bleeding Donovan slumped up against the building. “It’s you! You said to shoot them!”

Cav blocked Lydia, and stopped her from retrieving the scissors. Lifting her off the ground and took the girl, and her sister, to stand with the guards and grooms with the horses at the end of the alley.

“That’s the brat in the garden that night.” Donovan fell over onto one elbow, his voice growing weaker. “We shoulda killed her when we saw her watching us, but Grenard—”

“What? Why?” Harry shouted, doing his best to restrain the rage welling up inside him. He wanted to know. Why them? Why kill any of them. And the child? He would have killed the child? Why?

Donovan struggled to hold himself upright. “Business. Jack owed me.”

Donovan seemed to want to talk, as though Cav and Harry were confessors, and he knew he didn’t have long to live. He turned his quickly fading gaze to Harry. “I got a call for a certain type o’ lad for the navy. Jack told me you boys would be here that night. He owned me money.” Donovan took long pauses between his sentences now, and he was soon to lose consciousness. “Fool shoulda negotiated harder, ‘cause I made… nice profit that night.” Donovan tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. The man was growing weaker in front of them all, dying. With the amount of blood pooling under him, Donovan couldn’t be moved without hastening the man’s death. “Coulda been more… but two… ran… and that cost me. So I… had them shot because… they knew Grenard.”

A burst of rage filled Harry for the loss of his friends, two good men with promising futures ahead of them. Harry didn’t care that Donovan was dying. He was the one who ordered his friends killed. The man’s actions caused his father’s death. In his anger, he started to kick at Donovan and froze mid-stride. Harry wasn’t going to stoop as low as that vulgar waste of life. Stepping over his extended legs, Harry said “Start praying for forgiveness because you’ll be dead in a matter of minutes.”

Harry took his kerchief from his jacket and wiped the bastard’s blood from his hands. He had to get it off of him. It burned his soul that he’d even tied a tourniquet on the man.

Cav and Harry both walked away, stopping only when Donovan called to Cav.

“Hey, duke.” Donovan’s voice was faint and hard to decipher.

Cav stopped, turned, and met the other man’s gaze.

“Thought… want to know… girl… to Whitby’s for one of… his… parties.” The other man’s head began to wobble as he sat against the side of the building. Color was already gone from his face as the puddle around his seat grew. Harry knew if he were to try and take his pulse, it wouldn’t be there. But he wasn’t going to take it, Donovan would be dead within minutes. The man’s body tried to gasp for a breath and then nothing.

He shoved the bloodied kerchief into an interior pocket, then looked around for Phoebe and Lydia. He found them holding each other near the grooms and horses some twenty feet away.

Harry turned to Cav and shook his head over the dead man’s body. “You,” Harry said to a nearby mounted guard, “fetch a magistrate. There should be a stand nearby.”

Phoebe motioned for him to join her and Lydie at the corner near their father’s former tavern, still clinging tightly to each other. Harry’s heart ached for what they’d already gone through, and what they’d just learned.

“Lydia is afraid she will be arrested,” she said, worry marring her beautiful brow. “They can’t do that, can they?”

This was not something a child should ever be forced to worry about, and neither her older sister, the woman he wanted a future with. “I will speak to Cav, but in my opinion she was acting in self-defense.” He gave Lydia a reassuring hug. “We will not let anyone take you away from your sister.” Catching Phoebe’s anxious gaze he added, “And I will not let anyone take you from me.”

“He was the man who thanked papa the night Wally was taken.” Lydie’s voice was cracking and emotionless, the she told Harry and Phoebe the rest of the story. “Papa was angry that two of the boys were shot. He wanted to make sure they weren’t Wally. He went up to the wagon and looked under the piece of old sailcloth covering all the boys. Papa saw Wally was still alive and walked away.

“When he was going back into the kitchen he saw me hiding behind the stack of crates in the garden. I was crying and holding my dolly. He took my dolly from me and broke it,” she sobbed, fat tears trailing down her cheeks. “He tore her head off. Then he said if I ever spoke of it he was going to do that to me.

“I didn’t forget anything,” Lydia added. “I could never forget. And Papa knew I hadn’t.”

The child sobbed into her sister’s pelisse for several long minutes, with Phoebe stroking her back as she hugged her close. Harry wondered how a man, a father, could have done such a thing to a child. Terrorizing her such that she was afraid speak at all. If Grenard were still alive, he could kill him for what he did to his daughters.

“But I couldn’t talk about it,” Lydie continued once the tears had abated. “I was afraid to talk at all because if I let something slip, he would kill me. Or sell me to the man who took Wally.”

Cav came around the corner, stopping where Harry stood with Phoebe and Lydia. “Are you ready to mount up?” Cav asked. “The magistrate has it from here, and if they have any further questions, they’ll come to the house.”

“Will they take Lydia?” Phoebe asked, still fearful for her sister.

“Not at all,” Cav replied. “You needn’t worry, Miss Phoebe. Miss Lydia was incredibly brave and saved your life, and possibly even my own.”

Harry witnessed the precise moment the fear drained from Phoebe. Air rushed out of her stiff upper body, rounding and softening her spine and shoulders, and the tight line of her lips relaxed into a slight smile. Knowing Phoebe felt more secure hearing from the duke that her sister was safe made Harry breathe easier, too.

He tore his eyes away from Phoebe, or he’d embarrass himself in front of everyone by kissing her. To save himself from doing that out here, Harry took the reins of his horse from the groom.

“Let’s get back to the house,” Cav said, as he took the reins from the groom. “The sun is rising.”

“I’ll take Phoebe with me,” Harry replied. “We need to have a little discussion.” He didn’t plan to chastise her, only to let her know that she had frightened him. And tell her that he loved her and cared about her.

He loved her. He did. Though he hadn’t even said the words to her yet. He wanted to tell Phoebe he loved her. He wanted to tell her how afraid of losing her he was; and how the thought of a future without her in it wasn’t a future he wanted.

Cav leaned closer to Harry before he mounted. “Do it later,” he said. “Let her rest. She’s had a frightening night.”

“I thought I’d lost her!”

“Harry, if you care about this girl and want a future with her, take my advice and let her have a rest before you chide her for behaving recklessly.”

“But I’ll forget what I want to say.”

“Exactly,” Cav said softly. “And it will always serve you well to remember that.” His brother-in-law held his hand out to Lydia. “Miss Lydia, would you like to ride with me? I think Harry would like to ride with your sister.”

Phoebe untwined her arm from her sisters and Lydia reached for Cav’s hand. Harry held his out to Phoebe. “Once I’m in the saddle, I’ll help you up.”

He put Phoebe in front of him because he wanted to hold her, and to reassure himself that he hadn’t lost her. He tried to situate her between his thighs as comfortably as he could for the short ride back to Caversham House, but she held herself so stiff that it was almost impossible for him.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to lecture you or chastise you. I think you’re already doing that to yourself.” She nodded, then turned her face into his jacket and burst into tears.

Harry now understood what his brother-in-law meant, and felt he may even be right. Harry reined in his tendency to lecture when someone he cared about did something foolish.

Except Phoebe could have been lost to him forever; and Lydia disobeying him by running into the alley, the same. If he hadn’t been out there, if they hadn’t arrived when they had, he would have had no future with Phoebe.

He had to marry Phoebe. Not out of a sense of obligation to her brother. But because he loved her.

Harry loved being with her, and holding her like this. It felt more right than anything in his life. Those long minutes when he’d thought he’d lost her was among the darkest emotions he’d ever experienced. He didn’t want to think of losing her to anyone, and he wasn’t going to let another man take what his heart, or his body, wanted.

The entire ride back to Caversham House was done in silence, with perhaps one or two audible sniffles from Phoebe. All he could do was hold her, stroke her arm. He kissed her several times on the top of her head, when what he wanted to do was pull the pins from the coiled braids, and run his fingers through the soft, sweetly-scented curls. He wanted to see her long hair hanging loose as it was the afternoon they met.

When they arrived at the house, Cav helped her dismount from Harry’s lap, and she and Lydia went ahead of them into the house.

Harry handed his reins to the groom, and said to Cav, “You were right when you said to not berate her. I just discovered she is harder on herself than I could ever be.”

“Give her time to rest,” the older man said. “Go for a walk in the park tomorrow. It’s beautiful this time of year with all the flowering plants.”

“I’m going to ask her to marry me,” Harry said, not seeking permission, but stating a fact. He loved Phoebe. He didn’t understand how it happened in just five days, but he couldn’t let her go. Somehow he didn’t think his world would be as perfect if he were to lose her.

“Make sure you’re doing it because you want the lass, and not because of any sense of obligation to her brother.”

“This has to be the right thing, because I was never so frightened than when I saw that man with his hands on her and his knife in her back. Somewhere in the past five days I’ve fallen in love with her.” The more he said the word out loud the more right it sounded to his ears, to his heart and to his soul. He just hoped Phoebe would believe and welcome his profession of love, because he didn’t know what he’d do if she rejected him.

“She is very sweet, if a little proud. But then, so is your sister. I asked her to marry me several times before she agreed.” Then Cav’s eyes grew wide, and a roguish smile spread across his face—as though he had an idea. “Change that walk in the park to a nice, long carriage ride—through the park, or out to the country and back. The destination is not the point.”

“Why…” No sooner was the word out, that it became clear, and Harry understood the wicked wisdom of Cav’s idea. His brother-in-law had obviously been a rake in his youth.

The older man held up a hand and began counting with his fingers as he listed. “No interruptions. Two on a seat. Shades that can be drawn. Use your imagination Harry.”

Harry hoped he didn’t have a stunned look on his face. Not because he wasn’t following what Cav was saying. He was. But that his sister… He shook his head. He didn’t want to know.

“So that’s how you got her to agree? Compromised her by being alone in a carriage?”

Cav chuckled, and gave Harry a sly grin. “She was compromised before the carriage ride, and that is all I will say.”

“Yes,” Harry said as the idea began to take root in his thoughts. “Carriage ride it is.”

“And a picnic basket,” his sister said standing in the doorway. “Ply her with wine, cheese, fruits, and fresh bread. She won’t refuse you.” She gave her husband a kiss on the cheek after they were all inside. “I’ll ask Lydia to help me with Sarah tomorrow.”

“Lydia is speaking now,” Harry said. “It’s a very long story, and if you ask her, I’m sure she will tell you.”

Harry gave his sister a peck on the cheek. “I would like to get a couple of hours of sleep. I’ll see you both for luncheon.”

Once in his room, Harry sat down and wrote a quick note to Reggie, asking him to come to London and stand up for him. He handed the note to a servant and asked him to see that it gets sent that morning, then he crawled into his bed.

Until he fell into a sound slumber he thought about Phoebe, and how sweet being married to her would be.

* * *

Harry tossed and turned in his sleep. As an adult, he’d never had a dream or nightmare that he could remember. But each time he was on the brink of slumber, he saw his dead friends. First the ghostly apparitions of Charlie and Jerry, haunting him together, just as they died together, pointing out that he was going to be marrying the woman whose father profited from delivering them to their deaths.

Then Wally appeared and it made Harry heartsick. He missed his friends. And Charlie and Jerry had a valid point—Phoebe’s father was the reason for their deaths. Even though Wally died of dunga, he never would have caught it had it not been for their abduction and impressment, which Grenard was responsible for.

But Wally shook his head in the negative. “My sister is honorable and good,” he said. “She is nothing like her father, and would be the perfect mate for you.”

Harry had never believed in ghosts. And this wasn’t a ghost because he was asleep. Right? This was Harry’s memories of his friends coming through because of the nervous jitters related to the enormous leap he was going to take the next day. That’s all it was. He was going to ask Phoebe to marry him, and it was something he wanted with his entire being.

When Harry didn’t reply, his dead friend added, “Have I ever misled you?”

His own laughter woke him. That was definitely Wally talking, because in his dream, both Wally and Harry laughed. Throughout their school days, Wally was the instigator of most of their adventures and misadventures. That all changed the night of their abduction. Especially when they’d learned that Charlie and Jerry were dead. And Wally… He seemed so alive, so real—nothing like what Charlie and Jerry looked like a moment earlier. Nor anything like what he thought a ghostly figure would. But it was a dream. Harry and Reggie were both with Wally as their best friend took his last breath.

And until his death, Wally felt guilt simply because they’d had dinner at his stepfather’s tavern, even though Harry had relieved him of any culpability early on, as had Reggie he was sure. “If we’d eaten elsewhere that night,” Wally said, “our friends might still be alive and we would have completed that last term. Our lives would have been infinitely different had it not been for stopping for dinner at the tavern before going to the club.”

But their lives had changed. Charlie and Jerry’s lives ended that night, Wally’s later. And the best thing he and Reggie could do now was to get on as best as they could—continuing with their lives, honoring their deceased friends by thinking of them fondly and praying for their souls.

When he thought of his future, he knew he wanted only one thing—to be with Phoebe. He couldn’t see his life going forward without her. He loved her independent spirit and her fierce loyalty and devotion to her sister and cousin. She fit in his arms perfectly. He felt complete with her. He craved being with her. She would make him the most perfect wife. And he, Harold Manners-Sutton, would do his best to make her a good husband.

“Her father is responsible for our deaths,” Charlie stressed.

“You can forgive so easily?” asked Jerry.

“She is not her father,” he whispered to the ghosts of his beloved friends.

“Be kind to her, Harry,” Wally said. “She’s not used to having someone care for her and she needs that. She needs you because you cannot be indifferent or dispassionate. It’s not who you are.”

“Go away, lads, and let me sleep.” Harry rolled over to his other side, and fluffed the feathers in his pillow. “All will be fine, if you just let me sleep.”

Hours later, he woke making plans for a carriage ride to the country.