Gage opened the door for Beck and immediately took his hat and gloves. “Married, my lord?” He didn’t bother disguising his shock.

“Yes.” Beck started through the drawing room toward his office, expecting Gage would follow.

“I had no idea you were even considering it,” Gage said. “Not that I expect you disclose everything to me.”

“I wasn’t considering it,” Beck revealed honestly as he walked into his office and continued to his desk.

“Well, I trust you will be very happy and that this isn’t a hasty…situation.”

Beck could hear how carefully Gage chose his words. He always strove to be respectful, but also knew that Beck appreciated his counsel. Beck sat down behind his desk. “You’re worried I compromised her and we have to marry.”

“Didn’t you?” The question was devoid of judgment or accusation.

“I proposed to her first.” And he’d do it again. “She was on the verge of becoming betrothed to someone else, and I found I couldn’t live with that.”

“That sounds rather definitive,” Gage said.

Because it was. Lavinia had become an important part of his life. He looked forward to every moment he might share with her and had begun to look for them as much as possible. Now, he could be assured of many, many moments for the rest of their lives. He’d never considered that, at least not since he’d had his heart broken. He didn’t like to dwell on things that might never come true, and he’d never imagined he’d fall in love again.

Did that mean he’d fallen in love with Lavinia? He thought so. If he even knew what love was. He thought he had with Priscilla, but this was different. When he contemplated a future without Lavinia, it appeared far bleaker than any of the pain he’d suffered after Priscilla’s rejection.

“Have you set a wedding date yet?” Gage asked. “I should like to prepare the staff for the change in the household.”

Of course he would. As he should. Beck really hadn’t given this much forethought. He ought to write to Rachel immediately. She would likely want to come to London for the wedding. “It will happen rather quickly,” Beck said. “My bride has an impatient streak.” He swallowed a smile, grateful for her inability to wait. “The banns will be read tomorrow, and the ceremony will take place two weeks from Monday.”

Gage blinked in surprise. “That is fast. As fast as you can manage.”

“Without a special license, yes.” Which he would happily have procured, particularly if it would have pleased Lavinia. That she’d capitulated to her mother’s wishes to give her the wedding she wanted for her daughter revealed her kind and generous nature. Which only made him love her more.

“Is there anything we should do before the new marchioness arrives? We don’t have much time, but I’m sure we could effect some sort of change if any is required.”

Beck stared at him blankly. For the first time, he realized he was going to have to share his home, which he’d always treasured as his private space. It was one thing to share Waverly Court with Rachel and his half brother, especially since he’d begun to expect that George would one day inherit the title. However, now that would not be the case. Everything in his life had changed in the span of this afternoon, and he was just now beginning to understand the impact.

Unease rippled through him, like a stone thrown into a lake, with echoes of movement disrupting the smooth surface. Beck might have a smooth surface, but underneath lurked a dark tangle, which Lavinia had glimpsed today. What would she say the first time he closeted himself in his office and didn’t come out for a day? Would he still do that after they wed?

He leaned back in his chair with a huff and realized Gage was still waiting for him to respond. “I can’t think of any changes right now, but I’ll invite Lavinia to tour the house and solicit her opinion. She’ll require an office of her own. With bookshelves.”

“The upstairs sitting room?” Gage suggested.

That would work, but Beck wondered if he might like having her nearby. If she took the sitting room next door, they could install a door between the chambers and spend many afternoons as they had today…

And yet that would also mean she would be right next door—with specific access—during his darker periods. His gaze drifted to the letter to his desk, and he found he wanted to read that rather than think about this anymore.

It will be fine. You love her. She loves you. Probably.

Did she?

“I’ll discuss it with her,” Beck said. “Thank you, Gage.”

Gage inclined his head and departed, closing the door behind him.

Beck picked up the letter from Margaret and began to read. He found himself speeding through her descriptions of her daily life and those of her family. Her eldest daughter had become engaged, which made him read more slowly. He couldn’t quite believe she was that old, but then Margaret was twelve years his senior.

He continued reading, and when he saw Helen’s name, his heart began to pound.

Haywood? He was the man who’d danced with Helen and gotten her hopes up? It seemed Margaret doubted whether he’d promised to marry Helen, but Beck didn’t for a moment. He was confident Haywood had led his sister on a merry chase.

Or did he just want to believe something—or someone—had pushed Helen to kill herself? What if it had been entirely herself? As Margaret wrote, Helen had always possessed a shadow. As he did. Only hers had seemed deeper and more pervasive. She was often melancholy and complained of feeling lonely. She’d sometimes mentioned not wanting to feel that way any longer, but as a boy, he’d never thought she meant it in a permanent way. He’d never imagined she would want to end her life entirely.

And yet, if she’d considered it, and then two horrid women had encouraged her along that path, would she have done it? Especially if another person, a man, disappointed her? Beck could see how she might have found solace in the unthinkable.

Shit. Did that mean he could see that for himself? Could his dark episodes ever push him to an inconceivable edge? He didn’t think so—they hadn’t yet. Apprehension tripped across his shoulders just the same.

He dropped the letter to his desk and blinked. His gaze settled on the chaise, and he couldn’t help but think of Lavinia. The sultry tilt of her smile, the lush curve of her breast, the sheer joy of her curiosity and desire. Her optimism, her selflessness, her absolute zest for life. She was the perfect antidote to the poison in his soul.

He looked back at the letter and wanted to leap to his feet and drive directly to Haywood’s house to interrogate him about Helen. What had he done to her? Had he led her on and abandoned her as he’d done to the Duchess of Kendal? The man had no shame. Just listening to him earlier outside St. George’s had galled Beck. And now, knowing he was the man Helen had hoped would court her…

Fury raged within him. He stood and went to his guitars. For the first time, he wanted to pick one up and smash it against the floor. He forced himself to take deep breaths and calm his thundering heart.

He could not interrogate Haywood. That was not the way to glean information from a man like him. No, Beck had to come up with another plan, and one was already forming in his mind.

Tonight, after the ball, he’d execute it. And Haywood had better hope he had nothing to do with Helen’s death.

The Morecott Ball was the best Society event Lavinia had ever attended. It happened that when you became engaged to marry a marquess, everyone—everyone—was kind and charming and effusive with their good wishes. That some of them were insincere didn’t matter to her. Not tonight. Tonight, she was filled with joy and anticipation for the future.

When Beck arrived, Lavinia’s breath snagged in her chest. He was almost sinfully handsome in his black evening clothes. The white of his cravat gleamed against his skin, and she dreamed of ripping it from him along with the rest of his garments.

Well, it hadn’t taken long for her to become a complete wanton.

“Why are you smiling?” Sarah asked from beside her. “Oh, I see the marquess has arrived.” She’d been utterly thrilled to hear of Lavinia’s betrothal.

“We’re going to dance,” Lavinia said, perhaps unnecessarily.

“Seems like that’s a bit overdue,” Sarah said with pointed sarcasm and a smile.

Instead of going to the park that afternoon, Sarah and Fanny had called on Lavinia to hear all about how the engagement had come about. Lavinia had told them what had happened after he’d proposed, though not in great detail. They’d both gaped at her and then said, “Good for you.”

They were the best of friends.

Beck came straight to them and bowed first to Sarah and then to Lavinia, whose hand he took and kissed. The next several minutes were filled with people rushing over to offer their congratulations and the arrival of Lavinia’s mother, who preened over the entire scene.

Lavinia was glad when the waltz started so that she and Beck could be alone. Or at least away from the crowd around them.

She put her hand on his shoulder as he splayed his hand across her back. “I was going to suggest we rendezvous in the library later, but I daresay we won’t be able to sneak away.”

“Perhaps not,” he said with an edge of disappointment. “There’s always tomorrow.”

She laughed. “At church?”

He narrowed his eyes in a thoroughly seductive manner. “I’ll take you wherever I can have you.”

A thrill of anticipation and something far more primitive shot through her. “I may drag you to the library,” she muttered.

“Careful, Lavinia,” he said. “Unless you want me to kiss you in the middle of a ballroom.”

Desire swirled through her as she looked up at him, but his gaze was trained over her head. “I wish you would.”

They were quiet a moment before she said, “I called on Miss Lennox today.”

“Oh?” He glanced down at her, but only briefly. Did he have to concentrate on the dance steps? “I scarcely know Sainsbury, but I daresay she’s better off.”

She started with surprise. “You do?” He’d felt guilty earlier. What had changed? “Do you know why she cried off?” That was the only thing that made sense, and yet Phoebe had made it clear that Lavinia was the only person she’d told. She’d shared the information with Sarah and Fanny that afternoon, but both had sworn themselves to secrecy.

“Not particularly,” he said, “but Sainsbury comes from bad stock.”

Bad stock? She finally understood. “Haywood is his cousin.” Yet, hadn’t Beck known that earlier when he’d felt so bad about his role in instigating Miss Lennox’s courtship with Sainsbury?

“Yes.” He looked around the ballroom, and she decided he was acting a bit odd. Distracted almost. “I don’t suppose Haywood is here tonight?”

“I haven’t seen him.” Why did Beck care?

“I don’t plan to stay very long after we dance. Is that all right?”

She tried to will him to look at her. “Are you all right?”

His gaze dipped to her once more. “Certainly. I just don’t enjoy this sort of scrutiny.”

“If you want to go, I’ll understand.” She couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. This was the one night she thought she might enjoy the attention, but without him, it would be far less sweet. She was, however, enjoying her view of the ballroom through her spectacles. She could see everyone and everything. It was marvelous.

Until she saw Sir Martin.

He stood near the doors to the patio, his forehead bunched into little lines. His expression could only be described as a glower. And it was clear he was looking directly at her and knew she was looking at him.

She looked away from him. “Oh dear, Sir Martin doesn’t look very pleased.”

“Where is he?” Beck demanded, sounding agitated.

“Over by the doors to the patio.”

Beck turned his head as they moved. “I see him.”

She looked up and caught Beck’s eyes narrowing. “He’s just disappointed.”

“He’ll have to learn to get used to it.” He sounded annoyed.

Lavinia squeezed his shoulder. “He will. I can’t say I blame him. I do feel as though I gave him false hope.”

Now Beck’s eyes latched on to hers with sharp intensity. “Did you promise him anything? Did you make any sort of commitment?”

She found the depth of his response slightly unsettling. “No.”

“Of course you didn’t. You have no reason to feel guilty.”

“I didn’t say I felt guilty.” Her voice trailed off, and she wondered at his mood.

The dance came to an end, and Lavinia wished they had more time. Something had to be bothering him.

As they walked from the dance floor, Sir Martin approached them. Lavinia felt Beck tense beside her.

“I don’t think I offered my congratulations to you earlier today,” Sir Martin said. “After you brought Lavinia home from…wherever.” He said this just loud enough that a few people nearby turned their heads.

Beck stiffened even more. “Sir Martin, I don’t think your congratulations are necessary, but we do thank you.” He took a step forward, and Lavinia moved with him. He bent his head toward Sir Martin’s ear and spoke softly, but she could still hear him. “Say something like that again, and I’ll make it hard for you to speak for a month.” He smiled widely, then started toward the door to the patio, taking Lavinia with him.

As soon as they were outside, he removed her arm from his and stalked to the railing. The mostly dark garden lay below them. A handful of people were on the patio, and Lavinia hurried to Beck’s side, keeping her voice low. “What did you just do?”

He stared out at the garden. “I threatened Sir Martin. I won’t allow him to cast aspersions on you.”

“He can’t hurt me.”

“You are far too kind, Lavinia. He may not be able to hurt you, but he will attempt to extract what revenge he can. By besmirching your reputation.” Beck wiped his gloved fingers against his brow. “Hell, I’ve already done that.”

“We’re getting married. How does that besmirch my reputation?”

He turned his head to look at her briefly, his eyes sharp and narrow. “Because of my reputation.”

She thought of her conversation with Phoebe that afternoon. “I suppose. But I don’t care. What people say or think can’t hurt me. You’re not a rake any longer, and I’ve no doubt you’ll be the best of husbands.” She edged closer to him as he turned his gaze back to the garden. “Unless you decide to behave like this all the time.”

His shoulders dipped briefly, then he took her hand and pulled her down the stairs to the garden. She expected him to lead her onto the path, but instead, he took her back into the house through what appeared to be the breakfast room. Then he opened a door and tucked them both into a small closet that went completely dark as soon as he closed the door.

With her free hand, she felt for the shelving at her right to find her bearings. “What are you doing?”

“I just…” He took a deep breath and let go of her hand. “I told you earlier that I was difficult.”

“Yes. I can manage difficult.” She put her hands on his chest and felt the strong beat of his heart through his clothing. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“Nothing.”

Frustration simmered within her. “I don’t believe you.”

“Nothing I want to talk about right now. I want you to enjoy tonight.”

“I was. I will.” Except he was leaving. “I wish you would stay a little longer.”

“I can’t.” Suddenly his bare hand caressed her neck, and he drew her head forward as his lips closed over hers.

Her irritation melted into desire as he devoured her mouth. She curled her arms around his neck and stood on her toes to kiss him with abandon. He ripped his mouth away from hers and dropped savage kisses along her jaw and neck, leaving her breathless. His hand curled around her side and slid up to cup her breast.

She gasped softly, recalling the feel of his mouth and fingers on her earlier that day. Heat radiated in her core, and she was desperate for him to touch her again.

“Touch me,” she whispered.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

He kissed the flesh above her bodice, his tongue dragging over her and sending delicious sensation to every part of her. He reached down and pulled up her dress, reminding her of the day at the sand pit.

She didn’t want to be the only one being touched. She wanted—needed—to do some touching of her own. She pulled off her gloves and let them fall heedlessly. Then she gripped his nape and took his mouth in a searing kiss.

He moaned softly, stoking her desire. She slid her hands down his front and searched for the buttons of his fall. She moved clumsily at first, but soon his pantaloons fell open.

Meanwhile, he’d lifted her skirt and held it at her waist while his other hand stroked up her thigh and found her sex. He deepened the kiss, and she thrust her hand into his smallclothes, finding his shaft.

He pushed forward, his cock sliding into her hand as surely as it had moved into her earlier. Had it been just today? And here she was, desperate for him again. Maybe she was insatiable. She had to be since they were in a closet engaging in sexual activity during a ball. Though she realized this was usual behavior for him.

She suddenly froze. A moment later, he did the same, lifting his head from hers. “Lavinia?”

“Is this what you did with all the other women?” She detested the jealousy in her voice, but couldn’t help it just the same.

He took his hand from between her legs and cupped her face. “No.”

“Please don’t lie to me. I know you had assignations with women like this. At balls and such. That’s how we met, in case you forgot.”

“How could I?” he asked with a wry tone that didn’t immediately soothe her. “First, I did meet with women…like this.” He exhaled softly. “Second, and most importantly, I’m not lying. This is far different from anything I’ve ever done or experienced.” He stroked her cheek, her jaw, and she could feel that his mouth was just a breath from hers. “Don’t you know how different you are, Lavinia? How precious and wonderful? I never loved any of them.”

Joy loosed inside her and spread. “You love me?”

“More than anything. More than music. More than words. More than my life.”

Nothing he said could have meant more to her. She felt very foolish for her jealousy. “I’m a petty woman, aren’t I?”

“You’re entitled to any emotion you feel—and I shall do my best to answer your concerns. But know this, Lavinia: I love you. I love you.”

“Oh, Beck, I love you too.” Her heart felt as if it would burst from her chest.

He kissed her again, more gently at first, then with increasing urgency as she moved her hand against him. His hand descended to her sex once more, and she tightened her grip around his cock.

He gasped, breaking the kiss, and she worried she’d hurt him. She loosened her hold. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing magnificently. Please don’t stop.”

She gripped him again. “That’s not too tight?”

“No,” he answered, the tightness of his voice giving her a moment’s pause until she realized that was how he tended to sound when he was aroused. And judging from the length and girth of his shaft at present, he was most definitely aroused. “Please move your hand.”

She slid her palm along him to the tip and then back down. “Like that?”

“Yes, please. Faster.”

Oh, he liked faster too. How lovely. She smiled to herself as she quickened her pace. He answered by teasing her folds and slipping a finger inside her. Desire blossomed into blatant lust, and she couldn’t help but move her hips forward, seeking more of him.

“Lavinia, put your foot on that shelf.”

“Which shelf?”

“Any shelf.”

She lifted her foot and found one. The position opened her up to his touch, and he thrust two fingers into her, drawing a cry from her lips.

“Now take my cock from my clothing so I can get to you, please.”

“You’re being so polite,” she murmured, grasping his flesh and using her other hand to peel his clothes away.

“It’s taking a great deal of effort.” It sounded as though he was gritting his teeth. He tucked her skirt behind her leg so it was pinned between her thigh and the wall. Then he clasped her waist and lifted her slightly as he nestled himself between her legs. “Guide me into you, my love.”

She struggled to get him at just the right angle, but after several tries and a tweak of his hips, he penetrated her. Pleasure instantly washed over her, giving her the promise of ecstasy to come.

“Now hold on to me, no matter what.”

He trapped her against the wall with his body, lifting her as he drove deep inside her. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back as her foot found another shelf. Her other foot sought a place to ground them, so he could work less at holding her up and focus more on thrusting into her. God, she needed him to move.

She braced her foot against the door, opening herself wider to him, then clutched his neck as he slammed into her. It wasn’t a slow build. She was thrown up to the pinnacle, where she floated for just a few moments, then ecstasy rushed through her, taking her higher still.

He kissed her, their lips and tongues fighting to cling together between their frantic breaths. Then he thrust particularly deep, and his entire body tightened. He groaned into her mouth, trying, she could tell, to stay as quiet as possible. She could only imagine what this must sound like outside their haven. So she didn’t.

After a few more strokes, she felt him relax—just slightly—as his body came back under control. She caressed his face and felt sweat along his brow.

He withdrew from her and eased her legs down until she was standing on the floor. “All right?”

She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes. A little wobbly.”

“Sorry. And a bit messy.” His tone held a shade of regret.

“That’s what petticoats are for, silly.” She reached down and lifted her dress to expose her undermost petticoat that no one would ever see, then awkwardly used it to dry him off, pushing his hands aside.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“I wanted to.” She set to tidying herself.

He kissed her lips, her cheek, her forehead. “You are the most thoughtful woman.”

“I’m sensible.”

He laughed. “Yes. Very.”

She sensed that he’d relaxed and felt relieved. “I suppose I should return to the ball.”

“I’ll escort you back.”

“No, you go,” she said. “I’ll say I was in the retiring room. That way, we won’t look so obvious.”

He groaned softly. “I didn’t mean to cause a stir. But what am I to do? You’re irresistible.”

“And insatiable.”

“Yes, and never change.” He kissed her again. “Ready?”

She let out a breath, not quite ready to leave him, but knowing she must. “Yes.”

He opened the door a bare sliver, just enough to allow a faint bit of light. He plucked up her gloves and handed them to her.

She worked them on as he found his own and did the same. “I’ll see you at church tomorrow, then?”

“Yes.”

She patted her hair and pressed her hands to her cheeks, thinking she would definitely stop by the retiring room first—both to bolster her alibi and to ensure she didn’t look tousled. She certainly felt tousled, and it was glorious.

Pressing a final kiss to his lips, she whispered, “I love you.”

As she left the closet, she heard him say, “Not as much as I love you.”