As Beck strode into White’s, the tension Lavinia had driven away with her touch gripped him once more. He’d been incredibly wound up before the ball, and he knew his behavior had alarmed Lavinia as they’d danced. And then Sir Martin had decided to be an ass, and Beck had nearly plunged over the edge.

Sometimes anger took over, not as much as a need to be alone, but when rage came upon him, it wasn’t always easy to let it go. And he supposed he hadn’t. He’d simply set it aside until he could fully inhabit it. Now that he was here, he could.

He wasn’t entirely certain where he might find Haywood, but knew White’s was the blackguard’s preferred club. Beck circulated through the main rooms then situated himself in the morning room where he could see the hall and watch as gentlemen arrived.

He sipped whiskey—slowly so as to keep his wits about him—and waited.

Over an hour after he took his post, Haywood strode into the hall. He didn’t come into the morning room, but continued straight back to the main staircase. Beck waited a minute, then followed him up. He found his quarry in the coffee room seated at a table with another gentleman Beck barely recognized.

Gripping his whiskey, Beck made his way to the table. “Mind if I sit?”

Haywood looked up at him. “Didn’t I just run into you this morning?”

“Indeed you did.” Beck sat down and inclined his head toward the other gentleman.

“I was just telling Goodwin here about that debacle.” Haywood shook his head. “Stupid chit. Ah well, she’s the one who will bear the brunt of her mistake. Laurence will be just fine.”

Goodwin, whom Beck vaguely recalled now, nodded. He was similar in age to Haywood—early forties at least and apparently of a similar mind. “She’ll regret it, if she doesn’t already.”

Haywood snorted. “I’m sure she does. She may even be at my cousin’s right now begging him to take her back.”

The conversation was enough to make Beck want to pummel them both, but he had an objective and that wasn’t it. He really hoped Goodwin would just go away. Alas, Beck had to suffer his presence for some time before he excused himself.

By then, Haywood was on his third glass of whiskey, while Beck was on his second—again nursing it slowly. Now he had his chance.

Beck moved his chair closer to Haywood and took a drink. “I wanted to ask you about something. You seem a man of a certain…expertise.”

Haywood’s brows arched, and his eyes lit with curiosity behind the sheen of a whiskey-induced haze. “Expertise, eh?”

“You possessed a certain reputation before you wed, which is not all that different from mine.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “You’re a bit of a rakehell?” He lifted his glass in a toast. “The only way to survive.”

Beck swallowed his disgust and lifted his mouth in a brief smile. “I find myself engaged as of this afternoon.”

“Is that right? Hell, we should have been celebrating your fortune—or despairing of your impending shackle.” He shouted with laughter before taking a drink. “Who’s the lucky chit?”

Beck wanted to hit the man and tell him to never refer to his future wife that way, but he had to stay on task. He didn’t really want to say her name in his presence, as if that alone would sully her. “Lady Lavinia Gillingham.”

“Balcombe’s gel? She’s a bit odd, isn’t she?” He winced and apologized, demonstrating that he maybe wasn’t a complete dolt, though Beck wasn’t sure he believed that. “Had a bit of whiskey tonight, and sometimes my tongue gets ahead of me!” Haywood laughed and took another drink, clearly not at all concerned that he was on his way to being drunk and perhaps having an even more negligent tongue. “I hope you’ll be very happy together. As happy as one can be in matrimony.” He gave Beck a stern look and a nod for good measure.

“The advice I seek is regarding that, actually. You see, I have a mistress and she’s proving a bit difficult.” He rolled his eyes and tried not to choke on the revolting tale. “She’s threatened to reveal herself to my wife, which I just can’t have.”

“Have you tried paying her off? That’s the easiest way to rid yourself of a clinging bitch.”

God, he was awful. “Yes, but I’m not sure I can trust her to remain quiet.”

“Have a contract drawn up. Hell, you can even write it yourself and say your solicitor did. That usually scares the cheek right out of them.”

“You seem to have considerable experience.”

Haywood shrugged. “You’re the one who called me an expert.” He laughed again, then finished his whiskey. His gaze roved until he spotted a footman, who inclined his head, indicating he’d fetch another glass.

Lowering his voice, Haywood leaned over the table and angled himself toward Beck. “If that course of action won’t work, may I suggest pennyroyal? It’s known to take care of unwanted babes, but if the bitch takes enough, you may be free of her entirely.” His brows climbed toward his bald pate just before he narrowed his eyes with a knowing tip of his head.

The words sank into Beck’s brain with a searing agony. Was that what he’d done to Helen? She’d been poisoned. Had she been with child? Beck nearly exploded in that moment.

But he held himself together. Instead, he feigned surprise. “Are you suggesting she could…die?”

Haywood flinched and waved his hand toward the floor because the footman had just arrived with his whiskey. The man swept up the empty glass and left before Haywood answered. “It can happen,” he whispered. “I gave it to a gel once—years ago—and she took too much of it, not that I minded. She demanded I marry her. Because of a babe, of course. But I’d no intention of doing that. Wasn’t quite ready to settle.” He stuck his lips out in an exaggerated pout. “Who was that?” The blackguard didn’t even remember.

It had to be Helen. It had to be.

With a shrug, Haywood picked up his new glass. “In any case, it was very effective, and I’ve relied on it a few times since. Pennyroyal—you can get it from any apothecary.”

Rage poured through Beck, almost paralyzing him. But he leaned close to Haywood as the man brought the tumbler to his lips. “Was her name Helen?” Beck whispered silkily. “Small, with dark hair, almost like a woodland fairy.”

Haywood blinked at him, the glass arrested at his mouth. “Yes, that was her.” Awareness crept over Haywood’s features.

“She looked nothing like me, despite the fact that we shared a father.” Beck snarled. “You murdered my sister, you son of a bitch.” He shoved at Haywood, sending the whiskey sloshing into his face and him sprawling from his chair.

From an ungainly heap on the floor, Haywood wiped at his face. “She was your sister? Helen Beckett. Christ, I’d forgotten.” His face went completely white. “I didn’t murder her. We just wanted to get rid of the babe.”

“‘We,’” Beck spat. “There was no ‘we,’ just you exerting your control over a vulnerable young woman. Get up.”

Haywood flinched. “Why?”

“So I can bloody challenge you.”

The man went even paler, if that were possible, and it seemed it was. “No.”

“Then I’ll do it while you lie there like a coward.” Everyone in the room had turned toward the commotion, and now Beck raised his voice to ensure they heard him. “I demand satisfaction. For the murder of my sister. Name your second. Mine is the Earl of Ware.” Beck hadn’t asked him, of course, but was certain Felix would agree. Hell, they couldn’t duel tomorrow—it was Sunday. “Dawn on Monday. Hyde Park.” He leaned down, baring his teeth. “And don’t think to escape town tomorrow. I will find you.”

Goodwin returned and helped Haywood to his feet. Haywood wiped ineffectually at his face.

Beck gave in to the fury. “You missed a spot.” He sent his fist into the man’s chin, splitting his lip. Haywood went down again as blood ran from the cut.

“Was that necessary?” Goodwin asked angrily.

“More than.” Beck leaned over Haywood. “Send the name of your second to Ware by noon tomorrow along with your choice of weapon. I’m quite skilled with either pistol or sword.”

With a final sneer, Beck turned and stalked from the room. On his way downstairs, he passed curious gentlemen eager to get up to the coffee room to see what was happening. News of the altercation had spread and would continue to do so.

He put it from his mind and strode from the club. He could hardly wait for Monday.

* * *

Beck had arrived for church just before the service began, barely stealing in to sit beside Lavinia. They didn’t have a chance to speak, but she sent him a warm smile and brushed her hand over his. He flinched, his hand jerking slightly. Her smile faded, but he gave her fingers a quick, reassuring squeeze.

After the service, they walked out to the vestibule, where several people congratulated them on their upcoming nuptials. Lavinia was growing weary of all the attention, particularly since everyone felt it necessary to point out the brevity of their engagement, as if it were an oddity, which it wasn’t. She began to regret not obtaining the special license. She and Beck could be married tomorrow instead of in a fortnight.

Lavinia’s mother joined a small group of women in the corner while her father congregated with a handful of other gentlemen. As soon as she and Beck were without company, she took his hand. “Is something the matter with your hand?”

Before he could answer, her father strode toward them, his brow dark. He glared at Beck. “I think we should go outside. Now.”

Beck didn’t look the least bit surprised at her father’s tone or his expression of rage. Perhaps because Beck didn’t realize that her father never looked like that.

“Yes, I suppose we should.” Beck sounded resigned as he turned toward the exit.

Lavinia tightened her grip on his hand. “I’m coming with you.”

Father glowered at her. “No. This isn’t a conversation for young ladies.”

“If it concerns Beck, it concerns me.” She wasn’t going to let him exclude her. Curling her hand around Beck’s arm, she led them both outside.

They moved to the side of the door, and her father didn’t waste a moment getting to his point. “What the devil are you about, challenging Haywood to a duel?”

Beck’s muscles tensed beneath her fingertips just as her muscles loosened, and she worried she was going to pitch over. “It was necessary.” Beck’s tone was clipped and coated in ice.

Lavinia turned and took her arm from his. Her legs were wobbly, but she refused to show any weakness. She stared at Beck, whose gaze was stoic, his mouth set in a hard line. She barely recognized this man. “You challenged Haywood to a duel?”

“He murdered my sister.”

Now she wavered, and Beck’s arms shot out to steady her. His face folded with concern. “Are you all right?”

“No. Your sister was murdered, and you’re going to duel someone. How can I possibly be all right?”

“If he indeed had something to do with her death—I didn’t even realize she’d been murdered.” Her father blanched. “If he was involved, you must notify Bow Street.”

“He admitted it to my face. I demanded satisfaction.” Beck stared at her father with scorching heat. “You mean to tell me that if a man killed your sister and got away with it for sixteen years, you wouldn’t want satisfaction?”

Father glanced away briefly before looking at Beck with pity. “I understand. However, without a father here to guide you, I hope you’ll allow my counsel. This is not the way.”

“No, it isn’t,” Lavinia said. She turned to her father, grateful for the care he was showing to her future husband. “Father, I’m going to have Beck drive me home in his phaeton.” She wasn’t asking permission. “I’ll see you shortly.” She went and kissed him on the cheek, eliciting a small grunt of surprise from him.

He looked at Beck. “Think about what I said.”

Beck didn’t respond as he offered his arm to Lavinia and escorted her to his vehicle. After he helped her inside, he said, “You’re not going to change my mind.”

“I must. We’re to be married in a fortnight. I’d rather not have to bury you first.” She was trying to inject a bit of levity but ended up feeling a stab of distress.

“You’re not going to bury me. Haywood’s a coward and probably a terrible shot.”

“Then I don’t want his death upsetting the start of our life together.” She turned toward him as he drove the phaeton into the street. “Please, Beck, you can’t do this.”

“I can and I must. He killed my sister.”

She could feel the fury coming off him in waves, as if he were a raging bonfire. Maybe she could calm him down a bit and find some reason. “What happened? Is this why you were acting strangely at the ball last night?”

It took him a moment to respond. He seemed to have difficulty finding words today, which was odd since words were so much a part of who he was. “I received a letter from my sister Margaret. She said Haywood was the man who’d given my sister hope for a union. Given his reputation, I wanted to know what happened, so I asked him for advice with my mistress.”

She didn’t think it was possible to feel any more distressed. “You have a mistress?”

“Of course not,” he said in a rush. “I meant what I told you yesterday. I love you, Lavinia. There is only you.”

And Haywood, apparently. Obviously, Beck didn’t love him, but right now he was standing between her and the man she loved.

“He suggested I dispose of her with pennyroyal, which is toxic in large amounts.”

Lavinia had heard of that herb. “It’s also used to get rid of unwanted babes.” Her voice was low, disbelieving. “Was your sister…with child?” She watched as his hands clenched the reins and the muscles in his jaw tightened.

“Yes. And he didn’t want to marry her, so he killed her.” He swallowed. “I’m just glad my father isn’t here. Actually, I hate that he went to his grave thinking Helen took her own life.” His voice broke at the end.

Lavinia wanted to hold him, but she couldn’t without causing an accident. She touched his arm as tears stung her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I can understand how you feel.”

“I don’t think you can. If you could, you’d know that I have to meet him tomorrow. My sister’s honor is at stake. Do you know how awful it’s been for my family to live with the knowledge that she killed herself and to keep that secret to protect her and our family?” His voice rose. “It’s bloody torture, and it was all unnecessary. She didn’t kill herself. Haywood killed her. And an innocent child.”

Nausea swirled in Lavinia’s gut. The anguish in his voice forced the tears from her eyes, and they tracked down her cheeks. “Which is why you can’t kill him. He did wrong. You must not. If he admitted the crime, you can have him arrested. He’ll be tried and hanged.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps the judge will show him mercy, and he’ll only be transported or even less. He’s a peer, and I doubt he’ll hang. Lavinia, he deserves to die for what he did. Painfully.”

The darkness and hatred in his voice frightened her. “Listen to yourself,” she said softly. “You aren’t the Beck I know, the man I fell in love with.”

They rode in silence for several minutes, until he turned onto Park Street. “I am the same man. This is me, Lavinia. All of me. I…feel…deeply.”

Of course he did. How else could he write such beautiful poetry or play such wondrous music? He drew the phaeton to a stop in front of her house, and she turned fully to him.

She wiped her cheeks with the back of her glove. “I know you do, and I love you so much for that. I know how much you must hate him, but if you kill him, you’ll be wrecked. Because you feel so deeply.”

“Lavinia, I can’t let him walk away from this. I can’t.”

“And I can’t watch you do it. What if he kills you? What if I am with child, and I have to raise him or her without a father?”

His eyes widened slightly, and she felt a dash of hope that she’d finally broken through to him. “He won’t. I’m going to kill Haywood tomorrow. It won’t happen any other way.” He climbed down and started around the phaeton, but she scrambled out by herself. She didn’t want his help, not when he was behaving like a complete jackass.

He frowned at her. “I was going to help you down.”

“I know. But I don’t want your help right now. I’m not even sure I want to marry you right now. What sort of marriage are we to have if you won’t listen to me?”

“I won’t listen to you? It’s as if you didn’t even hear that he killed my sister.” His eyes blazed as he stared down at her.

“Yes, I heard you,” she said sharply. “And the solution is to have him arrested, not risk your life. Or break the law. Dueling is illegal!”

“No one will fault me for this.”

“I can see there’s no talking sense into you. I can only imagine what the next fifty years will be like.”

“What are you saying?” His voice went dangerously low.

“I’m saying you’re a stubborn toad, and now I’m going inside. If you don’t cancel this duel, I—” She wasn’t sure what. She loved him. So much. But this cloud around him was far more troubling than she’d realized. If he wouldn’t listen to her, could she stand by and watch him drown in anger or despair?

“You’ll what?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know. And please don’t make me find out.” She turned and went inside, where, for the first time in her life, she went promptly and thoroughly to pieces.