Gillian stepped down from the coach behind Audrey and faced the vast entrance of Rochester Hall. “I think this is a terrible idea.”

“Nonsense. I had to watch you mope about for an entire week, and now you owe me.” Audrey’s smile was far too sweet, and Gillian’s stomach fluttered with nerves. Her mistress was up to something again.

Gillian let the hood of her cloak fall back, even though a cold breeze played with her skirts and tugged at her hair.

“But to act like a lady when I am not one—”

“Hush. You are a lady gently born. Your circumstances after that do not make you any less a lady.”

Gillian frowned. She was certain her mistress had taken leave of her senses. When Audrey told her two days before that she might need Gillian to play a larger role in her future endeavors, she had worried about what that might entail. When she was told she was to act as a lady at Audrey’s sister’s house party, Gillian had prayed she’d been joking. But as usual, with Audrey, she hadn’t been.

“Horatia knows to put you in a room close to mine, and the servants who know you have been made aware of the situation.”

“The situation?” Gillian hissed. “What exactly did you tell them?”

“That you are learning to act the part of the lady so we might be actresses in a play that some friends in London are putting on for a house party in a few weeks. They’ve been told you are helping me in the act and therefore must play the part of a lady in the story. Horatia knows it’s really because we are perfecting our acting for espionage. She doesn’t like me spying, but I convinced her that you and I would stay close to London, so she thinks it’s safe enough.”

“Spying? My lady—”

“Audrey. You’d best get in the habit of calling me that. The rest of the guests will think it too curious if you always call me my lady. For the next several days, you are a lady yourself. Do not forget it.” Audrey dropped her own hood as they reached the entrance to Rochester Hall. It opened, and several young footmen darted past them to the coach to fetch their valises.

“You are Miss Beaumont,” Audrey reminded in a whisper. “Don’t forget, no matter what.”

Miss Beaumont. Lord, what a mess.

“Audrey!” Horatia appeared in the doorway, one hand outstretched and the other resting on her swelling stomach. Her first child was due in a month, and she was positively glowing. The League of Rogues and their wives were well on their way to making a league of baby rogues, heaven help them all. Aside from Horatia and Emily, the Duchess of Essex, they’d only learned a week ago that Audrey and Horatia’s sister-in-law, Anne, was to give birth around the same time as Emily.

“Sister!” Audrey embraced Horatia, and Gillian remained a small distance away, watching the sisters with no small amount of envy. She would never have a close, intimate familial bond like that.

“Miss Beaumont.” Horatia beckoned Gillian inside and gave her a small hug and whispered, “Don’t worry, everything is prepared. Simply enjoy yourself and relax.”

“Thank you.” Gillian forced herself to look to Horatia with her head held high. If she was to play the part of a lady, she had to make it convincing.

“You are both in the east wing, along with most of the other guests.”

“How many guests are coming?” Gillian asked, then cursed inwardly. That was a servant’s question, wasn’t it? A lady would not care, nor would she dare inquire into the matter.

“About thirty. Mostly some local families and a few other guests.” Horatia suddenly winced and put a hand to her stomach lower down.

Audrey grasped her sister’s hand. “Horatia?” She and Gillian shared a concerned glance.

“It’s the baby. He’s kicking my… Pardon me, I must avail myself of the facilities.” Horatia hastily headed down a corridor.

“Do you want us to help you?” Audrey called out.

“No. I’ll be fine,” Horatia assured them and quickly rushed down the nearest hall.

“The baby was kicking?” Audrey tilted her head in puzzlement. “Whatever for?”

Gillian chuckled. Her mistress knew very little about babes and birthing.

“Sometimes a babe can be positioned in a way that when they move, it can hasten the need for a lady to relieve herself.”

“Oh, I see!” Audrey blushed and peered in the direction her sister had gone. “That sounds quite awful.”

“It can be uncomfortable, I’m told.”

Audrey turned back to her as they waited for the footmen to bring in their luggage.

“How do you know so much about babies?”

The question made Gillian smile. “My mother was open to sharing such details with me. Her mother, my grandmother, had been a midwife. We helped a neighbor deliver a baby before the doctor could arrive.”

“How did I not know this?” Audrey tucked her arm in Gillian’s, and they followed the footmen carrying their bags to their rooms in the east wing.

“Because I’m not sure I should be sharing this with you, what with you being so squeamish on such matters. You’d likely never want to have a child.”

“I’m not squeamish!” Audrey objected.

“You are,” Gillian insisted. “Remember that time you pricked your finger on your needle and the blood—”

“Oh hush! Don’t remind me. It was so mortifying. It’s been hard to forget how silly I felt waking up on the floor. And in front of Emily and Anne, no less.” Audrey bit her lip, frowning at the memory, and Gillian gave her hand a pat.

“I wish Lady Essex and Lady Sheridan were here tonight,” Gillian admitted.

“As do I. But they are leaving for Brighton with their husbands. Something to do with buying a few stud horses. Emily is most interested in joining Cedric and Anne in breeding those new Arabians.”

“And Ashton and Rosalind?” Gillian asked, wondering about Audrey’s other friends who couldn’t make the party.

They paused at the opening of a hallway that would lead to their rooms. “In Scotland to see Rosalind’s brothers and their families. They’re such devils, you know, though I mean that lovingly of course. She’s trying to coax them down to visit, but I suppose a castle in Scotland is far more interesting than a boring country house in southern England. Wouldn’t you agree? I’d get into such delightful scrapes if I had the chance to run about a castle. Do you think it could be haunted? Castles are always haunted, aren’t they?”

Gillian laughed. “I suppose there’s a ghost or two in any old house. But we really ought to get changed and see if your sister needs help with anything.”

Audrey fixed her with a stern glare. “She has a fleet of servants, and you aren’t one of them. Now go and change into that gown I bought you, the one with the white sash around the waist and the little white flowers on the sleeves and hem. It will be perfect for tonight. You will look fetching.”

Gillian gave in to her mistress’s wishes, even though she knew she had no reason to look fetching, no reason at all. The little thought made her heart ache.

They parted ways, and Gillian found her room farther down the corridor. It was strange to think she would be sleeping in this bedroom, with its stunning colors and large four-poster bed. She had gotten used to the quaintness of the servants’ quarters, and having this much space to herself was unsettling.

She touched the blue coverlet, her fingers tracing the gold threading. She walked to the window, happy to see a view of the gardens, but her heart stopped when she saw that there were two men by a small open lawn, swinging croquet mallets as they talked.

James. James Fordyce was here, talking to Jonathan St. Laurent. For a long moment Gillian couldn’t get past the shock of seeing him here. She’d believed she would never see him again, that everything that had happened between the two of them was in the past, but now…

“Oh!” She gasped as she realized Audrey would have to have known James would be coming. She always knew such details. There was no other explanation. Audrey’s excuse that it was for bettering her spycraft had been a lie.

Her mistress had led her right into this. She’d betrayed her. Gillian rushed from the room and went straight to Audrey’s door, pounding on it.

“Yes?” Audrey’s voice came from within, and Gillian didn’t wait. She burst inside and glared at Audrey.

“He’s here.”

“Who?” Audrey asked. Her brown eyes were wide and guileless.

“Lord Pembroke. He’s here.”

“James? Really?” Audrey’s eyes brightened, and then her gaze narrowed. “Oh dear, you will have to see him, won’t you? That does complicate matters…”

Gillian stared at her, wordless for a moment. “You…we—” She drew in a shaky breath. “You didn’t invite him here for me, did you?”

“What? No, of course not. You told me you wanted to forget, to move on. We are friends, and I respect that.”

“Yes,” Gillian murmured. “Of course.” Did she really believe Audrey hadn’t meddled? She honestly wasn’t sure.

“I suppose we will have to make doubly sure that he believes you are a lady, won’t we?” Audrey folded her hands together, pressing her fingertips together in a contemplative fashion.

Gillian leaned back against the closed door. “Perhaps I should feign illness for the remainder of the party.”

“Nonsense! We should face this head-on. You saw him? Let’s go and have a little meeting and get it over with. You can say hello, he can say hello, and then we can return to the house.”

“I don’t think—”

“Fetch your shawl and let’s go,” Audrey commanded.

Gillian returned to her room and selected a white shawl that accented the dark blue carriage gown she wore. She joined Audrey in the hallway, and they walked down the hall arm in arm. Gillian had been to this house a few times in the last year, and she always lost herself in the beauty of the architecture and the marble statues in the grand hall. The Marquess of Rochester had exquisite taste.

“Where did you see him?” Audrey asked.

“In the gardens. I think they were playing croquet.”

“They?” Audrey asked. “Someone was with James?”

“Yes. He was with Mr. St. Laurent.”

Audrey jerked to a halt, her face paling. She looked like she might faint.

“You didn’t know he was coming?” Gillian asked.

“No, I was told he wasn’t coming.” Audrey drew in a slow breath and raised her head. “Very well. We shall face the meeting together.”

“Yes,” Gillian said. “We will face them and then run back to the house with our tails tucked between our legs.”

“Nonsense. We are ladies of quality, Gillian. We do not flee. We walk briskly away from that which distresses us.” Audrey declared this with such a pompous, mocking dignity that Gillian couldn’t help but giggle. Yet she worried about her mistress. What had happened between her and Jonathan? Was it close to what she and James…? Gillian banished the thought. Surely her mistress would not be so reckless.

They left the house and walked along the path close to a line of succession houses. There was a series of walled gardens, which were lined by wooden doors that could be locked when not in use. Gillian knew from her last visit here that the cook at Rochester Hall used the gardens to grow melons, grapes, peaches, nectarines, and even exotic blooms like orchids and carnations for decoration. The carnations were, of course, her favorite, and the last time she’d been here, Audrey’s brother-in-law had allowed her to take a bloom to her quarters. She’d kept the bloom in a small cup of water for several days, watching it in the sunlight pouring through the small window of her chamber. It had been her little joy that week.

Ahead of them, Jonathan and James were putting away their croquet mallets while a footman rushed to collect the wickets on the lawn.

“James!” Audrey waved at both men near the little garden shed. Jonathan hit his head as he straightened from the shallow doorway of the little shack. He scowled and rubbed the top of his head, then turned and smiled hesitantly at Gillian as she and Audrey approached.

“Ladies!” James dusted off his palms on his trousers and grinned. “Miss Beaumont, I’m pleased to see you again, and looking so well.”

“Thank you.” Gillian barely stopped herself from looking down and instead met his gaze. She had to act as though they were equals. She was stunned by the dynamic vitality he exuded in that moment. He was looking at her as if they were utterly alone, back in his bedchamber where the world outside held no sway.

“Gillian, I’m going to check on the pineapples. Horatia asked me if I could.”

“Pineapples?” She didn’t remember Horatia asking her to do any such thing.

“Yes. The pineapples.” Audrey gave her a knowing look and a slight nod at James.

“Oh…yes…” Gillian recovered and played along. “I do hope they are growing well.”

“And that is exactly what I shall go and investigate.” Audrey bid them goodbye.

Jonathan watched her go, then stomped off in the other direction with a half-muttered excuse. Gillian was alone with James again. That hadn’t been part of the plan she and Audrey had agreed upon, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care about the scandalous nature of the moment. Seeing him again made her forget she wanted to avoid him.

“You left before I could say goodbye,” James said, drawing a step closer. His brown eyes warmed her, and for a dangerous instant she wanted to throw herself at him. Beg him to kiss her, to make her forget her worries, her dull, boring, and quiet life.

“I’m sorry. You were sleeping so peacefully, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“But that’s the best part of the morning, waking up beside a lovely woman. I missed it immensely.” His sweet words and the tender gleam in his eyes as he drew close made her heart quiver. She couldn’t believe they were here, together, talking about the night they’d shared and how he’d missed her the next morning.

He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a red carnation.

“For you. I’ve been told it’s your favorite.” He frowned as he noticed the petals were a bit crumpled. “I’m sorry, I was hoping to get it to you sooner once I learned you would be here.”

She accepted the flower, her hand shaking slightly. He’d carried it around until he saw her? “How did you know it was my favorite?”

He bit his lip and grinned sheepishly. “Mr. St. Laurent relented to my begging and gave me a few details about your life, your likes and dislikes.” But he hadn’t told James she was a servant? She wanted to hug Jonathan, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been a servant himself once and knew what hardships they faced.

James held out his hand to her in a silent invitation. Refuse. Walk away. Be sensible.

Gillian buried the voice beneath a surge of foolish hope in her chest. She placed her hand in his, and he led her down a garden path, away from the succession houses and walled gardens.

“So you know my likes and dislikes?”

“Yes. Let’s see.” He tucked her hand on his arm, bringing their bodies even closer. “You enjoy riding but don’t get to do so nearly as much you would like, you adore Christmas, and you love to read more than anything else. You cannot stand the taste of duck, and you aren’t terribly accomplished at drawing or playing instruments.”

“Accomplished? Heavens, you gentlemen have such high standards. What I wouldn’t give to be measured like a man. Am I quick-witted? Am I good with numbers in business?”

James chuckled. “I always thought a lady’s accomplishments in the arts were a bit silly. I mean, it’s damned impressive to see my sister’s embroidery, but it gives me very little to discuss with her. Thank heavens Letty is a reader like you.” He glanced her way, a mischievous grin on his lips. “If you were a gentleman, what would you do with your day?”

She pondered the question. The birds in the trees chattered lightly as the two of them crunched gravel beneath their boots, giving an eerie sense that this moment could last forever, and she wanted it to.

“I suppose I would wish to be in trade. I’m not one for sitting still. I would open a shop, a bookshop, and enjoy running it immensely.”

“I like that.” James chuckled. His rich and deep voice reminded her all too much of the night he had made love to her.

“And you?” Gillian asked. “If you weren’t running your estate, what would you do?”

“That’s simple. I’d come to work at your bookshop. I promise I could take orders quite well.” He winked at her, and she flushed.

He sobered as they reached a set of stairs leading up to a terrace, as if he knew that they would part ways soon. Gillian moved up a few steps, but he turned her back to face him.

“Gillian, I want to…know you. I think if you gave me the chance, I could court you properly. But if you keep running away from me, I…” He grasped her hands in his. “Do you not feel what I feel?” He stared down at their hands and intertwined his fingers with hers. “When I’m with you, it’s like my heart is shot through with fire and light, and yet I feel a tranquility I’ve never known was possible. Tell me, am I mistaken? Am I the only one who feels this between us?” When he looked up at her, their faces were on an even level because she’d taken a step ahead of him on the stairs.

“I…” A thousand yeses sat on the tip of her tongue, but she was afraid to voice them. She could not let this madness continue. “It doesn’t matter what I feel. What matters is that I’m not the woman for you, Lord Pembroke. I’m sorry.”

The light of hope burning in his eyes dimmed. She marveled at how even in sorrow he looked wonderfully handsome.

“Who’s to say you are not? Is there another? If so, then I will…” He choked on the words. “I will relent. But if you don’t…”

She should have lied, told him that she belonged to someone else, but she couldn’t. “There is no other.”

His eyes brightened again, and her heart jolted. “Then you feel something for me. If you did not, you would dismiss my wish to court you with ease.”

Gillian couldn’t deceive him, at least not in regards to her feelings. “I admit, it is my feelings for you that make resisting you so difficult.”

Before she could react, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her. The memory of being in his embrace, skin to skin, came flooding back to her. His kisses stoked that gentle fire inside her, bringing it to a roar. In the wake of a kiss like that, she was powerless to resist.

“Please. Let me court you.” His hand slid slowly down her spine, holding her him to her, gentle but possessive.

“James…” She sighed his name, but no other words came out.

“Remind me how to live, Gillian. Give me a chance to show you in return. It’s all I ask of you. A chance.”

A chance. A chance to live. It was all she’d ever dreamed, ever hoped for, but it could never last. It could only be a beautiful illusion that would someday be exposed for the lie it was.

“Please, my love.” James kissed her again, with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.

“I… Yes… You may court me.” The moment the words left her lips, she knew she was damned, but her desire to experience life outweighed the knowledge that it would soon come crashing down around her.

He laughed in triumph as he pulled back to look at her. “Then let’s go riding.”

“Right now? The guests are still arriving.”

“I don’t give a bloody damn about them. I only want to be with you.” His boyish delight and the warmth of his arms around her muddled her good sense.

“I…I suppose no one would miss us if we weren’t gone for very long.”

“No one shall miss us. That’s the benefit of a large house party.” He gripped her hand, and they dashed off toward the stables, laughing like children.

For the first time in her life, Gillian felt free.

Miss Venetia Sharpe stood on the back terrace of Rochester Hall facing the gardens, and she gasped when she saw something utterly scandalous. James Fordyce, the Earl of Pembroke, was kissing a woman. Not kissing her hand or even the somewhat risqué greeting the French did with their cheek kisses. No, this was a passionate embrace with open mouths and wandering hands.

“Good Lord!” She covered her mouth. She stared at them for a moment longer before she realized they might see her. She ducked behind the part of the house near the door that led back inside. Peering around the corner, she glimpsed Pembroke and the woman running off together, hand in hand, toward the stables. Venetia glanced about and saw a young footman just inside the door. When she approached him, he opened the door for her, and she pointed back to the gardens.

“You know that woman, the lady with the Earl of Pembroke?” Venetia, as the daughter of a wealthy viscount, knew that servants were aware of nearly everything in the house and could be counted on to gossip for the right price.

The footman glanced down at his booted feet.

“Come on, you must tell me. She is a guest here for the party. I really ought to know her name so I won’t look foolish when we meet for dinner this evening.”

Her words seem to relax the young man. “That’s Miss Gillian Beaumont.”

“Gillian Beaumont?” Venetia tapped her chin. She knew nearly everyone of consequence in London, and she only knew one family that bore the name of Beaumont. The Earl of Morrey and his sister, Caroline.

“Is she from London? Or does she hail from the country?” she asked the footman. Again, his gaze strayed away from her.

“I don’t rightly know, miss,” he said apologetically. “I’m new here, you see. Only started last week. I only know her name is Miss Beaumont because she was pointed out to me. I helped take her travel case from her coach.”

“Hmm…” Venetia turned back to the window, frowning.

Lord Pembroke was considered quite a catch, and Venetia had spent three Seasons doing her best to catch his attention, but to no avail. So, naturally, to see the man she wished to marry kissing a woman in the gardens like a man would kiss his mistress was upsetting.

Venetia curled her hands into fists but maintained her composure. She knew what she must do—write to Leticia Fordyce and inform her of her brother’s reckless actions. She would also write to Lord Morrey and politely inquire if he had some cousins in the country. Venetia needed to know who her competition was. She wanted to be the Countess of Pembroke, and she would do anything to secure that for her future.