She was locking her door. Peter couldn’t figure out why. He paced his bedroom, wondering if he’d said something to upset her. But of course he had. Everything was upsetting when William was around. If he could have thrown his nephew out without risking half his family’s heritage, he would have. But every time he considered whether it might just be worth the price to be rid of the whelp, Will’s voice popped into his head, scolding him for turning his back on the only family he had left.

Only family except Mariah. And, God willing, their children. Which they were never going to have if he didn’t resolve whatever mystery was keeping them apart.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. His pacing took him to the head of his bed, and he snatched up a pillow, throwing it across the room in frustration. He could march through his dressing room and pound on Mariah’s door until she let him in, but he remembered too well the sinking dread in his gut on the nights when Anne pounded on his door, demanding that he perform. He remembered the guilt that clung to him like stale sweat, knowing their nights together would only lead to more pain.

In the end, he gritted his teeth, ignored what his heart was screaming at him, and left Mariah alone. If she didn’t want him to pleasure her, the least he could do was respect her. But it made for a restless night, and landed him in a foul temper the next day.

“What’s wrong, Uncle?” William asked him with a taunting smile halfway through the morning.

Peter paced the courtyard in front of the stables as Harry saddled Charger. His already sour mood worsened at the sight of William. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Nothing.” William blinked with feigned innocence. “I was simply coming to have Harry saddle Lightning so that I could ride out to the tenant farms.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. William’s newfound interest in the tenants worried him. But then, everything worried him where William was concerned. He nodded, then ignored his nephew, staring into the stable and willing Harry to hurry up.

“Trouble in bed?” William asked with a sneer.

Peter glared at him, half because of the impertinence of the question, and half because his nephew had hit the nail on the head far too quickly. “What would you know of it?” he snapped.

William’s grin widened. “You were always in a wretched mood on the days after you failed with Anne too.”

Teeth clenched, Peter growled, “You’d do better to keep your assumptions to yourself, since they are, and always have been, wrong.”

William’s grin dropped. “He said he locked—” His mouth clamped shut and he rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face, muttering.

But he didn’t have a chance to say or do anything more. Harry led Charger out of the stable and, as fast as he could, Peter mounted and rode off.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to the mines that the oddness of William’s comment struck him. Who said what? Had someone other than Mariah locked her door? He had half a mind to head back to the castle, find her, and ask her himself. What if the last two nights were simply a misunderstanding born of a nasty trick on William’s part? The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that William was responsible for everything.

But the business of the mines kept him occupied for the better part of the day, and by the time he made it back to the castle, Mariah was nowhere to be found.

“She’s downstairs with Mrs. Wilson, my lord,” Ginny informed him when he went to check on the locks in their dressing rooms.

The faithful maid was hard at work sewing a rip in the hem of Mariah’s riding habit. Peter had never had cause to doubt Ginny. Indeed, he considered her to be one of his most valuable and industrious servants, but his entire life was on edge.

“Ginny, you don’t know anything about the doors between my and Mariah’s dressing rooms being locked, do you?”

Ginny blushed, keeping her eyes on her work. “Her ladyship was disappointed.”

Peter blew out a breath of relief, which was quickly followed by frustration. “I’m going to wring William’s neck,” he muttered, marching out of the room.

The rest of the day passed like a snail moving through treacle. Peter resisted the urge to find Mariah and take her up to bed, but only barely. He hadn’t been so worked up and eager to slide between the sheets with a woman since he’d been a young university student who had just discovered the sensation of a woman’s body pressed to his.

“Did you have a productive day?” he asked Mariah over supper, barely able to sit still long enough to finish the meal. He moved his foot under the table until he found her leg.

“Productive and exhausting,” Mariah replied with a tired smile.

Peter tried not to be disappointed by her less than enthusiastic reaction to his flirtation. “I suppose Mrs. Wilson kept you busy.”

“Yes, we have a great deal to plan for supper on Friday.” Mariah took a bite of beef, chewed for a moment, then set her fork down.

“Do you think you’re ready to play the grand hostess?” William asked. He leaned forward in his seat, watching her with far too much interest for Peter’s liking. “Or is being a countess too much for you?”

“Everything will be fine,” Mariah replied, her voice a bit weak. Her complexion had gone a tad…green as well. “Mrs. Wilson is a great help.”

“If this is all too much for you, you could always go home, you know,” William went on, an intense light in his eyes. “I’m sure your parents would welcome you back into the bosom of your family. And don’t you miss your sister? Victoria, I think her name was.”

Mariah touched her fingers to her lips. Peter frowned, realizing she hadn’t looked well since the soup course.

“Mariah, is something wrong?” he asked.

“I….” She rose suddenly. “Please excuse me, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Peter was helpless to do anything but watch as Mariah rushed out of the room. The sound of retching followed as she turned the corner. He jumped to his feet, burning with concern. And though his first instinct was to wonder if she could be pregnant, sense told him it was far too soon. Sense and the triumphant smirk William wore as he sawed away at his roast.

“What did you do to her?” he demanded, already starting out of the room.

William shrugged. “It must have been something she ate.”

It must have been, and Peter was willing to bet that whatever it was, William had been responsible.

Mariah was sick for days, and for days Peter stayed by her side as much as he could, caught between heartbreak over how miserable she felt and fury at the thought that William had deliberately poisoned her. He was ready to fire someone in the kitchens, especially when it was discovered that somehow a prawn that had spoiled had fallen into Mariah’s soup before it was served.

“It’s obvious what’s going on here,” Peter said Friday morning, pacing in front of Mariah’s bed as she sat up, sipping tea and eating toast. “William is trying to get me to throw him out so that he wins half the estate. And barring that, he’s trying to keep us from….” He flushed and glanced her way. “Producing an heir.”

“He can’t keep us away from each other forever,” Mariah sighed.

Peter huffed a laugh. “Logic and reason were never William’s strong points. He thinks from one moment to the next. It’s how he wastes so much money and lands in so much trouble. And he knows he has nothing to lose by being transparent in his scheming.”

“Should we employ someone to taste our food before we eat it, then?” Mariah asked.

Peter stopped pacing and marched to the side of her bed, sitting beside her. The color was back in her cheeks, and if her humor had returned as well, she was definitely on the mend. “I would hire an army to protect you if I thought it would help.” He kissed her forehead. It was no longer hot and clammy as it’d been for the past few days.

She laughed and set her tea and toast aside, snuggling against him. “You know that I wouldn’t last one day with an army tailing me.”

The sweet heat of her body and the softness of her curves pressed against him sent fire through Peter’s blood. He pulled her across his lap and slid a hand up her side to cradle her breast. “He can’t keep us apart forever,” he said before kissing her. He didn’t even mind that her breath wasn’t as fresh as it could have been or that she hadn’t bathed in days.

She, however, did. “Peter.” She pushed him back with a laugh. “I’m hardly in any state for intimacy right now.”

“I don’t care,” he said, brushing a thumb across her nipple over the fabric of her nightgown. “You’re beautiful to me in any condition.”

She rested a hand on his face, smiling at him with a burst of affection that tied his heart in knots. “You’re wonderful, you know.”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“I think you are.” She kissed his lips lightly.

Sickbed or not, he’d waited long enough to be with her again. He kissed her back, harder, slipping a hand under the covers, under her nightgown, and up her thigh. He wanted to feel her heat and wetness, to hear her sigh with pleasure. His cock was rigid with need and growing harder by the second.

And then Ginny threw open the door.

The poor maid stopped short when she saw Peter and Mariah together, her mouth dropping open. “I’m so sorry, my lord.” She rushed out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Peter blew out a breath, resting his forehead against the side of Mariah’s head as she burst into laughter.

“This really isn’t the time,” she giggled. “And to be honest, I’d prefer to be clean and to be in your bed, not this musty thing.”

“Tonight, then,” he murmured, kissing the side of her neck.

“We have the supper tonight,” Mariah reminded him.

“When they leave,” he said. “I don’t care how late it is. I don’t care if we’re both too tired to do anything but grab hold of each other and wiggle.”

Mariah laughed louder. It was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard.

“All right,” she said, kissing him one last time, then crawling out of bed.

Peter winced at the signs that she was still weak. He promised himself he would be as gentle with her as possible that night. If only he didn’t have to wait.

Mariah wasn’t sure if she was having a relapse of the food poisoning that had taken her down for nearly a week or if it was simply nerves that tied her stomach in knots as she and Peter greeted their noble and notable guests for supper. She certainly didn’t feel like a countess, in spite of the way Ginny had spruced up her nicest dress for the occasion.

“Good evening, my lady.” Captain Albert Tennant cut quite an imposing figure as he took Mariah’s hand and bowed over it in the front hall. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Peter told us so much about you,” Mrs. Domenica Tennant added, taking Mariah’s hand when her husband let it go. Mariah was startled by her Spanish-American accent and her darkly exotic looks.

“Did he?” she asked with a smile, glancing to Peter.

“Albert is one of my closest friends,” Peter answered, his eyes shining as he looked at her. “I mentioned to him that we would be marrying when he was staying here this past January.”

A few feet to Peter’s other side, William snorted and muttered, “You could have mentioned it to me.”

Mariah flushed with anger and embarrassment, working to ignore William. “I hope I meet with your approval,” she said to Captain Tennant.

Again, William snorted and shook his head. Captain Tennant’s jaw clenched in disapproval. “I’m sure you will exceed expectations, my lady.” He glared at William, then thumped Peter on the back, returning to a smile. “She’s lovely, my friend. Remind me to write to Edmund to congratulate him on a match well made.”

“I hear he has another daughter that he could foist off on some old man,” William said with a tight smile. “Oh, but you’ve already tied the knot. Too bad.”

Mariah’s cheeks burned. “Can’t you do something about him?” she whispered to Peter as Captain and Mrs. Tennant moved on into the salon to wait for supper with the other guests.

“I had hoped that seeing Albert again would shut him up,” Peter answered, clearly bristling with frustration. “I forgot that William has no shame.”

“William lacks several things,” Mariah said. She could have gone on, but another, older couple arrived, and she was forced to turn to greet them.

“Ah ha! Peter.” The gentleman, greying and paunchy with a ruddy complexion, stepped forward to shake Peter’s hand and thump him on the arm. “So this is the fresh young filly we’ve been hearing about.”

Peter nodded to the man with a wariness that Mariah could almost feel. “Barkley.”

One word, and Mariah’s heart rate double. Lord Barkley. Anne’s brother. “My lord.” She gave him what she hoped was her most respectful curtsey.

“This is her?” Lord Barkley leaned back and squinted at her. His gaze dropped straight to her chest. “Well, well. I can see the appeal.” He laughed and smacked Peter’s arm again. “I suppose a man with your appetites would need a spritely young thing to keep up with you. My poor sister wasn’t up to the task,” he confided in Mariah behind one hand.

Prickles raced across Mariah’s skin. Lord Barkley was only pretending to joke. There was an angry light in his eyes that had Mariah pressing a hand to her stomach to keep it from lurching.

“Lady Barkley.” Peter nodded to the tight-faced woman holding Lord Barkley’s arm. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Lady Barkley nodded to him, but didn’t say a word.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Mariah said, smiling and sinking into a curtsey.

The woman tilted her chin up and dragged her husband on to greet William.

“How nice of you to come tonight.” William smiled as he took Lord Barkley’s hand, sending a smarmy look Mariah’s way. “Sorry about the replacement bride. I didn’t know about her either until it was too late.”

“Ah well,” Lord Barkley laughed. “We can’t always have things the way we want them. If we could, my dear sister would be here with us tonight instead of cold in her grave. But such is life.” His words sounded cheerful, but not a soul in the room mistook them for anything other than the jab that they were.

“How long do these suppers last?” Mariah asked Peter in a whisper as the couple moved on.

“Too long by far,” he answered. “Ah, St. Aubyn. Welcome to our home.”

Mariah did her best to smile and greet the rest of her guests as graciously as possible, in spite of feeling out of her depth. Whenever her parents had entertained, she and Victoria had faded into the background, Victoria because of her age and Mariah because of the debacle with Robert. She’d never expected to find herself in a position as hostess anywhere, let alone as a countess in a castle. She wasn’t ready, and everyone would know. But there was little that could be done but to soldier on.

“I will help in any way I can,” Domenica Tennant whispered to her as the compliment of guests made their way from the salon to the dining room when Mr. Snyder announced they were ready. “But I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing myself.”

“Thank you,” Mariah whispered back, grateful for the woman’s presence. “William is the problem. I hate to ask you to engage him in conversation, but—”

“Consider it done.” Domenica smiled grimly and squeezed her hand before Captain Tennant fetched her to lead her into dinner.

Things started out easily enough. The guests found seats at the table with relative ease. Peter sat at the head of the table with Captain Tennant to his left. But as Mariah started to sit on Peter’s right, Lord Barkley hooked a hand under her elbow and whisked her to the far end of the table.

“Oh no,” he said with a falsely jovial laugh. “I can’t have you taking poor Anne’s place. You must sit in a seat of honor, being the new breeding stock—I mean, countess and all.”

A shiver of dread shot down Mariah’s spine. She turned anxiously to Peter, only to find him rising from his chair with a look of fury.

“I’ll join Lady Dunsford at this end of the table,” Domenica said, leaping out of the seat she’d taken beside her husband and rushing to sit on Mariah’s right.

“I was going to sit there,” William protested, leaning toward Domenica with a look that was so lascivious Mariah felt embarrassed for him.

“You’ll have to sit somewhere else,” Domenica fired back, scooting her chair toward the table.

William sniffed. “I’m not sure the countess wants a whore sitting by her side.”

Lady St. Aubyn and Mrs. Goodman—who had arrived with her husband just as the party was moving into the dining room—gasped. Mariah’s eyes went wide, more in shock that William could be so crude than because she believed him.

“I beg your pardon,” she said.

“What, you didn’t know?” William chuckled, glancing around the table, then taking a seat by Domenica’s side. “Captain Tennant’s new bride worked in a brothel in the American West before nabbing him.”

Lord Barkley burst into laughter. Mrs. Goodman commenced fanning herself as Lady Barkley gestured for Davy to pour wine into the glass at her place. The other guests gaped and blushed, or pretended not to have heard the comment as their faces reddened.

Mariah sent a desperate look down the long table to Peter. He seemed miles away with so many places between them. The look of stone that frightened her was back on his face as he glared at William. He turned that look on her, but he seemed too angry for concern to soften it. The effect withered Mariah’s confidence.

“Mrs. Harmon, our cook, has gone out of her way to display her skills tonight,” she said, feeling weak and shaky. “I hope you all enjoy her efforts.”

“I’m sure we will,” Lady St. Aubyn said, raising her voice as if to take command of the conversation. “We recently hired a French chef for our kitchens, and he has produced the most astounding dishes.”

Mariah could have kissed the woman for taking charge of the conversation. As soup was served—Mariah could barely look at it, much less taste it after what her last bowl of soup had done to her—and for five entire minutes, things looked as though they would proceed smoothly.

Until Lord Barkley asked, “So, Dunsford, have you worn this one out yet?” He gestured to Mariah with his thumb. The motion was all the more pointed as he sat directly to her left.

The table went silent.

“Lord Barkley, have some respect,” Captain Tennant growled when the tension became too much.

“I expect he has,” William went on as though Captain Tennant had never spoken. “They’ve been locked away in the countess’s room for days now.”

Mrs. Goodman dropped her spoon, which clattered against the side of her soup bowl.

“Beware, my dear.” Lord Barkley leaned close to Mariah, placing his hand over hers. “He rode my poor sister into her grave. Don’t let him do the same to you.”

“I—” Tears of embarrassment stung at Mariah’s eyes. She pleaded with Peter for help across the table.

“Lord Barkley, there are ladies present,” Peter said, fiery warning in his eyes. He gestured for the footmen to take away the soup and bring on the next course.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Lord Barkley pretended to be chastised. “We wouldn’t want to offend the ladies.”

“Of course, Lady Dunsford has only been a lady for a fortnight or so now,” William went on, not letting the conversation drop. “Three weeks ago, she was nothing more than Miss Travers, rejected spinster.”

Mariah’s stomach turned. When Davy stepped forward to take away her untouched soup, she pushed all the way to the back of her chair. She would have sunk under the table entirely if Domenica hadn’t reached out to take her hand.

“Yes, I heard something about that,” Lord Barkley continued the wretched conversation. “Some rumor about the new countess’s former fiancé dying in an effort to flee the altar?”

“Really, gentlemen,” Lord St. Aubyn scolded. “Is this a proper conversation for supper?”

“We’re simply trying to get to know the new countess better,” William said. “I certainly haven’t had a chance to converse with her. Not with the way my uncle has been keeping her locked away. But then, I suppose if one wants to get an heir….”

“I’m warning you, William,” Peter said in a dark, dangerous voice, his eyes glaring.

“Warning me of what?” William shrugged. “There’s nothing left that you can do to me now that you’re working so very hard to replace me.”

“Didn’t work with Anne, won’t work with this one,” Lord Barkley said, digging into the salmon mousse Davy placed in front of him.

“You haven’t seen the way he runs panting after her, Lord Barkley,” William shot back. His brow shot up and he turned to Domenica. “I know. Why don’t you teach my new aunt all the tricks you learned to keep a man satisfied? I’m sure it’d be quite the lesson. I’d even attend those classes myself.” He winked at Mariah, his grin wolfish.

It was the last straw. Mariah shot to her feet. Her head spun with so much anger that she had to grip the table to keep from keeling over. “If you will excuse me,” she said in a thin, shaky voice. “I haven’t been well this week, and I’m afraid I’m not up to entertaining tonight.”

She pushed her chair back and stepped around the corner of the table to flee for the door. More chairs scraped as Peter, Captain Tennant, and Domenica stood as well.

“Delicate little thing, isn’t she?” Lord Barkley said as Mariah pressed a hand to her mouth in her flight. “She’ll be dead within a year, if you ask me.”