The Pembroke’s dinner party was an ass-numbingly dull affair, but he could hardly complain. Miss Westgate had been happily engaged with the elderly Duke of Louth for the entire evening. It was bliss. That small mercy had made traipsing out into the cold night entirely worthwhile.

When the grand ceremony of dinner finally concluded, the gentlemen remained in the dinning room while the ladies retired to the parlor. When the women were gone, Lord Pembroke handed out cigars and the room was soon engulfed in a cloud of smoke.

Topics of conversation strayed from the weather, to the state of parliament, to best gun to use for duck hunting. Laughter echoed in the large room, but Stephen’s mind was engaged elsewhere.

As he chewed on the end of his cigar, the room around him grew hazy and distant. His thoughts centered on Emily. That horrified look on her face when she had burst into his study had been like a punch to the gut. What, exactly, had she overheard?

He cast his mind back. He and Grant had been discussing Emily and his intention to make her his mistress.

Of course she was angry. Grant had explained his ideas in the crudest way possible. He hadn’t known she was eavesdropping from the door—how could he have? Obviously he would have used more delicate wording had he known she was listening.

But when she had burst through the door, there had been a look of betrayal written all over her beautiful face.

Then she’d told him about the letter and that sense of betrayal had transferred to him. Shock, disbelief, had clouded his thoughts. Not regarding the letter—he knew that must be a lie—but at the very idea that Emily would turn on him so abruptly. She would make love to him one moment and then blackmail him just hours later. It was unequivocally calculating.

Perhaps Grant was right. Perhaps all women were only after what they could get from him. That thought settled like a lead weight in his stomach.

Last night, he had convinced himself he was falling in love with Emily. How, he couldn’t say. The very idea was impossible, and yet, he had felt it. The twinge in his heart was unmistakable and yet nothing he had ever felt before.

But now…Christ, his mind was a riot of thoughts. It was all such a tangled mess. She sought to betray him in the most painful way possible, and yet, his feelings for her had not dissipated.

Someone sat beside him, bringing him back to the present. “Lord Devon, you look rather distracted tonight.”

Stephen turned to his host, Lord Pembroke, and flashed him a false smile. “I have a great many things on my mind.”

“Of course, you would be troubled by the rumors circulating about your father.” He took a pull from his cigar and leaned in, his swollen belly pressing into the side of the table. “There have been rumbles in the House of Lords that a case will soon be brought against your father for bigamy.”

Christ. Here it was. This was it. The very event he feared would come to pass. Stephen straightened and stabbed his cigar into the small plate at his elbow. “When did you hear this?”

“This very night,” he answered. “A few of the gentlemen have been speaking of it.”

Stephen balled his hand into a fist and resisted the urge to hit something. “The Duke of Arlington’s doing, I imagine.”

Lord Pembroke tilted his head forward. “I do believe so. It would make sense. These last months, he has been your greatest adversary.”

“I have seen him about Town, why is he not here tonight?”

Lord Pembroke chuckled. “Because I do not fancy blood on the carpets. I would not have you two in the same room for anything, though watching you pummel the blaggard might be worth something.”

Stephen threw back his port and clapped his empty glass down on the table. “Indeed.”

Christ. This had progressed far beyond rumors. If the House of Lords was considering a case against his father, the Duke must have more information than Stephen had thought possible.

Fuck.

His mind swirled and centered on his earlier conversation with Emily. She claimed to have seen a letter and marriage license. Perhaps she wasn’t lying, after all. Where had she come across it?

A sudden, horrible thought occurred to him. Was it possible Emily was spying for the Duke? Everything in him screamed in denial, but it made sense, did it not?

“Who will sit on the committee?” Stephen asked.

“I could not tell you,” he said. “But I will endeavor to find out.”

“Thank you, “ Stephen said.

In the meantime, he must do the one thing he had been dreading. He must announce his engagement to Miss Westgate.

Here, tonight.

Men were selfish, no good, despicable creatures. That was a universal fact. And Stephen Crawford was the master of them all!

Emily paced the length of her bedchamber, fury burning hot in her chest. With every step, every breath, that fury grew hotter, and threatened to completely consume her.

He’d lied to her. He had made her believe they would be together as a family and all the while, he planned on hiding her away, using her when it pleased him.

She huffed and shook her head. Of course he had. Why should she have expected anything less? She was such a fool.

Emily pulled the thick bundle from her bodice and stared down at it. She read the letter again, and again, then peered down at the marriage license to try and puzzle out any of the possible inconsistencies Morris had mentioned. But she knew little of Stephen’s family history, so teasing out any conflicts between fact and fiction was a task in futility. She wouldn’t even know what to look for—a misspelling of his father’s name or perhaps an error with the date?

Refolding the letter, she tucked it back into her bodice. It left an uncomfortable lump, but now that she had confessed she had seen it, he would likely have her room searched. She certainly would, if she were in his position.

Emily sat on the bed and leaned back, staring up at the canopy overhead. If he married Miss Westgate…she pushed out a breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

She was so angry with him. But why, then, did her chest ache at the image of Stephen and Miss Westgate lying together, sharing intimacies? Even now, they were surely sitting in their elegant carriage laughing at Emily’s foolishness.

Sitting up, she shoved the idea from her mind. What they thought of her was of no consequence. All that mattered was the future she must build for her child.

There was a knock at the door. She paused a moment, her heart thudding violently against her ribs. Stephen would not knock, so she had nothing to fear. She glanced at the clock. It was five minutes past nine o’clock.

She walked the short distance to the door and opened it. James stood in the entryway with a smile on his too-handsome face.

“Good evening.”

“James,” she breathed. After what had just transpired with Stephen, a friendly face was more than a little welcome. “Is it time for our walk already?”

“It’s a beautiful evening.”

After shrugging on her borrowed cloak, she followed James outside and into the balmy night. Gas street lamps hissed and popped as they strolled down the deserted street, chatting about nothing in particular.

At length, James asked, “Are you well?”

“Do I look unwell?”

“You look beautiful,” he answered. He stopped and she paused beside him. He reached out and touched her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “But you have been frowning too much of late.”

It was an awkward moment. James was kind, and of the right station, exactly her sort of man—but her heart beat slowly and each breath came calm and unhurried. None of the breathless excitement Stephen inspired in her.

But perhaps that was exactly as it should be. Perhaps she needed a man who did not make her heart flutter with anticipation. Perhaps what she needed was idle chatter and kind, calming smiles.

“Would you do me a service?” She pulled the letter and marriage license from her bodice and held it out to James. “Will you see that this is returned to Lord Devon’s study? It’s of a confidential nature. ”

His gaze flicked to the bundle as he took it, then he looked back up at her. “Yes, of course, but if it is of such importance, then surely you would wish to return it yourself.”

“I am not on the best of terms with Lord Devon,” she said, continuing to walk. He tucked the bundle into his jacket pocket and fell into step beside her. “And it has been…distressing, to say the very least,” she finished.

“He is no gentleman to have abused you so abominably.”

A soft breeze drifted over them, ruffling his dark hair. He was strikingly handsome. Why didn’t she feel even the slightest stirring of desire? What was wrong with her?

“Emily,” he said, stopping again. “I have a house in Salisbury. When my mother and father died, it was left to me. We could go there, you and I, and we could start anew. There’s a great house nearby and I am acquainted with the family. I could find work.”

She glanced down at her hands. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you are making me an offer of marriage.”

“Would that be so difficult to believe?” he asked.

After what had transpired with Stephen, she never thought she would agree to shackle herself to another man, any man. But James’s offer would legitimize her child. He would not be born a bastard and he would have the benefit of a father’s care and attention. Was that not worth considering? But in all fairness, she must confide everything.

“James, there is something you must know.” Emily swallowed, anticipating the disappointment she would see in his eyes. “I am with child and Lord Devon is—” She inhaled sharply “—the child is his.”

He blinked down at her and she steeled herself for his shock and dejection. It didn’t come. “Yes, I know,” he said. “The staff below stairs rarely speaks of anything else.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

Why was she so astonished? The maids and footmen of any great house often knew things far in advance of the family. She just had not anticipated being an item of gossip, she supposed. She’d never been significant enough.

“I am not troubled by it,” he said.

“Oh.”

They passed the rest of their walk in silence, before they circled back around to the house. James walked Emily up to her room. As she reached for the door, he grasped both her shoulders and pulled her toward him gently. She didn’t resist.

“May I kiss you?” he asked.

At this distance, she could smell mint on his breath and she could see the faint shadow of stubble on his chin.

“I, um…” She shook her head. Why was she hesitating? “What I meant to say was, yes, of course you may kiss me.”

He smiled and he leaned down to kiss her. His mouth felt soft as his lips moved gently over hers. It was nice, gentle, and utterly unmoving.

The sound of footsteps thundering down the corridor echoed in the silence. Then, of a sudden, she heard a growl—like that of a bear, or a large displeased wolf. She’d never heard a wolf growl, but she imagined that is how it would sound. Terrifying.

Abruptly, she pulled out of James’s embrace and turned toward the source of the sound.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Lord Devon. What are you doing here?”

He stood there, legs spread with his massive frame silhouetted against the candlelit corridor “I must speak with you, but I see I have interrupted something.”

On the surface, his words were casual, unaffected. But beneath the façade, she could hear a hard note of anger.

James came to immediate attention. “We were just returning from our evening walk, my lord.”

“Is that all?” he asked darkly.

James bowed stiffly. “My lord.”

“Leave us,” Stephen ordered.

James’s gaze darted to Emily, as though he were trying to gauge her reaction to Stephen’s command. Emily nodded as subtly as she could manage, but Stephen took notice, his gaze catching hers. Of course he had noticed. He missed very little.

“Yes, my lord,” James said reluctantly.

Stephen waited until James was halfway down the corridor before turning to her. “The footman again. I thought I made it clear you were not to see him again.” Every word was drawn out painfully, as though he were attempting—and failing—to reign in his temper.

“And I thought I had made it clear that I did not care for your opinion.” She wouldn’t lower herself by defending her actions. She had done nothing wrong. She owed Stephen no explanation.

His eyelids were reduced to slits. “He is an accomplice to your scheming, no doubt.”

“My scheming? What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

“You are spying for the Duke,” he said coldly.

“What?” She was sure the horror she felt was reflected on her face. “Why would you believe such a thing?”

“Just this afternoon, you attempted to blackmail me and this evening, I discover your former employer is brining charges against my father. Clearly you are collaborating.” He pierced her with a harsh stare. “Tell me, what is he giving you in return? The small fortune you did not get from me?”

His accusation was like a lance to the heart. He made her sound so cruel and cunning, as though she had planned this from the very

“This is not a game, Emily,” he shouted. “This is my livelihood, my family’s reputation.”

“And what of my livelihood?” She shook her head. “I had convinced myself that you were unlike the other spoiled, selfish members of the Ton. I was clearly mistaken.”

“You think this is merely selfishness? What of our child, Emily?” When she began to move away, he reached out and grabbed her arm, squeezing tightly. “What benefit could she possibly receive from a father who has nothing to offer her?”

Fury ignited in her chest. “You dare to use our child as a justification for denying me the opportunity build a life for myself.”

With clipped, angry movements, he opened his wallet. “If you are so desperate to leave, here.” He slapped an envelope down on the round table. “Take it and go.” Then he stormed out the door without looking back.

As the door slammed shut, his angry words echoed in her head. She sank to the floor and loud, ugly sobs were ripped from her throat. He was a selfish, unfeeling cur. He didn’t deserve her tears and yet…her heart felt as though it were being violently wrenched from her chest.

Take it and leave.

She should be exultant. She had gotten exactly what she had wished. Freedom. Independence. So why did she feel as though she wanted to chase after him and beg his forgiveness?

She shook her head. She must be strong. This was not a fairytale. A mouse did not fall in love with a lion and expect a happy ending. It had been an impossible union from the start.

It was late when Bess came in to help Emily undress for bed. Her gaze alighted on Emily lying on the floor and she rushed forward.

“Miss, whatever is the matter? Are you ill? I will get Lord Devon—”

“No,” Emily said quickly. “No, thank you.”

Emily pealed herself off the floor and stood, wiping at her tears. She drew in a trembling breath.

“What has happened?” Bess asked, all concern.

Emily shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I must leave tonight. Will you help me gather my things?”

Bess’s eyes went wide in disbelief. “It is nearly half past ten o’clock, miss. Surely whatever calls you away so quickly can be addressed in the morning. You will not lose but a few hours.”

Emily shook her head again. She could not countenance remaining in this house a moment longer. “I must leave now. Will you call the footman, James, to me? I should wish to see him before I go.”

“Yes, miss, at once.” With a quick curtsey, Bess left to find James.

Straightening her shoulders, Emily walked to the wardrobe and began tossing her belongings into her cloth bag. She had precious few possessions to her name, so it only took seconds to gather everything.

Then she walked to the table and opened the envelope Stephen had thrown down. Inside was a banknote for one thousand pounds, made out to Emily. She blinked down at the amount in astonishment. She had never seen so many zeros in her life and she likely never would again.

How long had he been carrying this on his person? Doubtless, before their quarrel, he had intended to use the money as an inducement for her to remain in London as his mistress. She clenched her teeth. If she were in a position to throw this money back in his face, she would have done. But life had taught her the hard lesson of practicality. There was no room in her situation for pride or conceit.

Tucking the banknote back into the envelope, she shoved the bundle into her bodice.

Bess entered with James, then left them alone.

James bowed, looking up at her expectantly as he straightened. “Bess said you required an audience with me.”

“Thank you, James. I called you here, because I have considered your proposal—” She bit her bottom lip, anxiety forming a hot ball in her chest. “—and I think Salisbury will suit very well indeed.”