“Have you heard of the Maidenstone clearing?” Lucy asked a little later, when they’d reconvened in the portrait gallery.

“Of course,” Max responded. Anyone who had heard of Maidenstone Abbey knew about the infamous stone in the center of Maidenstone Wood that gave the estate its name. “I wouldn’t be much of a claimant to the estate if I didn’t know about it.”

“Would you like to see it?” Lucy asked. “I could order a picnic.”

There was hope in her voice. A walk and a picnic would be an appropriate outing for a couple considering marriage.

But Max would rather start with an extensive viewing of the Briarley jewel collection.

His encounter with the Duke of Rothwell had gone better than he could have possibly expected. The duke had taken Max’s documents at face value — with a little convincing from Lucy. He seemed almost willing to give Max a bloody earldom.

Maybe Titus was right. Max could set his sights higher than stealing a handful of jewels. But he couldn’t help but feel that Rothwell’s friendliness was meant to distract him from the noose dangling over his neck.

Still, while the duke’s motivations were mysterious, Lucy was the real threat. She was determined to keep Maidenstone, and to use Max to do it. It didn’t mean she trusted him, though — those dark eyes saw too much. If he suggested a private tour of Maidenstone’s vaults, Lucy would probably stab him with one of the sharp instruments hanging from her chatelaine and bury his body in Maidenstone Wood.

He would have to get into the vaults eventually. He had no use for the Maidenstone clearing, unless there was treasure buried there — but he couldn’t make it obvious. So he smiled and offered her his arm. “I would be honored to see the Maidenstone, if you would show it to me. But I think I would rather have you show me what you love about the abbey.”

She looked at his arm. There was a strange wariness in her eyes, completely at odds with the offer she’d made him. “You don’t need to charm me, you know. In fact, I’d almost rather you didn’t.”

The wistfulness in her voice betrayed her. She stood in the middle of yet another grand room, wearing yet another perfect dress, shod in calfskin walking boots that Max, in his younger years, might have cleaned in exchange for a stale dinner roll. If he leaned in, whispered something in her ear, and brushed a kiss over the sensitive point where her shoulder met her neck, he could unclasp her coral necklace and slip it into his pocket before she’d recovered enough to draw a breath. She could afford a hundred necklaces to replace it.

But the only women who didn’t want to be charmed were women who had been charmed before — and had been hurt by it. Was that a clue to the secret her servants kept for her?

Max felt a flickering of remorse. When he eventually disappeared, she would be hurt again.

He couldn’t afford to feel pity for her. Lucy could survive heartbreak. He and his siblings, however, would not survive if they couldn’t afford to escape England.

He dropped his arm. “No charm, then. I am terrible at charming people anyway.”

“I rather doubt that,” she said.

“Then if I charm you by accident, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

She relaxed as she smiled at him — a real smile, more like a conspiratorial grin. “Help me win Maidenstone and I’ll forgive anything. Shall we tour your ‘birthright’?”

He noticed the sarcasm dripping from the last word, but it was the grin that went straight to his gut.

He ignored it. “I like the sound of a birthright,” he said, pretending he’d missed the sarcasm. “Shall we start in the house?”

“Walking through all of Maidenstone’s rooms will take more time than a jaunt through the forest,” she warned. “I’m sure the housekeeper wishes my ancestors had spent more time tearing things down than they did building them. It takes an army of servants just to keep the floors swept.”

“How many servants do you have?”

“Already thinking of how many you shall be required to employ?” she teased.

He was actually wondering how she kept so many servants from spilling her secrets to visitors, but he couldn’t say that. “I wouldn’t want to change anything at Maidenstone without first understanding why it’s done the way it is.”

“You won’t have to worry about small matters like the household staff when we’re married. I managed the house for my grandfather. I can certainly run it for you.”

“Still, a proper lord would want to know what he was paying for. How big is the household staff?” he asked again.

“Eighty-three,” she said.

He barely kept his jaw from dropping. “You consider eighty-three people to be a small matter?”

Lucy nodded. “I don’t supervise them all directly. The butler and the housekeeper oversee the domestics, and the groundskeeper and the head groom take care of the outdoor staff. It’s all been more work during this loathsome house party, and we had to hire a few extra hands from the village to help. But when Lady Maidenstone and I are the only ones in residence, there isn’t much to arrange beyond our meals and whatever improvements I’m making in the gardens.”

She had eighty-three people to keep her life in order.

There had been times when Max couldn’t even pay for bread.

“Shall we tour the house?” she asked, continuing as though eighty-three was a perfectly normal number of servants for two people. “You might prefer to see the Maidenstone clearing at dawn or dusk anyway — it’s more impressive then.”

He nodded. “Let’s start here. I would like to see any portraits you have of my ancestors.”

The portrait gallery was a long room in the same wing that held the formal dining room and the dead earl’s study. A pair of glass doors led out into the gardens. Large windows with expensive glass panes allowed light to stream in. The floor was parquet, with interlocking wood laid out in an intricate pattern. But the real attraction of the room was the series of paintings that marched down the walls.

Max had little use for paintings — they were riskier than jewels, since they couldn’t be cut into less recognizable pieces while retaining their value. But he enjoyed looking at them despite their limited utility. And Maidenstone Abbey’s portrait gallery was a stunning example of what a portrait gallery could be.

“You claimed descent from the first earl’s youngest son, correct? Valerian Briarley?” Lucy asked.

“Yes.”

Lucy didn’t hesitate. She led him down the room until they reached one of the largest paintings. It was in the center of the wall, placed precisely between two fake columns that had clearly been designed to accommodate it.

“This is the first Lord Maidenstone,” she said, her voice sounding almost reverent. “And his wife, Lady Maidenstone.”

The man who looked out from the portrait was stern and stout, staring directly at the viewer as though he was capable of reading souls — and destroying them. He wore an elaborate doublet over white hose, in the fashion of the 1500s and the Tudor courts. A gold chain was draped over his shoulders, and his hand rested on a pile of books — titles of the Enlightenment, rather than the church whose abbey he had taken by force.

A woman stood next to him, clothed in an equally elaborate dress. She wore one of the most impressive ruby necklaces Max had ever seen, with matching ear drops and bracelets and a large ruby ring. The countess was young, somber, and quite beautiful even with the high forehead and covered hair that was popular at the time.

“Does that ring still exist?” he asked, unable to help himself.

Lucy nodded. “Those are the Briarley rubies. The earl gave them to the countess when their first son was born. It’s traditional for a countess to wear them only after the birth of an heir.”

Mentioning rings was dangerous. It might give Lucy ideas — ideas he had no intention of following through with. But he couldn’t allow himself to hesitate. He either needed to commit to the plan, or abandon it entirely.

“If you cannot wear the rubies yet, what other rings at Maidenstone would you prefer?”

Her eyes turned shrewd. “I thought you preferred to buy a ring yourself?”

Her memory was too good. He shrugged. “I’m rethinking my pride now that I’ve seen that ring. If we decide to marry and you want something as large as that ruby, you’ll have to wait until I’m no longer a shopkeeper. I can only afford brass.”

Lucy laughed. “When you say it like that, rubies do sound preferable. There are plenty of rings to choose from — my ancestors tended to keep everything. We can look later, if we reach an agreement. But let’s make sure you know your Briarley history first.”

He knew better than to press the issue — but he memorized the look of the rubies around the countess’s neck. Those jewels alone, when pulled out of their settings, would be more than enough to pay for passage to America and the start of a new life.

And if the other portraits held clues to similar treasures, it was worth his while to look at all of them. “Is there a portrait of the earl’s sons?” he asked.

“Do you know what happened to the sons?”

While preparing for the job, Max had procured a guidebook to Maidenstone Abbey — many of the grand estates had similar books, printed and sold to tourists who stopped to see the house and grounds when the family wasn’t in residence. That book, along with the church records he and Titus had found, had given him the basics. “Only the eldest son survived. The rest died, mostly at each other’s hands, or disappeared.”

Lucy nodded. “The eldest became the second earl. His portrait is there,” she said, nodding toward a morose-looking man in the next painting. “There aren’t any paintings of the other sons. Rumor has it he burned his brothers’ likenesses. But he paid for elaborate stones for their graves as penance.”

“I almost wish I didn’t come from such bloodthirsty stock,” Max said.

Lucy laughed. “If you are descended from the first earl, it was centuries ago. You’ve probably had some nicer blood get into your mix.”

“I’d wager my upbringing has made me as well-suited for bloodthirstiness as yours has.”

He said it mildly, but she looked at him again — more closely than he might have wanted. “Someday I’ll want to hear the real story of where you lived and how you grew up. But I know you can’t tell me the truth until the inheritance is settled.”

She said this calmly, as though it didn’t matter at all that she knew he was lying. “Why do you think I’ve lied?” he asked. It might have been better to leave it alone, but he was curious — and if there was something that had given him away, he wanted the chance to correct it before it reached Ferguson’s ears.

“The youngest son disappeared a year after the second earl inherited. It’s believed that he was the second earl’s favorite brother — perhaps that’s why he disappeared, rather than being killed outright. But there’s no trace of Valerian’s fate in the family records. You chose your mark well, from that perspective. It’s possible that he survived whatever misadventure took him away from Maidenstone. But I find it highly unlikely.”

“It was three hundred years ago,” Max pointed out. “You can’t know for sure.”

“No, I can’t know for sure.” She walked down the line of portraits, stopping in front of a charming group scene. “This is the fourth earl and his sons — all ten of them. Enough men that the Briarley line should have been assured forever, even if their descendants would be distant cousins of mine.”

The boys, ranging in age from a babe in arms to a youth who might have been twenty, all looked out toward the viewer. The artist had been a master — the vitality of their faces was obvious. Their clothes were rich, but their accessories weren’t particularly impressive — although Max would have happily lifted their watches, rings, and toy swords if he’d had the chance.

But Max had done his homework. “The second eldest brother killed most of them, and the third one finished the job.”

Lucy nodded. “Ten sons, and only one left to carry on the name. That’s why I don’t think your claim has merit. The Briarleys have always been too good at pruning the family tree.”

“You mean murdering each other.”

“‘Pruning’ sounds more civilized,” she said.

“Very civilized,” he teased. “Would you murder someone for Maidenstone? Or rather, would you prune them?”

She didn’t laugh. “Would it disturb you to know that I’ve thought of it?”

He didn’t think she had the physical strength to pick up a sword and do battle — but she had the courage for it. “I would be more surprised if you hadn’t thought of it.”

She turned to face him fully. Her light dress made her look entirely sweet. But her dark eyes were fierce.

“Maidenstone is worth fighting for. This life is worth fighting for. I don’t think I could kill for it — but I can’t rule it out either. So if you don’t feel the same — if you don’t think you will be able to love Maidenstone and protect it with your dying breath — then you should leave.”

There was no denying the passion in her voice. She was a Briarley through and through. And from everything he’d heard, the Briarleys would never give up Maidenstone without a fight.

“I feel the same,” he said, lying through his teeth. “It must be in my veins.”

She snorted. “If you’re a Briarley, I’m Cleopatra. But if I can keep Maidenstone by marrying you, I’ll support you through every lie we have to tell. My offer still stands. Just know that Maidenstone will always come first. If you fail, I’ll do what’s necessary to protect my birthright.”

“Even if that means abandoning your husband? What happened to your promise to do your wifely duties?”

He should have been more worried about saving his neck, not sex. Especially since they wouldn't be having any. But something about the way she stood — perfect, composed, polished, and yet willing to offer herself to him in trade for something bigger — distracted him from his mission.

She looked equally surprised. “Why on earth would that be your primary concern? You surely came here for money and a title, not for me.”

She was right, at least partially — he was there for money, not for the title and definitely not for her.

Maybe it was her lips, and her breasts, and the thought of those legs wrapping around him, that distracted him.

Or maybe it was the way those dark eyes widened, as though she’d read his mind.

“I didn’t come here for you,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m blind. If we agree to marry, I would want it to be a real marriage. Which means children. I assume you aren’t too sheltered to know how those are made?”

He never should have said such a thing to a lady. Especially one he couldn’t marry. But she was so proper, so contained, that he couldn’t help but bait her a little.

And, God help him, she wasn’t as shocked as she should have been. A look crossed her face that might have almost been a grin. “I know how children are made. I promise I’ll give you at least one.”

He brushed his thumb across her cheek before he could think to stop himself. “I think I’ll be wanting to try more than once.”

She stilled as soon as he touched her. She didn’t relax into the caress — she stared at him instead, eyes stark with shock. “That’s…unexpected,” she said finally.

He shrugged. “What is it that they say about Briarley hearts? Our hearts always know what they want?”

Lucy nodded absently. “But you’re not a Briarley, so it doesn’t signify. And you weren’t nearly this certain last night.”

The only thing he was certain of was that this would end in disaster. But he needed her help if he was going to find the jewels in such a vast — and overpopulated — house.

So he took a breath that might have been a prayer for forgiveness, then looked her directly in the eyes. “I still won’t hold you to an engagement until we know for sure whether I will inherit. You deserve more than that. But if I become the Earl of Maidenstone, you’re the only woman I would choose to have in my bed.”