“I’m not sure.” Lanora tried to sit still at her dressing room table, to contain her nervousness.

“I am. You must speak with him. I’ve rarely seen a gentleman so besotted.” Grace stood behind her, making final adjustments to Lanora’s midnight tresses, artfully arranged and dotted with small crystals.

“And you told him about me? About how I’m friends with you, and that in the country we’re all like family, and that I shall not change for a man?”

Grace rolled her eyes. “I said as much.”

“And he didn’t back down? He didn’t rescind his love?” Could it be true? Her heart, a broken-winged bird fluttering in her chest, longed for the balm of William’s love. If he really loved her, she could forgive him the list. He was correct. It mattered not if he’d selected her from a list at the behest of his father. What mattered was the love they’d found after that selection was made.

If he loved her. If any of it was real. He’d charmed Grace, that was clear. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a cad who needed her to marry him to keep his fortune, gaining her father’s in the process. In that case, what difference did it make to him if he pretended to accept her eccentricities? Likely, once they were wed, he’d have her locked away in a mental institute as his father had his mother.

“Why was he in Lethbridge’s office? I know he broke in,” Lanora said, a worry she’d already voiced several times.

“You shall have to ask him. I daresay he’ll answer. He seems forthcoming.”

He often did. Yet, she always felt he was holding back, as well. Sometimes he seemed evasive.

“Besides, you don’t know that he broke in. You suspect. You expect me to believe you can tell the difference between the sound of a key in a lock and the sound of lock picks?”

“I do.” Lanora squared her shoulders.

“You and your lock picks.” Grace smiled at Lanora’s reflection, stepping back. “You look perfect. You’re very striking, even if your behavior is sometimes…trying. It’s a shame we didn’t put more effort into making you a lady.”

“I am as much a lady as I care to be, thank you, and it’s too late, regardless.” Lanora stood. “What am I to do now, then? Go read in the parlor while I wait, and hope, that Lord William will appear at our door?” Like he didn’t at the theater.

“That is exactly what you are to do, as you well know.” Grace’s hands rested on her hips. “Do try to restraint your mistrust.”

“Mistrust is healthy.” Lanora scrutinized her reflection. She smoothed her hands along her skirt. The dress was a light green. She would prefer something that matched her eyes. Pastels were insipid with her pale complexion and black hair. Even with her lack of fashion sense, she could tell a deep green would suit her better.

“If you ever do marry, you’ll be permitted to wear any color you like.” Grace added a knowing smile to her words.

“You must stop recognizing my every facial expression. It’s practically rude.” Lanora tipped her chin in the air and marched from the room.

She entered the front parlor and she took up her place in the window overlooking the front walk. She selected the spot for the light, as usual. It had nothing to do with wanting to see William the moment he appeared. After five minutes, not managing to read a single line, she set her book aside and watched the street.

He didn’t arrive in his open carriage, but a larger closed one. It was magnificent. Lacquered black, with his family crest on the side. A matched team of ebony horses drew it. Lord William’s coachman and tiger were dressed impeccably in Westlock grey and black.

He didn’t wait for the door to be opened, but flung it outward. He stepped down, bouquet in hand, and winced as his foot met the walk. Lanora frowned, but he appeared well enough as he strode forward, resplendent in his black coat and green vest. Under the fine fabric of his outerwear and nestled against the white of his shirt and cravat, his vest was the precise shade of green she wished she could wear.

His firm knock reached the parlor. She swiveled from the window and flipped open her book. Her lips pressed into a firm line, she forced herself to take in the words so her pose of reading wouldn’t be a lie. A moment later, footsteps sounded in the hall. She looked up.

He was alone, his long form framed in the doorway. No one had bothered to escort him to her. No one was there to chaperone them. Grace must have spoken to the others. They were likely all a party to her scheme of seeing Lanora wed to William.

“Lady Lanora.”

At the sound of his rich, deep voice, a thrill went through her. She set aside her book. She used to think chaperones a silly thing, pointless. Now, she desperately wished for one. She wanted to talk, to hear him out and coolly evaluate his words. Left alone, she wasn’t certain that would happen. In Lethbridge’s office, her anger had vanished the moment his mouth met hers. It had taken all her will to call it back.

William held out the bouquet. Not London hothouse blooms. Wildflowers, from the country. Lanora felt another bit of her resolve not to be taken in slip away. She stood, and crossed the room to accept them.

“Thank you. They’re lovely.”

“I thought they might remind you of home.”

They did. How could they not? “I should call for water.”

“I think they will keep.”

“Refreshments…” She forgot what words came next as he stepped into the room. He looked down at her with such intensity, she wondered if he would kiss her then and there.

“Shall we sit?” A spark of amusement glimmered in his eyes.

Amuse him, did she? Well, she was acting like a ninny, so she couldn’t blame him. She nodded, moving to the couch. She lay the flowers on the table before her.

He didn’t take the other side of the coach, as she expected. Instead, he settled into the chair beside her, his knee brushing hers. “Thank you for letting me call.”

“Grace persuaded me I may have been rash in my judgement of you.”

“Grace is a good friend. I’m lucky you have her.”

He said it without a hint of reservation. Could he mean it? “She is very dear to me.”

“I can see why. It’s clear she has your best interests at heart.”

Lanora pressed her lips closed, resisting the urge to clench her hands. Why was she so nervous? She was the wronged party, not the one who needed to win him over. “You broke into Mr. Lethbridge’s office.”

“And found you there.” He was amused again.

Was he always so confident? “Why did you break in?”

“When you asked me, I’d already written to Darington, and heard back. He definitely requested the funds. So I investigated Mr. Finch, the foreman in charge of getting the building up. I didn’t find him to be overly suspicious, so I followed the trail of money back to Lethbridge.”

“You’d already written to Mr. Darington? Why not tell me so?”

“I wanted to find an answer for you first. I meant to impress you.”

She flushed. “Oh.” He’d broken into Mr. Lethbridge’s office for her? “Picking locks is an odd skill for a future marquess.”

“Is it?” He grinned, an infectious expression.

So, he didn’t deny he’d picked the lock. How could he seem so honest, yet seem as if he always hid the truth from her? “You wouldn’t have found anything. Well, maybe.” She recalled the locked box behind the painting. “But I looked through all his files. There was nothing about Darington’s home for women. Nothing from Darington at all, though I know him to be a client.”

“I saw fragments of one letter. Burned. In the grate.”

Lanora frowned. “How odd.”

“Is that why you were there? To look for clues about the home for women?”

If he was being honest, it behooved her to be as well. “No. I followed a man who was following you. He waited outside your mistress’s house. I…I wanted to confront you when you came out, but you never did, so I followed him, instead. That’s when I overheard Mr. Lethbridge talking about having taken Mr. Darington’s money.” Should she tell him about the heiress? It hardly seemed the time.

His expression became closed. “I see.”

Silence stretched between them, empty and harsh. William leaned back in his seat. Lanora’s gaze dropped to the flowers on the table.

“Is she pretty?” she finally asked, feeling forlorn.

“She is, but she is not my mistress. I believe I told you that.” He was guarded, his smile a memory.

“You did, but it seems very difficult to believe.” How could he look at her the way he did, proclaim love for her, and yet cling to his mistress? “I assume you were with her when you didn’t appear at the theater.”

William ran a hand through his tousled hair, his expression closed. Meeting her eyes, he leaned forward and captured her hand. “I swear to you, she is not my mistress.” His voice was low, as intense as his expression. “Who she is, that’s not my secret to tell. Someone is seeking her. If she’s found, she’ll be in danger for her life. I shouldn’t even admit to you she isn’t my mistress, but I don’t believe you will tell, or be believed if you did. That is all I can say of her. Please, don’t press me on this.”

Lanora blinked, sorting through his words. “Her life?” She hadn’t expected that.

He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Do you think anything less serious would make me keep this from you? Lanora, you must believe me.”

She wanted to. She longed to. Slowly, she nodded.

She could see the relief that washed over him. He smiled again, his large hand warm as it clasped hers. “A man never had so much trouble over a pretend mistress.”

“You must admit, you put up a good show. The house, on that street, with someone living inside. You go there often.” She grimaced. “At least, it seems that way.”

“Having me followed, are you?” There was laughter in his voice. “So you do care.”

“Why is Lethbridge having you followed?” Her tone was dry. “From what I overheard, he doesn’t care.”

“For the marquess. I told you, he requires me to be a certain sort of man. His sort. To be worthy of his holdings. To that end, he ordered Lethbridge to have me followed. My every movement is reported to him.”

It seemed ridiculous. Outrageous. How could a father behave that way? Yet, it also seemed true. William’s clipped words and cold tone when he spoke of his father, the shadow in his blue-green eyes. It all spoke of a terrible relationship with an awful man. “So you couldn’t have courted anyone before? Not until he deemed it time?”

“I suppose I might have, though I knew he didn’t wish me to wed too early. He’s terribly afraid I shall fall in love with some woman and go soft.”

“But won’t he think you have? You took me riding. You brought me flowers.”

William shook his head. “He ordered me to court you. He can’t have it both ways. Besides, there is my mistress. So long as I keep that house, he won’t worry I love you.” His expression hardened. “I admit, if he discovers I do, he’ll do all in his power to separate us.”

Lanora brought her free hand to her chest, a jolt of worry going through her. “How can you think he won’t discover it? I’m sure Grace has told the entire staff.”

“She said they can’t be bought.”

“Bought? No, of course not, but they won’t think it’s a secret that you love me. They’ll simply tell people. They’re certain to be excited about it. Wouldn’t you be, if someone you loved found happiness?”

He frowned. She saw him struggle with the idea.

A horrible thought came to her. “Is there anyone in your life who you love, who loves you?”

He jerked as if struck.

“I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to ask such a thing.”

William shook his head, slowly. “It wasn’t and yes, of course there is. There’s Darington.” He raised her hand to kiss. “There’s you.”

“And the woman in the house, who you shelter so diligently.”

“Yes, and her.”

Lanora felt a pang at his agreement. She wouldn’t put him through the same questions again, though. She would trust his words. “The staff will already have told people. You can be sure of it.”

He smiled, but the edges were brittle. “Hopefully the marquess will discount such sentiment as impossible.”

“How can you live with such a father?” she whispered.

He looked away, angling a blank stare toward the wall opposite him. He swallowed, once, but his expression was empty. “You don’t get to choose your father.”

She reached out, lay a hand along his jaw to draw him back to her, but he didn’t move. “Or your mother.” Yes, her mother had died, but his had gone mad. So mad, his father sent him away. All knew the marchioness had died in the madhouse, insane. Lanora felt his jaw jump, his teeth grind together.

“I don’t care to speak of my mother.”

She dropped her hand. No, of course, he didn’t. What was she thinking? “You say your father wishes you to marry so he may approve of your choice. Why now?”

“He’s dying.” There was no missing the cold glee that sparked in his eyes.

She nodded, pressing back shock. “And if you do not marry to his liking, your sister inherits his fortune?”

“Correct.”

“But you want the money, so you can help people, and that would include her, yes?”

“Yes.”

He was closed off now. Pain lived inside him, and she’d brought it too near the surface. He was answering her, true, and with all appearance of honesty. A wide gulf had opened between them, though. It filled her with unease. She couldn’t love half a man, pretending the other half didn’t exist.

“Do you care for your sister?”

He frowned. “I hardly know Madelina.”

“How can that be?” She asked it before she realized it must have to do with his exile to Egypt.

“She’s the daughter of my first stepmother. We lived under the same roof for three years. She was seven when the marquess sent her away. I haven’t seen her once in the past nine years.”

Lanora pressed her lips together. He answered her questions, but he was so cold. She’d never felt such distance between them. Not even in the moment her aunt had introduced them. He still clasped her fingers, but his grip was lax, as if he didn’t recall he did so.

She pulled her hand free, bringing both up to his face this time, one on either side of his jaw. Exerting pressure, she forced him to look at her. “William, whatever happened in your life, it matters not to me. All I want to know is what sort of man you are now, today. I simply wish to understand you.”