Lanora stood motionless, stunned. William stood over Lethbridge’s unconscious form, masculine perfection. Tousled curls, coat askew. She’d never seen anything like his dive across the desk. The way he grabbed Lethbridge, the punch, it was all so...thrilling.

She’d been scared in the moment. Terrified, really, that William would be shot. When the pistol fired, she’d stifled a scream.

Now, safe, she felt wholly different. She uncocked the pistol she held and tossed it behind her into the record room, where her reticule remained. Turning back, she saw William’s expression of relief.

Lanora frowned. “You didn’t imagine I would shoot you?”

“You were pointing a pistol at me.”

“Are you that sort of gentleman, then, who doesn’t listen to a word a lady says?”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Only when she’s directing a deadly weapon my way.”

“That, my lord, is the time you must listen to her most.”

“True enough.” He stepped over Lethbridge, wincing.

Lanora hurried to him, her eyes on the hand he pressed to his left side. She pulled at it, seeing blood. A gasp escaped her. “You’re hurt. I didn’t think he hit you.”

“He didn’t. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re bleeding.” She yanked on his arm, dragging him toward the leather couch. “Come, sit. Will he wake soon?”

William chuckled, the sound only slightly strained, and let her lead him.

“Does your amusement mean he’ll sleep?”

“He won’t wake soon,” William said.

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve hit enough men to know.” He’d reached the couch, but didn’t sit. “Collect your things. I’ll send my tiger for the militia. You shouldn’t be here when they come, or have your name dragged into this. Your man can take you home.”

Was he mad? “Absolutely not. You need a surgeon, and I am not leaving your side.”

He shook his head. “A doctor will have questions, and might talk. I have somewhere to go, someone who will see to me, and you must go home.”

“But why worry over questions? We’ve done nothing wrong.” She scrutinized his face. “What aren’t you telling me? Why can’t I go with you?”

His look softened. “Do you truly wish to?” He gestured at the room, papers scattered everywhere. Lethbridge’s feet sticking out from under the desk. “This can be covered up, explained away. Once you get in my carriage with me, you will be compromised. That’s not how I want to make you mine, Lanora. I would have you agree to marry me, not be forced to.”

She stared up into his warm hazel eyes. “Did you ask me to marry you, just now?”

“I’ve been trying to get you to marry me since we met. All in all, I think I’m doing a splendid job.”

“Do you?” The nerve of him, so certain, and tall, handsome… She suppressed a sigh.

“Are you going to come with me or take your carriage home?” The intensity in his tone belied the simplicity of the question.

“I’m coming with you.” For some reason, the words came out breathless.

“I love you too,” he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

Lanora gaped at him.

He reached out and used a gentle finger to close her mouth. “Collect your things.”

She nodded, feeling somewhat dizzy as she crossed the room and gathered up her pistol and reticule. She turned back to find William tossing a stack of papers into the fireplace.

“The unsigned will,” he said. “It’s the one that didn’t get knocked from the desk, of course.”

She frowned. “That’s because he put it to the left.” Her frown deepened as she studied the desk. “You must have only just got the inkwell. The pen didn’t move. Shall I gather the other?”

William stirred up the fire. The pages caught, momentarily brightening the room with new flame. “Whoever cleans this up can gather them.” He turned from the fire. “That should be good enough. We should go.”

Lanora nodded. It was more important to get William to, well, wherever they were going than to pick up the pages of the marquess’s will.

She followed him across the clerk’s office and down the steps, aware he was moving more slowly than usual. When they reached the landing, he drew his hand from his injured side and wiped it clean on a kerchief. He quickly ran a hand though his hair, restoring it to its usual controlled disorder. He drew out gloves and pulled them on, covering the knuckles of his left hand, reddened from colliding with Lethbridge’s face. Lastly, he tugged his coat to order and fluffed his cravat. She realized, his coat being black, only close scrutiny would reveal he was injured. He turned to her, looked her up and down, and nodded.

“Will you send your driver home and then join me in my carriage?” he asked, his tone perfectly urbane, as if he wasn’t injured, and as if he hadn’t, moments ago, broken a man’s nose.

Lanora nodded. He opened the door for her. Two splendid carriages, one with the crest of his house and one with hers, stood without. Lanora hurried out to reassure her coachman she was well, and sent him home to give Grace the same news. She also informed him that, though it was pending her father’s blessing, she and Lord William were engaged.

She felt a bit bad as she climbed into William’s carriage, handed up by an expressionless servant. She’d used her coachman’s relief that she was well, and joy at her engagement, to send him away before he realized she wasn’t going with him. She hoped he wouldn’t be too upset.

It was dark inside William’s carriage, for he had the curtains drawn. She settled into the seat across from him. He knocked on the roof and they set out.

“Where are we going, if not to a surgeon?” She kept her voice low. “Am I to assume your men are not to know you’re injured?”

“That is a safe assumption. You will not care for where we’re going, and undoubtedly there will be rumors sparked, but please wait until we’re inside before questioning me. I will explain.”

Lanora mulled that over while they rode. She wished to ask him about his mother, and his brother. What Lethbridge had meant when he said he knew all. Even in the dim interior, she could see the strain on William’s features, the pain etched there. She kept her lips pressed tight over her questions.

She couldn’t keep the shock from her face when she was handed down from the carriage. She was quite familiar with the street. Not long ago, she’d spent hours staring at it. They’d arrived at William’s mistress’s townhouse. She shot him an incredulous glance. He replied with a slight shake of his head.

He led the way up the steps and knocked. After a moment, the door swung inward. William ushered her inside. To compound the strangeness, the boy who’d accepted bread from her was there. He was clean, and dressed in new clothes, but she couldn’t fail to recognize him.

“No new servants yet?” William asked the boy while tugging off his gloves.

“No, your lordship.”

“Good. That simplifies things.”

The boy darted a look at Lanora, then turned back to William. “You gone and done yourself harm again, haven’t you? Her ladyship is going to be right angry.”

“Yes, well, I second her complaint.” Tossing his gloves toward a table, William pressed his hand to his side. “I’ll go to my room. If you could tell her I require her services?”

He required what? Lanora stared at him.

The boy nodded his chin at her. “Why’s Mrs. Smith dressed like a lady?”

“Because Mrs. Smith is really Lady Lanora.” He offered Lanora a smile tight with pain. Sweat stood out on his forehead. “This is Dodger.”

“Lady Lanora?” Dodger’s eyes were wide. “So she’s the one you’re wanting to marry?”

“She is. Now, go get the lady of the house and please, help her with whatever she asks. I’m afraid I’ve pulled my stitches.”

“Yes, your lordship.” The boy scurried off.

He was sending for his mistress? He required her services? Lanora drew in a breath and reminded herself that she trusted William. He had an excellent explanation. She was sure of it. She was also sure she’d better hear it soon.

“Would it be impertinent of me to ask you to walk beside me up the steps?” William asked.

“Do you need to lean on me?” She moved to his side, worry for him driving back suspicion.

“No, I can manage. Your presence alone will bolster my spirit.” He offered a grimace that was likely meant to be a smile. “Rather, the desire not to fall down the stairs while you watch will bolster my resolve. I don’t want to ruin the image of masculine strength I’ve cultivated.”

They made their way up the steps and down the hall, where William let them into a room that was neat, modish and clearly his. It even smelled like him, shaving soap, clean linens and masculinity. He settled on the edge of the bed. A woman burst through the adjoining door.

Petite, blonde, with an almost unearthly beauty, she looked to be perhaps four years Lanora’s senior. She stopped when she saw them. Her lips broke into a wide smile. She rushed forward and embraced Lanora.

“Welcome.” She stepped back. “I am so happy to meet you. You have no notion how much so. You’re the first friend I’ve had in years.” For all the brightness of her smile, tears stood in her luminous blue eyes.

“Lanora, this is Lady Cecelia Greydrake, my stepmother.”

“Your…” Lanora took the woman in again, with new eyes. “You’re not in the Mediterranean.”

“Heavens, no. Didn’t he tell you?” She raised a hand to her mouth. “He brought you up here without telling you who I am?”

“He promised he had a good explanation,” Lanora said, dazed by the revelation. He hadn’t lied.

Lady Cecelia’s smile would brighten even the dreariest winter day. “And you believed him? Oh, how wonderful.” She looked as if she might shed more tears. “Still, William, how could you—” She broke off as she turned to him. He was pale, his gaze slightly unfocused. “Oh. I see. Not quite yourself.”

Cecelia’s tone remained bright, but Lanora saw worry in her face, the tension that sprang up around her mouth.

“He said you could help him,” Lanora said.

“Yes, likely. I’m good with this sort of thing. I’ve had a lot of time to read, and learn, and plenty of practice on him.” Her worry remained. “I’ll go set Dodger to boiling more water. We’ll need lots of clean linen.”

“How can I help?”

“Get his clothes off, for a start.”

Lanora’s face filled with heat.

“Oh dear. I apologize. I only mean off the top half of him.” Lady Cecelia patted her on the arm. “Will that do? I mean, you’ll be all right baring him to the waist?”

“I’ll offer her encouragement.” William’s voice was amused, but his words strained at the edges.

“He’s losing blood. I need to get my things. I’ll stitch him up, but this is the second time. He’ll run out of skin. You must make sure he stays in bed for at least two weeks this time. Longer, if you can manage it.”

“Yes, of course.” Lanora had no notion how, but she would make sure he healed. This time.

Lady Cecelia gave her an encouraging smile, another pat on the arm.

“Cecelia.” They both turned toward William. “He’s dead.”

“Dead?” The small blonde woman swayed.

Lanora put an arm about her, worried she would topple.

“He’s really dead?” Lady Cecelia whispered.

“He’s really dead.”

Tears filled Lady Cecelia’s eyes. She blinked, sending them skittering down her cheeks. A huge smile lit her face. “Finally,” she said, the word full of a ferocious joy. She gave Lanora a fierce hug and hurried from the room.

Yet another thing in need of explanation, but one look assured Lanora now was not the time for lengthy talks, especially on delicate matters. She moved to stand before William, and steeled herself to do as Lady Cecilia asked.

“I suppose we must start with your coat.”

“Excellent plan. I knew you had a good head on your shoulders.” He smiled at her, though the expression looked pained.

Lanora eased off his coat. Not sure what to do with it, she folded it, bloody side up, and set it on the floor. She hoped it wouldn’t ruin anything. Next, she unbuttoned his green vest, left side streaked with blood. Sight of the blood sent panic through her. How badly was he injured? She pressed her lips into a firm line, worried for him.

Still, with each button on the vest, her face grew hotter. His cravat provided the distraction of a complex knot, but once it was removed and she was confronted with his shirt laces, her heart took up such a rapid beat, she thought she might faint. She couldn’t sort out her emotions. Fear for him was strong, but something else, as well. Something unfamiliar, frightening in its own right.

She reached for the laces with hands that shook.

William caught her wrists. “Cut it off.”

Lanora stared at him, confused.

“Use my shaving razor and cut the shirt off. I’ll never get it over my head.”

“Oh.”

She collected the blade and returned to the bed. She couldn’t cut the front. It would be...she couldn’t. To cut the back, she must climb onto the bed behind him. With a deep breath, she said a prayer she wouldn’t cut him or her shaking hands in the process and climbed onto the mattress.

By the time she had his shirt off, revealing his bandaged-wrapped middle, Lanora shook all over. She felt as if she’d run a mile, uphill the whole way. She put the tattered shirt with his other garments. Her palms tingled, the memory of each time they’d brushed across his warm skin emblazoned on them. She tried not to look, even while she worked, but visions of his muscled back and sculpted chest were scorched in her mind.

Lady Cecelia bustled into the room, followed by a burdened Dodger. The little blonde woman made a sound of dismay. “What have you done to yourself, William? Dodger, put that clean sheet down beside him. No, leave it folded. Perhaps we can save the bedclothes this time. William, lay down.”

Lanora drew back, taking deep breaths. She let Lady Cecelia’s bright efficiency fill the room, a buffer between her and William. Legs unsteady, she settled into a chair. Trying not to be jealous, which would be foolish in the extreme, she watched Lady Cecelia tend William.