Estelle closed her eyes and relished the closeness of Ross’ body. They sat touching foreheads until their breathing settled. Never had she felt so sated, so blissfully happy. During the moment of intense pleasure, she had almost professed her love, but she knew that her eagerness stemmed from her heightened senses.

Ross sighed contentedly, and his breath breezed over her cheek. At some point, she would have to move. But in the intimacy of the moment, the rest of the world no longer existed. Like this, it was easy to forget they had spent any time apart.

Estelle raised her head and kissed him once on the lips. Oh, his taste was so addictive. “I should straighten my clothes before we reach Whitecombe Street, though I have no idea where we are.”

During the wildly passionate encounter, she had been so lost in loving Ross she hadn’t considered that they were rattling along in his carriage.

A sinful smile touched his lips. “We were to stop in Whitechapel.” He looked so calm, so sated, not at all like the devil who stormed into Mr Erstwhile’s shop to demand answers.

She climbed off Ross’ muscular thighs and fell into the seat opposite. Embarrassment pushed to the fore, replaced by a flutter of desire when she watched him tuck his impressive manhood back into his breeches and fasten the buttons.

Ross shuffled forward and raised the blind nearest to her. He studied the passing houses for a moment.

“It seems Wickett has run his errand and we are on our way home.”

Estelle heard him speak, but her mind was engaged in an internal conversation. After surrendering to her craving for this man, her body felt different. A little sore and tender in places, and blissfully in tune with the universe. But this state of euphoria would fade. And then she would have to face the stark reality that she loved a man she could never have. The intense longing would never leave her and would only be compounded now, having sampled the true magnificence of this man.

Despite his comment to the contrary, Ross would marry eventually. They were both intelligent enough to know that any children born from their alliance would always bear the mark of her shame. And Ross could not beat every member of the ton into submission.

Estelle brushed her skirt and tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ears.

Silence ensued.

Ross’ intense gaze settled on her face. “What are we to do now?” he said in a rich drawl.

“Do?” Her pulse rose a notch. “Why must we do anything?”

“Then allow me to rephrase the question. Are you still intent on leaving London after what has just occurred?”

How could she answer when she didn’t know what to do anymore?

“By your own admission you have had relations with other women,” she said, choosing to be aloof as a means of self-preservation. “How is this any different?”

“How is it different!” he repeated, seemingly unimpressed with her answer. “Please tell me you’re joking. Eight years may have passed, but the same raging need flows through our veins.”

“What happened brought us both comfort at a time—”

“Trust me. Comfort was not what I tasted on your lips. Comfort is not what I felt when thrusting inside you, nor when you panted my name and shuddered in my arms.”

She shivered at the delicious memory, wishing she could go back to the beginning and relive it all over again. “You’re right. It meant more than that.” The perfect moment would live forever in her heart. She would embrace it during long, lonely nights. “What do you propose we do?”

For the first time, she witnessed a look of panic mar his handsome features. “Do?” It passed quickly, replaced by a wicked glint in his eyes. “I propose we return to Hanover Square. I propose we spend the next week in bed and take matters from there.”

So it was lust, not love, then.

“Have you forgotten that I have work to do in the shop? I cannot abandon the Erstwhiles, not while Mrs Erstwhile is unwell.”

She wasn’t saying no even though she knew she should.

“Estelle, while I admire your loyalty to them, you no longer need to work for a living.”

Anger erupted. Such an intelligent man should know better than to preach nonsense. “Oh, and what do you suggest I do, my lord? Perhaps I should call my man of business and ask him to increase the rents. Perhaps I might sell the family jewels to give me an income while I sit about idle.”

“A man is not idle because he owns land,” he admonished. “And you would want for nothing if you stayed with me.”

The comment robbed her of breath. Good Lord, her worst fears had come to pass. Ross did not see her as a woman of equal status — not anymore.

“So you’re proposing I become your mistress.”

“Mistress?” He seemed confused.

“That is the name for a woman who has intimate relations with a man who supports her financially.”

She should not scoff at the offer. A mistress was all she could hope for should anyone discover the truth about her scandalous time in France. If only she could forget this man, move away to the country and take a husband, raise a family and let society believe she had perished in the shipwreck.

“Are you saying you would accept the offer should I be inclined to make it?” Ross sat forward awaiting her answer with a look of keen interest.

“The fact you have asked the question means you do not know me at all.”

Ross snorted. “Forgive me for thinking that the eight years we’ve spent apart has changed us irrevocably. How am I to know what you think or want when you keep so many secrets?” He dragged his hand down his face and sighed. “The lady I remember would not have permitted me to make love to her in a carriage.”

Estelle gasped at the implication that she was somehow loose with her affections. She had given up everything so that this man could sit on his gilded throne.

“You self-righteous ass,” she spat. Anger bubbled away inside, but it was merely a reaction to years of hurt. “I permitted you to make love to me because you’re the only man I have ever wanted. You’re the only man I would ever willingly give myself to, and yet you have to ruin what would have been a beautiful memory.”

Ross gulped at her sudden outburst, shock tainting his features. “Estelle, I did not mean it like that. I was—”

“I don’t care how you meant it. Clearly, we are different people now, but I do not need you to remind me of my shortcomings.” Estelle glanced out of the window, relief flooding through her when she noted the familiar surroundings of Whitecombe Street. “If tonight proves anything it is that we cannot live for the past.”

The carriage slowed. The wheels were still rolling when she grabbed the handle.

“You’re beginning to sound as philosophical as Mr Erstwhile,” Ross mocked. “Why do I get the sense this is all my fault? So I spoke thoughtlessly. Forgive me for being human. Forgive me if I fail to understand what the hell is going on.”

The carriage stopped, and she opened the door. Despite the torrential rain, she stepped down to the pavement. Tears welled. The memory of what could have been, pushed to the fore. She could have been his wife not his whore.

“It is not your fault, Ross.” Estelle turned to face him. “It is mine. I was too weak to fight for us. I was too frightened to do anything but surrender to those who professed to have our best interests at heart. And I will spend my life living with that regret.”

The dam burst. Tears fell. She swung around, rushed to the front door of the apothecary shop and hammered hard with her fist.

“Estelle, wait.” Ross jumped down and came up behind her.

“Leave me be.” She knocked again. “Go home, Ross.”

The soft glow of candlelight appeared and drew closer to the door. Mr Erstwhile peered through the glass pane. He raised his hand in recognition. “Just a moment.”

“I should have stayed in France. I should have stayed away.”

“Come back to the carriage.” Ross gripped her shoulder. His touch almost made her yield. “Talk to me. Tell me what the hell just happened. Tell me how we have gone from sharing a heavenly experience to this.”

Mr Erstwhile turned the key and sheltered behind the door as he opened it. “Heavens above, come inside before you catch your death of cold.”

Estelle stepped over the threshold. She turned and placed her palm on Ross’ chest when he attempted to follow her. “Good night, my lord. Thank you for escorting me home.”

“Wait. At least explain what you meant when you said you were frightened,” he said as she closed the door. “Estelle!”

Estelle turned the key before Ross had an opportunity to try the handle. She hurried from the shop to the small parlour, aware that Mr Erstwhile traipsed slowly behind.

A cloud of confusion filled her head.

Love was not always perfect — she knew that. Love often required a sacrifice. But she would rather be without Ross than be his mistress. She would rather be without him than be made to feel inferior. She paced back and forth while wringing her hands. Ross called out to her again, his voice but a faint mumble now.

“Would you care for some tea?” Mr Erstwhile, said ignoring Ross’ pleas. “Or would something stronger suffice?”

“Do you have sherry?”

“Indeed.” He glanced over his shoulder upon hearing Ross rattling the shop door. “His lordship seems rather insistent this evening.”

“He will leave in a moment.”

“Perhaps he wishes to return your jacket and bonnet.”

Estelle ran her hand over her hair and glanced at her dress. In her hurry to leave the carriage she had forgotten her clothes. “We were caught in the rain. They were wet, and I removed them as I did not want to catch a chill.”

“A wise decision.”

“I’m sure his lordship will return them tomorrow.”

Mr Erstwhile pursed his lips. His inquisitive gaze journeyed over her face. “Will you be here tomorrow, Estelle, or will you be on the next mail coach to heaven knows where?”

The insightful comment caught her short. “Why … why do you say that?”

“I may be old, but I am not blind. The day we met aboard the ship it was clear you were running from something.” He paused. “Now sit by the fire and warm yourself. Ideally, you should change out of those damp clothes. But I fear that if you go to your room, I might never see you again.”

“A lady cannot run forever.” Estelle dropped into the seat, picked up the poker and prodded the coal.

Mr Erstwhile smiled. “Then I shall pour us both a sherry before you beat the lumps of coal to powder.” He ambled over to the decanters on the sideboard, poured two drinks and returned to sit by the fire.

“To whom or what shall we make a toast?” he said raising his glass. “To friends and family wherever they may be. To love, for there is nothing finer in this world than two souls who belong together.”

With mild enthusiasm, Estelle raised her glass in salute. “To Fate for being a sly conniving devil.”

They both took a sip of sherry. Estelle wanted to drain the contents in the hope it would calm her erratic emotions, but in some things, she was still a lady.

“How is Mrs Erstwhile this evening?” Estelle said by way of a distraction.

“Oh, much better. She should be up and about tomorrow with any luck.”

Silence ensued.

They stared at the flames for a while and sipped their drinks.

“Do you know what is strange?” Mr Erstwhile eventually said in the tone of a constable from Bow Street. “For the second time in two days, you have left the shop with Mr Hungerford and returned with Lord Trevane. I trust Hungerford acted the gentleman, and it was his lordship’s overbearing nature that led to this sudden change in circumstance.”

“You think Lord Trevane is overbearing?” she said defensively. She supposed Ross might appear arrogant, a little forceful of manner, but weren’t all deeply passionate men the same?

“He did admit to threatening Mr Hungerford.” Mr Erstwhile shook his head. “I cannot help but wonder what poor Mr Hungerford makes of it all. Equally puzzling is why a marquess is willing to brawl in the street for you, Estelle.”

Mr Erstwhile never used her given name and yet he’d made a point of stressing it twice now.

“Ah, I see the flicker of surprise in your eyes,” he continued. “After tonight, it is fair to assume that while Estelle is your name, clearly Miss Brown is not.”

Fear wrapped around her heart like a vine. This kind, honest man deserved to hear the truth.

“It was never my intention to deceive you.” She spoke slowly and with reservation. “But I could not return to London without assuming a false identity.”

Mr Erstwhile finished the remainder of his sherry and placed the glass on the table next to him.

“Falsehoods occur when one is hiding from the truth.” He stroked his white beard. “As an observer, the truth is that you were once in love with the marquess, and he was very much in love with you. From your elegant bearing, clearly you’re from good stock, as the matrons like to say. And so I must assume a terrible tragedy occurred. One that led to your separation.”

“I have lived in a constant state of mourning these last eight years,” she said softly. “Losing one’s true love evokes a pain deeper than any physical wound.”

“In that, we are agreed. I too struggled in turmoil for a while until I followed my heart.” He sat forward. “That same turmoil is like a tempest raging through you, shaking your branches. But the time for honesty is nigh. To understand a problem, one must dig down to the roots for more often than not the issue lies there.”

Estelle contemplated his comment.

Her problems began the moment she received an ultimatum and invariably made the wrong choice. Everything that happened afterwards was merely a consequence of that one action. It was too late to rekindle what was lost. Even so, she owed it to Ross, to Fabian and to herself to tell the truth.

Estelle stood, and Mr Erstwhile followed. “The time for introductions is long overdue.” She inclined her head. “Sir, my name is Estelle Darcy, sister to Baron Ravenscroft, and a lady lost these past eight years.”

A smile touched the old man’s lips. He bowed. “Miss Darcy. Thankfully, you have found your way home at long last.”

The word home roused a flutter in her stomach. The odd feeling came to settle in her chest, warm and comforting. England was home. She had lived by many names, had been but a ghost of her former self, but she owned the name Darcy.

Mr Erstwhile gestured to the chair, and they both sat.

“Some might think it an accident that we stumbled upon his lordship in the alley,” Mr Erstwhile said. “But I am more inclined to believe Fate guided our way.”

Many times since that night, she had pondered the same thing, too.

“Then Fate is cruel, sir, for nothing can eradicate the last eight years. Nothing can take me back to the life I long to live. Circumstance makes it impossible.”

Mr Erstwhile tutted. “Though I loathe quoting that blackguard Bonaparte, the man sometimes spouted sense. Impossible is a word found in the dictionary of fools,” he uttered in a French accent. “And you are by no means a fool, my dear.”

This wonderful man had a way of making her feel empowered, of making her believe anything was possible.

“And so we come back to the root of the problem,” Mr Erstwhile reminded her. “It is better to speak out than keep your troubles in, as my dear mother used to say, though she put it rather more eloquently. Now, I shall refill your glass while you compose yourself.” He stood, took her glass and ambled over to the sideboard.

Other than Maudette, Estelle had never told another living soul what had happened that day. During terrifying nightmares, one was aware of their nemesis, aware of the unbeatable monster sent to wreak havoc with their lives. But in reality, some monsters came in the guise of loving men. Behind their endearing mask, they were greedy, selfish, rotten to the core.

Mr Erstwhile returned with her sherry. She swallowed down the golden liquid and let it soothe her spirits.

“It’s a long story,” Estelle began as Mr Erstwhile sat down again.

“Then let us start with the fact that you and the marquess are in love.”

“Were in love,” she corrected, now it was more lust than anything else.

With a mild sigh of frustration, he did not correct his earlier statement, but said, “And someone came to tear it asunder.”

Estelle nodded. “Lord Trevane’s father persuaded my father to invest in what should have been a lucrative venture — silver mining across the ocean in South America.”

“And the venture failed, presumably.”

“Yes. The mine collapsed. People died. My father lost everything due to a clause in the contract that he had not read properly before signing.” She recalled the letter arriving from the solicitor. She had never seen a man cry before that day. “My father was frivolous with money, but he had no reason to distrust the marquess.”

“I trust your family home was entailed.”

“My father and brother had no option but to break the entailment. The debts were insurmountable. My father took out numerous loans to cover some of his investment, you see. It would have been the end of him had my brother not agreed it was better to pay the debt and begin again.”

Mr Erstwhile’s eyes flashed with admiration. “Then your brother must be a remarkable man to put his family’s needs before his own.”

Estelle’s heart swelled when she thought of Fabian. She must have hurt him deeply and only hoped he could forgive her.

“By all accounts, he has made rather a name for himself running a fleet of merchant ships.”

“Clearly, courage is a family trait.” Mr Erstwhile’s smile faded, and he frowned. “But surely your dowry was intact. Although Lord Trevane does not strike me as a man who would choose money over love.”

Estelle cradled the glass in her lap. “I have no notion what Lord Trevane would choose as I never gave him the option.” It was wrong of her to leave without speaking to Ross. She knew that now. But she’d been so confused, so lost and scared.

A heavy silence filled the room.

Mr Erstwhile’s shoulders sagged. “But you told Lord Trevane you couldn’t marry him?”

“No.” Oh, she could never have told him that. “You see his father intentionally ruined my father to make it too difficult for us to marry.”

“The marquess would rather see your father bankrupt than have you marry his son? Surely not, child.” Mr Erstwhile cleared his throat. “I saw the possessive look in Lord Trevane’s eyes when he almost punched Mr Hungerford in the street. No doubt he would have protested should his father attempt to force his hand.”

A lump formed in Estelle’s throat. Brought to bear by the burden of regret. She struggled to swallow. “Ross knows nothing of the day his father came to see me.” It would break him to know the truth about his parents, to know the level of deceit and betrayal. “All he knows is that I left without a word despite promising to marry him.”

Disappointment passed over Mr Erstwhile’s face. “When we are young, we do not always see things clearly. The lady I know would not intentionally hurt someone she loves.”

Estelle closed her eyes briefly. She had made up her mind to tell Ross everything, and would tell the truth now.

“My father would not have prevented the match. But he grew bitter, insisted that I could not know the character of the man I wanted to marry. Indeed, he had decided I should stay with my great-aunt while he and my brother made arrangements to sell the estate. He said time apart might save me from making a dreadful mistake.”

“So that is how you came to be so far from home.”

“No, I was to go to Yorkshire, not France.” To tell him of the shipwreck and her life with the smugglers would be more than his poor heart could take. “But my maid received word that her uncle had come into some money and had bought a vineyard. She contemplated returning to Bordeaux.” Estelle’s mind had been so heavy with the weight of her burden when all she’d wanted was to be with Ross. “The conversation I had with Ross’ father the day before I left persuaded me to flee.”

“From the outcome, I imagine it was not a pleasant conversation.”

“No.”

“And yet I sense unpleasant is too mild a word.”

“Ross’ father came upon me in the orchard one morning. He made it clear that he had the power to prevent the match. Indeed, he presented a promissory note signed by my father, and said he would call it in unless I told Ross that I couldn’t marry him.”

Mr Erstwhile stared at her incredulously. “The marquess must surely have had a motive for his despicable behaviour.”

“Indeed.” The motive stemmed from jealousy and obsession. “Ross worshipped his parents. He often told me that he wished for a love like theirs. But it was perhaps the greatest deception. His father had kept a mistress for ten years. When Ross’ mother died, the marquess wanted to marry his lover, but she declined and only agreed to continue the relationship providing Ross marry her daughter.”

Mr Erstwhile’s mouth fell open. “The marquess wanted his son to marry a courtesan’s daughter?”

“No, the mistress was a lady, a widow of wealth and status. The daughter was the legitimate child of a member of the aristocracy. The marquess never mentioned the lady’s name. Perhaps he thought that to do so might give me a hand in the game.”

To use the word game implied a level of amusement — nothing could be further from the truth.

“Dear heaven above.” Mr Erstwhile pushed out of the chair. “I believe I need something stronger to drink than sherry.” He ambled over to the decanters and came back with a crystal tumbler half-full of brandy. “But you did not tell Lord Trevane that you couldn’t marry him.”

She could have never looked him in the eye and lied. “No. The marquess threatened to cut Ross off if we married. Said he would see to it that Ross lived the life of a pauper until he inherited. Equally, had he called in the promissory note, my brother would have lost any chance he had of making a decent life for himself.”

“And so you ran away to France.”

“Yes, with my maid, Maudette.” For some reason, she blurted out the tragic events that led to this point. Tears soaked her face. Some words choked in her throat. But it was a cathartic experience — a purging of her guilt and shame, a spiritual cleansing of sorts.

Mr Erstwhile came to his feet. He took her hands and held them tightly. “My dear, if anyone deserves love it is you. It breaks my heart to think of all you have been through. And yet I reserve some pity for Lord Trevane. For the man who has lived for eight years believing you indifferent when the exact opposite is true.”

Estelle remained silent for a moment while she tried to suppress the pain in her heart. “I never meant to hurt him. I only meant to give him the life he deserved.”

Mr Erstwhile shook his head repeatedly and sighed. “My dear, you have missed the point of life. Love is the only treasure. But it is a treasure without a map. A man may travel the oceans and seas for a lifetime and never find it. For those lucky few who do, well, it is like finding a heavenly island here on earth, and most men would die to defend it.”

Estelle came to her feet. “I seem to have made a terrible mess of everything.”

“And it is not too late to put things right.” He cupped her cheek and smiled. “I would wager Lord Trevane will call tomorrow. And you still haven’t told me what happened to poor Mr Hungerford this evening.”

Both men would call at the shop. But she needed time to think, time to decide how best to proceed. “Would you mind if I kept to my room tomorrow?”

“Will you keep to your room or board the next mail coach to Edinburgh?” He raised a suspicious brow.

“No. I am so tired of running but I would like a day to myself, without seeing anyone.”

A look of recognition flashed in his eyes. “Just remember, very little is needed to make a happy life. It is all within yourself, in your way of thinking.”

Estelle forced a smile. “What would I do without your wise words?”

Mr Erstwhile chuckled. “Oh, they’re not mine. They belong to Marcus Aurelius.”