“Do not say a word.”

“I’m not a fool.” Lord Farleigh sat back in the dark confines of Vane’s coach. “You look ready to unleash the Devil’s wrath upon anyone who glances your way.”

Vane gritted his teeth. An intense rage burned in his chest, heating to a roaring inferno. Hot pulses of energy throbbed in his fingers. He needed to punch someone, needed to release the pent-up emotion.

After all these years, Estelle was alive.

It meant only one thing. She cared nothing for him when she ran away, cared nothing for him now. He was an easy man to find. So why had she not come knocking? Why had she chosen to work for an apothecary rather than ask for his help?

Disappointment filled his chest as did a crippling sense of inadequacy he rarely encountered. Damnation. Rage he could deal with, but this nauseating feeling of failure he could not.

Memories of his sister’s ruination entered his head. He’d been helpless then too, had sworn no one would ever hurt him in the same way again.

Anger resurfaced at the thought.

For eight blasted years, he believed he was somehow responsible for Estelle leaving, responsible for her death. Not once had she come to ease his misery. God damn, the woman hadn’t even bothered to send a note.

Unable to control himself, he punched the roof, the pain bringing temporary relief. Any other coachman would have slowed the horses believing the sound a signal to stop. Wickett knew better.

Farleigh sighed. “Rather the roof than you pounce across the carriage and take your frustration out on me.”

“From my reaction, I’m sure you can guess the outcome of my visit.”

“Then it is as her brother suspected.” Farleigh paused. “Miss Darcy is alive.”

“Oh, she’s alive.” Vane had felt the rapid beat of her heart as he caressed the soft mounds of flesh, had heard the hitch in her breath when he exposed the damning mark. “Estelle Darcy is working as an apothecary’s assistant no less.”

Farleigh knew him well enough to know what this sudden revelation meant. The belief that Estelle was dead had shaped Vane’s life, his attitude, all relationships, his reputation.

“She’s working for a living?” Farleigh seemed more shocked by that fact. “Then she never married?”

The comment sent Vane’s stomach shooting up to his throat. “How the hell should I know? I’m just the fool she abandoned. I’m the fool she cared nothing for, the one she left and never thought of again.”

“Clearly the lady has fallen on hard times. Perhaps there’s more to the story than that. After all that happened at Everleigh, I know only too well things are often not what they seem.”

“Good God, do not defend her actions.”

“I’m not. I am simply saying that until you’re in possession of the facts, you cannot make a qualified judgement.”

“Let me understand you.” Vane gave a snort of contempt. “You suspect a terrible event kept her away from her friends and family. One so terrible she let everyone believe she’d died on The Torrens. Why did I not think of it before? Poor Miss bloody Darcy.”

“There is no point talking to you when you’re like this.” Farleigh turned away abruptly and stared out of the window.

A tense silence ensued.

Vane tried to sit back, tried to close his eyes and pretend he didn’t give a damn. But a restlessness consumed him, one he’d gone to great lengths to suppress with loose women, brandy, and fistfights in the narrow lanes of St Giles.

Farleigh glanced at him numerous times before eventually saying, “Will you see her again?”

“Who?” Vane knew to whom Farleigh referred and was merely stalling.

“Miss Darcy. What did you say to her when you left?”

Damn right he’d see her again. While the voice in his head screamed never, his heart demanded an explanation, craved justice.

“I paid her the same courtesy she did me and left without a word. Once assured of her identity what more was there to say?”

“I see.” The corners of Farleigh’s mouth twitched. “Do you think you might still be in love with her?”

Panic shot through him.

Having spent years battling to exorcise the memory of Estelle Darcy, no other woman had ever made him feel the way she did. Oh, he’d sated his lust, but the tremors were superficial, failed to ease the clawing hunger within.

“Haven’t you heard?” Vane’s tone brimmed with mockery. “The only person I am in love with is myself.”

Farleigh laughed. “According to the law of the land the majority rule, so it must be true.” He paused. “What will you do now? Will you go home and drain the decanter? Will you wander the alleys hoping a rogue might beat every ounce of emotion from your chest?”

Vane thought for a moment. To go home would mean a sleepless night pacing the floor, replaying every pathetic moment of the young fool who’d chased Estelle to Dover only to discover she’d boarded the boat with another gentleman.

“Why go home when I am in the mood for mischief?”

Farleigh groaned. “Why do I get the feeling the evening is about to take a turn for the worse?”

Nothing could be worse than discovering the dead walked. “Perhaps I need to broaden my horizons. Colonel Preston has returned from his expedition to the Antarctic Peninsula. Preston’s benefactor is holding a ball this evening to celebrate the explorer’s findings. We shall go there.”

“We?”

“If I go alone, there is every chance the night will end with a dawn appointment. Besides, don’t you want to hear of Preston’s whale sightings? They say it’s fascinating.”

Farleigh narrowed his gaze, but then recognition dawned. “For a second, I thought seeing Miss Darcy had softened your brain. But clearly I’m mistaken. Lord Cornell sponsored Preston’s trip did he not? We are going so you may taunt the gentleman.”

Vane could not prevent a grin from forming. “So you will come?”

“If only to ensure you don’t end up in Newgate.”

* * *

Lord Cornell’s townhouse in Bedford Square was a two-minute walk from the British Museum. The peer liked to think of himself as an intellectual. A man whose mental faculties compensated for his saggy jawline and portly stomach. If Vane’s sources were to be believed, the lord spent many an afternoon debating the form of classical sculptures and examining Egyptian antiquities.

“You didn’t tell me the ball was at Cornell’s house.” Farleigh grabbed Vane’s arm and brought him to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the steps.

“Cornell is Preston’s patron. Where else would it be?”

“Then I doubt you have an invitation,” Farleigh whispered.

“Why would I need an invitation?”

Farleigh shook his head. “Is it not advisable to return to Berkeley Square and change our clothes?”

Vane glanced down at his boots and grinned. “So we’re not wearing stockings and shoes. There’s not a gentleman here brave enough to throw us out, not a servant foolish enough to refuse us entrance. And I do so enjoy causing a stir.”

They stepped aside to allow two ladies to pass. Both women tittered and nudged each other. From the blush touching their cheeks, their interest in him had nothing to do with his unconventional attire. One almost tripped over the hem of her gown as she craned her neck to lock eyes with him.

“Come. We shall follow those ladies inside. By now, everyone will be too busy drinking and dancing to bother with latecomers.”

“Tell me you’re joking. Every woman in there will sense your presence.” Farleigh sighed. “Oh, life is so much simpler in the country.”

“If not a little dull.”

“Trust me there is nothing dull about spending the day conversing with one’s wife, the nights nestled—”

“Spare me the details. Unless you want to dig your blade a little further into my wounded heart.”

“Is it wounded? Most people say you have no heart.”

Vane shrugged. This was not the conversation he wanted to have while preparing to confront Lord Cornell.

“What is it you want me to say, that I’m envious of what you have with Rose?”

“Are you?”

Damn right he was.

With his skill in the bedchamber, something he’d mastered in the hope he might feel something more meaningful, he’d earned a reputation as a scoundrel. A label far removed from the real man buried beneath the facade.

Choosing not to reply, Vane mounted the steps, offered the butler his calling card and simply said, “Marquess of Trevane and Viscount Farleigh,” before moving past the flustered servant.

Within minutes of entering the ballroom, gentlemen directed shocked and scornful glances their way, appalled at their inappropriate choice of dress.

“The disrespect of it,” one gentleman muttered while sucking in his cheeks.

Some ladies cared not and drew closer, using the language of their fan to convey many messages: follow me, touch me, kiss me, do anything you damn well like to me.

It did not take long for one of them to pounce.

“Lord Trevane.” Lady Barlow, a young widow of some notoriety, curtsied in such a way as to offer up her bountiful breasts. “What a pleasure it is to find you here.” She moistened her lips. “I fear the evening has been rather tedious so far. That is unless you enjoy hearing tales of sea monsters and frosty nether regions.”

“Sea monsters and frosty nether regions,” Vane repeated in a slow drawl. “I’m afraid both are foreign to me. But I shall see what I can do to create some excitement tonight.” He meant in taunting Cornell, but the lady took it to mean something far more salacious.

“Should you wish to take some air and explore nature’s offerings, I’m told the garden has a couple of delights to behold.”

Farleigh sighed and feigned interest in those dancing the quadrille.

“There’s a hothouse,” Lady Barlow said in a seductive lilt as she continued trailing a finger along the neckline of her gown. “You may want to slip inside and experience its pleasures for yourself.”

“Thank you, Lady Barlow. I shall bear that in mind. Of course, a man must first pay homage to the host before he partakes in the entertainment provided.”

A coy smile played on the lady’s lips. “Then you’ll find Cornell in the library examining etchings with a host of other ancient bores.”

Vane inclined his head, and the lady sauntered away. He turned to Farleigh. “Will you wait here while I speak to Cornell?”

“Lord no. At the rate ladies approach you, it will take an hour to cross the room unless I hurry you along.”

Clearly, Farleigh despised these events just as much as Vane.

The library door was open. A group of men stood huddled around a large walnut desk, their heads bowed as they stared and pointed at a creased map. Cornell neglected to notice them at first, and so Vane cleared his throat.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Forgive the intrusion, but I wonder if I might ask a question?” He did not wait for a nod of approval. “Did Colonel Preston sight the Peninsula or was he fortunate enough to dock and set foot on land?”

Cornell swung around, affronted at the interruption until his insipid grey eyes settled on Vane. The snake’s skin slithered over his jaw as he struggled to decide what expression to wear.

“I only ask,” Vane continued, “as my brother-in-law commands numerous vessels and is keen to capture overweight mammals with a view to exploring how they might survive away from their natural habit.”

Vane and Lord Cornell were the only men in the room who knew that Fabian had kidnapped the plump lord in the middle of the night, stripped him naked and tied him to the railings as a warning never to harm Lillian again.

A gentleman with a tiny mouth and wiry white hair stepped forward. His dry skin and red nose led Vane to conclude this was Colonel Preston. “The question we should ask is how do these large mammals behave in their own environment?”

“I imagine all species are alike.” Vane stared down his nose at the quivering Lord Cornell. “The males are manipulated by the females. Those males not considered the alpha of the species must resort to cunning tactics to get what they want.”

Preston rubbed his jaw while considering Vane’s point. “What you describe are human traits. I am not certain the same applies to all levels of the animal kingdom.”

“Weak animals will always look for ways to fool their predators. It is a case of kill or be killed. Do you not agree, Lord Cornell?”

Cornell’s eyes widened. “Well … yes.”

“Problems arise when the alpha grows wise to these tactics and knows he must act quickly to put the runts in their place.” Vane ran his tongue over his teeth. “Usually with a bite to the jugular.”

Cornell gulped and fiddled with the gold fobs on his watch chain.

“But please forgive the interruption.” Vane inclined his head to Colonel Preston. “I came merely to congratulate the colonel on a successful voyage. Good evening, gentlemen.”

Vane strode from the room. Once out in the corridor, he stopped and sucked in a breath.

“Well, I’m impressed,” Farleigh said, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing footman. “I expected you to drag the lord out by his fancy cravat and beat him to a pulp.”

Oh, it had taken every ounce of strength he possessed not to pick up the letter opener and drive it through Cornell’s black heart.

“Perhaps I want him to suffer, to live in fear for a while.” The bastard had made Lillian suffer for months, years. “I want him to lie awake at night wondering when I’ll strike. For me, the thrill of the chase makes the prize more rewarding.”

“Then I thank the Lord I’m your friend and not your enemy.”

Vane smiled, but the hairs on his nape prickled to attention. He turned to find Lady Cornell watching him from the end of the corridor. Her golden hair was styled in an elaborate coiffure adorned with flowers and ridiculous trinkets to make the young woman appear comely.

“Another admirer craving your attention?” Farleigh said with some amusement. “How on earth have you abstained since your return from Italy?”

Lady Cornell trailed her fingers over her collarbone, her eyes still trained on Vane, urging him, begging him to approach.

“During all my dalliances, it never occurred to me that Lillian might be the one who would get hurt.” The pain of discovering that Lord Martin had taken his sister’s virtue and discarded her so cruelly still lived in his chest. “No loving brother would continue to behave in the same manner.”

“But you’re a man. You have needs. Why not take a wife as I suggested and be done with this whole charade?”

Farleigh’s advice was flawed when one considered the lord had recently married for love. But his friend meant well, and the last thing Vane wanted was another conversation about Estelle Darcy.

“I’ll settle for nothing less than what you have with Rose. You know that.”

Vane studied Lady Cornell’s voluptuous form. Her soft breasts bulged out from the neckline of her vibrant red gown. Once, her pretty pout may have conjured an image of full lips sliding up and down his cock — and yet it did nothing to spark lust in his loins now. How could it when only one woman dominated his thoughts? Only one woman could rouse emotion in his chest.

Tired of waiting for him to approach, Lady Cornell came forward. Vane’s initial reaction was to give the woman the cut direct, punishment for her wicked lies and tawdry tales. Then again, perhaps she might prove useful in his quest to bring Lord Cornell to his knees.

“Lord Trevane. I must say you’re the last person I expected to see this evening.” She thrust her hand at him leaving him no option but to press his lips to her silk glove.

“Lady Cornell,” Vane said, straightening. “May I present Lord Farleigh?”

The lady was obliged to offer Farleigh her hand. “My lord.” Farleigh barely had a chance to greet her when she snatched her hand away and turned her attention back to Vane. “Are you interested in learning of the colonel’s southern exploration or have you come to conduct one of your own?”

Farleigh cleared his throat, no doubt tired of hearing veiled attempts at seduction. “Excuse me, but I shall await you in the ballroom.” He bowed and left them alone.

Good.

It would serve Vane’s purpose if Cornell chose that moment to venture from the library. He might even consider putting a hand on the woman’s waist, trailing a finger seductively down her bare arm if it would rouse Cornell’s ire.

“Well, my lord?” Lady Cornell continued. “Are there any uncharted regions you have yet to probe?”

“It might surprise you to learn that I am weary of exploring pastures new.” Two years ago, he would have taken Lady Cornell, hard and quick, over her husband’s desk, hoping she possessed the power needed to banish the ghost of Estelle. And yet now he found the thought abhorrent. “Perhaps the time has come to marry, to invest all efforts on one particular lady.”

Panic flashed in the woman’s eyes. “But you … you can’t.” Her chin trembled, and she shook her head to gather her composure. “A gentleman with such strong passions could never be happy with a simpering miss.”

“Then perhaps I shall wed a courtesan, a woman with immense skill in the bedchamber,” he said merely to observe the lady’s reaction. “Besides, as a peer I must marry, eventually.” The lie fell easily from his lips. He did not care about siring an heir, not anymore.

Lady Cornell’s eyes widened. “Of course you must, but perhaps you should wait a while longer.”

“And why is that?” What was this woman about?

“Because an option may soon present itself. One you may not have considered before.”

“How so?”

Was she implying he might marry her?

The lady had conveniently forgotten bigamy was a crime punishable by death. If she cared so little for her pretty neck, perhaps she was of a mind to murder her husband while he slept in his bed. And to think she had once been on a list of eligible ladies his father suggested he might wed.

“A young woman marries an old man for one reason only.” She stepped closer and placed her hand on his chest. “Would you not like to bed me, Vane? You would not be disappointed. Like my mother, I do possess some talents of my own when it comes to pleasing men.”

“I’m sure you do.”

From what he recalled, her mother had many lovers over the years, including one particular favourite though she took that secret to the grave.

“I’m more than happy to demonstrate if only you’ll give me a chance.” Her hand dropped to the waistband of his breeches. Concealed amid the folds of her gown, her fingers ventured down to stroke the length of his cock.

Damnation!

Vane gritted his teeth and stepped back. “Your husband may have something to say about that.” Cornell was craven. Revenge was something he concocted behind closed doors.

“Cornell is old. One never knows when one might end up a widow.”

Lord, the woman was just as cold-hearted as her husband. The urge to offer a disparaging remark took hold. But he would bide his time. Impatience be damned. Experience had taught him that the most painful blows came unexpectedly, catching the victim unawares.

“Your point is moot. This is a conversation to be had at some other time.” If she killed Lord Cornell, it would save him the job. And yet he found he wished Cornell a long and sufferable life. Death was not nearly severe enough. “And so I shall bid you a good night.”

He needed to leave, needed to be away from these unbearable people.

“Wait,” Lady Cornell whispered, gripping his upper arm, but he turned on his heels and strode away.

A hundred pairs of eyes followed him through the glittering ballroom. A few ladies stopped him and boldly suggested more than a dance. He’d come to learn that people adhered to strict modes of propriety only when it suited them. Hypocrisy was the ton’s true god.

Vane eventually found Lord Farleigh leaning against the iron railings outside, smoking a cheroot as he gazed up into the foggy night sky.

“Thinking of Rose?” Vane said as he approached.

“Who else?” Farleigh offered him a smoke. Vane obliged. He drew on the head and let the woody essence calm him. “As much as I enjoy your company, Vane. There is only one place I want to be tonight.”

Vane blew a ring of white smoke into the crisp air. There was only one place he wanted to be, too — an apothecary shop in Whitecombe Street.