“Thank you, Potter.” Mr Erstwhile inclined his head. “It is good to know we can count on our friends and colleagues in times of great need.”

Estelle observed the exchange with a degree of admiration. The world would be a better place if everyone was as forgiving as Mr Erstwhile, or as quick to admit to their mistakes as Mr Potter.

“Miss Brown may call and collect the provisions you need. It will serve you until you restock the shelves. Poaching customers is part of doing business, but I want you to know I had nothing to do with what happened here.”

After living with smugglers, Estelle knew the traits of liars and thieves. In her expert opinion, Mr Potter appeared genuine.

“People like to cause mischief,” Mr Erstwhile said. “More often than not for ridiculous reasons. Perhaps a frustrated customer took his anger out on the bottles.”

“Then we must all be on our guard.” Mr Potter doffed his hat. “Now, I shall leave you to your work. You’ll want things tidied and ready to open tomorrow. Good day to you.”

Mr Erstwhile hurried around the counter and opened the door for his competitor. “Good day, Mr Potter.” The bell stopped ringing long before Mr Erstwhile released the handle. The poor man had spent the morning assessing the damage and had fallen prey to lengthy bouts of silent reflection.

“Well, I think that puts paid to the theory that Mr Potter hired someone to break into the shop out of spite or jealousy,” Estelle said, as she continued sweeping up the remnants of broken glass.

After coming face-to-face with Ross last night, she had been in no fit state to do anything other than lie on the bed and sob into the pillow. Like a true gentleman, Mr Erstwhile did not pry but simply offered a handkerchief, a nip of port, and a few wise words that tomorrow might be a better day.

Equally, she had never asked why a gentleman of his standing and education worked for a living, although she knew it had something to do with following his heart and with Mrs Erstwhile’s lower status.

“Hmm. I must say I am surprised by Mr Potter’s visit.” Mr Erstwhile stroked his white beard. “Surprised yet overjoyed. How strange it is that in our darkest days we often find a ray of sunshine.”

“Perhaps that is because you have the one thing most people lack.”

“Oh, and what is that?”

“Faith.” Estelle expected the worst and was never disappointed. “You believe in goodness. Your heart is full of love and gratitude. You’re a man of strong convictions, and I admire that.”

Mr Erstwhile dabbed the corner of his eye. “My dear, you will make an old man cry if you continue to shower me with such praise.”

Estelle propped the brush against the counter. She came to stand at his side and placed her hand on his sleeve.

“It is deserved, sir. And I shall be forever in your debt for the kindness you have shown me.”

Mr Erstwhile covered her hand with his own and patted it gently. “We were never blessed with children. But had we been so fortunate, we would have wanted a daughter exactly like you.”

Estelle’s throat grew tight. She did not deserve their good graces. The Erstwhiles made her want to be kind and loyal, to be honest and true regardless of how frightening the thought.

“Then I shall try not to disappoint you.” Gathering herself, she sucked in a breath. “Now, I should go to Mr Potter and collect what we need. Mrs Erstwhile is still weak from this sudden bout of sickness, and I would like to be here when she wakes.”

“Did she drink the ginger tea you gave her?”

Estelle nodded. “I sat by her bed until she’d emptied the cup.”

“Then go now. I can—”

A knock on the door preceded the turn of the handle and tinkle of the bell.

Mr Hungerford entered the shop and paused in the doorway. “For a moment, I feared you weren’t open today. The sign says you’re closed.” His curious gaze drifted to the display cabinet, to the empty shelves and missing drawers, to the neat pile of herbs and shards of glass on the floor. “Good Lord, has something happened here?”

Mr Erstwhile ushered the gentleman inside and shut the door. “A slight mishap that is all. Someone broke in through the back door last night and made a dreadful mess.”

The colour drained from Mr Hungerford’s face. His green eyes flicked to Estelle and scanned her from head to toe. The nervous flutter in her stomach spoke of unease, not admiration.

With golden hair and a pleasing countenance, she considered him a handsome gentleman. Dressed smartly in a claret coat and hat, green waistcoat and beige breeches, he had the air of a man running an important errand. Oddly, she had a reason to be thankful to the intruder. Mr Hungerford would have to be without feeling or conscience to make a romantic declaration today.

“I trust no one was hurt by this dreadful fiend?” Mr Hungerford’s gaze never left her.

“Thankfully, it happened while we were dining with you, sir,” Estelle replied.

The gentleman appeared stunned. “Then I cannot help but feel somewhat relieved that you were not at home. Although I doubt the villain would have had the courage to enter had he noted the glow of candlelight streaming through the window.”

“Who can say?” Mr Erstwhile said. “Time spent contemplating what might have been is time wasted.”

After seeing Ross Sandford, Estelle wished she could embrace that particular pearl of wisdom.

“Indeed.” Mr Hungerford removed his top hat and placed it on the wooden counter. Tugging at the fingers of his gloves, he removed those, too. “Now, tell me how I can be of assistance.”

“Oh, no, no.” Mr Erstwhile held up his hands. “We are almost done here, and I cannot have you dirtying your fine clothes on my account.”

“But the sooner things are put right, the sooner you can return to normality.”

“What is normality but merely a figment of the imagination?” Mr Erstwhile replied cryptically.

The comment gave Mr Hungerford pause. The gentleman struggled to form an appropriate reply. “There must be something I can do,” he eventually said.

“The door is fixed, the shop tidied, and Miss Brown is off to collect provisions.”

Estelle groaned inwardly.

For a man so wise, Mr Erstwhile rarely spoke without thought. Did he share his wife’s opinion? Was he as eager to thrust her into Mr Hungerford’s path, just as keen to see her wed and settled?

“Then I shall accompany Miss Brown on her errand.” Mr Hungerford’s eyes sparkled to life. One corner of his mouth curled up into a satisfied grin. “With my assistance, she can collect twice the provisions.”

Mr Erstwhile walked over to the window and stared out into the street. “Hmm. You’re walking today I see.”

“I make it a point to take regular exercise. Good health must be a priority. As you know.”

Mr Erstwhile turned back to face them. A knowing smile played on his lips though it left Estelle baffled. “Then I have no objection unless Miss Brown would prefer to go alone.”

What could Estelle do other than nod and thank Mr Hungerford for his thoughtfulness? She would not embarrass Mr Erstwhile by offering a curt reply even though her employer seemed to have lost the gift of intuition.

“Thank you, Mr Hungerford.” Estelle forced a smile. “But I should like to hurry. Mrs Erstwhile has a list of things for me to do this afternoon.” It was more of an exaggeration than a lie, but she did not feel an ounce of guilt for it.

“We will work together to ensure you’re back in plenty of time.”

His congenial manner failed to express the sudden predatory hunger in his eyes. Thank heavens they would be walking along a busy street and had no need to wander alone through the warren of narrow lanes.

“Then I shall fetch my bonnet and jacket.”

Estelle left them alone, although Mr Erstwhile still seemed preoccupied with something outside. When she returned, the men were deep in conversation. Mr Hungerford had asked about her background numerous times, mentioned her eloquent elocution and education, had struggled to hide his frustration when she became evasive.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Brown.” Mr Hungerford straightened. He offered his arm. It mattered not that she worked for a living and he received an income of almost a thousand pounds a year. A fact he’d been quick to mention over dinner. “Shall we head out?”

“Certainly.” With a deep sense of dread, she placed her hand in the crook of his arm. Mr Erstwhile opened the door, looking almost pleased by the prospect of them spending time together. How odd he should offer encouragement when he was an advocate of true love.

They left the shop, had taken but ten steps when Mr Hungerford could no longer suppress his impatience. Barely contained excitement coloured his cheeks. Indeed, he was like a valet whose master had given him a diamond cravat pin for Michaelmas.

Mr Hungerford stopped abruptly, forcing her to turn and face him. “I came today hoping to have a quiet word with you alone.”

“Oh, and why is that?” The incident at the shop had not deterred him, and so it was better to deal with the matter quickly.

“It cannot have escaped your attention that I admire you greatly, Miss Brown.”

The man’s wife died four months earlier. Clearly, he belonged to the club where women were considered a necessary accoutrement. Mr Hungerford had no children and so should be in no rush to marry. Then again, perhaps she was jumping to conclusions. Perhaps he wanted a mistress, not a wife.

“If I’ve learnt anything these last few years,” he continued, “it is that life is too short not to act on one’s feelings. Although Miriam passed so recently, her illness forced us apart long before.”

Estelle swallowed down her apprehension. “Mr Hungerford, I must tell you that—”

“Please, Miss Brown, allow me to speak before nerves get the better of me.” Mr Hungerford reached for her hand and clutched it tightly.

“Sir, you have forgotten yourself. Has it slipped your attention that we are standing in the street?” Estelle glanced left and right, frustrated that the few passers-by paid them no heed.

But then something caught her eye: a black carriage parked further along on the opposite side of the street. A figure stood watching them intently beneath the brim of his top hat as he leant against the door, his muscular arms folded defiantly across his chest.

Ross?

Locking eyes with her, he pushed away, tugged on the cuffs of his dark blue coat and stalked towards them like a wolf on the prowl.

Good Lord!

Mr Hungerford gripped her hand. “Miss Brown, when a man has something important to say he does not care who raises a disapproving brow. I know we have only known each other for a month, but—”

“I beg you, say no more, sir.” Panic infused her tone. Her heart flew up to her throat. “I fear now is not the time for declarations.”

She looked up as Ross mounted the pavement.

How could she ever have thought him the same man she knew in her youth? A dark and dangerous energy radiated from every fibre of his being. Ross Sandford’s hard, unforgiving expression could frighten the Devil. Perhaps he had risen from the fiery pits of Hell, for the sight of him ignited a scorching heat deep in her core.

“Miss Brown.” Ross offered a graceful bow. There was something sleek and seductive about the simple movement. Ice-blue eyes settled on Mr Hungerford and then fell to their clasped hands.

“Lord Trevane.” Estelle swallowed in an attempt to catch her breath. She tugged her hand free from Mr Hungerford’s grasp. “I must say I’m surprised to see you. Do you have business in Whitecombe Street?”

“I do now.”

A tense silence ensued. As the higher-ranking gentleman, it was up to Ross to make an introduction.

“We are on our way to collect provisions for Mr Erstwhile.” Estelle forced a smile.

Ross’ belligerent gaze journeyed over Mr Hungerford. “We?”

Estelle gestured to the gentleman at her side. “Lord Trevane, allow me to present Mr Hungerford.”

Mr Hungerford inclined his head, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Ross said, “Goodbye, Hungerford. I shall escort Miss Brown to wherever it is she needs to go.”

Mr Hungerford blinked rapidly. His mouth opened and closed but he could not quite form a reply.

While Estelle wanted to place some distance between herself and Mr Hungerford, what gave Ross the right to think he could storm into her life and assume control?

“I’m afraid I have already accepted Mr Hungerford’s offer of assistance, my lord.”

Mr Hungerford cast her an affectionate smile. Heavens. Now the man would think she held him in high regard.

“Leave, Hungerford.” Ross ignored her comment and squared his shoulders. “Leave now else I shall make it my business to remove you, physically if necessary.”

Since when had Ross Sandford turned into an obstinate fool? “Arrogance is a rather unbecoming trait,” she blurted.

“As is dishonesty,” Ross countered.

“I have never lied to you.”

Ross rubbed his chin. “Do you want to discuss the nature of your deception here, Miss Brown?” He turned a contemptuous eye to the stunned gentleman at her side whose mouth hung agape. “Are you still here, Hungerford?”

“People are beginning to stare.” Estelle glanced at Mr Hungerford, waiting for him to say something, but the fellow simply stood there stupefied.

“Perhaps I should leave you to deal with this matter.” Mr Hungerford stepped away, the tremble in his voice a sign of his unease. While some might think him craven, Ross looked ready to pounce, ready to rip Hungerford’s throat out with his bare teeth. “Clearly, you are acquainted and have something of great importance to discuss. Unless, of course, you insist I stay.”

Estelle considered the gentleman’s offer.

She knew why Ross had come. He wanted answers, explanations. He wanted to know why she’d left him, how she’d survived.

Did she have strength enough to relive eight years’ worth of nightmares?

Spending time in Ross’ company was sure to open old wounds. Even now, while annoyed at his brash manner, the urge to feel those large arms surround her, to hear his whispered words of comfort proved unnerving.

But she could not run forever. She cared for the Erstwhiles and did not have the heart to disappoint them. Even so, how could she stay?

Oh, what was she to do?

Estelle turned to Mr Hungerford. “Thank you for your kindness, sir. And you’re right as always. My brother and Lord Trevane were childhood friends, and so I must address his lordship’s complaint.”

Already she had revealed too much, but this shameful situation did nothing to quell Mr Hungerford’s heated gaze as he studied her face. Indeed, he looked pleased at the prospect of having to compete.

“May I call on you this evening? I believe we, too, have much to discuss.”

Ross muttered something unintelligible. She noted his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Of course,” Estelle quickly agreed, eager to be rid of him before Ross unleashed the anger brimming beneath the surface.

Ross did not wait for her to say anymore, nor did he pay Mr Hungerford the courtesy of acknowledging him. No, he simply took hold of her wrist, turned on his heels and forced her to march along Whitecombe Street.

“Stop this,” she whispered through gritted teeth as he barged past several people going about their business. He had not bothered to ask where she was going, but from the determined set of his jaw, he had another place in mind. “You’re hurting me.”

Ross released his hold on her wrist and gripped her hand instead. People gaped and stared. In their youth, such scandalous behaviour would have seen them married within the week. But she was a lady no more.

“You’re walking too quickly.” Estelle had to break into a jog to match his pace. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere quiet,” he snapped. “Somewhere away from prying eyes.”

Oh, she could not be alone with him.

They passed a coffeehouse.

“What about here? We could find a table.”

He stared straight ahead. “Since when has a coffeehouse been a quiet place?”

They turned into Coventry Street, continued north of Leicester Square.

“We could sit in the square near the statue. No one will disturb us there.” And she would not be inclined to stare at his mouth, or long for his fingers to delve down into her bodice.

Two ladies and their maid stopped walking and watched them stride past. The fair-haired one moistened her lips. “It seems one lucky lady has captured Vane’s attention. If only it were me.”

“You will be the talk of the salons tomorrow,” Estelle complained.

No one knew her in town. The ladies could pry and probe their peers, but no one would come up with a name. But an aristocrat with such a commanding presence captured everyone’s interest.

“Do you think I give a damn what these people have to say?” They turned into St Martins Lane and entered the courtyard of The Golden Goose coaching inn.

Panic flared as she noted numerous carriages crammed with passengers. They navigated the luggage and wicker baskets strewn around one conveyance. Stray dogs ran wild. One unusually large wolfhound raced over to her, almost knocking her off her feet.

She clutched Ross’ arm, both hands settling over hard muscle. “Good Lord.” The comment expressed her surprise at the size of the dog and her companion’s impressive physique. Ross had always been of athletic build, but now there was so much more of him.

Wearing a frown, Ross’ head shot to the hound. The animal came up to him and rubbed its furry head against his leg.

“I think he likes you.” For the first time in days, Estelle smiled with genuine amusement.

Ross raised a brow. “I would wager the hound is a she, not he. I seem to attract the wild ones, those of a mind to wander, those quick to deviate from the moral path.” One corner of his mouth twitched, though she could not tell if he was angry or amused.

Was he describing her? She didn’t think so. And yet she had strayed so far from the path she would never find her way back. What would he say if he knew the extent of her crimes?

Perhaps he was speaking about a lover or a wife. She had to know. “And what would Lady Trevane say about you bringing a woman to a coaching inn?”

“My mother died ten years ago or have you forgotten that, too?”

“I was speaking about your wife.”

Jealousy ate away at her heart like one of Mr Erstwhile’s caustic solutions. Estelle imagined a lady with exquisite taste in fashion, a lady who oozed sensuality, one who knew how to please a man like Ross Sandford.

Ross’ expression darkened. Had her comment roused a hidden pain? Had his wife died in childbirth or in a dreadful accident?

“There is no Lady Trevane. There never has been.”

“I see.” A wave of sadness washed over her. She should have been Lady Trevane. Once they had been equals. Noble blood flowed through their veins. Now they were worlds apart. “Is it not your duty to marry?”

Ross clenched his jaw and glared at her beneath hooded lids. “Do not dare lecture me on one’s duty.” He grasped her hand again, pulled her into the inn and through the common room to where the landlord stood behind his counter. “I want a room. Any will do.” Dropping her hand to reach into his coat pocket, he retrieved a handful of coins and slapped them onto the wooden counter.

The landlord brushed a wispy lock of hair over his bald head. He pushed his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose and studied her face.

Ross removed a calling card and slid it across the worn surface. “That should suffice.”

Bony fingers lifted the card. One quick scan of the name inscribed and the man reached under the counter and plonked a key on top.

“Two hours enough time for you, my lord?”

“Plenty.”

“Up the stairs, third door on the right.”

Ross nodded.

“And I’ll want to see the lady afore she leaves,” the landlord added. No doubt he was used to men using his rooms for distasteful purposes.

“I shall make sure she reports to you directly.”

Ross cast her a sidelong glance. Perhaps he expected to see fear or shock marring her brow. When it came to the perverse appetites of men, nothing surprised her anymore.

Without protest, she followed Ross upstairs. Amidst all the hustle and bustle, no one paid them any heed. Doors opened and slammed. People barged past, shouting for their companions to hurry, fearing they might miss the mail coach.

Ross stopped outside a door and examined the brass disc attached to the key. “Number twelve. How apt.”

She took a moment to recollect the number’s relevance. “You speak of the day I left Prescott Hall.”

He thrust the key into the lock but did not look at her. “I speak of the day and the month.”

“I’m surprised you remember.”

“Trust me. I wish I could forget.”

A whiff of stale sweat hit her as soon as she entered the room. Dust clung to every surface and clawed at the back of her throat. Ross closed the door, and she heard the clunk of a key turning.

Was it not enough that they were alone?

Now he had barred the exit to prevent her escape.

Nerves pushed to the fore. Estelle swung around to face him. “Now that you have me here what is it you want?”

He stepped closer, towered over her, so large and commanding. His gaze flicked briefly to the double bed. “What do you think I want?”

Desire unfurled deep in her core. Would she allow him to take what should have rightfully been his? The answer swept through her — yes. To love Ross Sandford, to hear him pant her name in the throes of passion … it was the dream of a lost and lonely woman.

But she had suffered enough humiliation and so squared her shoulders and said, “You want to know about the past?”

“I want to know everything.” Ross removed his hat and threw it on top of the chest of drawers. “But you can start by telling me how the hell you survived the shipwreck when more than a hundred people lost their lives.”

“It’s a long story.” One she did not care to repeat.

In a sudden move that made her gasp, Ross clutched her hands. His touch sent her heart skipping up to her throat. He pulled her towards the bed. How she wished she could erase the last eight years, wished that they could slip between the sheets, that she could show him what he’d meant to her then, what he still meant to her now.

But everything had changed.

They were not the same people. No longer a perfect fit.

“We have the room for two hours.” Ross forced her to sit on the bed. He dragged the chair from the corner and sat opposite her, their knees almost touching. “I think that’s plenty of time for you to tell your tale, don’t you?”