Head bent over a ledger, the landlord of The Golden Goose scrawled away with quill and ink as Estelle approached the counter. Sensing her presence, the man glanced up, dispensed with his writing implement and straightened his spectacles.

“Everything all right, miss?” Doubt lingered in his voice as he scanned her face and figure as if searching for a sign of distress.

“Thank you,” she said, sniffing away her tears. “Everything is fine.”

Everything was far from fine.

The pain in her chest had nothing to do with reliving her nightmares. Nor did she allow herself the luxury of feeling anything when it came to her brother, Fabian. She’d come to terms with the fact she would never see him again. Knowing he was happy made the decision much easier to bear.

No.

Spending time alone with Ross was her mistake. Her heart felt like it was breaking all over again. More unshed tears choked the back of her throat. Her body trembled. She could still feel the heavy weight of him pressing her down into the mattress. The intimate place between her legs still burned with need. She moistened her lips. The spicy masculine taste of him coated the delicate skin.

“Pardon me for saying, but you don’t seem all right.” The landlord glanced at the stairs with curiosity. “Is his lordship remaining behind?”

Estelle shook her head. “No, he sent me down to see you and will join me shortly.” Did he think her a servant girl done away with her deviant master? “I have not hit him over the head with the chamber pot if that is what you’re thinking.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“I assure you he is alive and well.”

The landlord raised his chin in acknowledgement. “Gentlemen of his quality enjoy playing games with us lesser folk.” No doubt he’d made his judgement about her class from the simple style of her clothes, coupled with the fact a lady did not accompany a man to a coaching inn, let alone spend an hour alone with him in a bedchamber. “Made you false promises has he?”

The need to defend Ross pushed to the fore. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I am the one who has led him a merry dance. I hoped he’d put the past behind him. But clearly he has not.”

Why she blurted her business to this man, she had no notion.

He glanced at the stairs once again. “Men like to hold a grudge.”

“And women thrive on malice and spite,” she countered.

“But not you,” he said, seeming to know her after nothing more than a brief conversation.

“No. Not me.”

The heavy thud of booted footsteps on the stairs alerted her to the gentleman in question.

Ross strode over to join her. “I assume all is in order?”

“Aye, my lord.” The landlord inclined his head. “Although you have paid for another hour.”

Ross raised a brow. “Perhaps you might offer an extension to the couple next door. I imagine they might make better use of the time.”

Heat warmed Estelle’s cheeks. Just like those in the adjoining chamber, they too had almost fallen prey to their desires.

Part of her wished she had known Ross’ body, wished that she had an erotic memory to cling to when she lay alone at night. But this man was dangerous beyond measure. Just being in his company fed her addiction for him. Lord, he approached kissing with the skill and mastery of a great painter: varying his strokes, applying different degrees of pressure, bringing a vibrancy to life that touched her deeply.

“Where is it you need to go?” Ross’ voice broke her reverie. With a hand at her elbow, he guided her away from the counter and towards the door.

Estelle blinked in confusion and looked up at him. “Excuse me?” Where could she go? The ends of the earth were not far away enough to escape this man.

“You said you need to collect provisions for Mr Erstwhile.”

“Oh, yes.” She straightened. “I must call in on Mr Potter. He has agreed to lend Mr Erstwhile a few herbs and tonics so he may open the shop.”

“Then I shall be your escort.” Ross seemed colder now, a little distant.

They left the coaching inn and made their way along St Martins Lane to Mr Potter’s shop on Castle Street. The apothecary had packaged the necessary items, but Estelle did not have an opportunity to mention the intruder.

Ross carried the parcel as they headed back to Whitecombe Street. While his outward manner was that of any considerate gentleman, she could not shake the thought of how savagely he’d claimed her mouth.

She cast him a sidelong glance, wondering what emotion lay behind the stone planes of his face. At some point, he would ask her the only question that mattered. Why had she left Prescott Hall instead of marrying him? To tell him the truth would only confuse matters. The prospect of a life together vanished the day she left. They were different people now, on different paths. And the sooner she put some distance between them the better it would be for both their sakes.

“May I ask something of you?” She had no right to expect anything from him, and yet somehow, she knew he would not refuse her request.

Ross glanced at her. “That all depends on what it is.”

“Don’t tell my brother you found me.”

“You want me to lie?” A weary sigh left his lips, and he turned from her to focus ahead. “I gave Fabian my word. That may mean nothing to you, but it does to me.”

Oh, if only he knew why she’d left he would not be so cold.

“I am not asking you to break an oath. I am merely asking you to delay.”

“Why, so you can run again?”

“Yes.” What was the point of lying? “You do not understand. Fabian will want to hear everything, every detail of my life. He will want to punish those who have harmed me, want to seek vengeance. All I ask—”

Ross came to an abrupt halt and swung around to face her. “What do you mean those who have harmed you? Do you speak of the smugglers?”

She could not risk telling him about Faucheux, or about the merchant’s son, Monsieur Robard. “A woman alone is an easy target. You know that.”

A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. Just like the landlord, he scanned her body as if signs of her mistreatment were still evident there.

“You’re avoiding my question. I suggest you tell me what happened now or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“This is precisely the reason I do not want you to tell my brother.” Estelle turned away from him and marched along the street.

Ross caught up with her in two strides. “Is it wrong that people care what happened to you?”

“No, it is not wrong. But I do not want my brother consumed with guilt or thoughts of revenge when he should focus on being happy.”

The same applied to Ross. Her love for both men had set her on her course all those years ago.

A tense silence ensued as they navigated the crowded pavement.

As soon as they turned into Whitecombe Street and the crowd dispersed, Ross suddenly blurted, “Did you marry while away in France?”

The question shocked her. How could she ever marry anyone else when she loved him?

“No, though one smuggler asked me many times.” Faucheux would never stop looking for her. The rogue always got what he wanted.

“Good God, your brother is a baron. Why the hell would you marry a smuggler?”

“My brother may possess a title” — she paused, glanced back over her shoulder and lowered her voice — “but I consorted with criminals, Ross. I have worked in a tavern, and as a maid and governess.” She closed her eyes briefly at the memory. “The lady you once knew died on The Torrens and you would be wise to remember it.”

A darkness passed over his features. “You’re wrong. Your kindness and devotion to others is still evident in the way you are with the Erstwhiles. The gentleman speaks of you like a daughter, not an assistant.”

She couldn’t help but smile when she thought of Mr Erstwhile. “He knows nothing about my past and places value only on the present.”

Ross’ bright blue eyes focused on her mouth. “Then perhaps I should seek to do the same.”

For a moment, she imagined being drawn into his embrace, imagined telling him that they could be friends, share dinner, take trips to the theatre. But he deserved to hear the truth.

“I cannot stay in London.”

“You’re leaving?” All the colour drained from his face, and he took a few deep breaths. “When will you go?” The hard exterior melted away, leaving a voice tinged with sorrow.

“Soon.”

“Then in light of your earlier request, I ask you pay me the same courtesy. I ask that you delay your departure, at least for the time being.”

“Why?”

He shrugged and diverted his gaze. “I wish I knew.”

Every moment spent with him was torture. She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to last the week. “I cannot give you my word, but I shall consider what you have said.”

He swallowed visibly numerous times. “You cannot know what it is like to wake in the morning with one’s heart bursting with happiness. To go about your day with a false sense of rightness, to have everything you hold dear ripped away without a word or explanation.”

Lord help her, did he think her so cold? She knew what it was like to lose the love of her life.

“All I ask,” he continued, “is that you spare me the discomfort of calling at the shop to find you have upped and left suddenly during the night.”

Discomfort?

Of course, that was all this was to him now. A mild annoyance. A slight inconvenience. Her throat grew tight at the thought. She wasn’t sure she could answer without him hearing the hitch in her voice.

“Come.” She cleared her throat. “Mr Erstwhile will wonder where I’ve got to, and he has enough worries at the moment.”

Ross inclined his head. Although she sensed he had more to say, he pursed his lips and remained silent. Unspoken words were often the hardest to bear.

Despite returning from France, there would always be a vast sea between them. She would always be the selfish one who ran away from her problems. He would always be the strong, intrepid hero who deserved better.

* * *

While Ross tried to maintain an indifferent air as he escorted Estelle back to the apothecary shop, his heart pounded so hard in his chest it robbed him of breath.

When will you go?

Soon.

Those words replayed over and over in his mind. God damn. He wished she’d never stumbled upon him in the alley. He wished he’d never pursued her. Time was a great healer, so the philosophers said. Ballocks. The same excruciating pain pierced his soul. And still, he could not bring himself to swallow his pride and demand to know why she had left.

Hell, he needed a distraction.

He needed a fight.

As they drew nearer to their destination, Ross noted Wickett sitting dutifully atop his box seat, his head bowed. The poor man had sat there for hours and had no doubt taken the opportunity to catch much-needed sleep. Only when Wickett turned the page, did Vane realise the coachman held a book. Ross snorted. Nothing Wickett said or did surprised him anymore.

What did knock the wind out of Vane’s sails, and almost forced him to make an abrupt detour, was the sight of Lady Cornell and her maid standing outside the apothecary shop.

Ross gritted his teeth. “I swear that damn woman makes it her business to know where I am at all times of the day.”

“Do you refer to the lady in the garish pink bonnet lingering outside Mr Erstwhile’s shop?” Estelle spoke calmly.

“Indeed.”

“Oh, they followed us to the coaching inn. Numerous times they pretended to look in shop windows in the hope we wouldn’t notice them.”

Ross raised a brow, impressed at her observation skills. “You saw them?”

Estelle cast him a confident grin. “When one has spent years acting as a smuggler’s eyes and ears one notices such things.”

“And you did not think to mention it?”

“But then you would have looked over your shoulder. The lady would have abandoned her spying, and you would never know the full extent of her intentions.”

Intrigued by Estelle’s insight, he asked, “And what are her intentions?” Lady Cornell made no secret about what she wanted, but Estelle did not know that.

“If I were you, I would be cautious. The lady walked the length of three streets, lingered near the entrance of a coaching inn full of unsavoury characters. The fact she is standing outside the shop tells me she followed you here. Desperate doesn’t begin to describe her actions.”

They were but a few feet away now, too close to tell her about his dealings with Lord Cornell.

“I think the woman wants to antagonise her husband in the hope I’m forced to kill him. There’s no time to explain the details. But if what you say is true, she witnessed us spending an hour alone in a coaching inn. It would serve me greatly if she continues to believe we’re lovers.”

Estelle glanced up at him and frowned. “You want me to pretend I’m in love with you?”

“Indeed. She must think there is more to this relationship than an hour spent romping beneath the bedsheets.”

“We were not romping beneath the bedsheets.”

“On top of the bedsheets then. Both of us lost our heads for a moment.”

“Indeed.” Estelle stared at his mouth. “You cannot tell her who I am.”

Vane had no time to answer. Lady Cornell locked eyes with him. She batted her lashes in a look of utter shock.

“Lord Trevane, good day to you.” Lady Cornell offered a hand encased in a pink kidskin glove. “What brings you to Whitecombe Street?” The impertinence of the question conveyed more than a need to pry.

“Lady Cornell.” Vane held the parcel by its string and with his free hand gripped her fingers and bowed. “In answer to your question I find that it’s the perfect place to spend a pleasurable afternoon.”

As if on cue, a flush crept up Estelle’s neck to bring a rosy glow to her cheeks. She looked up at him as she had done many times in the past when they’d stolen away to the orchard for a secret rendezvous. It was a look that said he was her world, one that made him feel like a god amongst mortal men. It was a look that cradled his soul, that sang a sweet and soothing melody to chase ways eight years’ worth of hurt and misery. Transfixed by the beauty of the moment he could not tear his gaze away.

“Lady Cornell,” he eventually said, “may I present my dear friend Miss Brown.”

Estelle turned to the woman and inclined her head. “My lady.”

The gesture roused Vane’s ire. Estelle should have been his marchioness. She should not have to bend and scrape to the likes of this woman.

Lady Cornell smiled through drawn lips. “Miss Brown? Major Brown’s daughter?”

The woman knew full well Major Brown had never married. Vane cursed. It was selfish of him to put Estelle in such an awkward position.

“Oh, no,” Estelle said with bright eyes and a warm smile. “I’m afraid I cannot claim to have friends or family in elevated circles.” The lie fell easily from her lips, and Vane wondered what other lies she’d told in order to survive.

“Can you not claim me as a friend, Miss Brown?” Vane said in a rich drawl.

Estelle raised a coy brow. “Well, yes, but are we not a little better acquainted than that?”

Vane bit back a chuckle. In the guise of Miss Brown, Estelle cared nothing for her reputation. His amusement faded. Why would she care when she had no intention of remaining in London?

Lady Cornell cleared her throat. “So, Miss Brown, are you new to town? I would be happy to take you on a tour of all the interesting places.”

“Thank you, my lady. But my work with Mr Erstwhile takes up most of my time.” Estelle gestured to the apothecary shop. “And Ross—” She stopped abruptly. “Lord Trevane commands every spare minute at my disposal. As I’m sure you’re aware, he can be quite a demanding gentleman.”

Vane captured Estelle’s hand and brought it to his lips. “And I appreciate the patience it takes to put up with me.”

Lady Cornell’s gaze journeyed over Estelle’s clothes, face and plain bonnet. Jealousy oozed from the woman like a poisonous green mist in danger of choking all those in the vicinity. Vane could see it, could feel it contaminating the air.

“Then I should have a care, Miss Brown.” The lady’s tone held a hint of amusement that belied her unpleasant sneer. She forced a little titter and added, “Some men go to great lengths to avoid marriage. Society ladies expect so much more from their friends you see.”

The lady could not hide the grin of satisfaction at her veiled putdown.

“Or is it simply a case that unconventional men seek unconventional partners,” Estelle said. “After all, what lady of the ton would dine in the common room of a coaching inn? What lady of the ton could speak on topics that might interest a man with such a voracious appetite for conversation?”

From Lady Cornell’s flustered expression, clearly, she had never been challenged by an intelligent woman. She struggled to catch her breath as she floundered in these uncharted waters.

“Well,” she eventually said. “I have an appointment with my modiste and must not delay.” Beneath hooded lids, she looked up at Vane and said in a husky tone, “Will I see you tomorrow night, my lord? I hear Lord Cranbourne’s ball is to be the crush of the Season. And you know what that means.”

Oh, he knew only too well. A lady might easily slip away without her husband’s knowledge, only to return an hour later without ever being missed.

“I’m afraid not. I am engaged to dine with Miss Brown tomorrow evening.”

Estelle quickly masked her sudden look of surprise. “Indeed. I am certain we will have plenty to discuss.”

Lady Cornell sucked in her cheeks. “Should your plans change, know you will also have a friend at the ball.” She inclined her head to him and flounced away, giving Estelle the cut direct.

After a brief moment of silence, Estelle sighed. “Well, you are certainly in demand, my lord.” Did he detect a hint of jealousy in her voice? “Now I know why you insisted I pretend to be in love with you.”

You were in love with me once. Do you remember? Do you ever think of me?

The words echoed from the empty chambers of his heart. How was it a man made of stone and steel became as fragile and flimsy as silk in her company?

A chuckle escaped Estelle’s lips dragging him from his reverie. “Do you remember when the Reverend Moseley’s daughter used to follow you around the village? Did she not hide in your stables once hoping to catch sight of you?”

“She did.” What Estelle did not know was that he’d been forced to tell the girl that another woman had claimed his affections. The one who stood before him now. The one who still lived and breathed inside him no matter how many times he’d tried to rid himself of the affliction. “I believe Miss Moseley married Captain Rogers’ son in the end.”

“How wonderful.” Her smile faded. “It is good to know she found happiness.”

The comment drew his thoughts to the reason Estelle had left him. This was the perfect opportunity to broach the subject. In his mind, he tried to phrase the only question that mattered. And yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to form the words.

He knew why.

It had nothing to do with pride. He could stand in a dank alley and taunt men wielding blades, could stand opposite a scoundrel pointing a pistol at his head, and feel nothing. And yet, thinking of Estelle’s answer filled him with fear and dread.

Ask her, damn it. Ask her now!

“Sadly, we are not all as fortunate as Miss Moseley.” Vane mentally shook himself in a bid to stop the raging voices demanding more than he could give.

A solemn silence hung in the air between them.

“Well, I should take the package to Mr Erstwhile. He has had his nose pressed to the window for the last five minutes.”

Vane forced a smile though he was somewhat relieved she had changed the subject. “May I call on you this evening?” The question left his lips without thought. Damnation. Never had he sounded so eager, so desperate.

“Have you forgotten? I promised Mr Hungerford he could call.”

Anger erupted deep within. How the hell he kept it at bay he would never know. “Are you aware as to the nature of his visit?” What he really wanted to ask was what the bloody hell Hungerford wanted.

Estelle glanced at the ground before looking up into his eyes. “Mr Erstwhile thinks Mr Hungerford will offer marriage. We dined with him last night, and he has been most attentive of late.”

“Does Hungerford have children?” Did he hold Estelle in high esteem or did his motive stem from necessity?

“No.”

“Does he know anything about your background?”

“No, and I have no intention of telling him anything.”

“You will have to tell him if you agree to his proposal.” He was trying to be magnanimous, trying to be a man who had let go of petty resentment.

Something akin to disappointment flashed in her eyes. “I do not intend to accept him, Ross. How can I when … when I intend to leave London in a few days?”

“You said you would delay your departure.”

The shop bell tinkled, and Mr Erstwhile appeared at the threshold. “My lord, good day to you.” He gestured to the parcel in Vane’s hand. “I trust those are my provisions. Mr Potter must have been extremely busy to have kept you waiting.”

“Forgive the delay,” Estelle said. “It wasn’t Mr Potter’s fault. Lord Trevane and I had much to discuss.”

“Indeed.” Mr Erstwhile ushered them into the shop. “Mr Hungerford appeared most inconvenienced to be overthrown as her chaperone, and so easily, too.”

Vane wasn’t sure if the old man was admonishing him for shoddy manners. He handed him the parcel. “I’m afraid I did not give Hungerford much choice in the matter.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did. There is much at stake is there not?” Mr Erstwhile raised a knowing brow.

“More than you know.”

A smile touched the old man’s lips. “Any worthy gentleman would have put up a decent fight,” he said. “If there is one thing I cannot abide it is a man who fails to stand up for his beliefs no matter what the cost.”

Vane inclined his head in agreement. He could feel Estelle watching him. “I share your disdain for such things.”

Mr Erstwhile placed the parcel on the counter. “Would it surprise you to learn that, in all my years, I know of only one gentleman who has sacrificed his position in society to follow his heart?”

Vane might not be as wise as this man, but he knew to whom Erstwhile referred. “No, it does not surprise me. I only hope I have your strength of will when it matters.”

“You are extremely astute, my lord.”

“Not always.” He had not been shrewd enough to prevent Estelle’s hasty departure and had made many assumptions that had since proved foolish.

“Well,” Estelle said with a sigh. “We have much to do, and so I shall bid you a good day, my lord.”

That was his cue to leave, and yet he wanted to stay. He imagined shrugging out of his coat and helping Mr Erstwhile with his bottles, listening to his philosophical advice on life. He pictured sitting in a cramped parlour, eating stew, watching every expression playing on Estelle’s beautiful face.

Vane inclined his head. “Good day, Miss Brown.” He stared into her dark eyes and in his mind whispered, Dream of me.

“Might we see you again, my lord?” Mr Erstwhile asked though from his tone the man already knew the answer.

“Undoubtedly.”

Mr Erstwhile walked over and held open the door. “A wise woman once told me that wealth and position are merely a means to appease one’s pride. That the heart needs no such adornments.”

Vane glanced up at the ceiling. “Would I be right in assuming you married that woman?”

Mr Erstwhile smiled and raised both brows. “Good day, my lord. No doubt we will see you again tomorrow.”