Martha hadn’t been able to sleep well. Part of it was the knowledge that Jordan was beneath Griffin House’s roof.

He was as handsome as he’d been weeks ago. She wanted to stare at him at dinner, mark the changes in the past few weeks. He looked tired. Did regret strip him of his sleep? Now she couldn’t stop herself from recalling everything she noticed from her quick glances: how his hair was longer and how much easier he seemed to move. Was his leg improving?

Finally, when the sky was light, she rose, but didn’t ring for her maid. Instead, she dressed in one of her oldest dresses, something suitable to her intentions for the day.

She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Jordan wouldn’t be stunned by her beauty or silenced in admiration of her grace and poise. She was only herself, Martha York, and this morning she was going to prove her father’s invention worked.

Jordan had the strangest sensation he’d been here before, seated in a large library on the other side of a desk presided over by an officious-looking gentleman.

The man was not unlike the Hamilton family solicitor. He had bushy muttonchop sideburns, a whitish-gray head of hair, and an air of competency. The only thing he didn’t have was a funereal expression. That’s because, no doubt, he was accustomed to smoothing the way for copious amounts of York money to be transmitted to various places and personages.

Jordan’s solicitor had presided over one thing: the announcement of the deplorable state of the Hamilton funds.

He was hard-pressed to keep his face from betraying his astonishment. Although he’d known the York women were, by anyone’s standards, heiresses, he had no idea it put them among the richest women in not only England, but the Commonwealth. Josephine could spend outrageous sums of money every day and not make a dent in her principal.

The fact that he was made privy to this information wasn’t surprising, but the presence of Josephine and her grandmother was.

Also slightly astonishing, given that he’d thought he’d have to go to Josephine for funds for Sedgebrook’s upkeep, he was informed his house now had an allowance, of sorts. So did he. The bulk of Josephine’s inheritance was placed in a trust for her to use, with twenty percent of it held over for their children.

He suspected the allowance was an addition from Susan York, since it freed him from having to ask Josephine for money. In the same fashion, he could spend the funds for Sedgebrook as he saw fit—to repair the roof or work on the chapel altar or a dozen things worrying him. In addition, the funds would be renewed every year.

In other words, he would never have to worry about money as long as he lived.

He should have been overjoyed.

He should have had a sense of liberation.

Instead, a small voice whispered to him that nothing ever came without a price. Josephine was the price. Perfumed, pampered, flirtatious, and coy, she was to be the Duchess of Roth and from the moment in the church she would carry the title to either the Hamilton glory or their eternal shame.

After signing where he was told, he sat back in the chair and looked at Susan.

He suspected she’d lectured Josephine sternly and, for the time being, it had made an impression. He’d never seen the woman behaving so demurely. Nor had Josephine ever been as silent.

Martha was nowhere in sight, but then she wouldn’t be. The arrangements for him to sell himself had been made among those most involved. Susan as matriarch. Mr. Donohue as financial matchmaker, and the bride and purchased groom.

“You said something about Matthew’s cottage. Would it be possible to see it?”

Did Mrs. York know how desperately he wanted to be out of this room? How much he needed air at the moment? She stood and smiled at him, offering him a lifeline if she only knew.

He grabbed his walking stick and stood.

“I’ll have one of the footmen show you the way,” she said, opening the door and motioning a tall young man inside the room.

His request had evidently made Josephine angry, because when she looked up at him her smile thinned. Josephine had a honed kind of beauty, aquiline features, pointed chin, and a mouth thinner than Martha’s. She could easily go to mean: the eyes narrowed, the lips turned down in constant disapproval. With the years her jawline would probably become even sharper, her nose longer.

“I’m not going to the cottage, Jordan. Besides, it’s not a short distance. Are you sure you can manage it?”

He pushed down the comment he normally would have made, nodded to the solicitor, managed a smile for Mrs. York, and left the room as quickly as he could.

Behind him, Josephine said something. Jordan deliberately blocked out her voice.

Martha fueled the Goldfish, the process taking nearly two hours. Biting back her impatience, she remembered her father’s words: “Most important things in life take a bit of time, Martha.”

She’d never spoken to him after his death, but she did now, addressing her soft words to his spirit.

“I’m going to do it, Father,” she said. “I’m going to prove that you made it work.”

She wound a long wire around the retaining hook then wrapped the excess into a circle, carrying it with the Goldfish to the dock.

Once at the end of the dock, Martha slowly dropped to her knees and gently lowered the vessel into the water. The ship’s nose bumped to the surface before settling.

She waved to Sam, one of the stableboys who was manning the rowboat that was acting as the target this morning. He often helped her, being eager to learn and more than willing to exchange his duties in the stables for piloting the boat.

She raised her arm then lowered it, a signal she was ready to begin. Her shoulders tightened.

Her father had died for this. He’d been exultant in those final hours, overjoyed that his vision had been accomplished, the task of his later years done. If she could recreate the moment it would be like fulfilling a promise to him.

She felt almost as if he was standing there, his spirit blessing her as she unwound the wire. If the Goldfish sank she would still be able to retrieve it.

Had Jordan started using a leash for his vessel, too?

No, she was not going to think of Jordan right now, but it was difficult. He’d featured in so many of her father’s discussions. Now he was here, at Griffin House.

He was going to marry Josephine.

He’d never known she’d been in his bed.

She was not going to think of him. Instead, her thoughts should be focused on what she was doing.

If the changes she made to the guidance system worked, the Goldfish would reach the rowboat. In an armament test, the nose would be filled with explosives, but only after she’d proved the vessel design was both seaworthy and accurate.

The Goldfish bobbed in the water, buoyant and eager. Stretching out on the dock on her stomach, she reached into the water and placed her hand on the rounded hull of the ship. After saying a quick and fervent prayer, she turned the lever midpoint on the ship.

Air bubbles exploded on the surface as the Goldfish took off, racing beneath the water. A few seconds later she lost sight of the ship as the wire tightened.

Where was it?

She rose to her feet, brushing off her skirt. No air bubbles were visible between the dock and the rowboat. Either the Goldfish had sunk or it had gone off in another direction.

She’d been wrong. The changes to the guidance system hadn’t worked. The disappointment was sharp and painful. Blinking back her tears, she began to pull on the wire to retrieve the vessel. Only then did she hear Sam’s screaming.

“Miss Martha! Miss Martha!”

He was nearly overturning the boat by leaning over the side. Any caution she might have shouted to him was silenced when he retrieved the Goldfish and stood, his face split by a wide smile.

She’d been right. She’d been right. No, her father had been right. The Goldfish had made the journey from the dock to the target as straight as an arrow. It had dived deeper than she’d planned, but it had made it.

She clutched her arms to her chest, bit her lip, and didn’t try to stop the tears from flowing. A moment later, overcome, she flung her arms outward as if wanting to embrace the whole world at that moment. Exhilaration filled her even as she wept. Tears mixed with her laughter.

She did it!

Despite his irritation at Josephine’s words, Jordan discovered she was right; it was some distance to the cottage. By the time he reached it he was limping badly, twinges in his leg warning him he’d overdone it. Any discomfort, however, was forgotten when he caught sight of Martha at the end of the nearby dock.

Her arms were flung out, her skirts belling around her as she twirled like a child. Her hair was a cloud around her head as she laughed.

Beyond her was a boy standing in a rowboat holding a ship resembling Bessie.

Jordan reached the dock, getting halfway to the end before she noticed him. Then she surprised him by picking up her skirts in both hands and racing to him.

“It works!” she said, her voice bubbling with joy. “Jordan, it works. It hit the target. It works!”

She nearly knocked him over in her enthusiasm. He steadied himself by reaching around her waist with one arm and holding her tight.

“Oh, Jordan,” she said, tipping her head back to look up at him, “it works!”

He was immediately bombarded by two emotions: excitement that she’d figured out the problem and disappointment that he hadn’t been the one to do so.

He wanted to ask what she’d done. He almost formed the words before they simply vanished. Her smile captivated him. Staring down into her warm brown eyes, he found himself lost in her happiness.

Her hands flattened against his chest, then crept up to his shoulders as the smile melted from her face.

Moving closer, he bent his head, his gaze never leaving hers. The bright glow of excitement on her face faded as did every caution in his mind. All he knew was that he had to kiss her. It was as vital as drawing breath, drinking water, something elemental to life itself.

Her lips were soft. She gasped as she opened her mouth to him. He wished he had two free hands to embrace her, but one was still holding on to his walking stick to retain his balance. The other pressed against her back, bringing her forward.

He could feel the shape of her long legs through the thin dress she wore. Her breasts pressed above her corset. He knew her body, the curve of her waist measured by his thumb, the indentation of her back where his palm pressed.

She smelled of copper, a distinctive metal tang, sunlight, and water. All scents so normal to him that she could have been an extension of himself. But she wasn’t. She was all woman, irresistible and soft. His hand relinquished its possession of her waist to rest on the edge of her jaw, his thumb stroking the delicacy of her heated cheek.

He moved his head slightly, took command of her mouth, his tongue darting in to taste her. She sighed and the sound speared through him, making him feel as if he was the conqueror and she the vanquished.

He wanted her.

He knew her in a way he didn’t understand but had to accept at this moment.

Reason left him.

He wanted her in his bed, her body bowing beneath his, her screams of joy silenced by his lips on hers. His hand speared into her hair, feeling the softness of the curls winding around his fingers. This, too, was something familiar to him.

Slowly he pulled back, his body screaming at him to continue this seduction.

Her lips were pink. Her eyes were dazed, the feathery lashes revealing them reluctantly. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, just above her perfect nose. He tried to calm his breathing, all the while lecturing himself to step back, away.

“How charming. One would think, looking at the two of you, that you were the ones to be married.”

He dropped his hand, turned, and faced Josephine standing a few feet away. He hadn’t heard her approach, but then he hadn’t been paying attention to anything but Martha.

Words failed him. Not one excuse came to mind to explain his behavior. Not only did he owe Josephine an apology, a fact that irritated him, but he should also say something to Martha.

Before he could speak, Martha picked up her skirts and moved around him, brushing past Josephine without a word.