What a beautiful afternoon to be outside in the garden! Brilliana was grateful for the reprieve from London’s usual damp, dreary weather. Aunt Agatha watched Silas play and babble, both of them unaware of the tumult in Brilliana’s breast as she sketched her handsome lad.

He was utterly content. The poor dear didn’t know or care that he was fatherless. Or the reason for it—because his papa’s jealousy of Niall had been so intense that he’d . . .

No, she wouldn’t think about that. It hadn’t been her fault. She hadn’t even known that Reynold knew of her former love until it was too late. She certainly hadn’t known what he intended to do about it. If she had, she would have put a swift end to it.

But would he have listened to her? Reynold had treated her like—how had Niall put it?—“a fine piece of art to show off to one’s friends.” Exactly the way Niall proposed to treat her, like Botticelli’s Venus.

Remembering the hot glance he’d given her, she shivered—as she’d never shivered with her husband. Oh, that was wicked of her. She should have loved Reynold. She’d certainly tried hard enough.

But Niall had ruined that for her. And he would be here any minute to muck up her life some more.

Determined not to dwell on that, Brilliana glanced at her sweet boy and traced the line of his jaw on her sketch. Silas would make a perfect Cupid for her latest design. She knew it was futile to hope, but she couldn’t give up her dream of designing for Wedgwood. The famous porcelain company had hired other women to work for it. Why not her? Granted, she’d sent them ten designs already and hadn’t heard a word, but she would send them fifty more if that was what it took to get them to notice her.

Silas started fussing over his jack-in-the-box, which Lord Blakeborough had made for him and which the boy simply could not stop mangling. The clown leapt out on a rather long spring, so Silas had some trouble stuffing it back in the box after it jumped out.

“Jack, Jack, Jack,” he chanted.

With a smile, Brilliana held out her hand. “Bring it here, my sweet. Mama will fix Jack.”

When Silas merely pouted at her, Aunt Agatha shook her head. “The lad is no fool. He knows that not everything can be fixed.”

“He’s just naturally suspicious,” Brilliana said. “As is his mama.”

Her aunt cast her a sharp glance. “You didn’t seem very suspicious last night. You accepted Lord Margrave’s marriage proposal rather readily.”

Avoiding her aunt’s gaze, she bent her head over her sketch. “I should think you’d approve of my choice. The earl is quite a catch.”

“Is he? The gossips aren’t so sure. I spoke to a few friends today. It seems that the town is already abuzz about how he needs funds for his estate.”

Fulkham’s lackeys had done their work swiftly. “The gossips like to stir up trouble for no reason but their own entertainment.”

“Have you never heard that where there’s smoke there’s fire?”

“There is no fire here, trust me.” The last thing she and Niall needed was her aunt interfering in Lord Fulkham’s scheme.

“No? That’s not how it looked last night when he kissed you.”

Uh-oh. Brilliana fought a blush, praying that last night she’d covered her reaction to his kiss well—her heart thundering, her pulse leaping, her very skin aflame at the touch of his lips to hers. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play the fool with me, young lady. When Delia told me that you and his lordship had been acquainted before, I’d assumed that your association was casual at best. Clearly, I was wrong. There was definitely smoke in that ballroom last night when he bid you farewell.”

“You imagined that. He was merely giving me the courtesy of any fiancé.”

“Was he?” Concern showed in Aunt Agatha’s face. “Be careful, dear. Margrave is the sort to break a woman’s heart.”

“My heart would have to be engaged for that to happen.”

“And it isn’t?” her aunt said skeptically. “You truly are marrying him just for practical reasons?”

Brilliana forced a bland smile. “I think I’ve proved that one can have a perfectly content marriage without involving one’s heart.”

“Really? I would say you’ve proved the opposite.”

The astute comment made her grimace. Had the strain in her marriage been so obvious? “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

“We both know that you weren’t entirely happy with Reynold. And given how the marriage came about, I don’t blame you. I think your father ought to be shot, quite frankly, for putting you in such a position.”

“You . . . knew about that?”

“Of course. There’s not much that goes on in this family that I don’t know. I only found out after it happened, or I might have tried to step in, but by the time I learned of it, it was done and settled, and you were married.”

She flashed Brilliana a wan smile. “Still, I’d rather hoped you two were finding your way to contentment despite your rocky beginning, especially after the child was born. But then Reynold . . .” She sighed. “The thing is, I understand how you felt. Which is all the more reason I don’t want to see you make such a mistake again. Especially since this time your heart would be engaged.”

“My heart is not engaged with Lord Margrave, I assure you.” Perhaps if she said it enough, she’d believe it.

“Does he know why you ended up married to Reynold in the first place?”

“No, indeed, and I prefer not to tell him. It’s mortifying, to say the least. And none of his concern.”

“He might think otherwise.”

“I don’t care.” She had her pride, after all. If she told him Papa had essentially forced her into marrying Reynold, that she hadn’t chosen her husband out of some deep love, Niall would realize that he’d been her only love. He’d guess just how vulnerable she was to him now.

What’s more, he would probably mock her for not running away with him when she had the chance. And if she told him it was to save her mother, he would mock her even more. He’d thought her concern for Mama inconsequential. He would deem her a fool.

It was better for him to go on assuming she’d been in love with her husband. Safer. After all, Niall’s own protestations of love had been lies. So why should she let him know that hers had been genuine?

“Please don’t tell him,” she said. “I will reveal it myself in my own good time.” Or rather, she wouldn’t worry about it, since this situation was temporary.

Just then, a footman stepped out to announce that Lord Margrave had come to call on the ladies. Brilliana could have wept with relief at the reprieve.

“Speak of the devil,” Aunt Agatha muttered, then told the servant, “Send him out here, if you please.”

As the footman left, the nurse whom Aunt Agatha had hired for Silas came outside. “Shall I take the babe back to the nursery, madam?”

“No, indeed. It’s time my fiancé met him.” Brilliana set aside her sketchbook and waggled her fingers at Silas. “Come to Mama, sweeting, and let me fix Jack. You’ll break him if you keep shoving the lid down without having all the clown inside.”

He scowled and continued to struggle with the toy.

For some reason, that tickled his stern great-aunt so much that she laughed. “That boy is as stubborn and proud as his father, even at this young age.”

“True.” It had been Reynold’s pride that had sent him rushing to root out the man she’d loved. And it had been his failure that had sent him—

Lord, she must stop thinking of that! It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t! And she certainly wasn’t going to let Silas grow up to be like him.

“Silas, you come here right now and bring Jack to me!” He hesitated, but clearly recognized the peremptory note in her voice. Sullenly, he toddled over to her, dragging the clown by its already ragged head. She shoved the clown back in and pushed the lid shut, then, before he could grab it and run off, picked him up and set him on her knee.

“You see? There’s nothing wrong with needing help.” Lord knew that if his father had ever asked for her help in anything, she would gladly have given it. “You tried hard—that’s all that matters.” She lavished kisses on him as he struggled to get down and run off with his toy.

Then a voice sounded from the doorway out to the garden. “Such a foolish lad to be fighting so. A man would give much to be in his position.”

Brilliana’s heart faltered.

She looked over to where Niall stood leaning against the doorframe, looking even more luscious than usual in riding boots and buckskin, with his hair fashionably tousled and his lips curved in a faint smile. His Pomona-green coat brought out the green in his hazel eyes, which held an unsettling hint of envy.

“What a very pretty compliment, coming from a man who’s not a romantic,” Aunt Agatha cut in. “I suspect you would do very well on the marriage mart, Lord Margrave.”

“I doubt that,” Brilliana said as she set Silas back on the ground, where he immediately went to cranking the handle of the box. “Any clever woman would see right through that insincere remark. Everyone knows that men hate being fussed over just as much as little boys do.”

With a brooding expression, Niall pushed away from the doorframe. “Not all men.” The very air between them seemed to heat, and for a moment, it felt just like when she’d been courted by him with tender care.

Then the jack-in-the-box sprang open and Silas gave a little clap of delight, which thankfully drew Niall’s attention from her. “So this is your son, is it?”

“Yes. This is Silas.” She patted his head, though he was utterly engrossed in shoving the clown back in the box again. “Silas, this is Lord Margrave.”

Niall nodded slightly, now every inch the unobtainable earl she’d grown accustomed to seeing of late. “A pleasure to meet you, Master Silas.”

And, to her horror, Silas began to howl.

Niall’s heart sank. He didn’t know much about children, but that did not sound good. He hadn’t meant to frighten the child, for God’s sake. Had he been frowning? It was possible. Seeing her with her babe had nearly undone him.

That could have been his child, if she hadn’t chosen another man to marry. Perhaps, even, to love? God, the possibility of that cut him clean through.

“Silas, my sweet!” Bree picked up the lad again and dandled him on her knee. “Heavens, what is wrong?” She glanced at Niall apologetically. “He’s rather shy of strangers, but this is not typical.”

“No doubt he’s heard of Margrave’s reputation,” Lady Pensworth quipped.

Niall scowled at her, but the old battle-ax merely smiled unrepentantly.

Then the boy thrust his hand at his mother. “Ow!” he said as tears rolled down his chubby cheeks. “Ow, ow!”

Bree took his hand and examined it. “Oh, dear, look at this. You pinched your thumb trying to put the lid down. That’s why you mustn’t be so rough shoving the clown in.” She kissed the red mark. “There, there now. It will be all right. Nurse will fetch salve for it, and it will be fine in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

The nurse, who’d been standing discreetly to the side, said, “I’ll be right back, ma’am,” and hurried into the house.

This time when Bree cuddled the lad, he let her hold him, thrusting his thumb in his mouth and leaning into her embrace as she rocked him and murmured soothing words of consolation about how brave he was being.

Niall could hardly bear to watch the tender scene. The child was like any other, he supposed—with reddish curls and brown eyes that mirrored his mother’s, not to mention a very handsome face—but it was her reaction to him that made Niall’s heart twist. She was as affectionate to the lad as any man could want the mother of his children to be. It took him completely by surprise.

Granted, just because a woman was grasping in her choice of husbands didn’t mean she would neglect her babes, but his own mother had packed him and Clarissa off to the nurse whenever she could. He only remembered seeing Mother in the evening, when she came to kiss them good night. Indeed, most aristocratic parents were rather distant to their children.

Clearly, Bree wasn’t that sort. And the way she fussed over young Silas, who took it for granted with the self-centeredness of all babes, made Niall’s gut knot. Once, he would have given anything to be in the lad’s place.

He frowned. What absurdity. How could he be jealous of a mere child? She was doing what any other caring mother might do. Why, for all he knew, this was just a show put on for Niall’s benefit.

A sigh escaped him. That was unlikely. She wasn’t trying to impress him these days. She’d gained the life she wanted—that of an independent woman with her own estate—and she had no use for him anymore.

Not that he cared. He was immune to her machinations now. If she had any. Which he’d just decided she didn’t.

Deuce take it, he couldn’t wait to have this particular mission over.

Meanwhile, the lad had already begun to forget his injury, for he was squirming on his mother’s knee. Bree looked up at Niall. “Would you like to hold him?”

“God, no,” Niall said hastily. Too hastily, judging from the cloud that darkened her brow. “I don’t know a thing about children. I wouldn’t want to alarm him.”

“Better get used to being around babes, my lord, if you mean to fill your nursery,” Lady Pensworth said bluntly. “You’re not getting any younger, and you’ll need at least an heir and a spare.”

A fetching pink suffused Bree’s cheeks, making Niall’s pulse jump. It was all too easy to imagine engaging in the very pleasurable activity of filling their nursery. Not that he would need any such excuse to bed her. Just the sight of her all rosy and soft made him crave her. And if she belonged to him . . .

Best not to think of that.

Avoiding his gaze, Bree set Silas down. “I’m sure his lordship will feel differently about his own children.” She chucked the lad under the chin. “Why don’t you go show Lord Margrave your jack-in-the-box?” She glanced up at Niall. “Your sister’s husband made it for him.”

“Ah, yes,” Niall said, relieved to be on more solid ground in the conversation. “Edwin likes building that sort of thing.”

Silas merely stood there, one hand on the hapless clown and his other thrusting his thumb into his mouth as he eyed Niall with rank suspicion. Why did Niall get the feeling that the lad regarded him as the enemy?

Nonsense. What did Silas know about enemies? He was a baby.

But a damned cute one, who clearly had his mama wrapped around his finger. And that mama was going to be difficult to manage if she thought Niall disliked her child.

Stifling a sigh, he squatted to look the lad in the face. “Will you show it to me, then, Master Silas?”

Silas crept closer, then thrust his toy out, a trifle warily, as he kept his damaged thumb squarely in his mouth.

“It looks like grand fun. Can you make it work?”

His face brightening, the lad started shoving on the clown to get it in the box, then tried to close the lid before the clown was fully inside.

“Oh, dear,” Bree said. “He keeps doing that.” She rose from her chair. “Come here, my sweet, and let Mama do it.”

That only made the child more determined to make it work—shoving hard on the lid as if that would solve the problem.

“Easy there, lad,” Niall said. “You must be careful with it and be sure to get all the clown inside the box—and your fingers free—before you close the top.” He opened the lid, then caught the boy’s hand and carefully helped him shove the clown inside the box and press the lid down until it clicked into place.

Silas stared solemnly at him, then turned the crank until the clown leapt out, which sent the boy into gales of laughter. But before Niall could even revel in that laughter, the child started pushing on the lid with the same excitement as before, then fussing when he couldn’t get it closed because part of the clown still stuck out.

Lady Pensworth laughed. “I’m afraid the lad is a bit young to be learning that lesson, Lord Margrave. But it was a good try.”

Feeling disgruntled, Niall rose. “As I said, I don’t know much about children.”

Then he caught sight of Bree’s face. Her eyes were decidedly softer than before. “You’ll learn,” was all she said.

He nodded, though he prayed he wouldn’t be spending enough time with them to learn. Because he could very easily grow attached to the little devil. The babe was much like Bree—obstinate and inquisitive and entirely too . . . cute.

Though cute wasn’t really the word for Bree. She could never be anything but beautiful. Today she wore a cream-colored day dress dotted with red embroidered flowers. On anyone else it might have looked simple, but on her it looked like a garden, one that had the odd effect of making her hair glow redder than a setting sun, since she wore no cap to cover it.

What he wouldn’t give to be able to take that luscious hair down, to see how far the curls fell, how sweetly they curved about her hips and her—

Damn it, he must stop thinking about such things. This was neither the time nor the place. Not that there was a time or place for that. Not with her.

He grimaced. Sadly, that argument became less convincing by the moment.

Lady Pensworth was giving him quite the dark look over the top of her spectacles, and he quickly changed his train of thought.

“I don’t mean to rush you, Bree, but perhaps we should depart. No telling how early your father leaves to go out for the evening, and we wouldn’t want to miss him.”

As Bree groaned, Lady Pensworth straightened. “You’re paying a call on Sir Oswald? Whatever for?”

Uh-oh. It looked as if he had stepped awry. “To tell him of the engagement and ask his blessing on the marriage, of course.”

“But—”

“You’re right, we should leave at once,” Bree said hastily. She turned to the nurse, who’d just returned with the salve. “Why don’t you take Silas up now? It’s time for his nap.”

“Certainly, madam,” the nurse said and picked up the boy.

Lady Pensworth sat with pursed lips while Bree gave Silas a tender kiss and sent him off with his nurse, but as soon as the child was gone, the baroness said to Bree, “I cannot believe you are even giving Sir Oswald the time of day.”

Niall narrowed his gaze on the woman. “Why shouldn’t she? He is her father, after all.”

“And a very poor one, too. If you only knew what that man did to—”

“There’s no time for such a dreary tale right now, Aunt Agatha,” Brilliana said smoothly. “His lordship is right—we need to go.”

“We have a few minutes yet,” he said. “And I confess I’m curious about why you and your father don’t get along.”

“While I prefer not to discuss it,” she countered with a quelling glance for her aunt. “I should hope you’d both respect my wishes.”

Lady Pensworth sniffed. “Very well. But don’t stay too long; I don’t trust that man one whit.”

“Don’t worry, Aunt. Neither do I.” With that, Bree took Niall’s arm and tugged him into the house. He let her, but only because he wanted to get her alone before pursuing the matter. He needed to know more about the estrangement, if only so he could plan his strategy for his mission.

So he waited patiently while she donned a cloak of brilliant scarlet and an enormous bonnet with flowers that matched those on her gown. He said naught to her while they climbed into his carriage and he ordered his coachman to drive on.

But once they’d set off, he broached the subject again. “Enough of this reticence about your father, Bree. If I’m to get to the bottom of this counterfeiting business, I need to know exactly what caused the rift between you two.”

She stared him down. “Why? Our mission has nothing to do with any of that. Besides, it’s in the past.”

“Clearly not that much in the past if your aunt is still worried about it.” When she merely turned to stare out the window, he remembered what she’d said about having not seen her father since her mother’s funeral. “It wasn’t related to your mother’s death, was it? I hope he wasn’t somehow responsible for that.”

Her shocked glance put that supposition to rest. “Good heavens, my father might be a gambler, but he’s no murderer.”

“Ah. Then I assume it has something to do with his gambling.”

Jerking her gaze from him, she let out a heavy sigh. “Of course. What else would it have to do with?”

“What did he do, ask your husband for funds to pay his gaming debts? Cause an estrangement there?” That would explain why she’d become cautious concerning marriage.

“Certainly not,” was all she would say.

“Then perhaps your father gambled away your dowry,” he pressed. “Is that why your aunt had to step in to give you one this time around?”

Her chin quavered. “Something like that.”

Hmm. That made more sense. She’d hoped for a rich, titled husband, and her father had made that impossible. So she’d had to settle for Trevor, who’d had property but no title. Was that why she’d married so soon after Niall’s exile? Because she’d feared that if she didn’t snap up the first eligible man who offered, she’d never marry at all?

Assuming she hadn’t married the man for love. Which Niall still wasn’t sure about. By God, it gnawed at him that she had let him go so easily, only to take up with a fellow of half his consequence.

And he still couldn’t understand why she hadn’t just written to him, so he could send for her.

Unbidden, his father’s words from long ago came to him: What good would you be to her once the two of you are in hiding in Spain? She won’t be able to lord it over her friends as a viscountess or show off her fine town house or prance about to balls on the arm of an earl’s heir.

Right. That was why.

“So Trevor married you for your beauty alone, since you had no dowry to give him,” he said coldly. “And you married Trevor for what? Love? His property?”

She tensed up. “I told you, I don’t wish to discuss my marriage with you.”

“Why not?” Resentment welled up in him. “Afraid that I’ll find out exactly how disappointing he ended up being?”

“He was a good husband,” she bit out. “And he gave me my son. For that, I will always be grateful.”

“Yet according to my cousin, he abandoned that son—and you—by gambling away all your funds, then drinking himself into oblivion and stumbling into the river, where he drowned. That’s not what I’d call a good husband.”

She gaped at him. “Warren told you that?”

“He mentioned it, yes.”

“Don’t you think it’s rather like the pot calling the kettle black to accuse Reynold of abandoning me, when you abandoned me first?”

“That’s not how I remember it, Bree,” he said softly.

“Well, no matter how you remember it, that’s how it happened.”

His temper flared. “Admit it, you would have been better off with me, exile or no, than with a fool like that.”

“Don’t call my husband a fool,” she hissed. “You don’t know anything about him.”

Her defense of the bastard really irked Niall. “I know that he didn’t appreciate you, or he wouldn’t have left you to raise your son alone.” He leaned across the carriage. “I suspect that he didn’t have your heart. That he didn’t fire your blood or make you feel the things that I made you feel. That I still make you feel, blast it.”

Panic flickered in her eyes before she shuttered her features and slid to the other end of the seat to escape him. “That’s not true,” she whispered.

It was, and the need to hear her admit it settled in his gut like a chunk of lead. Damnation, he’d keep pushing her until she admitted that she’d made a mistake. That she should have run off with him. That she regretted her choice. Only then would he be satisfied.

Throwing himself into the other seat, he dragged her into his arms. “The hell it isn’t.”

Then he caught her head in his hands and kissed her. Hard. Intimately. He pressed his tongue against her teeth to gain entry, the way he’d never dared to when they were courting. The way he knew she would like now that she was a widow, now that she’d experienced a man’s bed.

The way he’d dreamed of kissing her for seven years.

When she froze, he feared he’d gone too far and put her even further on her guard. But as he slid his hands into her hair and ran his tongue over her trembling lips, she opened her mouth, and he exulted.

In this at least, she was his again. And he meant to make the most of it.