“Mr. Hartley. Samuel.”

Her voice was near, and he felt a cool hand on his cheek. With an effort, he opened his eyes.

Her black eyes were staring into his, and he latched on to the sight, trying to focus on only her.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He opened his mouth and formed the word carefully, speaking the truth because that was all he could do. “No.”

Her eyes left his for a moment, and he grasped her shoulders to keep his balance. “What is wrong with him, do you know?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this,” Rebecca said.

Her black eyes returned to his, and he felt relief. “Come with me.”

He nodded, his throat working convulsively, and stumbled after her like a drunken man. Their progress was slow, and he knew that sweat was running down his cheeks. He kept her constantly in his vision, a guideline to sanity. Then, suddenly, there were doors, and he tumbled out into cool, fresh air. It was a veranda with a low rail. He made it to one end before spewing over the rail and into the bushes.

“He’s ill,” Sam heard Rebecca say as he gulped great breaths of air. “Maybe he ate something spoiled. We should send for a doctor.”

“No.” His voice emerged a strangled rasp. He cleared his throat, fighting to sound normal. “No doctor.”

Behind him, Rebecca made a sound of distress. He wished he could face her, reassure her that nothing was wrong.

“Mr. Hartley,” Lady Emeline murmured very close to him. She laid her hand on his shoulder. He hunched it. Shameful for any woman to see him like this, let alone her. “You’re ill. Please satisfy your sister’s worry and let us send for a physician.”

Sam closed his eyes, willing his body to stop shaking, to stop betraying him with phantom fears. “No.”

Her hand fell away. “Rebecca, can you wait with your brother whilst I fetch some wine? Perhaps that will revive him.”

“Yes, certainly,” Rebecca replied.

And then Lady Emeline started to leave him. He heard a low groaning and realized dimly that it was himself, but he couldn’t stop the sound, nor the urge to make her stay by his side. He turned, meaning to keep her there, but instead he was brought up short by what he saw.

Lord Vale stood in the doorway to the ballroom.

JASPER SHUT THE French doors behind him, smiled his careless, charming smile, and said, “Emmie! Godsblood, hadn’t expected to see you here.”

All Emeline could think was, How am I to get him out of the way? Hardly a kind sentiment for a man she’d known all her life, but there it was. It was imperative to get Samuel away before Jasper saw how bad his condition was. Somehow she knew that Samuel would hate to have another man see him like this.

It had happened so suddenly in the ballroom. She’d felt him stiffen as they’d entered the house but thought nothing of it. Many would be nervous at such a gathering of the ton. But he’d slowed as they’d advanced into the ballroom. Even allowing for the awkwardness of moving through the crowd, Samuel had walked oddly. Until she had at last looked up into his face and had seen he was in agony. What kind of agony—whether mental or physical—she did not know, but everything about him, from the closed eyes to the pale and sweating face to the way he suddenly clutched her hand bespoke great pain. The idea that this strong man was in pain made her almost paralyzed. It was as if she’d felt a corresponding pain deep within her own being. She’d led him out of the ballroom as quickly as possible, the whole time aware of his silent agony.

And now she must deal with Jasper.

Emeline squared her shoulders and assumed her most haughty expression—the one she’d learned in the nursery growing up the daughter of an earl. But as it turned out, there was no need. Jasper wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were fixed behind her, presumably on Samuel.

“Hartley? I say, it is Corporal Hartley, isn’t it?” Jasper asked.

“Yes.” The single word was clipped out from behind her.

Emeline turned and saw that Samuel was upright now, no longer leaning against the railing, although his face was still pale and shone with sweat. He was unmoving, as though waiting for something. Beside him, Rebecca hovered hesitantly, looking from one man to the other, her expression clearly confused.

Jasper took a step closer. “I haven’t seen you since...” His voice trailed off as if he couldn’t bring himself to say the name.

“Since Spinner’s Falls.”

“Yes.” All the usual amusement was gone from Jasper’s face, and without it, Emeline saw the lines carved beside his long nose and too-wide mouth.

“Did you know we were betrayed?” Samuel asked softly.

That startled Jasper. He drew his hairy brows together. “What?”

“Someone betrayed the regiment. Do you know anything about that?”

“Why would I?”

Samuel shrugged. “You were in debt to Clemmons.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Deeply in debt. Every veteran of the regiment that I’ve talked to since my arrival in England remembers that fact clearly. You were in danger of being drummed out of the army, stripped of your rank, disgraced.”

Jasper’s head reared back as if he’d been hit. “That’s—”

“The massacre at Spinner’s Falls saved you from having to pay that debt.”

Jasper slowly flexed his fingers, and Emeline felt a prickle on the back of her neck at the aggression in the air. “What exactly are you implying, Hartley?”

“You had a reason to betray us,” Samuel stated softly.

“You think I sold my men to the French?” Jasper’s tone was almost casual, but his face was graven.

“Perhaps,” Samuel said in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper. He swayed slightly where he stood—he wasn’t as recovered as he’d like them to think. “Or to the Wyandot Indians. The same result in either case. They knew we would be there at Spinner’s Falls. They knew and they waited, and when we came, they killed us all—”

Jasper’s big fists balled, and he took a step toward Samuel.

Emeline knew she had to intervene before the men came to blows. “Stop it, Samuel! Stop saying these things.”

He never took his eyes from the other man. “Why?”

“Please, Samuel, come away from Jasper.”

“Why?” Samuel finally turned his eyes, glancing quickly from her to Jasper. “Who is he to you?”

She bit her lip. “A friend. He’s—”

But Jasper spoke for himself. “I’m her fiancé.”

Chapter Seven

All lauded the captain of the guard for his bravery, strength, and loyalty, although many wondered why such a man would stubbornly refuse to speak even one word. But what really put the feather in Iron Heart’s cap was when he saved the king’s life a third time. The castle was attacked by a fire-breathing dragon, and Iron Heart fended off the loathsome beast with great swings of his sword. After this, the king pronounced that there was only one award fit for such a gallant man. He must guard the king’s most precious possession—the princess royal herself....

—from Iron Heart

“Fiancé?” Sam felt as if he’d taken a fist to the gut.

His lungs deflated, the breath leaving his body with a whoosh as he slowly turned his head and met Lady Emeline’s sweet black eyes.

“We haven’t formally announced it yet, but we’ve had an understanding for ages,” she whispered.

How could this woman be engaged to another man and he not know it? It was as if he’d suddenly lost something that he’d not fully been aware of wanting in the first place. Which was lunacy. She was a titled aristocrat, the daughter, sister, mother, and widow of titled aristocrats. Her world was so far outside of his that he might as well be a child trying to grasp the moon in the night sky.

Impossible.

But he had no more time for further thoughts on Lady Emeline. This was the wrong place, anyway. If he’d not been made ill by the smell of other men’s bodies, if he’d not had that overpowering memory of the massacre, he never would’ve chosen to accuse Vale here. But having done it, there was no point in regrets.

“I didn’t betray us,” Vale said. He was standing casually now, yet the man looked as if he were ready to attack.

Sam tensed.

At the same time, Rebecca touched his shoulder. “Come away, Samuel. Please come away.” And he saw that she was trying not to cry. God, what had he done?

“You didn’t seem insane six years ago when I knew you,” Vale said conversationally. “What makes you think we were betrayed?”

Sam eyed him. Vale had the type of face that one instinctively trusted, a funny, open countenance habitually wrapped in a smile. Of course, Sam had known several men who smiled when they killed. “You were in debt to Lieutenant Clemmons. Everyone knew that.”

“So?”

“So, Clemmons died in the massacre, effectively nullifying the debt.”

Vale gave an incredulous bark of laughter. “You think I killed two hundred and forty-six men so I wouldn’t have to pay my debt to Clemmons? You are mad.”

Maybe he was. Rebecca stood crying behind him, and Lady Emeline was watching him warily as if he might suddenly try to climb the walls. Vale stared at him with no fear in his eyes.

Sam remembered how the viscount had looked that day, astride his horse, trying to reach Colonel Darby through the mess of fighting men. The bay had been shot out from under Vale, and Sam had seen him jump clear of the falling horse. Stand and open wide his mouth in a battle cry Sam hadn’t heard, swing his sword savagely, and watch in despair as Darby was pulled from his own horse and killed. And then Vale had continued fighting even as the battle was clearly lost.

Sam should be apologizing to Vale and backing away. This man couldn’t be the traitor. But something inside whispered, A brave man isn’t necessarily an honest man. MacDonald had been a brave soldier, too, before his arrest. Deep in his belly, Sam needed to find out the truth of Spinner’s Falls.

Lady Emeline shook herself as if coming out of a trance and marched to the doors, her small back militantly straight. A footman was lingering there, gawking at the spectacle, and she pointed at him. “You. Bring some wine and biscuits, please. Thank you.” And she firmly closed the doors on his face.

“Is that all you have?” Vale asked. “My gambling debts led you to believe that I’d betrayed our regiment, then had myself captured by Indians and Reynaud killed?”

Lady Emeline flinched. Vale didn’t seem to notice.

Sam hadn’t wanted to speak of this in front of her, but now it was inevitable. “There was a letter detailing our plans to march to Fort Edward. It included a map with drawings that could be deciphered by the Indians.”

Vale leaned against the rail. “How do you know about this letter?”

“I have it.”

Rebecca had stopped crying and now said wonderingly, “That’s why you wanted me to attend this ball, isn’t it? It had nothing to do with me at all. You wanted to meet Lord Vale.”

Damn. Sam stared at his younger sister. “I—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“Or me,” Lady Emeline said. Her words were quiet, but Sam knew not to take that as a sign she wasn’t angry. “Reynaud was killed because of that battle. Didn’t you think I had a right to know?”

Sam frowned. His head hurt, his mouth tasted like acid, and he didn’t want to deal with the women in his life. This was man’s business, although he wasn’t such a fool as to say that aloud.

Apparently, Vale had no such qualms. “Emmie, this will only open old wounds for you. Why don’t you and Miss...” He looked uncertainly at Rebecca.