... in case of fire, this paper cautions you to resist relying upon the Viscount Galworth's horses for escape. They never run as fast as one would wager...

... Meanwhile, Lady G— continues to edge away from her dreadful and utterly unsuitable moniker. There's been not a scandal in sight this season, though, in truth, this author is somewhat disappointed...

The Scandal Sheet, April 27, 1833

"Tell me again why we are walking here and not down there with all the others?"

Georgiana looked to Caroline, surprised by the question. They'd been wandering the edge of the Serpentine for the afternoon – something they'd done a dozen times before, whenever Caroline was in town.

But they'd never done it while Georgiana was out and on the marriage mart. And in all the times that they'd done it, Caroline had never asked that question – why here, and not Rotten Row.

Georgiana supposed that she should have been prepared for it. After all, Caroline was nine, and girls eventually learned that the world did not solely exist for their pleasure. Eventually, they learned that the world existed solely for the pleasure of the aristocracy. And so, this close to throngs of aristocrats, Caroline was bound to ask.

"Do you wish to walk down there with the others?" Georgiana asked, evading her daughter's original, pointed question. Willing her to answer in the negative. She didn't think she could face the stares if they took their afternoon ride with the rest of London. She didn't think she could stand the way they whispered about her. The way they whispered about her daughter.

Being within sight of them made things bad enough.

"No," Caroline said, turning to peruse the crush below. "I was just wondering why you didn't wish to be there."

Because I should rather spend an afternoon being ritually stung by bees, Georgiana thought. She supposed she couldn't quite tell her daughter that. She settled on, "Because I would rather be here. With you."

Caroline cut her a disbelieving look, and Georgiana was struck by the honesty in her pretty, open face – by the way her wide eyes filled with knowledge far beyond her years. "Mother."

She supposed she was responsible for that, for the knowledge. For the fact that Caroline had never in her life acted her age – she'd always known more than a child should. It came with being a scandal. "You don't believe me?"

"I believe you wish to spend the afternoon with me, but I don't believe that is the reason we are not down there. The two are not mutually exclusive."

There was a pause, after which Georgiana said, "You are too intelligent for your own good."

"No," Caroline said thoughtfully. "I am too intelligent for your own good."

"That is definitely true. Would you believe me if I promised to take you to Rotten Row the next time we come to the park?"

"I would," Caroline allowed, "but I did notice that the promise is contingent upon us returning to the park, full stop."

Georgiana laughed. "Foiled again."

Caroline smiled, and they walked together for a few quiet minutes before she said, "Why are you planning to marry?"

Georgiana nearly choked on her surprise. "I —"

"It was in this morning's newspaper."

"You shouldn't be reading the newspaper."

Caroline gave her a dry look. "You've been telling me to read the newspaper since before I could read. 'Ladies worth their salt read newspapers,' do they not?"

Caught. "Well, you shouldn't be reading anything about me." Georgiana paused. "In fact, how did you know it was about me?"

"Please. The gossip pages are designed to be obvious. Lady G —? Sister to Duke L —? With a daughter, Miss P —? In actuality, I was reading about me."

"Well," said Georgiana, casting about for something to say that was appropriately parental. "You shouldn't be doing that, either."

Caroline looked at her, those brilliant green eyes, at once so knowing and curious. "You didn't answer the question."

"What was the question?"

Caroline sighed. "Why are you looking to marry? And why now?"

She stopped walking and turned to face her daughter, not knowing quite what to say, but knowing that she must say something. She'd never lied to her daughter, and she did not think it right to begin now, with the most difficult question she'd ever asked. She thought she'd simply open her mouth and let the words come out. It might not be articulate, but it would give Caroline an answer.

But by the grace of God, she did not have to find words. Because behind Caroline's horse, Duncan West came up the rise.

Her savior.

Once more.

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him approach, all golden, as though the sun shone upon him even on this grey day. He was perfectly turned out in grey trousers, crisp white shirt and cravat, and navy topcoat. His greatcoat swung around him, making him seem larger than life.

But, it occurred to her, he would seem larger than life anyway. Something about the way he moved, with such sureness, as though he had never in his life made a misstep. As though the world simply bent to his whim.

She'd been born the daughter and sister to the most powerful dukes in Britain, and this man, not an aristocrat – not even a gentleman – seemed equal to them in power. More so.

Which was the reason she was so drawn to him, surely.

Not that power should be of interest to her. She had plenty of it herself.

And still, her heart pounded. To cover the noise, which she was certain all assembled could hear, she said brightly, "Mr. West!"

Caroline gave her a strange look. Perhaps she'd spoken too brightly.

She ignored her daughter, instead looking to the woman at West's elbow. Miss Cynthia West, his sister, younger by ten years, and widely believed to be a charming eccentric, spoiled by her brother.

"Lady Georgiana," West said, executing an impressive bow in Caroline's direction. "And Miss Pearson, I presume?"

Caroline giggled. "You presume correctly, sir."

He winked at the girl and righted himself. "May I present my sister? Miss West."

Miss West dropped into a curtsy. "My lady."

"Please," Georgiana said, "there's no need to stand on ceremony."

"But you are the daughter of a duke, no?"

"I am," Georgiana replied, "but —"

"She rarely uses the privilege," Caroline interjected.

Georgiana looked to the Wests. "One should always travel with a nine-year-old to complete one's thoughts."

Cynthia replied, all seriousness, "I so agree. In fact, I was thinking of finding one for myself."

"I'm certain my mother would happily lease me." Caroline's jest drew laughter from the group, and Georgiana was supremely grateful for the girl's quick wit, as she did not know quite what to say to Duncan West, considering their last interaction ended with her bodice around her waist.

The thought made her blush, and she pressed gloved fingers to her cheek as the heat rushed up her face. She looked to West, hoping that he hadn't noticed.

His warm brown gaze lingered where she touched her cheek.

She pulled her fingers away. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" The words came out harsher than she expected. More shrill. His sister's eyes widened, as did Caroline's.

He ignored the tone, instead saying, "We were riding and saw you here. I thought that was a much better idea than creeping along Rotten Row for another hour."

"I would have thought that you liked creeping along Rotten Row. Does it not provide food for your work?"

"Ha!" Cynthia interjected. "As though Duncan cares a bit for gossip."

"You don't?" Caroline asked pointedly. "Then why publish it?"

"Caroline," Georgiana said, maternal scolding in her tone. "How did you even know that Mr. West is a newspaper publisher?"

Caroline beamed. "Ladies worth their salt read the newspaper. I always assume that included the bit where they list the staff." She looked at West. "You are Duncan West."

"I am."

She considered him for a long moment. "You're not as old as I would have imagined."

"Caroline!" Georgiana interjected. "That's inappropriate."

"Why?"

"It's not at all inappropriate." He smiled at her daughter, and Georgiana did not like the way it made her feel. In fact, it made her feel somewhat queasy. "I shall take it as a compliment."

"Oh, you should," Caroline said. "I would have thought you quite old. Considering you've so many different papers. How did you manage that? Did you have a brother who is titled?"

Warning bells rang, as Caroline knew that part of the reason why The Fallen Angel existed at all was because of her uncle Simon. There was no need for West to grow curious about the reason for her questioning. "Caroline, that's quite enough."

Cynthia interjected, "If only we had a brother who was titled. Everything would have been much easier."

Don't be so certain, Georgiana wanted to say, but she bit her tongue.

"Well, if I can't ask him that, then can I at least ask why he publishes gossip if he doesn't care for it?"

"No," Georgiana said. "We do not ask probing questions."

"Well, he does, doesn't he? He's a reporter."

Lord deliver her from nine-year-old girls wise beyond their years.

"She has a point, Lady Georgiana, I am a reporter," West said.

And from thirty-three-year-old men too handsome for their own good.

"There, you see?" Caroline said.

"He's being polite," Georgiana replied.

"I wasn't, really," he interjected.

"You were being polite," Georgiana insisted firmly, wishing she'd stayed inside today. She turned to her daughter. "Which you might try sometime. What did we discuss relating to Society events?"

"This is not exactly an event," Caroline argued.

"It's close enough. What did we say?"

Caroline's brow furrowed. "Not to bring up skull drinking?"

Shocked silence fell, broken almost instantly by West's and Cynthia's laughter. Finally, the lady said, "Oh, Miss Pearson. You are great fun!"

Caroline beamed. "Thank you."

"Now tell me about these beautiful horses, will you? You must be a very fine horsewoman."

And with that, Caroline had been deftly extricated from any situation that might end in her being either scolded or murdered by her mother. Georgiana's head spun as she was overcome by the distinct feeling that she and West had been left alone on purpose. She was not used to losing so roundly.

She missed her club.

She turned back to West, who was still smiling. "Skull drinking?" he asked.

She waved away the words. "Do not ask."

He nodded. "Fair enough."

"You see now why I need a husband. She's too precocious for her own good."

"I don't see it at all, honestly. She's charming."

She smirked. "You are obviously not good ton." He went serious, and she suddenly felt as though she'd misspoken. She added. "And you do not have to live with her."

"You forget, I have a sister who is similarly eccentric."

It was a perfect word for Caroline. "Tell me, are most gentlemen seeking eccentricity in their wives?"

"As I am not a gentleman, I would not know."

Something flared inside her, unfamiliar and yet thoroughly recognizable. Guilt. "I didn't mean —" she said.

"I know," he replied. "But you were not wrong. I am not born a gentleman, Georgiana. And you would do best to remember it."

"You play the part well," she said. And he did, looking every inch the gentleman now, and each night on the floor of her club. He'd played it well when he'd rescued her from Pottle's slithering, disgusting grasp. And in the years leading up to that moment, during which he'd never propositioned her. Not once.

"You think so?" he asked casually, as they trailed behind Caroline and Cynthia, whose conversation grew more animated by the minute. "You think I played it well when I manhandled you on the floor of a casino? When I nearly stripped you bare?"

They were in public – in the middle of Hyde Park. And to an unsuspecting observer, they were all propriety. No one would ever know that his words sent heat coursing through her, warming her straight through, as though they were in that shadowed alcove in her casino once more.

She did not look at him, afraid he would see what he had done to her.

"When I wanted to do much more than that?" he added, the words soft and full of promise.

She'd wanted it, too. She cleared her throat. "Perhaps you are not such a gentleman after all."

"I promise you, there is no perhaps about it."

She was certain that anyone who watched them would know what he said. How she enjoyed it. How shameless they both were. She looked to the Serpentine, trying to pretend they discussed something else. Anything else. "What are you, then?"

He did not answer for a while, and she finally turned to look at him, finding him watching her carefully. She met his gaze, finally. He held it for a heartbeat. Two. Ten. "I would have thought you'd recognized it the moment we met. I'm an utter scoundrel."

And in that moment, he was. And she didn't care.

Indeed, she wanted him more for it.

They walked farther, trailing his sister and her daughter as they edged around the curve of the Serpentine lake. After long moments of silence, she could not bear it any longer, the wondering what he was thinking. The hoping he'd give voice to thought. The hoping he wouldn't.

So she spoke first. "My brother's wife nearly drowned in this lake once."

He did not hesitate. "I remember that. Your brother saved her."

It had been the beginning of a love for the ages. One that did not end in tragedy, but in happiness. "I suppose you wrote about it."

"Probably," he said. "At the time, if I recall, The Scandal Sheet was the only paper I had."

"I just had a conversation with Caroline that leads me to believe that it still holds a fair amount of influence."

He turned to look at the girls. "Oh?"

"Yes. As you may have divined, she reads the gossip pages."

He smiled. "She and every other girl in London."

"Yes, well, most girls of her age aren't reading about their mother's search for a husband."

He slowed his pace. "Ah."

"Well put."

"What did she say about it?"

"She asked why I wish to marry. And why now."

The girls now quite a distance away, and she and West were both public and private. As with everything in Georgiana's life these days. The situation was by design, yes, but it did not mean she enjoyed it.

Although, if she were fully in private with Duncan West, there was no telling what might happen.

They walked a little farther in silence before he said, "And how did you answer?"

She turned to him, shocked. "You too?" He lifted a shoulder in an expression she was coming to recognize in him. "You know, you do that when you want someone to think that you aren't interested in what they are about to say."

"Perhaps I'm not interested. Perhaps I'm simply being polite."

"Since when does politeness include prying, personal questions?" she asked. "Did you not receive the lesson I just delivered to my daughter?"

"Something about skull drinking." She laughed, taken by surprise, and he smiled briefly, the expression there, then gone, leaving only a pool of warmth in her stomach as he added, "Well, as your daughter pointed out, I am a reporter."

"You're a newspaper magnate," she corrected.

He smiled. "A reporter at heart."

She couldn't help her matching smile. "Ah. Desperate for a story."

"Not for all stories. But for your story? Quite."

The words dropped between them, and they both seemed surprised by them. She was taken aback. Did he really mean it? Did he really care about her story? Or was he simply in it for the information she promised? For the payment she always rendered when he did the Angel a favor?

And why did the answers matter so much?

He saved her from the questions swirling through her mind. "But today, I will settle for an answer to Caroline's question."

Why did she wish to marry.

She shook her head. "There are a dozen reasons why I should marry."

"Should is not wish."

"That's semantics."

"It is not at all. I should not have kissed you yesterday. But I very much wished to. There's nothing at all the same about the two."

She stopped, the words sending surprise and something richer through her. Desire. She met his gaze, registering the heat in his brown eyes. "You just..." She hesitated. "You cannot simply announce things like that. As though we are not here, in a public place. In Hyde Park. At the fashionable hour."

"That must be the most idiotic description for four o'clock in the afternoon that ever there was," he said, and the conversation had changed. As though he hadn't just said the word kiss in full view of London's aristocracy.

Perhaps she'd dreamed it.

"So, tell me, Georgiana." Her name was a caress even as they walked, a yard between them, in a perfectly innocuous portrait. "Why do you wish to marry?"

The question was quiet and liquid, and made her want nothing more than to answer it, even as she knew it was none of his business. She started with the obvious. "You know already. I require a title."

"For Caroline."

"Yes. She needs the protection of a decent title. With your help, she'll receive it, and with it, hopefully, a future."

"And you expect Langley to be a decent father."

The words came so easily, with such a lightness, that she almost didn't notice the way they probed, searching for the answer to the question she'd been asked her whole adult life. "If she's lucky, yes."

He nodded, and they walked farther. "Fair enough. But that is all for Caroline. What of you?"

"Me?"

"The meat of it is right there in the question, Georgiana, why do you wish to marry?"

The wind blew once more, and it carried the scent of him to her – sandalwood and something else, something clean and entirely masculine. Later, she would tell herself that it was the scent that made her tell the truth. "Because I haven't any other choice."

The truth of the words shocked her, and she wished she could take them back. She wished she'd said something else, something bolder and more brazen. But she hadn't. Instead, he'd asked his questions and stripped her bare. Exposed her vulnerabilities. Even as she was the most powerful man in Britain, one who ruled the night, here, in the day, she was still just a woman, with a woman's rights. And a woman's insignificant power.

By day, as a mother with a daughter, she needed help.

He didn't know all of that, of course. He knew she was ruined, but not the extent to which she could be destroyed. And even as he heard the truth in her words, he did not fully understand them. He did not press the issue, however, instead asking, "And why now?"

He'd asked her the question before. The night they'd met on the balcony at the Worthington Ball. The night he'd met Georgiana. She hadn't answered then. But now, she spoke without hesitation, her gaze finding Caroline ahead. "She needs more than I can give her."

He raised a brow. "She lives with your brother. I imagine she does not want for much."

She watched her daughter for a long moment, a memory coming thick and nearly overwhelming. "Not like that. She deserves a family of her own."

"Tell me," he said, the words soft and warm and tempting, making her wish they were somewhere else, where she could curl into his heat and do precisely as he asked.

She answered. "Just after the New Year, I visited her on my brother's estate." Those assembled had barely given her a look, each more interested in the rare warm winter's day than in their eccentric aunt, who often turned up at strange times wearing breeches and boots.

But Caroline had noticed.

"She was surprised to see me."

"You don't see her often?"

Georgiana hesitated, guilt flooding through her. "The estate... it is far from Mayfair."

"The opposite end of the world from where you live." Precisely. She simultaneously adored and hated the understanding in the words. "What happened?"

She tried to explain, realizing that the story might seem simple. Unimportant. "Nothing of particular note."

He didn't accept the answer. "What happened?"

She lifted a shoulder. Let it drop, hoping the movement would cover her shame at the memory. "I thought she would be happy to see me. But instead, she was confused. Instead of smiling and rushing to me, she blinked up at me and asked, 'What are you doing here?'"

He exhaled, and she thought she heard understanding in the sound, but she didn't dare look at him. Didn't dare ask. "I was so shocked by the question. After all, I am her mother. Shouldn't I be there? Isn't that my place? With her?" She shook her head. "I was furious. Not with her, but with myself." She stopped, lost in the memory, in the way Caroline had smiled, as though Georgiana were a welcome stranger.

And that was what she had been. Not a mother. Not in the way a woman should be. She'd been so concerned with sullying her daughter with her reputation that she'd become a secondary player in Caroline's life.

No more.

Not if she could help it.

"I never —" she started. Stopped. He did not speak, infinitely patient. No doubt it was that patience that made him such a remarkable reporter. She filled his silence. "I never feel quite as though I belong there."

Because she did not belong there.

They walked for a bit longer. "But that does not mean that you cannot belong there."

"First I have to wish to belong there."

He understood. "The devastating battle between what one wants, and what one should want."

"She deserves a family," she said. "A respectable one. With a home. And a —" She stopped, considering the rest of the sentence. "I don't know." She cast about for something that would provide normalcy, finally settled on: "A cat. Or whatever normal girls have."

As though that did not sound positively idiotic.

He did not seem to think so. "She is not a normal girl."

"But she could be." If not for me. She left the last unsaid.

"And you think Langley's title will make her so."

The title was a means to an end. Couldn't he see that? "I do," she said.

"Because Chase won't have you." The words were a shock, unexpected and unpleasant. Filled with anger, she realized, on her behalf.

"Even if Chase did want me."

He raised a hand, and she sensed the irritation in the gesture. "You cannot tell me he is not an aristocrat. A wealthy and powerful one at that. Why else keep his identity such a secret?"

She did not speak. Could not risk revealing anything.

"He could give you everything you seek, but even now, as he hangs you in the wind, as he offers you as prey to Society's wolves, you protect him."

"It is not like that," she said.

"So you love him. But do not for one moment believe that it is not his fault that your hands are tied. He should marry you himself. Throw his mighty weight behind you."

"If he could..." She let the words trail off, hoping he would not hear their implicit deceit.

"Is he married?"

She did not answer. How could she?

"Of course, you won't tell me that." He smiled, but the expression lacked humor. "If he is, he's an ass. And if he's not..." He trailed off.

"What?" she prodded.

He looked away, out at the lake, still and silver in the March light. For a moment, she thought he would not answer. And then he said, "If he's not, he's a fool." She caught her breath at the words, as he turned back toward her and met her gaze. "I find I tolerate him less and less these days."

"Even if he were unmarried, I do not want him," she said, hating the words. Hating the lie she perpetuated with them. That Chase was other. That Chase was some mysterious, powerful man to whom they were both beholden.

"No, you want Langley," he said.

I want you. She bit back the words. Where had they come from? "He's a good choice. Kind. Decent." Safe.

"Titled," he said.

"And that," she agreed.

They walked for a long moment, and he said, "It's not a choice if there's only one man on the list, you know." When she did not reply, he added, "You should have a choice."

She should.

But she didn't.

By the end of the season, she would be married. Whether Langley agreed to it on his own or with prodding, he would marry her. He'd been selected for his qualities. And his secret, which she wouldn't hesitate to use if necessary.

It did not matter that somehow, something had upset the balance of Chase-Anna-Georgiana, and that, in this situation, blackmail made her squeamish. It was the only way.

Choice was a farce.

But here, in this moment, she had one. West wanted her. And she wanted him. And here, now, she had a choice.

She could have what she should have for a lifetime... or have what she wished for a moment.

Or perhaps she could have both.

Why not take a moment with West? He was the perfect partner – he knew her secrets – but not her whole truth. He knew she was Anna and Georgiana, knew why she was searching for a husband, was instrumental in the search. There was something tremendously freeing in the idea that he might be her choice. Now. Before she had no choice but to choose another.

It was tremendously clear all of a sudden.

"Do you have a mistress?"

She blurted out the question with a lack of finesse that appalled her. What had happened to Anna? Where was London's greatest lightskirt? More importantly, where was all-powerful and ever-certain Chase?

She wanted to toss herself into the Serpentine.

Why did this man have such a horrifying effect on her?

His brows rose at her question, but he somehow, blessedly, resisted the no doubt overwhelming urge to mock her delivery. "I do not."

She nodded once, and continued to walk along the edge of the lake. "I only ask because I would not wish to... overstep."

Why were the words so difficult?

Because he was watching her. She could see him out of the corner of her eye. He would be watching her a great deal more if she got the damn words out.

The thought did not help.

"By all means, Lady Georgiana, I encourage you to overstep. As much as you'd like."

She took a breath. Now or never. Forward, or forever here. "I propose an arrangement. Not a long-term arrangement. That would be silly. And disrespectful."

And foolish, as anything long-term with Duncan West would surely end in her wishing it more than she should.

Those words again.

He did not respond except to say, "Go on."

She stopped. Turned to him. Attempted to behave as though she ran one of London's finest men's clubs. "You said you wished to kiss me."

"Was my desire unclear?"

She ignored the flood of heat that came at the words. "It was not. And you wished to do other things as well."

His gaze turned dark. "A great number of other things."

The words did strange things to her insides.

She nodded. "Then I propose we do those things."

One of his golden brows rose. "Do you?"

Embarrassment flared, but she brazened it through. "I do. You haven't a mistress. And neither have I."

That did shock him. "I should hope not."

She tilted her head to one side and spoke as Anna, feeling altogether more powerful now that the proposition had been made. "I see no reason why I shouldn't until I've landed Langley. Discreetly, of course."

"Of course."

"I think you'll do."

"As mistress."

"You cannot imagine I would choose the word master."

His shock compounded. Obviously. She enjoyed the moment. Particularly when he said, "I feel certain I should be insulted."

She laughed, feeling suddenly freed by the conversation. "Come now, Mr. West, I am no delicate flower. Aren't you the one who said I should have a choice?"

He narrowed his gaze on her. "I meant in your long-term future."

"I have chosen my long-term future. And now I am choosing my immediate future," she said, stepping closer, bringing a yard to a foot. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I choose you."

He moved at the words, and she thought for a fleeting moment that he would capture her and pull her close. She would not have resisted. But he stopped himself, likely realizing that they were in public. It did not make the moment less exciting. She'd never been near a man who wanted her so much and was still so willing to resist her.

She smiled. "I take it you accept."

"On one condition," he said, crossing his arms, turning his back to the wind as it blew across the lake. Protecting her from the cold.

"Name it."

"While you are in my bed, you are not in his."

Chase.

It was an easy condition to accept. "Done."

He seemed to hesitate at her easy acceptance of his term, and she wondered if she'd given too much away. But then she saw the emotion cross his face. Disbelief.

He thought she was Chase's woman.

It should not have frustrated her as it did. It should not have angered her that he did not trust her. That he did not believe her. After all, she was lying even as she told him the truth.

But it did frustrate. Because she wanted this, above all else, to be something that was true. She began again, prepared to convince him. "We are not —"

He cut her off. "I accept."

Relief coursed through her.

Then he said, "We begin tomorrow night."

And relief turned to desire.

"I —" she started, but he stopped her again.

"I am in control."

The words sent a little thrill through her, even as she told herself she had no intention of allowing him to be in charge. "It was my idea."

He laughed at that, the sound low and graveled. "I assure you, I had this idea long before you did."

He called ahead to his sister, who immediately turned to acknowledge him. He indicated the curricle, and she passed the reins of Georgiana's horse to Caroline to head in the direction of the conveyance. Once that was done, he returned his attention to Georgiana and repeated himself. "I am in control."

Her brows snapped together. "I don't much care for that."

His lips twitched in a small smile. "I promise that you will."

And with that, he left, headed back down the rise.

"Mr. West." She called him back, not knowing what she would say, but knowing, nonetheless, that she wished him to turn. To look at her once more.

He did. "Considering the most recent turn of events, I think you should call me Duncan, don't you?"

Duncan. It felt far too personal. Even after she'd propositioned him. Perhaps because she'd propositioned him. Dear God. She'd propositioned him. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Duncan."

He smiled, slow and wolfish. "I do like the sound of that."

A blush rose in her cheeks, and she willed the color away. Failed. One side of his mouth kicked up. "And I like the look of that. There's nothing of Anna in that color. Nothing false."

The heat increased.

At once, he seemed to know too much of her. To see too much.

She cast about for something to rebalance their power. "Where were you? Before you came to London?"

He stilled, and understanding shot through her – something about the question had unsettled him. She knew with the keen sense of one who dealt in truths and lies that there was something there, in his past. Something that his instincts told him to lie about.

"Suffolk."

Not a lie, but neither was it the whole truth.

And he did not stay for more questions.

"Tomorrow night," he said, and the words left no room for refusal.

She nodded, a mix of anticipation and nervousness threading through her "Tomorrow night."

He turned and left her, and she watched his retreating back as his long legs dissolved the distance between him and his sister, who was already halfway to his curricle. Tomorrow night.

What had she done?

"Mother?" Caroline interrupted her rumination, and Georgiana looked to her daughter, poised a few yards away, both their horses in tow.

Georgiana forced a smile. "Shall we head back? Are you through?"

Caroline looked to West's retreating back – Georgiana would not think of him as Duncan, it was too personal – then to her mother. "I am through."

She would marry another man. She would give Caroline the world she deserved. The opportunity she deserved. But was it asking too much to find a moment of pleasure for herself in the meantime?

What would be the harm?