Laura felt a surge of anger as Richard— no, he was Lord Albroke now —sat down. Then her last night of freedom was to be stolen — and by Richard.

It was three or four years since she had last seen him. She had known him all her life, but after her coming out they had come across each other only at rare intervals. An opera in London. A drive in the Park. Jane Gardiner's wedding. Lady Harriet's birthday. And a few other scattered, chance moments. She had never sought him out, but nor did she avoid him when she saw him. At each meeting she had marked the passage of years by a new line scored across his brow, a new grey hair, a new scar, and amused herself by imaging what might have caused them.

It disconcerted her now that he seemed rather younger than when she had seen him last. There was something... lighter about him. Softer. Calmer. Perhaps it was just by comparison; she felt heavier and harder and stormier inside than ever before.

All she wanted was for him to go away and leave her alone. It was the last night of her full mourning, a year and day after her husband's death, and it had not been a pleasant one yet. Her father's quiet dinner party had turned out to be more of a ball. Knowing his intentions to launch her into society again, to dangle her in front of the men he wanted her to marry, she had refused to go. He had shouted. She had slapped him. And run away to hide in the stables where he and his servants would not find her. Now that she had dared sneak back indoors for the warmth of a fire, all she wished for was solitude and silence.

But no. Richard would stay. Richard would speak.

"My condolences, on your loss," he said, in the stiff, pompous manner Laura remembered so well.

She bowed her head a moment. "I thank you, my lord."

"It must have been hard. You weren't married long."

Every day had felt like forever. She shrugged.

But still Richard would not get the hint. He pressed her, anxiously,

"Your father said you were ill? I hope your health—"

"Oh pray spare me your good manners," snapped Laura. "I don't want them."

He jumped as though he'd been bitten. "I — I apologize."

"And there you go again," she said. "Can't you ever think of something interesting to say?"

He was silent. After a while he said irritably, "You make it rather hard!"

"I came here to be alone," she said.

"And I told you I'm intruding."

"And I wish you wouldn't." She turned her face to the fire and wrapped her arms around herself. She had been outside for hours and was half-frozen, but there was no fire in her room tonight — her father's vengeance for the slap. She shivered slightly.

Richard must have seen the motion. "Are you unwell? Should I call for a maid?"

"No! I don't want my father knowing I'm inside." For a moment, there was almost plaintiveness in her voice. She corrected it. "All men are a pestilence. Leave me alone."

But the words, Leave me alone, cannot be other than plaintive, no matter how sharp the tongue, and Richard did not move.

"Is something the matter? Is there something I can do?"

She almost laughed. "When did you become so kind, my lord?"

Richard stiffened. "I mean—I'm only— you mustn't think me unconcerned. You do not look very well."

"I'm not unwell. And I thank you for your kind appraisal of my appearance. As it happens, I am only ugly."

"You do your best to twist concern into an insult!"

"It is." Annoyed, Laura slipped to the floor and sat down on the rug in front of the fire, for the warmth, and to put distance between Richard and herself. "I don't want concern. I don't want pity. I don't like them."

There was silence for some time, but Richard did not go away. After a while, Laura grew used to him. He wasn't like other men after all. He didn't know how to flirt, so when he demanded her attention he did it by no more than awkward silence.

It was she who broke it.

"I'm not going to marry you, Richard. If you're thinking you can get a head start on the other men my father brought here tonight to woo me..." Her voice was bitter. "Well, you can't. I'm not going to marry anyone."

"I'm afraid your father didn't bring me here for that purpose," he said drily. "I rather gather he still considers me an inferior match for you. He wishes for me to distract your rivals."

Laura laughed. "You? But why would they be distracted by you? Oh, your title I suppose, but you're... well." She hesitated to point out his deformed leg and limp. "But still."

But she hadn't offended him. He only smiled. "You can see I'm not doing a very good job of it."

For a moment, she almost smiled back. She turned her face to the flames instead.

But he was right. Her father never had considered Richard a suitable match, despite his title. Her father had always wished for Richard's younger brother to marry her. And, as Neil was handsomer, taller, younger, and generally more pleasant, she had been almost willing to agree with her father on the matter.

"Why did my father never consider you?" she asked idly.

"I suppose he thought me too proper."

"No. It must have been something dreadful." She gasped. "Oh. You're not— you don't—"

"Don't?"

"...Like men?"

"I do not!"

She turned around, pleased to see him blushing. "But what else could it have been? For you are the elder, and the superior match, and yet he never considered it."

"I..."

"I shall not condemn you," she added. "And you never did marry. It does make sense, doesn't it? Oh, I never guessed, Richard. I am glad my father had the sense at least to—"

"Stop it, please."

Again, she turned around, and this time felt faintly guilty to see the pained look on his face. But it was beyond her to say sorry, so she merely turned away again and hated Richard for making her feel guilty. Hated her father, too, because she needed no excuse for that.

"It's because I can't have children."

He spoke softly but she jumped anyway. Hot shame swelled through her, followed by hotter anger.

"Your father and mine hoped for our families to be united by a child. So I was not suitable."

She ought to say sorry. She knew she ought. She had been rude, as usual. But she didn't want to. She hated saying sorry.

Richard continued, "For that, I will never be suitable, in your father's eyes. So you need not fear me as a suitor."

"I don't fear anyone," she grumbled.

It was growing too hot by the fire. Her cheeks were burning. She shifted away, sat back on the couch, the same one as Richard this time. With disinterested curiosity, she eyed his figure. It wasn't bad. To be sure, he was short, but he was trim, neat. Perhaps more handsome at thirty-five than twenty-five, for around him, other men, once young and handsome, were growing fat or florid or jaundiced, and set him off by comparison. And his features, a little bony, his eyes that strange, too pale brown, but not unpleasant by any means. With his title and wealth, he could have found a beauty content to believe herself in love with him.

"You still could have married though. Anyone you chose. Why didn't you?"

He shrugged, and she knew instinctively there was a reason.

"But do tell me. Even you, my lord, must want for company at times."

"Not really."

"But don't we all?" She curled back her upper lip. Company in one degree she wanted. Mr Maidstone had always been gentle in bed. She had been surprised, in the months after his death, to want for that. To want for it, and have no way of getting it, without making the marriage she planned never to make.

"I do not."

"Liar." She shifted closer. "Those girls in the other room, they're pretty, aren't they?"

"Very. And young. Very young."

"You're not so old." She raked her eyes over his face. Yes. It seemed younger, less lined, than when she had last seen it. Freer of cares. "You might marry one of them you know. Both of you might be very happy."

"I do not think any of those women could make me happy."

She laughed at his pomposity. "What about me?"

He stiffened. She walked her fingers over to his coat sleeve and played with it.

"What about me, Rich? Could I make you happy?"

"Madame, are you trying to seduce me?"

She laughed again. "Not exactly. I'm just wondering when last it was you dared flirt with a woman. Dared do more." She skimmed her fingers over the back of his knuckles. "I see things differently now I've been married. When you're a virgin you don't know what it is to want it. Now I know, and I want. And I want to know how it is you can sit there saying you don't want."

Richard squared his stick on the floor and levered himself to his feet. "I should be getting back to the others."

She rose after him, took his wrist. "Richard."

He turned. He was short enough not to be able to look down at her — not more than two inches anyway — but there was something withering in his scorn. Something withering, and intriguing.

"Is it that you've never done it?" she asked softly. "Have you never been with a woman?"

"Have some self-respect, Laura."

"Kiss me," she said. "Go on. I don't believe you've ever done it."

"I've nothing to prove to you, Laura," he said coldly.

"Really?" She ran her hand up his coat, feeling the warmth of his body though the fabric, until she came to his chin and brushed his lips with her finger. "Damn it. I almost even want you to kiss me."

He took her wrist and moved it away. "Are you drunk?"

"No. But you're too sober." She twisted her hand around so that she held his. "Tell me, Rich, do you ever steal kisses in darkened rooms? Do you ever warm that cold voice of yours to whisper sweet nothings in another's ear? Or are you dust and mud and dried all through?"

She was leaning close, hardly sure now if she was merely teasing him or truly flirting. A rapid warmth had stolen over her when he had taken her wrist. What a waste it had been — from fifteen to twenty-five, locked away, unable to kiss, to touch, to love, unable to even smile at a man without her father's approval. And then those two awful years with Mr Maidstone. Awful, but for the nights she spent in his bed. And now, back to lonely purgatory, until some other man would take her from her father, torment her in the daylight hours, and, if she was lucky, give her something to make up for it at night.

Richard's thumb had been gently rubbing back and forth on the back of her hand. She didn't think he was even aware of it. His eyes were still cold upon hers.

"Have you ever been with a woman you didn't have to pay?" she whispered.

"No." Something hot and angry came into his eyes. "I haven't."

And he kissed her. A hot, angry kiss. His stick clattered to the floor as he pulled her against him. She hadn't realized how strong he was — small for a man, but still with a man's strength. For a moment, she couldn't have drawn back if she wanted to.

But she didn't want to.

She clutched at his coat lapels, a strange aliveness blooming through her. He bit her bottom lip and withdrew, but kept his grip on her waist. She could see his pulse beating in his neck, rapid and heavy. She knew now she wasn't teasing him. She wouldn't have dared, not when he had that look in his eyes. Hungry and angry and lonely. The very mirror of her soul.

Wordlessly, unanimously, they decided.

Anyone would have done perhaps. For either of them. One of those stupid young women in the drawing room for Richard. One of those stupid young men for her. But Richard was the one there. To pull her against him. To press his lips hotly to her neck. To sink down on the couch after her. To fumble at her dress. To bite her bared shoulder. To dive inside her. To fall breathless on top of her.

She ran shaking fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. His head rested on her chest, his breath arcing over the breast he had bared.

Her first rational thought was that she didn't feel guilty at all. No. She stroked his neck as he shifted to a more comfortable position. She felt only... relieved. Like she'd stretched after sitting for too long in the same position.

He spoke into her hair.

"We ought not have—"

"Don't regain your manners here, my lord," she interrupted. "The bedroom is no place for manners."

"I can't help but notice this is a library."

She bit off her peal of laughter. The music had died outside, and they might be discovered if they were too loud.

"Laura, I must offer—"

"Don't." She placed a hand over his lips. "Don't. Richard, can't you see? I don't wish to marry — never again." Tears rose to her eyes, but he must have thought the tremble in her voice was for her husband.

"I'm sorry. It has not been long."

She let it pass. Their intimacy had not made her stupid. She could not trust Richard with that secret.

Recovering now, her thoughts took a more usual track. Her father. She smiled to herself.

"But my father would be furious if he knew," she said, not hiding her smile, her anger.

Richard raised his head. "What?"

"That— well you said yourself, he has no wish for me to marry you. Certainly not... for this. In his own library. At a ball where I'm to marry Lord Someone or Sir Moneybags."

"Did you..." Richard frowned. "Did you seduce me only to anger your father?"

He sat up, began to arrange his disordered clothing.

"But no!" Her voice rose. "That—"

There was a sound outside. They looked at each other in panic.

"That way," she whispered, pointing at the door to her father's study. "Get dressed in there."

She ran to grab his stick from where it had fallen and gave it to him. He hastily limped off. As the study door shut, as she pulled her dress to rights, the door to the hall opened. Miss Dalrymple peered in.

Laura sighed in relief. A woman so old could not have sharp eyesight surely.

"Is Lord Albroke here?" Miss Dalrymple enquired. "I thought I heard his voice."

"He, um, has just gone, Miss Dalrymple."

"Ah." The old woman came into the room, swinging her overfull, lumpy reticule. "He's quick on his feet when he wants to be, isn't he?"

"He had to— um. Consult his coachman."

"Such inconvenient timing." Miss Dalrymple idly picked up an unlit candle from a table and slipped it into her reticule. "I wished to say goodbye before I went home."

"I am sure he will not be long. May I have that candle, Miss Dalrymple?"

"Oh." Miss Dalrymple looked down. "Silly me. Always picking things up without realizing." She handed it rather reluctantly to Laura. "But still, I am rather surprised by his lordship. He said he was not in the race, and here I find he's already won it."

"Won what?" Laura asked.

"But I would have my money on his pony anyway." Miss Dalrymple looked abstractly around the library. "Oh dear, those couch cushions are all rumpled. Your servants must be disgracefully slovenly."

Blood rushed to Laura's cheeks. "Yes. Yes, it's dreadfully hard to find good servants these days."

Miss Dalrymple smiled brightly at her. "Well well, goodnight, my lady. I shall be off now."

She was gone, leaving Laura to straighten the cushions and steady her beating heart.