To her astonishment, the Duke of Bradbury did not look at all shocked or disgusted with her. If anything, he looked so amused that he had to purse his lips as his shoulders quivered in a clear struggle to stifle an outburst of laughter.

If only Lord Gareth would find it as diverting.

Bradbury composed himself and cocked his head to one side as he eyed her, sweeping his gaze from her head to her toes as if regarding her in a new light. Did he suddenly view her the way Kingsley did—a lightskirt he could take advantage of?

"Does your mother know you were there?" he inquired.

She shook her head. "Only Lady Flora and Lord Kingsley—which brings up something else, Your Grace—he's using it to blackmail me into marrying him."

As if she hadn't said that at all, he responded by asking, "Did Lord Gareth see you there?"

"I was wearing the mask."

He nodded again. "Of course. So he doesn't know you were there, yet Kingsley does?"

"The mask slipped when I happened to run into him. He saw my face."

"And your own brother doesn't know?"

"I'm not sure I'd be alive right now to tell the tale, if that were the case."

"So why are you telling me? Do you hope I'll be so scandalized that I'll detach myself from your mother? What do you have against me, Miss Benedict?"

"Nothing." Oddly, she felt more foolish admitting that than she did her escapade at Madame Delphine's.

"I suppose my brother put you up to it, for he doesn't want me to marry your mother."

"I don't especially want you to marry her, either."

"Not for the same reasons as Gareth, surely?"

"No, because—oh, I know this sounds silly, Your Grace, but I can't stand the idea of my mother marrying for the fifth time, when I have yet to marry even once."

"But didn't you just say you have an offer from Lord Kingsley?"

"He's blackmailing me, Your Grace!"

"Still, you'd be married. You'd be one step up on your spinster friends, some of whom, I've no doubt, would be willing to marry him even without the benefit of blackmail."

Evie truly felt her head spinning. "I fail to see what the benefits are, but I'd rather not be married to someone who's blackmailing me into it."

"Then you're not really that eager to marry before your mother, are you, Miss Benedict? I'm glad, for everyone's sake. It's sad when any young woman is so anxious to marry that she'd settle for a man who's shamelessly blackmailing her into it."

"It is, indeed. But my reputation is at stake."

"Then you're not desperate to marry, only desperate to save your reputation? Alas, the only remedy for that is to marry at once."

"But not to Kingsley! You speak of a circle in Dante's Inferno especially for women. Surely you would never allow your own stepdaughter to marry a blackmailer?"

He chuckled. "I should have nothing to say about it. If you were my natural daughter, I would. But you're someone else's problem, and well over one and twenty to boot."

"Well over?" Kingsley had said the same thing. Did all men think this about her, as if being well over one and twenty meant she was too old to attract a husband without a dowry ample enough to compensate for the length of her tooth? Did Lord Gareth think that? But then how was her mother, who was well over one and forty, able to snap up bridegrooms so easily, and with frightening frequency?

"I suppose I phrased that rather indelicately," the duke said ruefully. "After all, it's not as if you're as old as my intended. But I do not see your troubles as an impediment to my own interests."

"Then you won't speak to Kingsley?"

"It's not my place. Let your brother speak to Kingsley when he returns to London."

"I'm not sure Kingsley will wait that long. He's threatening to tell all of London about my visit to Madame Delphine's if I don't marry him. And then no one else will marry me."

"Who else has offered?"

"No one!" she cried, her voice almost a shriek. Her mother was marrying a man ten times more vexing than his brother.

"I shan't speak to Kingsley or Tyndall, but I will offer you some advice, Miss Benedict."

She sighed in doleful resignation. "I suppose it's to go ahead and marry Kingsley?"

"Nothing of the sort. Tell Kingsley you'll marry him, but it really means a great deal to you to have your brother's blessing, despite the fact you're of age. Any gentleman will respect that. And since Tyndall won't be back from his honeymoon for another fortnight, it should buy you enough time."

She stared at him, wondering what the catch was, because this did seem like too easy a solution. "Enough time for what?"

The duke shrugged. "To snare a more desirable offer. You do have a dowry now, Miss Benedict. There will be other suitors calling. You may depend on that."

"But if they propose, my brother's blessing will still be required."

"Only if you insist on it, but not if you elope. What harm can Kingsley do to you once you're safely married to someone else?" She'd never seen the duke look more solemn.

She wondered if he'd ever seen anyone look more appalled. "I have no wish to deceive a potential husband, Your Grace. What if he challenged Kingsley to a duel?"

"That's only if Kingsley is foolish enough to continue making an issue of it, or hasn't trapped a more gullible heiress in the meantime. I've given you my advice, Miss Benedict. 'Tis yours to heed or disregard as you see fit. Now, won't you please send down Lady Milner?" He stepped back into the drawing room, signaling that their discussion was at an end.

She trudged back up the stairs, wondering how Lord Gareth would react when his brother told him that Evie was the one at Madame Delphine's that night. That Evie herself had confessed it to the duke. And, that while she'd told the duke hoping he might be scandalized enough to detach himself from her mother, he intended to remain attached to her anyway. Lord Gareth, in the meantime, could stop tearing out his chestnut hair over the possibility that he'd done something deliciously wicked with his brother's future wife.

Instead he'd done it to Evie. Would he be furious that she hadn't told him herself?

More importantly, upon learning the truth—for he couldn't possibly doubt the word of his own brother, the duke—would Lord Gareth do the honorable thing and offer marriage to her?

And then finish what he started that night? Because Evie knew, deep in her trembling core, that there was more to it. Something amazing that she would have experienced if only they'd had just one more minute. Just one—maybe even not that long. She'd felt ready to explode into thousands of pieces when—

She had to push that out of her mind. Upon reaching the top of the staircase, she heard her mother's voice coming from Lady Cranston's bedchamber. Evie headed that way, pausing in the open doorway. "Mama, the Duke of Bradbury is in the drawing room. He'd like to see you."

"Splendid! Why don't you keep Lady Cranston company in the meantime?" She brushed past Evie and disappeared down the staircase.

Evie turned to Lady Cranston, who sat in a chair near the window, working on her embroidery. "How are you today, my lady? I don't see the sling."

"I'm trying to do without it now. It's certainly easier to do needlework without it. I only wish I could return to my home in Yorkshire. I feel as if I'm imposing on you and your mother."

"Not at all," Evie reassured her. "Where else could you stay and have people you know to look after you?"

Lady Cranston sniffed. "If only my husband hadn't sold our London townhouse before he passed away. I was meant to stay here with my niece, Lady Flora and her husband, Mr. Benedict, but now they've returned north already."

Evie furrowed her brow. "I thought they went to Kent to stay with her cousin, the new Earl of Renton?"

Lady Cranston shook her head. "I received a letter from her this morning. Lord Renton turned them away."

"Then surely they must be staying at Tyndall Hall. It's a smaller country estate in Kent that my brother inherited in addition to this house and Tyndall Abbey in Derbyshire. It happens to march Renton's ancestral home. Since Mr. Benedict is my brother's cousin and heir presumptive..."

Lady Cranston continued shaking her head as she picked up an open letter at her bedside and offered it to Evie. "This arrived from my niece in this morning's post. They've gone to stay with Mr. Benedict's widowed mother in Northampton."

Evie skimmed over Flora's terse letter, and her heart skipped a beat at the mention of a letter Flora was expecting from her late sister. It had to be the same one Kingsley had given Evie, which was now tucked inside the pages of Pride and Prejudice.

If you hear of it or happen to receive it at Tyndall House, please see that it is delivered to me personally, Flora wrote. It is my beloved sister's final communiqué!

"I'm just glad they're not here," Lady Cranston remarked. "Flora's to blame for the wound in my shoulder, after all. My own niece! Imagine, hiring highwaymen to waylay our carriage, just so she could steal those jewels. And that's another reason I balk at returning to Yorkshire. Highwaymen."

"People travel the Great North Road every day without incident, my lady."

"I know, but I'd rather not go alone. And I have no wish to travel by stage or post-chaise. I'd rather have my own carriage. Alas, my own carriage is back in Yorkshire. Lady Flora and I and Miss Rowan—" Lady Cranston cast a rueful smile at Evie, "—I beg your pardon, I mean the new Lady Tyndall, of course..."

"Of course you meant my brother's bride." Evie smiled back. "But she was still Miss Tabitha Rowan when she was traveling with you and Lady Flora and Cousin Gerald."

"But he's the one who provided the carriage in which we traveled from Cranston Hall to Tyndall Abbey. And now he's taken it to Northampton, leaving me stranded here."

"You won't be stranded forever, my lady. Ross and Tabitha will return from Brighton in a fortnight, and then we'll all return to Derbyshire. You can come with us."

"Yes, but what about the journey from Derbyshire to Yorkshire? Someone will have to travel with me." Lady Cranston's gaze turned pleading. "Now that Tabitha has married your brother, won't you consider becoming my companion, Evangeline? Flora has said often enough that you're not likely to marry at your age."

Evie fought to suppress an unladylike grimace. "I shall give it some thought, my lady. Won't you excuse me now? I have some correspondence to tend to."

"Of course. Besides, I'm already feeling winded just from this conversation. I still haven't regained all of my strength. Perhaps it's best I don't travel yet."

Evie returned to her own bedchamber and opened Pride and Prejudice. A bookplate on the flyleaf caught her eye, and—

Why, that fiend!

Lord Kingsley stole this book—a sparkling, brand new copy—from a lending library! Did the scoundrel think she wouldn't notice the bookplate and have something to say about that? Just because he was too dimwitted to notice? Since he scarcely had a feather to fly with, naturally he wouldn't spend coin for the same item at Hatchards.

Anger spiked through her. The only two reasons she didn't slam the book down or throw it across the room were firstly, that was no way to treat a book, and secondly, she'd much rather slam Kingsley down and throw him across the room—and out the window.

She sat down at her writing desk to pen a brief letter to him, informing him that he was a thief and a cur and a—she crumpled that up and tossed it aside before starting over. She wrote a new letter, stating that after further consideration, she would accept his offer of marriage. She asked only that he remain silent about their first meeting, and wait until her brother returned to London a fortnight hence.

I cannot marry without his blessing, she wrote, but he will surely welcome an alliance between our families.

Every word was a lie. Her brother would never consent to this marriage. When she thought of Lord Gareth's kiss and caresses, and recalled Kingsley's kiss and contemplated the further intimacies that awaited her if he became her husband, she shuddered.

The last thing she wanted was for Kingsley to finish what Lord Gareth had started.