Not horror now, but disbelief swept through Gareth like wildfire as he gawped at her. "That was you with whom I...at Madame Delphine's..." Oh, good God Almighty, she was nodding, "...on that night back in May..." Bloody hell, she was still nodding. "...wearing the same butterfly necklace your mother wore at your brother's wedding..."

"Along with her butterfly mask," Evangeline said. "You thought I was my mother."

"But it was you," he whispered, still incredulous.

"Lady Flora brought me there as some sort of lark, or prank designed to ruin me out of spite. She was supposed to accompany me to Lady Whitbourne's masquerade ball that same evening. I was dressed as a faerie. Almost lost my wings and...and other things."

"That was you," he said, his voice just above a whisper now, but still incredulous.

"That was me," she affirmed. "'Twas my uncle, Lord Forrestal, who walked in on us, took one look at my mask and the butterfly necklace that belonged to my maternal grandmother until he lost it to my father in a card game—and he instantly assumed I was his sister Blanche. 'Twas he who said I, or she, hadn't changed a bit since the last time he found her in such a place, many years ago when she ran away from home. That was how the rumor started that she was once a courtesan—all because she took shelter in such a place for barely a day."

Gareth was too stunned to say anything. He only wished the shock extended to his vision. Yet he clearly saw Evangeline standing before him, her parted lips trembling, her brow creased, her dark eyes swimming with anguish—at what?

She'd just opened her heart to him, revealed her darkest secret—which centered on him, for God's sake—and she apparently feared the end of the world for having done so. For what sort of proper spinster would ever attend one of Madame Delphine's Cyprian balls and allow a gentleman to whom she'd never even been introduced, to—to—Good God. He couldn't think it any more than she could say it. Yet he remembered very well what he did that night. What Evangeline just told him matched his recollection perfectly.

"Then why did you...why didn't you say something?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't supposed to be there? I would have helped you, however I could. I never would have unwittingly ruined an innocent. Or even wittingly ruined one, for that matter."

"You were so forlorn," she said. "You said you'd just lost someone."

"I didn't lose them so much as find out that they weren't who I thought they were," he said. "I misjudged them. Then I go on to meet someone else, only to find out just now that she's not who I thought she really was, either. Still..." He gusted out a mighty sigh of relief. "It sets my heart and soul at ease to know that it wasn't your mother, after all."

"But you're not exactly glad it was me? I thought, as long as I was there, that maybe I could cheer you up. And I also thought, since I wasn't likely to ever marry at this point, and I was already ruined simply by being there, then I might as well hang for a sheep as a lamb. Make it the whole flock. You said it yourself the day of my brother's wedding. I'd already abandoned hope."

Gareth remembered well that conversation. ...if you were truly desperate, you would be trying all manner of madcap schemes to lure some unsuspecting bachelor into the parson's mousetrap by letting him compromise you and allowing yourself to be caught by some matron, such as Lady Nellis. I'm heartened to know you'd never lower yourself to such dire measures. Or that you're not so desperate that you've already abandoned all hope, and let yourself be ruined because you're so high on the shelf it won't matter.

But she hadn't abandoned hope, or she wouldn't object to her mother's betrothal to Gareth's brother on the basis that she had yet to marry even once. She hadn't abandoned hope, or she would have eloped with Kingsley.

She couldn't abandon hope now. Not when Gareth could offer it to her.

"So now you know everything," she said tremulously, a catch in her voice that was probably a sob. "The thing I've been dreading is now hanging between us. And if you don't say something in the next few seconds, I—I—"

"Hello?" sang a feminine voice from the front hall. "Evie? Are we ready to leave yet?"

Evangeline threw up her hands. "But of course. Such ghastly timing! Why isn't she someone's mother?"

"Evie?" Lady Cranston appeared in the drawing room doorway, feathered bonnet on her head and pelisse buttoned up. She glanced at Gareth. "My lord? Are the two of you ready to go? I know I am. I've been bored stiff for days, and can't wait to return to Yorkshire."

Where she could resume being bored stiff for days, but at least she'd be bored in her own natural habitat. Speaking of being stiff, Gareth felt riveted to the spot as Evie sped past him toward the doorway.

"I have to pack, but I don't know if Lord Gareth will still accompany us," she said, making a beeline past Lady Cranston. "Oh, when will I ever have an encounter with him that isn't awkward?"

Gareth remained where he was as he listened to her footsteps rush up the staircase. Lady Cranston, meanwhile, crept into the drawing room, gripping her walking stick as she gazed up at him.

"Why, whatever does she mean by all of that, my lord?"

He finally found his voice. He only wished he could marshal his thoughts on Evangeline's astounding revelation. "I can't tell you what she means, my lady, but I can assure you that I still intend to escort the two of you north. I need only return to Bradbury House to pack and see to our carriage." And deliver the missive found in Kingsley's waistcoat pocket to Regis Hurley.

"Then you'd best go at once. I wish to leave today, and I'll warrant Evie does, too. She looks quite distraught, and who can blame her after all the to-do this morning! I'm only glad you didn't fire your pistol. I've had quite enough of pistols going off since leaving Yorkshire."

Gareth departed immediately, eager for the chance to focus on something else. Anything else. Once out the front door of Tyndall House, he broke into a run for the mews where his horse was waiting. He rode hard all the way to Hurley's office, where he strode through the open door, waving the missive as Hurley stood behind his desk as if he were just about to leave.

"I have it, Regis, straight out of Kingsley's waistcoat pocket. He's even addressed it to you, eyes only."

"Indeed? I'm supposed to meet him at Spaniards Inn on Hampstead Heath an hour hence to collect it. He's leaving Town to marry Miss Benedict, I gather. Are you certain he was taking liberties with her the other day? Maybe what you saw was only a very ardent proposal."

"She cried off," Gareth said tersely, handing the envelope to Regis, who promptly tore it open and drew out another envelope. This one, however, came with a broken seal.

"Bloody hell. I hope that's not been read by someone unauthorized," Gareth muttered.

"Such as Kingsley? It's addressed to him," said Regis, as he unfolded it and scanned the contents.

"Then he was conspiring with Ruth? Or was it his older brother?" Gareth's chest tightened at the memory of Ruth at Madame Delphine's Cyprian ball that night, recognizable by the port wine stain on her knee as she leaned against the wall moaning while the late Viscount Sutton knelt before her with his face between her thighs.

And only moments before Gareth encountered not Lady Milner, but Evangeline, and almost brought her to what could have been her first ever climax.

Regis lifted his gaze to Gareth. "Has Miss Benedict cried off?"

"I know she had no wish to marry him, for he only wanted her dowry."

"She told you that, did she?"

"As a matter of fact, she did. What has this to do with that secret document?"

Regis handed it to Gareth, who puzzled over the words.

"Is that some sort of code?" Regis queried. "Could it be she was working with Lady Ruth?"

By her own unbelievable admission, she'd been at Madame Delphine's that night. But, "Lady Ruth's sister, Lady Flora, is married to Mr. Gerald Benedict, who is the first cousin of the Earl of Tyndall as well as Miss Evangeline Benedict."

"That's the only connection you're aware she has to the lamentably late Lady Ruth?"

"Yes." Gareth saw no need to inform Regis that Lady Flora had brought Evangeline to Madame Delphine's that night as a prank. It had nothing to do with Gareth or Lady Ruth's own reasons for being there at the same time, and the fewer people who knew about it, the better. "This is nothing but a letter Miss Benedict wrote to Lord Kingsley, agreeing to marry him." In exchange for Kingsley's silence about their "first meeting"—an obvious reference to Madame Delphine's. The very same letter Gareth suspected she didn't want him to see—until she made her astonishing confession.

"But it's dated last week," Regis pointed out. "And today she cried off?"

"How fickle are women, eh? But the fact remains this is not the document Kingsley was supposed to deliver to you."

"No, he tricked us both. I described it to him only as a sealed envelope addressed to Eris. The cur must have thought he could swindle the Crown out of a few hundred guineas. He's that far under the hatches, and that desperate."

"That also means he couldn't find the envelope, because it wasn't at his ancestral pile," said Gareth. "It's either lost forever, or Ruth already passed it on to Eris. Oh, and speaking of which, the lady with my brother last night is not Eris. I casually addressed her thus, and she just as casually denied being an heiress—the kind with pots of money."

"Honestly, Gareth, I was only joking about that. Not bloody likely she's Eris and your brother's newest light o' love. Our trail may have gone cold. Very well. I'll take care of Kingsley. He may yet make an appearance at Spaniards Inn with the genuine article."

"He may be late for the meeting. I had to cosh him over the head to keep him from molesting Lady Cranston, who's a guest at Tyndall House."

Regis arched a brow. "What was that about?"

Gareth almost felt embarrassed to say it, now that he knew he'd made a similar mistake. "Somehow he confused her with Miss Benedict's mother."

Regis grunted. "I've heard from my wife that people often confuse Miss Benedict with her mother, or even vice-versa. They share a strong resemblance."

Gareth hoped he didn't look as foolish as he felt. "I've heard that, too, and seen it for myself."

"Meantime, Lord Owen is presently in Gloucestershire. I leave it to you to give him the latest news, and find out what, if anything, he wants you to do next."

Again when Gareth left, he ran.