“After heading to Gretna six days ago? I suspect they would have raced up there, stopping only when necessary. They could have reached it in two days. No, I think they were wed and were returning to London.”

“But why didn’t they get there?” Estelle whispered. Her body ached from the tension of sitting in a carriage and trying not to look at the man who had sat opposite.

“That’s the mystery,” he agreed. “But dinner first, and a night here. You look as though you are ready to fall to the floor. And you, my love, can have the bed.”

It was unsettling to have him lying on the floor. Rather like having a sleeping tiger in the bedroom. Moonlight slanted in through a space between the threadbare drapes. Estelle hadn’t slept. She lay on her back, staring up at the silvery light that flickered over the dark ceiling. She wore a thick, unflattering flannel nightgown, buttoned to her throat.

“You aren’t sleeping.”

Lyan’s matter-of-fact statement had her jerking up the worn sheets. He was on his knees beside her bed, elbows resting on her mattress. Watching her. He had stripped to his trousers. The last time she’d seen him, he had been a lad of seventeen. Strong and well built, but nothing like … like this.

“I’m intrigued,” he continued. “Why do you help young women run away? Is it because it worked so well for you?”

She flushed. “No. It’s because I want them to find the one thing I turned my back on. Love.”

In the stark bluish light, he looked haggard. Haunted. “Before I caught you in your house, I took a peek at your daughter.”

Indignant, she sat up, fisting her hands at her sides. “You had no right—”

“She was sleeping — didn’t see me. I know she’s mine, Sal. I wanted to see if you would finally tell me. But you won’t, will you? You’d have let me go to my death without knowing I have a child.” He shoved back his hair. It was loose and fell in coal-black waves around his shoulders. “Why, Sal?”

She hugged herself. This was a mistake. She should never have put herself in a position where she was alone with him. She’d believed she trusted him. But she’d never seen any man look as wounded, as tortured as Lyan did now.

“I … I have finally given her some happiness.”

“You don’t want her to blame you for the choices you made. When did you know you were pregnant? Before or after you ran away?”

“After,” she whispered.

“You could have found me. I would have married you then. If there had been the three of us, Sal, you wouldn’t have had to work your fingers to the bone as a seamstress. You would have known I would always be there for you.”

“I didn’t know that then,” she cried. “All I knew was what I’d seen of my mother and men. I vowed I would never be dependent on anyone.”

“You cost me ten years, Sal. Ten years I could have had with my child.”

“I suppose you hate me.” It was too late to run now. “What are you going to do to me, Lyan, after we find Lady Maryanne? Do you plan to hand me over to Cavendish? That would give you what you must want — revenge.”

He jerked back. Anger flared in his green eyes. “Jesus, Sally. I suspect Cavendish might have plotted to murder the girl.”

She was moving away from him, trying to scuttle across the bed. But he grasped her wrist and pulled her back with such force, she squeaked in pain, and fell across the mattress.

“I would never betray you. Understand that.” He cursed and let go of her. “And if Cavendish conspired to kill his ward, I intend to see him pay.”

“He is too powerful, Lyan.” Her bitterness rang out in the room. “Men like him are never punished. He’ll be free.” Icy panic rushed to her heart. “Did you tell him I helped Maryanne?”

“I didn’t. But he suspected you of helping her. He knew she had appointments with you.” His eyes narrowed. “Cavendish seems to think you would have helped Maryanne to spite him.”

Spite him. She would like to see him rot in Newgate for what he had done. For the way he had left Rose with fears and nightmares.

“What are you afraid of, Sal? Cavendish?”

Yes, she was terrified. But she couldn’t let him see it. That was how she had always survived. By never allowing anyone to see her fear.

“Maryanne is likely a married woman by now,” Lyan said. “She will have her fortune, and she can buy herself a lot of protection with money. How will you protect yourself, Sally?”

“I … I will do it somehow.” For Rose. She would protect Rose. In every way and at any cost. But she was afraid. Cavendish was capable of anything. And if she were to make a mistake, if he were to kill her, Rose would be vulnerable. And she had no doubt that Cavendish, the evil blackguard, would take delight in hurting Rose too.

“There is a solution, love. Marry me.” He smiled, and had never looked more devastating, more tempting. “Again. As your husband, I can keep you safe. Cavendish, for all his threats, his bluster and his arrogance, would never try to hurt you if he knew I’d rip him apart over it.”

“You are going to be an earl. You can’t rip men apart.”

He lifted his brow in a way that warned he could do anything. “Oh? You just told me peers are above the law.”

Her heart thudded in fear. “Not for killing other peers.” He couldn’t throw his life away over her. It was bad enough that he had waited for her. He couldn’t give her any more. She couldn’t live with that.

“It was Cavendish, wasn’t it?” Low and dangerous, his voice made her shiver. “He was the man who attacked you. Who made you afraid.” He had never spoken like this. Never so terrifyingly.

“Yes.” She had to give him the truth. And she feared he knew anyway — that she had shown something in her eyes. “But you cannot do anything rash. Or foolish.”

“I don’t do foolish things, love. I wouldn’t have survived so long if I did.”

“You just proved that isn’t true, Lyan.” She managed a wry smile. “You just asked me to marry you.”

“Not foolish, Sally. But I’d like to postpone the moment when you tell me ‘no’.” He rolled her on to her back, and crawled over her, his tawny gold body supported above hers on his powerful arms. Her breath caught. He grasped the neckline of her nightgown and pulled hard. Three buttons popped free and clattered to the floor. Her gown gaped to reveal her bosom.

Lyan captured her mouth, all the while stroking her breasts, making her feel like molten gold. She had once seen a jeweller turn the metal to liquid, had seen it splash, scalding hot, into a mould. That was how she wanted to feel — like something strong and solid which could turn to fluid with all this heat, which could be changed, reshaped, transformed into something new.

How could he kiss her like this when he knew she would turn him down?

“I … I want you,” she whispered. “But marriage … I can’t … I have to say—”

“Shh.”

He began to lift up her sensible flannel nightdress. She couldn’t stop him. She couldn’t walk away from him now. One night. She would allow herself that. One glorious night to remember for ever.

He bent to her nipples, teasing and suckling them. Giving her pleasure she hadn’t known for ten years. His hands slid down and he stroked her most private place.

Yes. Oh yes. But she didn’t dare say that word. That dangerous word.

Then Lyan slid inside her, burying his erection deep, and his mouth never stopped lusciously tormenting and pleasuring hers, not for a moment.

She kissed him as they moved together, frantic, wild, just like when they had been young, blessedly young, and in love. She had always wanted to believe it would be easier to face the world if they were together.

She licked his neck. Devoured his mouth. Nibbled his ear. Bit his shoulder. Because if she didn’t keep touching him and tasting him, she would start to think of what she’d lost. And she’d burst into tears that might never stop …

His lips pulled back, and she almost tumbled into the depths of his wild, hot green eyes. “Stop thinking, Sally. Just love me. For right now, this is love. Savour it.”

Then he covered her mouth with his as though afraid she might argue. But she couldn’t any more. And she came, she climaxed, she surrendered to a pleasure she couldn’t begin to control. She burst into a thousand shimmering pieces. She flowed like liquid gold. She soared.

And he cried out hoarsely in a climax. His shout of pleasure sent her heart spinning up to heaven.

As she fell back to earth, to their hot, disordered bed, Estelle was aware of Lyan’s arms around her. He had moved off her, but his embrace held her captive.

“I want to ensure,” he said sleepily, “you don’t run away again.”

You could marry him and make love with him and sleep like this every night. Rose could have the one thing you never had and never will have — a father.

Estelle sat up. Lyan was not doing a very good job as gaoler. His long, large body was still snuggled beside her. But his arm was slack with sleep and rested on her hip.

She needed to think. And needed air. The room smelled of sex and pleasure and was so hot it made her dizzy. As soundlessly as she could, Estelle put on her cloak. While Lyan breathed steadily, she slipped out of the room, then hurried down the stairs and ran outside to the yard.

She wasn’t going to run away. No, this time she had to refuse Lyan to his face. She felt as though she were a gown that was stitched up all wrong. All the pieces were where they should be, but she could never be right until she was taken apart and made up all over again. Yet she didn’t have the courage to pick her stitches away.

A carriage stood in the yard. There was a light within, illuminating a girl’s face.

It was the face of the young woman who had come to her last night. It was Lyan’s sister’s face. He’d told her the girl’s name. Laura. There was one reason for Laura Foxton to be in a carriage at a coaching inn on the road to Scotland.

The girl was alone in the carriage, and she drew back as Estelle wrenched open the door. “What are you doing? Eloping?”

“I—” Laura tipped up her chin. “Yes.”

“What of your brother? I’m sure it will break his heart if he finds out you’ve run away.”

The dark-haired girl glared mulishly. “I’ll go back and see him. I’m not running away for ever. You have no right to tell me what to do. Or tell me what my brother feels. He left me a note before he left last night. In it he told me who you are. The woman who broke his heart!”

Estelle fought the guilt she knew Laura had wanted to provoke. “Well, he doesn’t need another broken heart then, does he? He is here, in this inn. Why not tell him what you want? Why not marry with his blessing?”

“He won’t give me his blessing. I am in love. And I won’t turn back now.”

Estelle clasped the girl’s hand. “If you are happy, then I wish you a lifetime of happiness. Tell your brother, wait for his blessing before you marry. Understand that it is not too late to turn back. It never is.”

She left Laura then, hurrying back across the muddy yard. It was so easy to give advice she would never take. Lyan was offering her the chance to turn back. And she had said no.

Her heart grew heavier with each hurried step back to the bedroom. Lyan still slept. He lay on his stomach and the sheets had fallen down to expose his bare back. Estelle dropped her cloak and sat down beside him. Her nightdress was half open, slipping off her shoulders. What should she do — slip back into bed and betray him by letting Laura escape to Gretna? Or wake him up and betray a young girl who yearned to find love?

She touched his shoulder. Shook him gently.

Click.

Behind her, the door’s latch had opened and she spun around. Laura?

She expected to see the girl in the doorway, but instead she breathed in the choking scent of a smouldering cheroot. Her gaze locked on the dark eyes of a strange man.

But she had locked the door. After she’d come in, she’d locked the door by instinct.

The black-haired man winked at her. He wore a grey greatcoat and gleaming black boots, the cheroot was clamped in his teeth, and his large body filled the doorway. Blocking her escape. An amused smirk twisted his lips.

Then she saw it. The almost extinct firelight glimmered along the muzzle of a pistol held in his hand.

“Who are you?” she demanded, fighting to hide fear.

“I take it you are Mrs Desjardins,” the man said and his glittering eyes mocked her. “I see Lyan has been mixing business with pleasure. Well, I have some business to conclude myself. In the name of Lord Cavendish. Which means, unfortunately, I will have to get rid of you first.”