"I'll stay," she said. The instant the words passed her lips, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from her heart.

Lord Robert expelled a long breath, and his grip on her shoulders relaxed. "Excellent. Now you must tell me what is going on. I've pledged to do my utmost to protect both you and my family, but I cannot do that until I know everything."

Everything. He was right, of course. There was more at risk here than simply her own safety. Her silence might be placing him in danger. Indeed, it already had. If further harm were to befall him-

No. She couldn't allow that to happen.

He gave her shoulders another tiny shake. "Let me help you. Trust me."

She swallowed the humorless laugh that rose in her throat. Yet even as her mind scoffed at the notion of trusting him, her heart reminded her that this man had proven himself trustworthy, at least as far as protecting her was concerned. He'd rescued her from her abductors, and had watched over her since she'd arrived.

Let me help you. She briefly squeezed her eyes closed. To have an ally… someone to talk to. Confide in. Lean on. But what would he think of her once he knew the truth? The thought of seeing the warmth and admiration fade from his gaze saddened her. But she owed him the truth. With his safety at risk, she had no choice.

"It's rather a long story," she said.

His gaze never wavered. "I have as long as you need." His hands slid down her arms, and he clasped her hands in a reassuring grip. "Come. Let's sit." He led her to the settee, and once they were settled, she drew a deep breath.

"Did Elizabeth tell you anything about… my husband?"

He appeared surprised. "No. Only that he'd died."

"She didn't mention how he died?"

"No. I assumed an illness of some sort."

"David was killed in a duel." She longed to look away from his penetrating gaze, but forced herself to look him straight in the eye. "By his lover's husband."

It clearly took several seconds for her words to sink in, but then there was no mistaking his stunned reaction. Unable to stand the pity she saw brewing in his eyes, she rose and began to pace in front of the fire.

"I had no idea," she said. "One minute I thought I had a husband who loved me as much as I loved him. The next minute I found out he was dead. Before I could even assimilate that news, I learned he'd been unfaithful to me… almost from the moment we'd wed."

Now that she'd begun, the words seemed to pour from her, as if she'd lanced a wound, letting out the poison. "I was still reeling from that blow when I realized that adultery was the least of David's sins. While packing away his belongings, I discovered a journal. After reading it, I learned exactly what sort of man I'd married."

She pressed shaky hands to her stomach in a vain attempt to calm her inner trembling. "He was a thief. A blackmailer. A criminal. The journal listed, in great detail, hundreds of items he'd stolen and then sold. Of sums he'd extorted." A fresh onslaught of pain rushed through her at the memory, tightening her throat. "I was sick. Literally sick. Every comfort I'd enjoyed as his wife-our fine home, the beautiful furnishings, my exquisite wardrobe-were all at the expense of other people."

She turned to him and spread her hands. "I didn't know," she whispered. "I didn't know. And once I found out, it nearly destroyed me. So many emotions churned through me, I thought I might lose my mind. I spent an entire week locked in my room. First crying over what I'd lost-my husband, my security, my future. Then I cried over what a fool I'd been. I'd trusted David absolutely, with my whole heart. He'd fooled me so completely. Had fooled everyone. Except Elizabeth. She'd tried to warn me. Cautioned me I didn't know him well enough, but I wouldn't listen…"

Pausing long enough to draw several deep breaths, she continued, "After a week of indulging in tears and self-pity, I couldn't stand myself anymore. That is when anger replaced the self-pity. Anger at myself for being such a naive fool. And with David for all his lies and deceit."

Turning from him, she started to pace once again, the words flowing even faster. "Once I stopped feeling sorry for myself, I decided I would not, could not, allow David to rob me of my self-respect. He'd stolen everything else, but he wasn't going to have that. And there was only one way I would ever have a chance of feeling good about myself again. I decided to return all the monies he'd stolen.

"To that end, little by little, I sold everything. The house, the furniture, my jewelry, and eventually even my clothing. As soon as the house sold, I moved away. The gossip and scandal surrounding David's death at the hands of his lover's husband… well, you cannot even imagine how unbearable it made my life. I settled in a small town outside Boston. David had lived in the city for several years, and according to his journal, the majority of the people he'd stolen from were from that area. Living close by enabled me to ensure that the funds safely reached those I needed to repay. As Brown is a common surname, and I did not tell anyone my husband's name had been David, everyone simply regarded me with the respect due a young widow. I earned a bit of money taking in sewing. With that independence, and the feeling of doing something useful to right the wrongs David had wrought… I eventually started to heal."

Memories flashed through her mind. Her modest rooms. Long nights that had eventually ceased to seem quite so lonely. Her self-respect slowly seeping back as, one by one, she anonymously paid back David's victims.

"I found one item among David's belongings," she continued, "that was not mentioned in his journal. It was a small rusted box containing a coat-of-arms ring. I thought it odd that there was no mention of the piece, especially given how meticulously all the other ill-gotten items were listed. Candlesticks, jewelry, snuffboxes. With the exception of perhaps a dozen items, he'd sold the wares as fast as he stole them, therefore I could only return the money he'd sold them for, rather than the actual goods." Another humorless laugh escaped her. "While I couldn't explain why there was no mention of this ring in the journal, I of course had good reason to assume it was stolen. If it was, I wanted to return it to the owner. If it actually had belonged to David, I planned to sell it, then donate the money to charity. I wanted all traces of him gone."

She stopped pacing and glanced at him. He sat on the settee, leaning forward, his forearms braced on his spread legs, his hands clasped, watching her intently. Questions lurked in his intense gaze, but he said nothing, clearly waiting for her to continue.

Clearing her throat, and pacing once more, she plunged on. "I consulted with an antiquities expert in Boston, but was only able to learn that the ring was old, of English origin, and probably belonged to a member of the peerage. Which meant, of course, that David had almost certainly stolen it, no doubt before he sailed to America. I left the ring as my final item to return, deciding to combine my search for the owner with a visit to Elizabeth. It took me three long years to locate, then repay, David's victims, but I finally succeeded. The only things I kept were my silver wedding band, which I no longer wore, and my mourning gowns, which I wore every day. I couldn't afford other clothing, and the black kept any suitors at bay. And both the wedding band and the gowns served as daily reminders of what I'd lost… and a harsh warning to never allow myself to be put in a similar situation again." She stopped in front of the fire and stared into the flames, her hands fisted at her sides. "Never again," she whispered fervently. "Never again."

"Does Elizabeth know all this?" he asked.

Turning to face him, she shook her head. “No one knows. All Elizabeth knows is what I wrote to her in my very first letter where I told her that David had been killed in a duel. Because she deserved to know she'd been right about him, I informed her about the circumstances surrounding his death. I begged for her forgiveness and I asked her if I could visit her, to apologize in person. She wrote back, readily offering her forgiveness and inviting me to come to England."

"What about your family? Did you not tell them?"

"Only about David being unfaithful, which of course everyone learned about upon his death. No one knows the rest." She raised her chin a fraction. "Except you. Nor does anyone else know of my financial situation. If I'd told my family, they would have insisted upon helping me. But paying those people back… it was something I had to do on my own." She slowly shook her head. "I do not expect you to understand…"

A shadow passed over his face. "Actually, I understand perfectly."

She sincerely doubted he could, but when their eyes met, there was no mistaking the empathy in his gaze. Curiosity nudged her, but she forced herself to push it aside and finish her own tale. "By the time I was ready to travel to London, I could barely afford the passage. But I didn't wish to delay my trip any longer and be forced to endure a winter ocean crossing. And I had to come. I had to find out more about the ring so I could put the last remaining piece of the past behind me, and I needed to see Elizabeth. To make amends to her. Through the letters we'd exchanged, I knew she generously forgave my horrible treatment of her, but I wanted, needed, to express my sorrow in person." She pressed her hands tighter against her middle. "I was hateful to her. She was my best friend, with nothing but my best interests at heart, and I pushed her away. That's the reason she came to England, you know. She'd been living with my family after her father passed away. But when she warned me about David, told me not to marry him, I told her to leave."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she could barely speak around the lump that settled in her throat. "I accused her of wanting David for herself. Accused her of being jealous of my happiness. I told her that I did not want her at my wedding or to be a part of my life any longer. When she left my family she had nowhere to go, so she sailed to England to visit her aunt." She closed her eyes. "She warned me… dear God, if I'd only listened to her."

She heaved a deep sigh. "Because my funds were so limited, I hired myself out as a companion to Lady Gaddlestone to pay for the voyage. But once on board the ship, the mishaps I told you about occurred. When you met me at the pier, I was terrified. I had the strongest feeling someone was watching me. I couldn't wait to get away from there." A shudder ran through her. "Yet the strange happenings followed me here, as you know. I thought it was over-the coat-of-arms ring is gone, as well as its box."

"Yet clearly it's not over," he said, his voice grim. "The fact that someone tried to break in this evening clearly indicates that whoever it is still wants something. Do you have any idea what it could be?"

She briefly considered not telling him, but decided there was no point, as he already knew all her other humiliating secrets. "There's nothing left… except this." Crossing to the settee, she opened her reticule and withdrew the folded paper. "I found this just today. Hidden in a false bottom in the ring box."

"What does it say?"

"I don't know. It's written in some foreign language. I'm afraid it might have information about David… information I wouldn't want anyone else to know, which is why I did not put it back before I gave the box over to Lord Shelbourne."

"May I take a look at it?"

She wordlessly handed him the delicate paper. Moving to the fireplace, he crouched on the stone hearth and held the note at the best angle to capture the light. After a minute he remarked, "I think this might be Gaelic."

Her stomach knotted. "I thought so as well, in which case it most likely does concern David. He was familiar with the language."

He nodded in an almost absent manner, then said, "This word… how odd." He pointed to a word. "That looks like 'Evers.' "

Crouching down beside him, she squinted at the cramped, faded letters. "Yes, it does," she agreed. Something tickled her memory, but remained just out of reach. "Does that mean something to you?"

"Only that it is my friend Michael's surname."

Recognition hit her. "The pugilist fellow who bandaged us."

"Yes." He continued to examine the letter. Nearly a minute passed where the only sound breaking the silence was the snapping of the orange-red flames in the hearth.

"Look at this word," he finally said, pointing to another faded group of letters. "I swear it looks like the name of the town in Ireland where I recall that Michael grew up." He turned to her, his eyes dark and serious in the firelight. "I'd like to show this letter to Michael."