"His name is Jack Fulton. He is the son of a privy councilor and has just returned to England after an absence of many years. Cecelia introduced us, and I was... attracted to him instantly." Heat crept over her cheeks. "The feeling was mutual. We've... met several times. Tonight was the first we were... intimate."

Kate sighed. "And Lady Borrill saw?"

"Yes," Becky whispered. "And there were others I didn't recognize-guests at the hotel..." She'd never fainted before in her life, but the palms printed on the chaise across from her began to drift back and forth across the upholstery. She gripped the arm of the sofa and squeezed her eyes shut.

Kate ground her teeth. "Lady Borrill is a notorious gossip."

"I know."

"The witnesses will make it known what happened tonight. There's no way around it."

"What am I going to do? Oh, Lord, but this family doesn't need another scandal. I'm sorry, Kate. I'm so, so sorry."

She leaned forward and pushed her face into her hands. After all she'd done to her brother, Tristan, Sophie, and Kate. Four years of demure living had done little to soften her guilt over the debacle of her elopement with William.

She'd finally decided to assert herself, to move beyond William's betrayal and prove to herself that she was a strong woman worthy of affection. She'd failed. Spectacularly.

Kate stroked her hair. "You once said that scandal could never touch you."

"No," she said bleakly. "Perhaps it cannot touch me, but it touches the rest of you."

From the folds of her gown, Kate procured a linen handkerchief. "I've told you time and again through the years that guilt is a pointless emotion. It accomplishes nothing at all. It is useless and unproductive, except to cause tremendous damage to those who feel it."

"It is not only guilt, Kate, but regret. I wish..." Lord, what did she wish? Not that she'd never met Jack, that he hadn't touched her. Selfishly, she coveted every kiss, every touch, and every word that they had shared, and she couldn't wish them away, no matter how much guilt and regret sliced through her.

"Do you care for this man? This Mr. Fulton?"

"I do." Cecelia would frown at her, or maybe she would laugh. But Becky wasn't admitting to love-that would be as impetuous and silly as falling in love at first sight with William Fisk four years ago. But she did care for him.

"Do you admire him?" Kate asked.

"Yes."

"He must be intelligent, then. Well-read."

Kate knew well the kind of man who would capture Becky's interest.

"And well-traveled," she said.

"Is he an honorable man, Becky?"

Becky considered this. He'd warned her that he possessed a dishonorable nature. And yet his actions proved otherwise. He was gentle, conscientious, caring. Even now, the memory of the look in his eyes when he touched her made her shudder. When the door had opened and all those people had poured in, his first thought had been to protect her from their curious stares.

"Yes, Kate. I believe he is honorable."

"There is only one clear answer, then," Kate said in a low voice. Sighing, she dabbed her handkerchief to Becky's damp cheek. "You must marry him."

Chapter Five.

Early the following afternoon, Becky hurried to the nursery to see Kate. After Becky greeted the children, Kate instructed the governess to look after them, and then she drew Becky into the corridor and closed the door behind them.

"I received a letter from Sophie this morning." Kate looked exhausted-the babe was keeping her awake at night again. Kicking off her slipper, she leaned against the smooth plastered wall and awkwardly reached down to rub the arch of one slightly swollen foot. "It's still unclear who wrote the note informing Garrett of your whereabouts."

Becky crossed her arms. "I'm certain it was that awful Lady Borrill. She gave me the cut direct on the stairs and then took her scandalous news straight to Tristan and Sophie."

"Garrett isn't certain it was Lady Borrill. He told me they'd left dinner and were on their way to drop Sophie and Tristan off when the carriage was stopped by a man on horseback. He gave the note to the coachman and then rode off before Garrett could get a good look at him."

"What, exactly, did the note say?"

"It said you were in trouble, and it gave the name of the hotel. Garrett ordered Pip to drive there straightaway, and when they arrived, Garrett flew out of the carriage, heedless of Sophie and Tristan on his heels. He stomped into the hotel, wrestled the room's location and a key from the proprietor, and then ran upstairs. All the shouting attracted some attention, but you know Garrett. He didn't pay it any heed." Kate lowered her foot back to the floor and looked at Becky, her dark eyes full of compassion.

"Garrett has summoned me to his study." Becky hesitated. "I came to ask if you would come with me."

Kate straightened, then took Becky's hand and pressed it to her heart. "You're my dearest friend, Becky, but he didn't ask me to come-he asked you. I think you must go to your brother alone."

For a flash of a moment, Becky considered pleading with her friend. She knew she tended to lean too heavily on Kate at times, and she knew she needed to start fending more for herself. It was part of the reason she'd taken such pains to befriend Cecelia.

Kate understood Becky. They'd experienced much tragedy, sadness, and love together. In the past four years, they'd grown as close as any two women could without the bond of blood.

"I know I should go alone," Becky finally said. "But I dislike confronting him without you there."

Kate smiled. "Why do you have such faltering confidence in your own ability to be brave? I have seen such bravery from you, Becky. It's just Garrett. You can face him, I know you can."

Garrett had seen her just a few hours ago in a very, very compromising position with a man he didn't know. Was he still intent upon killing Jack? She'd heard no further word of a duel, so perhaps Kate had nipped that ludicrous idea in the bud when he'd returned last night. He'd come home surprisingly early. Not long after she and Kate had settled into their conversation in the drawing room, they'd heard hoofbeats and run to the window to see the carriage drawing up to the house. Moments later, he'd stepped out, apparently unharmed. Becky had spent the remainder of the evening praying that Jack was similarly healthy.

Leaving Kate, she went downstairs. At the door to Garrett's study, she pressed her hands nervously over her cherry-striped taffeta skirts and fidgeted with the blond frill at her neckline. Then, taking a great gulping breath, she knocked.

"Come in," Garrett called, his voice gruff.

She pushed open the door, took a step forward, and then froze as her brother-and Jack-rose from their chairs.

"Rebecca," her brother said from across his gleaming mahogany desk.

Jack, who had risen from the mint-green velvet armchair opposite Garrett, gave a silent bow. He was dressed more finely than she'd ever seen him, in an embroidered dark wine waistcoat, a crisply tied cravat, dark gray trousers, and a black cutaway tailcoat that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist.

"Good afternoon, Garrett." Her voice was shaky, breathless. "Mr. Fulton. I-I didn't expect to see you here."

Jack glanced at Garrett and then gave her an easy smile. "His Grace and I agreed to meet to discuss the... unfortunate event that occurred last night."

"I see." With precise movements, she turned to close the door. The finality of the click resonated through her skull.

She turned back to the gentlemen, who still stood facing her. Unclenching her fingers, she forced her shoulders to settle and inclined her head at Jack. "I'm relieved to see you in one piece."

"If I had known you feared for me," he said in a quiet voice, "I would have reassured you that I am very difficult to break, my lady."

"I'm glad to hear it." Keeping her back perfectly straight and her chin high, she crossed the carpeted floor and sat in the floral-print armchair beside Jack's. On that signal, the men returned to their chairs.

She tried to muster a smile at him as she ran her fingers over the roses embroidered on the arms of the chair. Awareness of his proximity, even after all that had happened, rang through her veins.

His smile carved grooves, too deep to be called dimples, in his cheeks. His eyes sparkled when he smiled, and his lips... oh, his wickedly erotic lips...

Garrett cleared his throat, and she tore her gaze from Jack to look at her brother. He sat as stiffly as his high, heavily starched collar, his narrow gaze focused on both of them.

He slid a pamphlet across the sleek surface of his desk. "It has already been printed."

Becky's heart surged to her throat. Jack took the paper and lowered it before him, his lips tightening.

"What?" she whispered. "What is it?"

Without a word, he handed it to her.

The open page showed a caricature of her and Jack. They were in bed in an indecent position. The artist had drawn enormous beads of sweat dripping from them both, and they both stared wide-eyed and gaping at the door, which overflowed with people holding lanterns. Becky's oval face was long and exaggerated, and her straight, dark hair flowed over the blankets. The artist had grossly misjudged the size of her breasts and had drawn them as enormous white globes of flesh as big as her head and spilling over the edge of the blanket, everything but her nipples showing.

At the forefront of the crowd stood Garrett pointing a pistol at them both, his face twisted in rage and the scar over his eyebrow flaming like a sun.

The caption read: "Society's hypocrisy-England's pious widows frigid by day but eager by night."

She gazed down at it. She would stay calm. She would be strong. Scandal would not touch her.

Becky lowered the paper to her lap and looked up at her brother and Jack, who studied her with guarded expressions.

"Well," she said. "This is unfortunate. But expected."

"I am disappointed in you, Rebecca," Garrett said.

"Because I said this was expected? Well, it was."

"No, it's not that. I'm disappointed that you... that you met with a man in this manner." He flung a hand toward the paper in her lap.

She took a deep breath. "Garrett, I understand that what you saw was a very difficult thing for a brother to see-"

Garrett made a harsh, indecipherable noise.

"-but you must understand that I am an adult. Mr.Fulton is an adult as well. Whatever occurred between us was private, and it was very wrong of you-and of everyone else-to interrupt in such a manner."

"I had heard there was trouble stirring and that it involved you," Garrett said gruffly. "What would you have suggested?"

"Perhaps you might have tried knocking first? Perhaps you might have taken pains to ensure all of London didn't witness the event?"

She welcomed the anger that heated her cheeks. It was much better than the despair, embarrassment, and guilt that had run rampant since last night.

Garrett's narrow eyes grew narrower. "I did neither, and it is a good thing, too. Fulton has informed me that nothing was consummated between the two of you. If I had waited, if I had used manners and knocked on the door, no telling what might have ensued."

"What might have ensued is none of your business!"

She glanced at Jack, her cheeks growing even hotter. He watched her with a bemused expression, almost as if he couldn't believe she'd dare chastise her brother.

Garrett had the grace to look mildly contrite. "What's done is done, Rebecca. What we must face now is the fact that all of society will soon know of your affair with Mr.Fulton."

"That's true." She bowed her head. The anger seeped out of her as quickly as it had come. "I'm very sorry for that."

"Fulton and I have spent some time conversing on the matter..." He paused.

"Yes?"

"About how it can be resolved in the most expedient way possible."

"And?" She gripped the arms of her chair. Gooseflesh broke out over her skin. She knew what was coming.

"He has offered for your hand in marriage."

Wide-eyed, she turned to Jack. "You offered? You?"

She hadn't expected him to offer anything. She was far more inclined to believe Garrett had held a pistol to his head and demanded a proposal.

"Yes," Jack said. "Remember what I told you? I said I'd never leave you in the lurch, no matter the circumstance. I stand by my word."

"I promise you, you must not feel compelled to do any such thing. If my brother has forced you to-"

Jack raised his hand to stop her. "No. His Grace didn't force me to do anything. It was entirely my idea."

"But-"

"It is the most obvious solution," Garrett said. "Given what happened. It is the most expedient way to salvage your reputation and put the rumors to rest."

She swallowed hard. "Of course I do understand that is what will be expected after we have caused such a scandal. However, I care nothing for my reputation. You know that, Garrett."

"In principle, it is the right thing to do," Garrett said, and she detected a familiar edge of stubbornness in his voice. "And I know how you feel about scandal and reputation, Rebecca, but what about other members of your family who aren't as invulnerable to such things?"

Becky flinched.

Leaning forward, Jack reached out for her hand. "I should like nothing more in the world than to make you my wife."

Becky stared at him. This was a proposal. Jack Fulton was asking for her hand in marriage. He was asking her to spend the rest of her life at his side as his wife. He was asking for her trust and for her love. Forever.

"I've let a house for us near Richmond. It's not much, but you'll be close to your family, and I promise I will do my best to provide you with every comfort you require."

This was very different from the midnight proposal she'd received from William four years ago. There were no protestations of love today. Jack wasn't clutching her knees, desperately begging her to run away with him. Nor was he saying he couldn't survive another moment without her at his side.

There was no romance in this. Jack Fulton was proposing to her in her brother's study with her brother sitting across from them. His reasoning behind offering for her didn't go any deeper than the hope of softening the effect of a scandal and salvaging her reputation. This had nothing to do with her feelings for him, or his for her.

Heat tightened her chest. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She glanced between her brother and Jack. Tentatively, she reached out to take Jack's proffered hand, her arm heavy as steel.